Read Online The Hitman: Dirty Rotters by Sean McKenzie - Free Book Online

women
and the scrawny men right away. That left about half of them. A few
of them were tall and muscular, really scruffy looking. One was
very sharp, clean cut, like a banker with devious eyes and a
wolfish grin. But Sally began to talk to me and I didn’t get the
chance to judge them all based on appearance.
    “ You look tired,” Sally
said. “You drove non-stop.”
    I simply nodded to her. I was too
anxious to feel weary.
    I sat beside an elderly couple, who
both looked like they were in Sunday morning outfits. They were
holding hands tightly, sitting close to one another. Their faces
were mad. They moved nervously. Parents to one of the inmates in
orange, I figured.
    “ You made it in time.”
Sally bent close and spoke quietly. Her breath was warm, thick with
coffee.
    “ I just can’t believe this
is actually happening. It’s been three years.”
    Twelve inmates were lined along the
wall to my right. There was a guard in the front of the line,
another at the end. Cameras were mounted to the ceilings in the
corners.
    The judge made a motion, said a name,
and the first inmate left the line and walked slowly over to the
defendant’s podium and stood beside an appointed lawyer. The lawyer
held a look like he was getting paid regardless. Grey suit, hair
gelled straight back. Clean cut, no conscious.
    “ He’s next,” Sally’s head
motioned towards the front. “After this loser.” Her angry voice
carried. I think she wanted it to.
    “ Dirtbag, low-life.” A man
said behind us with a deep, commanding voice.
    But I couldn’t see the head of the
line. Too many people shuffling around and there was a huge
biker-looking man in fourth place blocking the two in front of
him.
    I nodded to Sally. “Thanks for
calling.”
    She patted me gently on the left
shoulder. “I’ll talk to you afterwards.”
    Sally walked away, to the back of the
room. I turned my head slightly to make out the men filling the
bench behind me. All uniformed cops. They were still making remarks
about the man standing, the one being charged for mugging several
senior citizens. I turned to see him. I paid close attention. The
room was dead quiet. All I could see was the back of him. He was
older than me, by about twenty years, I thought. Dark hair peppered
with grey with a dark beard. He said nothing. His head nodded once
when the judge asked him if he understood the charges.
    “ He’s a coward,” one of the
cops behind me said. He had a deep voice. A very big man. “The
world ain’t got no place for a scumbag like this.”
    “ He needs to pick on
someone his own size. He won’t be so lucky then.” the other
replied. His voice reminded me of a plastic fork compared to the
other’s deep commanding boom.
    The judge banged his gavel. The tall
bailiff walked over to the man and escorted him away from the
stand. The two old folks beside me made a celebratory noise and
embraced one another. They were crying softly. Their bodies were
shaking. They were praising God for justice. I felt myself getting
caught up with emotions as well. It was a day for
justice.
    The bailiff brought the man towards
the side of the room where other inmates were waiting. The man
looked down. His wrists were locked together with stainless cuffs.
He didn’t look concerned.
    “ Burn in hell!” the old man
next to me blurted, as if he simply couldn’t hold it any
longer.
    The cops behind me began talking to
the old folks beside me. I was listening because I had no choice. I
could barely hear the judge ask for the next inmate, but I missed
his name on the account of the cops trying to comfort the old
woman.
    By now there was another man in an
orange jump suit standing before the judge. People directly in
front of me were exiting, while others were entering. Press were
taking pictures of him. All of it was a distraction. I had missed
his name and now his identity. The cops behind me kept talking,
though hushed somewhat, I heard every word.
    “ This creep too,” the