Read Online Young Sentinels (Wearing the Cape) (Volume 3) by Marion G. Harmon - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marion G. Harmon
Ads: Link
“Thinking the goons will try something?”
The accused, Benny Larkin, was a goon (over-muscled, shaved head, steel-capped boots, a tattoo somewhere that said “Kill them all”). Goons had started showing up in Chicago after our takedown of the Brotherhood and Sanguinary Boys last year; organized, they’d gotten busy thinning out the villainless minions. Now, with Benny, they’d moved up to taking on the few street-villains we’d left free and the new ones creeping in to fill the void.
Goons vs. minions, now goons vs. supervillains. Did they just want to fill Chicago’s vacated ecological niche? And did we care? I just wanted to get back to the Dome to see how Shelly was doing on her lunch-date with Mal and find out when we got to make our pitch to Hillwood.
Dan joined us in the hall. We’d both left by the judge’s door to avoid the gallery and the newsie flock in the public hall. He shook my hand.
“Thanks, Astra. I’d have rather gotten Judge Halder, but we took it. The jury loved you. Great testimony, you’ve put Benny away.”
I squeezed back carefully and let go, just glad my part in the trial process was over.
Last May, Benny had walked up to Taipan — a D Class generic strong/fast muscle-type — on the street and shot him three times in the face (heavy caliber, armor-piercing rounds), dropped the gun, and ducked into a crowded theater-club complex. Taipan had been without minion backup that night. Drunk and surprised, he hadn’t had time to use his speed and strength at all, and Benny had been able to disappear. The only reason he hadn’t gotten away free was the single witness: me.
With villain violence way up (Blackstone said a power vacuum encouraged the survivors to take a proactive and competitive approach to filling the spots at the top), the CPD had asked us to stage random and targeted night patrols in high-violence areas. I’d been taking a break on top of a tenement building across the street.
I hadn’t been close enough, couldn’t move fast enough to stay with him, and I couldn’t chase suspects once contact had been lost unless they were in the process of committing a crime. But my description had led to a CPD BOLO and Benny’s arrest, and today my reading five random names — scribbled in tiny letters on an index card and flashed from across the courtroom — convinced the judge that I’d been able to read the tattoo on the back of his head from across the street and ten stories up.
Dan straightened his autumn-orange tie, cleared his throat. “Going out the back?”
I shook my head. “With all my fans out front? Never.” Much as I wished they’d all disappear. Seven laughed and Dan nodded reluctantly.
“Well then. I — my office will call you if we need you, but you were perfect in the cross. No chance Benny’s attorney is going to put you back on the stand. Good luck out there.” He juggled his briefcase, offered his hand again to both of us, and departed for his next engagement. Seven watched him go with his usual quirky smile, then crooked his arm.
“Shall we?”
I held up my hands. “You first — even your luck won’t let you blend in if we step out together.” He waved my excuse away but followed Dan, leaving me to give him a head start. I bit my lip, watching him disappear around the corner, and almost went the other way. Coward .
Past the guard securing the hallway’s privacy, the public hallway echoed with feet and conversation as attorneys, court officers, defendants, litigants, and court-watchers negotiated the space with the Brownian motion of busy crowds. I kept a good pace and probably some of Seven’s luck rubbed off on me, because I made my way downstairs and out of the Daley Center before anyone paid attention to me. Then, of course, the crowd got noisy.
Citizens for Constitutional Rights protesters covered half of Daley Plaza, only a police line keeping them away from the doors. I could tell it was the CCR by the placards saying things
The accused, Benny Larkin, was a goon (over-muscled, shaved head, steel-capped boots, a tattoo somewhere that said “Kill them all”). Goons had started showing up in Chicago after our takedown of the Brotherhood and Sanguinary Boys last year; organized, they’d gotten busy thinning out the villainless minions. Now, with Benny, they’d moved up to taking on the few street-villains we’d left free and the new ones creeping in to fill the void.
Goons vs. minions, now goons vs. supervillains. Did they just want to fill Chicago’s vacated ecological niche? And did we care? I just wanted to get back to the Dome to see how Shelly was doing on her lunch-date with Mal and find out when we got to make our pitch to Hillwood.
Dan joined us in the hall. We’d both left by the judge’s door to avoid the gallery and the newsie flock in the public hall. He shook my hand.
“Thanks, Astra. I’d have rather gotten Judge Halder, but we took it. The jury loved you. Great testimony, you’ve put Benny away.”
I squeezed back carefully and let go, just glad my part in the trial process was over.
Last May, Benny had walked up to Taipan — a D Class generic strong/fast muscle-type — on the street and shot him three times in the face (heavy caliber, armor-piercing rounds), dropped the gun, and ducked into a crowded theater-club complex. Taipan had been without minion backup that night. Drunk and surprised, he hadn’t had time to use his speed and strength at all, and Benny had been able to disappear. The only reason he hadn’t gotten away free was the single witness: me.
With villain violence way up (Blackstone said a power vacuum encouraged the survivors to take a proactive and competitive approach to filling the spots at the top), the CPD had asked us to stage random and targeted night patrols in high-violence areas. I’d been taking a break on top of a tenement building across the street.
I hadn’t been close enough, couldn’t move fast enough to stay with him, and I couldn’t chase suspects once contact had been lost unless they were in the process of committing a crime. But my description had led to a CPD BOLO and Benny’s arrest, and today my reading five random names — scribbled in tiny letters on an index card and flashed from across the courtroom — convinced the judge that I’d been able to read the tattoo on the back of his head from across the street and ten stories up.
Dan straightened his autumn-orange tie, cleared his throat. “Going out the back?”
I shook my head. “With all my fans out front? Never.” Much as I wished they’d all disappear. Seven laughed and Dan nodded reluctantly.
“Well then. I — my office will call you if we need you, but you were perfect in the cross. No chance Benny’s attorney is going to put you back on the stand. Good luck out there.” He juggled his briefcase, offered his hand again to both of us, and departed for his next engagement. Seven watched him go with his usual quirky smile, then crooked his arm.
“Shall we?”
I held up my hands. “You first — even your luck won’t let you blend in if we step out together.” He waved my excuse away but followed Dan, leaving me to give him a head start. I bit my lip, watching him disappear around the corner, and almost went the other way. Coward .
Past the guard securing the hallway’s privacy, the public hallway echoed with feet and conversation as attorneys, court officers, defendants, litigants, and court-watchers negotiated the space with the Brownian motion of busy crowds. I kept a good pace and probably some of Seven’s luck rubbed off on me, because I made my way downstairs and out of the Daley Center before anyone paid attention to me. Then, of course, the crowd got noisy.
Citizens for Constitutional Rights protesters covered half of Daley Plaza, only a police line keeping them away from the doors. I could tell it was the CCR by the placards saying things
Similar Books
