Actions and Consequences: Part II - Act 4
Tawnie crossed her arms, her lips tight. The stupid little man had no idea what he was doing. The game he thought it might be fun to play was light-years out of his league. He had no idea that the carpet he was standing on had been where dozens of New York’s best assassin demons had been standing only hours ago. The pawn did not want to be a real player. He didn’t know what it meant to play.
“We had an agreement,” she said coldly. He swallowed. He didn’t know, but he wanted to play anyway. “Niki Valtaine is guilty. We both know that.”
“Technically, she didn’t shoot Harrison,” Logan held up an argumentative hand, then dropped his eyes at the severity of her gaze. She wore her burgundy skirt and top, white buttons and severe white lace. Her greying hair had been pulled back into a bun and she looked less like a school head mistress and more like a general.
She licked her lips and strode past him to her desk. “Do you think the law doesn’t apply to Slayers? You think she should just be allowed to stake anyone she wants?”
“This isn’t about justice,” Logan countered, turning to face her. She stood behind her desk now with her hands resting on its surface. She looked tired of arguing. “This isn’t about what I want or what I think. You want Niki alive and in jail or dead. The Council wants Niki out of jail or dead. I just want Niki alive.” He sighed and sat down heavily at her desk. “But obviously it doesn’t matter what I want.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed. She could see he was equally tired of fighting a battle of wills on a battlefield of titans. “You have a duty to get a verdict of guilty. If you don’t—” she shrugged. “I can’t promise the safety of you or yours.”
“I couldn’t act incompetent,” Logan frowned at Fischer with annoyance. “Niki’s not stupid. She’d figure out that I wasn’t on her side. She’d get a new lawyer – it’s her right to have fair representation.”
“That’s why it had to be you,” Tawnie nodded. “And it doesn’t matter. Cases can be won or lost on the closing statements.” She reached to a sheet of paper on her desk. “And here is yours.”
Logan reached out and took the page with a feeling of dread. Lying to everyone simultaneously was exhausting and he feared if he got too good at it he would forget which side he was on. It also brought a fear with it. Every glance, every word. Did she suspect him?
Logan read the closing statement with a deepening frown. “This is awful. You’ve broken every rule of a closing statement. I’d convict her after hearing this.”
Tawnie nodded tiredly. “That’s the idea. Sabotage your case at the last minute and she can’t get a new lawyer. Verdict is guilty and everyone wins.”
“Except Niki and the Counsel,” Logan raised an eyebrow. “They won’t let this happen.”
“I’m looking after them,” Fischer dismissed. “The Senior Partners have never had an opportunity like this offered to them on a silver platter before. We will not let it go to waste.” She slowly sat down at the desk, across from Logan.
Logan scoffed. “I’m not reading this,” he let the page fall to the desk. “It would kill my career and there would end up being an investigation into my competency. Quinlan would make sure of it.”
“I don’t give a shit what you read,” Fischer snapped. “You can sing Hail to the Chief for all I care. As long as the verdict doesn’t come back Not Guilty. Get it?”
Logan was silent for a moment. He had finally been backed into a corner. Sitting on the fence threatened to break him. He would have to choose a side.
Fischer, sensing his hesitation, stood and leaned in close. “I’m going to be watching the proceedings,” she said malevolently. “If I see a verdict of Not Guilty — you and everyone you’ve ever known are going to wish you were never born.”
Logan knew he probably shouldn’t be driving after a threat like that. He hadn’t slept in three days. He hoped Niki had. He longed for the blissful innocence she still possessed. It was her innocence which had gotten him into this in the first place. Her innocence and her guilt. If she hadn’t been so innocent the day they had met, he wouldn’t be here. If she hadn’t been so guilty the night Megan Brandon was killed, she wouldn’t be here.
Logan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of his car, waiting for the light to turn green. Impulsively, he reached down and switched on the radio. Paul Simon was singing one of the lullabies Logan sang to Hanna.
