Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1) (59 page)

It was Jackson’s first appearance with Bishop and he was surprised to see the DA handle this case in person. Bishop was a man on a mission, and he encouraged the whole DA’s office to carry out their civic duties with a crusader’s religious zeal.

He reminded Jackson of an officer in the corps who thought in terms of patriotism and what he saw as, ‘Doing right in the struggle.’ Jackson thought it led to bad judgment.

Being new at the bar, he didn’t share his views.

Jackson looked around but he didn’t see Maryette in the courtroom.

The court rose for Judge Hooper’s entry at ten o’clock precisely and he got the proceedings under way less than three minutes later.
 

Bishop’s opening remarks echoed in the high-ceilinged room. With few bodies on the hard surfaces, Bishop used the weighty tone of his voice and left long pauses so his words hung in the air.

He called the jury, “Good citizens,” and he evoked, “the scourge of violent men.” Jackson thought he was going over the line and he watched Judge Hooper. The judge’s eyes narrowed at some of Bishop’s extravagances, but he allowed them.

Jackson envied Bishop’s practiced theatrical ease, and he hadn’t prepared his opening defense to sound like a sermon with biblical resonance or appeals to primal vengeance. He gave his outline of the flaws and weaknesses in the prosecution’s case.

When he sat, he felt that he’d come prepared for a school debate and contended with a Roman senator.

After Jackson’s speech, Kirwen Bishop stood to call the investigating officer, a granite-faced young detective called Frank Gracey.

Gracey announced that the complainant, Mr. Treacher, was unwilling to testify. Unprompted, he added that Mr. Sage had outlined a solid defense. Jackson blinked but he saw no advantage in questioning Gracey. The DA glowered at the detective as he left the stand.

Bishop shuffled efficiently through his bundle and then he rose again to announce that the state would offer no other evidence at this time.

A ripple of surprise crossed Judge Hooper’s brow as he dismissed the case and banged his gavel, but he was clearly glad to see the day moving along. On the way out of the courtroom Jackson caught up with Gracey, whom he hardly knew.

“What was that about a ‘solid defense’?” he asked Gracey straight, “You had no reason to say that.”

Gracey’s voice was rich and languid, “Sport, word gets out about that, you’re about to become the go-to defender for bangers, bikers and who knows what other species of pond-life.” Jackson could read no expression on the detective’s face at all as he said, “I made it rain for you, Sport. Be glad.”

Gracey crossed the tiled courthouse lobby and waited by the door. Jackson stopped there with him. McGhee stepped out from the courthouse to greet Frank. As they walked through the door, before the sun had lit the whole of McGhee’s face, Gracey arrested him with a whole list of violent offenses, including arson and trafficking in controlled substances. A marshall appeared at McGhee’s side.

As he was led away, McGhee caught Jackson’s eye. He said, “Well, you won this time. lawyer. And I guess I’m going to be your first repeat customer.”

Frank Gracey turned back to Jackson. “Could your day get any better?”

Chapter 9

The detective and the marshal led his client to the prison wagon, and a dull gray Camaro kicked up dust as it bucked out of the court lot. Jackson made out Maryette’s profile as the car sped away.

Two matte black Harleys followed the Camaro out in a hurry. As the car hit the freeway, it accelerated hard. Jackson was already firing up his own bike when the two scooters were pulling alongside the Camaro, and Maryette gunned the engine. The three vehicles swept out on a curve and out of sight.

Jack's engine roared and he hung on as the handlebars lifted and tugged hard on his arms. He got out onto the winding freeway and, for the first half mile, he couldn't see them. Then he saw the bikes boxing the Camaro, one in front and one behind.

With the throttle wound all the way open, he was hardly gaining on them. They pulled off onto a local road, still moving fast. The wind was cold at that speed and made his suit coat flap. He wished he had his leather jacket as the group ahead wheeled off onto a dirt road.

Jack's back wheel skidded and almost broke loose as he made the turn onto the bumpy dirt track. There was no sign of them ahead. His pulse raced as he slowed to watch either side.

With a rising sense of alarm, he passed untended bushes and scrub, trees dirt, rocks and not much else. Then, off to the side he caught sight of a cabin. Out front were the bikes and the Camaro. He killed his engine, stopped and leaned the bike on its stand.

The wood cabin was small, maybe two rooms, and it was old and rickety. From the scrub surrounding it, it didn't look like it as in regular use. The ground out front was overgrown, so no vehicles parked there regularly.

Hearing his own motor tick, he crouched low as he approached. On the way he spotted an tin can and he picked it up. He watched the cabin. Nothing moved. Back by his bike, Jackson took off his suit coat and tore the arms off his shirt.

