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Authors: Marcus Richardson
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swivel chair came back upright with a metallic groan. The judge carefully placed his hands on the desk. “Son, there are things that I am not at liberty to discuss. That,” he said with a slow shake of his wrinkled, white-fringed head, “is one of them.”
“That wouldn’t be on account of this being an election year, and your decision wasn’t very popular with the locals, now would it, Your Honor?” asked Danny, pen hovering over his notebook. He watched in satisfaction as the color rose up the old man’s shriveled neck.
“That, sir, is an insult—a poorly made one at that,” spat the Judge. He slowly got to his feet. “I think we are through here, young man.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor, I meant no offense,” Danny replied, jumping to his feet. He decided then and there that there was indeed something else going on in Brikston. Screw Mr. Nice-guy. He turned to leave, then turned back, pen in the air, poised almost like a sword.
“But, just for clarification, the young man that had been assaulted by the police, arrested, then turned loose—on your orders—has been compensated by the city for his mistreatment, correct?”
“I haven’t the foggiest—”
“Because, from what I saw at the arrest—yeah, I was there, interviewing the people in the mob, on the phone with Axel Putnam, you know, from CNN. You’ve heard of him, right?”
The Judge sighed and the effort seemed to deflate the old man. His wide shoulders slumped and he looked truly pathetic enveloped in the flowing black robes of his office. He looked down at the desk and seemed to lean over it for support. “Son,” he said in a tired voice. “I swore, a long, long time ago to always do what is right by the law and my conscience.” He looked up from his desk. His eyes looked rheumy and tired. “I believe I did that today. I have a clear conscious about my decision to turn that young man loose.”
“Can I quote you on that?”
The old man drew himself to his full height. “You’re damned right you can. I know this is an election year, but at my age, I’m not going to throw away my principles to win an election—I’ve been in office for fifty-seven years, you know. I’ll be dog-goned if I’m going to start compromising now.” He shrugged. “I truly think that Korean boy is a spy. But,” he said, raising a bony finger. “I was elected to be impartial—and there wasn’t enough evidence to hold him on anything. The only option was to turn him loose.”
“The people in town seem awful mad about things as they stand…”
The judge gave Danny the hairy eyeball. “They can go pound sand.” Then his face softened and he sank back into the chair again. “I can’t really blame ‘em, no sir. This flu business,” he said, waving one wrinkled hand in the air. “It’s got everyone scared. They’re worried the old Scorched Lung is back.” He shook his head. “With President Denton dead…the way he died…all the stories about people getting sick all over the country. Can you blame them?”
“No sir, I surely can’t,” replied Danny, writing furiously on his notebook. “Can you tell me if the officers involved in the situation have been disciplined in any way?”
The judge smiled, like he was privy to a great secret and wanted to tell but wouldn't because watching Danny try to figure it out would be so much more fun. “Now that’s a question I’ll have to defer to the Chief.”
“Is he in? I’ll just pop over and ask him, then,” said Danny, hoping the threat would be enough to get more out of the old man. Instead, the judge merely sat back down in his chair and closed closed his eyes.
He leaned back and opened his rheumy eyes. “He’s just across the hall outside the Clerk’s office. Got anything else for me, Ace? As you said, I’m a busy man…”
Danny stood. “No,
“That wouldn’t be on account of this being an election year, and your decision wasn’t very popular with the locals, now would it, Your Honor?” asked Danny, pen hovering over his notebook. He watched in satisfaction as the color rose up the old man’s shriveled neck.
“That, sir, is an insult—a poorly made one at that,” spat the Judge. He slowly got to his feet. “I think we are through here, young man.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor, I meant no offense,” Danny replied, jumping to his feet. He decided then and there that there was indeed something else going on in Brikston. Screw Mr. Nice-guy. He turned to leave, then turned back, pen in the air, poised almost like a sword.
“But, just for clarification, the young man that had been assaulted by the police, arrested, then turned loose—on your orders—has been compensated by the city for his mistreatment, correct?”
“I haven’t the foggiest—”
“Because, from what I saw at the arrest—yeah, I was there, interviewing the people in the mob, on the phone with Axel Putnam, you know, from CNN. You’ve heard of him, right?”
The Judge sighed and the effort seemed to deflate the old man. His wide shoulders slumped and he looked truly pathetic enveloped in the flowing black robes of his office. He looked down at the desk and seemed to lean over it for support. “Son,” he said in a tired voice. “I swore, a long, long time ago to always do what is right by the law and my conscience.” He looked up from his desk. His eyes looked rheumy and tired. “I believe I did that today. I have a clear conscious about my decision to turn that young man loose.”
“Can I quote you on that?”
The old man drew himself to his full height. “You’re damned right you can. I know this is an election year, but at my age, I’m not going to throw away my principles to win an election—I’ve been in office for fifty-seven years, you know. I’ll be dog-goned if I’m going to start compromising now.” He shrugged. “I truly think that Korean boy is a spy. But,” he said, raising a bony finger. “I was elected to be impartial—and there wasn’t enough evidence to hold him on anything. The only option was to turn him loose.”
“The people in town seem awful mad about things as they stand…”
The judge gave Danny the hairy eyeball. “They can go pound sand.” Then his face softened and he sank back into the chair again. “I can’t really blame ‘em, no sir. This flu business,” he said, waving one wrinkled hand in the air. “It’s got everyone scared. They’re worried the old Scorched Lung is back.” He shook his head. “With President Denton dead…the way he died…all the stories about people getting sick all over the country. Can you blame them?”
“No sir, I surely can’t,” replied Danny, writing furiously on his notebook. “Can you tell me if the officers involved in the situation have been disciplined in any way?”
The judge smiled, like he was privy to a great secret and wanted to tell but wouldn't because watching Danny try to figure it out would be so much more fun. “Now that’s a question I’ll have to defer to the Chief.”
“Is he in? I’ll just pop over and ask him, then,” said Danny, hoping the threat would be enough to get more out of the old man. Instead, the judge merely sat back down in his chair and closed closed his eyes.
He leaned back and opened his rheumy eyes. “He’s just across the hall outside the Clerk’s office. Got anything else for me, Ace? As you said, I’m a busy man…”
Danny stood. “No,
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