“...A man walks down the street and says ‘why am I short of attention? Got a short little span of attention. And whoa, my nights are so long. Where’s my wife and family? What if I die here? Who’ll be my role model, now that my role model is—”
Logan stepped on the gas as the light turned from red to green. There was one thing that was eating away at him. He hadn’t put something together. Something was missing.
“All along, along there were incidents and accidents. There were hints and allegations. If you’ll be my bodyguard, I can your long lost—”
Keeping one eye on the road, Logan reached into the passenger’s seat and opened his briefcase. It popped open, spilling its contents across the seat and onto the floor. Glancing occasionally up at the road, Logan searched with one hand among the papers and files until he found what he was looking for. He lifted the picture of the victim up towards the dashboard so he could watch the road more easily. Megan Brandon. Who the hell was Megan Brandon anyway?
“...he looks around, around. He sees angels in the architecture, spinning in infinity...”
He squinted at her picture for a moment until her face resolved itself in a different way. It was raining. She had recognized him by his coat. He had avoided her. Logan’s eyes widened. “Holy hell!” His foot came down hard on the breaks. The tires screamed as the little brown car slid to a halt.
Eric Quinlan drummed his fingers impatiently on the table top. This was highly unorthodox. More than that it was annoying. Quinlan had been preparing the closing statement when the call had come in. Meet me, it’s urgent. Tell no one.
So Eric was waiting in the courthouse cafeteria for the one man he didn’t expect to see in anything but an official capacity. Especially the way this trial was going.
Logan Kilpatrick walked into the large cafeteria, his eyes roaming over everyone but Quinlan himself. As Logan walked past the baffled Quinlan’s table, he let a post-it note fall to the table top. He then walked to the back of the cafeteria and walked through a door.
Quinlan looked after him for a moment, then looked down at the post-it. Men’s Room.
The prosecutor sighed with annoyance and stood, crumpling up the post-it and stuffing it into his pocket. He wandered towards the back of the cafeteria, the way Logan had gone and entered the mens room as Logan had.
Logan finished checking under the doors of the stalls to see that they were alone. When he was satisfied, he stood and crossed his arms. “Thanks for coming.”
Quinlan crossed his arms in turn. “Care to tell me why I have?” Logan went to the sinks and began turning on the water taps, one by one until Quinlan had to walk closer to hear.
“You know I’m going to win,” Logan said over the sound of running water. “You know your case has holes in it. With everything you know now, you would never have made this case to begin with.”
“The jury will decide that,” Quinlan said with a frown.
“What if it didn’t have to come to that?” Logan asked, speaking lower and stepping closer to the prosecution.
Eric’s confusion was complete now. “What are you talking about? Did someone offer you a plea bargain? Because I didn’t authorize—”
Logan leaned in close to Quinlan’s ear and held his hand to conceal his mouth. He whispered his offer and the prosecutor’s frown faltered. He pulled away from Logan with a look of astonishment. “Are you serious?”
Logan nodded gravely. “Could you make all this go away?”
Quinlan considered it, looking down as he thought about the implications for both of them. Finally he looked back up again. “Why would you do that?”
Now it was Logan’s turn to search his own thoughts. He turned around and began turning off the faucets. The room was assaulted by silence. “This will shake things up,” he said at last. “My firm needs to be shook up.”
Eric shook his head. “Your life will be over.”
Logan shrugged, hoping his old friend’s words weren’t truer than intended. “I was going to quit anyway.” He examined Quinlan’s features in the mirror and then turned to look him in the eye. “Do you swear to hold up your end?”
Eric sighed heavily. He thought about it, then shrugged. “Alright, fine. But when the shit hits the fan, I’m sure as hell not going to be standing in front of it.”
Trial - Part 32, January 20th, 1988
People began filing into the courtroom earlier than usual. The first of them were the ones with authorization from Wolfram and Hart. They all sat in various places around the room, seeming to ignore each other, but looking surreptitiously towards the door when anyone else entered.
Next to enter was a man with one hand in his pocket. Just before he walked through the metal detector, he triggered the small thing in his hand. With an almost inaudible whine, its circuitry fried and so did the circuitry of the large door-like metal detector. He walked through confidently.
