Read Online Fort Freak by George R.R. Martin - Free Book Online Page A

looked like an overinflated red balloon, and he was still bellowing in Farsi and English. “Thief! Evil thief!”
    “I didn’t … I never … I was just admiring it.” I recognized the accent even before I saw her face. Abigail Baker.
    I dodged past an elderly woman in a swan mask, pushing a shopping cart full of bric-a-brac with a cat riding proudly on top, and laid a hand on Mr. Zamaani’s arm. “I’ll take it from here.”
    “Well, thank God, someone sensible,” Abigail said in aggrieved tones. I spun her around and slapped on the cuffs. “What the hell? I didn’t do anything. I was just standing here admiring the jewelry and suddenly it was in my hand.”
    “You’re just a victim of circumstances, aren’t you?” I said sarcastically.
    “Absolutely!”
    “Guess we’ll sort it out down at the precinct.”
    “Not again,” she wailed. “I have an audition.”
    At the same time Zamaani said, “You’ll lock her up?” I nodded. “For a long time?”
    “That’ll be up to a judge.” I started walking away, towing Abigail behind me.
    Back at the precinct I very quickly learned that these kinds of robberies had been occurring for decades. Long before Abigail was born, much less arrived in New York. Apparently Abigail was the world’s unluckiest person—unless you counted me. As she was walking out I apologized, and then, to my horror, I heard myself saying, “Uh, Abigail, there’s a jazz festival at a really great—”
    “Oh, sod off!”
    ♠
    Three days later I was due in court to testify in the purse snatcher case. It didn’t take long, and as I was walking out I saw Mrs. McDermott and Joanie, accompanied by Charlie Herriman, the prosthetics attached to his flippers clutching at the handle of his briefcase. The inevitable happened. He dropped the case, spilling papers. I ran over to help him gather them up.
    “Oh, it’s you,” Joanie said.
    At the same time Charlie said, “I know you. You were at Columbia.”
    “Yeah,” I said, helping him shove the papers back into his case. I stood and looked at Joanie. “How are you doing?” I asked.
    Her response to even that tepid remark took me aback. Joanie’s eyes filled with tears.
    “Not so good.”
    “You shouldn’t be talking to my client,” Charlie said in a faintly whining and almost apologetic tone. That’s when I remembered that despite being brilliant, Charlie had always undercut the brains with his nervousness and klutziness.
    “What’s going on?” I jerked my head toward the courtroom.
    At that moment the familiar burly figure of Assemblyman Fairbanks hove into sight. He was accompanied by several young men dressed in the Barrington Prep uniforms, and a distinguished silver-haired man whose entire demeanor screamed counselor . Joanie buried her face against her mother’s shoulder to avoid looking at them. The boys smirked and whispered to each other. They entered the courtroom. Moments later a harried young D.A. came rushing past and hurtled through the doors into the courtroom.
    “We’ve got to go,” Charlie muttered to the mother and daughter.
    I stood dithering in the hall for a few more minutes, then slipped into the courtroom and took a seat in the back. Charlie was at the podium dropping papers while he made a motion to compel the young men to submit to a strip search to verify his client’s defense.
    “How does this go to the charge of grand theft auto?” asked the elderly judge whose wrinkled skin and dark tan created the impression of a lizard squatting behind the bench.
    “It’s an affirmative defense, Your Honor, going to my … um … client’s state of mind when she ran from the Barrington dorm. She was escaping a threatening situation where she was being held against her will.”
    “She could have called a taxi,” the judge said.
    “She was afraid she was going to be raped—”
    The D.A. bounced to his feet. “Objection.”
    Charlie plowed on doggedly. “She wasn’t thinking all that