Following him was a British man in a brown jacket and grey flat cap. Inside his coat was a revolver, but the defunct metal detector was silent as he walked through it.
Following him were several men in an array of black suits, all of them armed with concealed weapons. They took their seats, most behind the defendant’s bench, some near the positions where the court security officers normally stood. The tension between them and the various visitors from Wolfram and Hart was tangible. The demons could smell who the agents were and where they were and with what they had armed themselves. The agents were inconspicuously making eye contact and conveying to one another the locations and number of demons.
Travers reached into his brown jacket and felt for the comforting butt of his gun. He looked from his place at the very back of the courtroom to the man just behind the defendant’s bench. The man nodded very slightly.
Out of sight of anyone, he pulled his own gun into the large sleeve of his trench coat, the end of the silencer just poking out between his fingers.
The room was full now, various innocent humans packing the seats, unaware of the dangers which surrounded them. The prosecution entered from the rear, taking their seats as the door at the side of the court room opened and Niki Valtaine was led out the short distance to her seat. Logan Kilpatrick joined her, looking less than confident about the number of people in the room and glancing occasionally towards the prosecution’s bench. He swallowed. Niki had no idea...
“All rise,” the clerk announced as the doors to the judge’s chamber opened. “The Honorable Judge Ortega presiding.”
Everyone got to their feet as the man in the black robes walked into the court room, sitting down and lifting his gavel. “You may be seated,” he said, tapping once. He took in a breath, his eyes on the notes before him. “We’re here today—” his eyes found the audience his court had attracted. He blinked. “We are here today to hear closing arguments, are we not?” He looked to the clerk who nodded. Ortega made a little shrug. “Very well. Prosecution, are you prepared?”
Niki’s hand moved slowly over and found Logan’s. She turned her head and met his eyes. He swallowed but she offered a little smile. It’s okay, she mouthed. I trust you. She had a kind of peace he couldn't place. He didn't know why she was choosing now to epxress her trust in him, but he hoped it wasn't misplaced.
Eric Quinlan stood from the bench, seeming to consider for a moment, his eyes firmly ahead of him. “Actually, Your Honor, the prosecution moves for a mistrial.”
An explosion of voices filled the courtroom, heads turning this way and that in disbelief. Each voice was little more than a whisper, but together they were a storm. Niki slowly turned her head and locked eyes with Logan again. A frown creased her brow. He winked.
“Order,” Ortega said with a frown, banging his gavel. “Order in my courtroom!” The voices diminished to a murmur and were finally silenced. The agent in the front row was turned almost completely around, trying to make eye contact with Travers but there were too many people in the way.
Ortega banged his gavel once more for emphasis. “What is the grounds for mistrial?” he demanded, in no mood for games.
Quinlan took in a breath. “It has come to the attention of the prosecution that the attorney for the defendant knew the victim, Your Honor.”
Logan swallowed as the judge swung his angry gaze towards the defense bench. “Is this true, Mr. Kilpatrick? Did you know Ms. Brandon?”
Logan stood and nodded once. “Yes, Your Honor.”
The buzz of whispers started up again and it took several more bangs of the gavel to silence them. Travers shifted in his seat with a frown. His seat in the isle afforded him a clear view of Quinlan as he stood to make his motion. Something caught his attention and he looked to the right. Tawnie Fischer was sitting across the isle from him looking like she was ready to tear someone to pieces. A little spark of triumph lit up in Travers’ mind. Nothing made him personally happier than to see Fischer fail.
“Why didn’t you resign the case?” Ortega asked angrily. There was a moment of silence while the hushed court waited for the answer. None came. “You refuse to answer the question?” Ortega asked with an astonished look.
Logan shook his head. “I am unable to answer the question, Your Honor.”
Ortega frowned once again with confusion. “You know you risk contempt of court?” Logan said nothing.
“Your Honor,” Quinlan said drawing the heat of the judge’s gaze. “The prosecution feels the impartiality of the defendant’s sole counsel qualifies as manifest injustice.”
Ortega scowled. “Why are you defending the defendant?”
Eric Quinlan raised an eyebrow and tossed a glance towards the silent defense bench. He smiled on the inside. “In the interests of a fair trial, Your Honor.”
The judge nearly scoffed. “Right,” he said not without sarcasm. He sighed with irritation as he looked back to the defense bench and the silently defiant lawyer there. “For once you have nothing to say, Mr. Kilpatrick?”
Logan shook his head once, also smiling on the inside. “No, Your Honor. Except that I support the motion.”
Ortega squinted. “You—” Blink. Sigh. “Fine,” the judge took a deep breath and lifted his gavel. “I declare a mistrial and this court is adjourned.”
Bang, went the gavel.
The voices of those watching the proceedings erupted into a tide of sound. Amid the moving bodies, actual fights were breaking out. Without warning, someone let out a scream and from somewhere else, a body flew out of the crowd and landed near the other side of the room. The voices were now loud and shouting and no one was listening to the angry judge anymore.
Men in uniform burst in from the side doors and from the rear. They had their hands on their weapons as they tried to pinpoint the aggressors. Two officers stood at the rear doors, preventing anyone from leaving.
At the front of the courtroom, Quinlan and the prosecutors were backing away from the mob sitting behind them. There was a snarl and several more screams. The sound of gunshots through a silencer and every officer’s weapon in the room was out. The shouts and voices intensified as everyone now tried to get the hell out.
With a terrifying shriek, something leapt out of the heaving crowd and landed near the group of prosecutors. The officers aimed their weapons and began barking commands, but the thing leapt at Quinlan and to Logan's horror it drove a suddenly demonic talon through his chest.
There was no hesitation. Instantly, it thrashed and twisted as bullets riddled its body, its glamour shimmering and finally settling back to the form of a dead lawyer, laying in a pool of black blood on the courtroom floor.
Shots were occurring in spurts now as the demons turned on the humans and the agents in the terrified crowd.
Logan leaned down to whisper in Niki’s ear, knowing she would never hear him otherwise. “The charges against you are being dropped. You’re free to go.” He met Niki’s eyes as she tried to comprehend what was going on behind them. He was trying to think of a nice way of saying that now that she was free, everyone would be trying to kill her, but a demon suddenly launched itself from the front row of seats at the Slayer.
With a snarl and three pops, it caught an agent’s bullets in the back and landed dead on the table between Logan and Niki. It’s glamour restored, officers approached it with guns drawn. Niki and Logan stood and made their way between the thickening group of officers in uniform at the front of the courtroom as the judge was escorted into chambers under guard.
Niki looked from the surging masses of panic and violence which was the result of her mistrial to the face of Logan Kilpatrick, a man who had not slept in days and who had evidently been lying to just about everybody. Everybody but her. He had gotten her off just like he said. She smiled in the face of the panicked mob, backing away with Logan to behind the line of officers. "You want to go get something to eat?"
He looked down at her and noticed her smile. Amid the screams of terror and pain he shared her smile. "Sure."
As the panicked courtroom tore itself apart, Quentin Travers slipped out the main entrance and disappeared. The loud bang of nine millimeter police pistol shots spurred his exit. At least Fischer had failed. The Slayer... That matter was far from resolved.
Monday, January 25th, 1988
Rachel took the mail from the floor by the front door with a frown. The sun shone in and the thin layer of snow over everything was sparkling. The frown came from an unrecognized letter sitting among the bills and junk mail. She knew it wasn’t junk because junk was addressed either to Logan or to both of them. This was addressed just to her.
She brought it to the kitchen where she set the rest of the pile down by her coffee. She tapped the envelope’s contents to one end, then ripped off the other end. The single sheet of paper slid out into her hands.
As she read the letter, her frown disappeared and all thoughts of a day of coffee and paying bills vanished. As she took in the contents, her face froze in a look of pure shock. Her gaze drifted up from the letter to the sunlight pouring in the window.
The letter slipped from her numb fingers and landed silently on the counter top.
...with regrets,
Tawnie Fischer
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