He stuffed one arm into the can and packed it with stones and dirt. Reaching in below the bike's fuel tank, he flipped off the gas tap and disconnected the fuel line. With the end of the line in the top of the can, he turned the tap back on to run gas in to soak the shirtsleeve.

Then he soaked the other sleeve and twisted it as tight as he could. He shoved the end of the sleeve in the top of the can, then folded and flattened the open mouth over the sleeve. With no tools to hand, it wasn't a perfect seal, but it was all he had time to make. He hoped it would work.

Keeping as low and as quiet as he could, Jackson circled wide around to the far side of the cabin. He kept low and made a quiet approach until he was near enough to hear the rumble of voices inside. There wasn't much sound.

Jackson dug a shallow trough in the dirt with his hands to bury the can, and packed it tight with dirt and rocks. He trailed the protruding shirtsleeve as long as it would go. It wasn’t long. He’d have to move fast.

With his brass Zippo lighter, he lit the end of the shirtsleeve, scurried around the front of the cabin and crouched by the door. Almost as soon as he was there, a loud, satisfying explosive
CRUMP
from out back was followed by the sound of showering stones.

The door flew open and a man dashed out. Wiley had on shades and he was carrying an AK47 rifle. Jackson rose as he jerked his fist in a jackhammer up into Wiley’s jaw and he snagged Wiley's leg with his own. As Wiley fell forward and splayed on the deck, Jackson snatched the AK47.

As he pressed the barrel on Wiley’s neck, he heard the slide and click of a pump-action shotgun from inside the cabin. Hendricks’ voice followed it. “Sage, if that’s you, lemme hear your voice and I won’t have to start shooting.”

~~~~

“Hendricks.” He called back, “I wasn’t expecting to see you quite so soon.”

“Come on in then, and don’t have a weapon in your hand.”

“I’ve got Wiley’s AK, but I’ll hold it by the barrel.” He bent down to Wiley, still flat on the decking, keeping the barrel at his neck. “Wait up,” he called back to Hendricks. “I’ve got his Glock, too.”

From inside the cabin, Hendricks said, “Okay.”

“Oh, and his Sig Sauer. Wait, and a blade, looks like it’s for gutting a whale. Hendricks, are you expecting the cartels of Medellin? Is there something I should know?”

“You know Wiley loves his toys.”

“Okay. I don’t have anything to secure him with. I’d probably need a crane and a tree anyway. I’m going to have to bring him in and keep the AK on him. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Just keep it pointed down.”

Jackson told Wiley, “You know I have to do this.”

“Yeah, it’s alright. I’d do the same.”

“You got any more weapons I need to know about?”

“I ain’t going to shoot you, Sage.”

So he knew he was looking for another gun. He found a nine millimeter stuck in Wiley’s boot.

Jackson couldn’t resist a smile, “That it?”

“I got a Swiss Army knife. You want that?”

“No. You can take a radio apart or scale some fish if you want. Let’s go.”

Wiley groaned. Jackson said, “I know you’d do the same for me.”

Jackson packed the handguns into his belt. He couldn’t think of a safe way to carry the three-foot knife so he left it outside on the deck.
 

Wiley groaned when Jackson prodded the gun into back of his neck. Jackson chuckled as he said, “I know you’d do the same for me.” Wiley crawled on his belly into the cabin.

Hendricks sat on a chair on the far side of the cabin, near the only other door. The door was closed. He kept the pump action pointed at Jackson as he came in. “Just a formality. Since you’re holding an AK.”

Two more rifles were propped by the side of him, along with what looked like a box of grenades.

Jackson asked him, “How did you know it was me, Hendricks? Were you expecting me, or did you see me on the road behind you?”

“Both. But the hastily improvised explosive device was the clincher.”

“Maryette here?”

Hendricks inclined his head towards the door. “Probably under the cot, after all the noise.”

“She here of her own free will?”

“Go in and ask her.”

“I think I’d better keep a bead on Wiley. Just till we get clear.”

“You were always good, Jackson.”

“So. Why is she here?”

“It’s a place the DA doesn’t know about. There’s an idea in the club that he may want to talk to her. Before McGhee’s hearing. It would be more convenient if he didn’t have that opportunity.”

“She under a subpoena?”

“Nope. Far as I know.”

“OK, no problem.”

Hendricks said, “Well, aside from you knowing that she’s here. If the DA asks you?”

“I’d have to tell him. Is that likely to happen?”

“Probably not.”

Jackson thought. “Maybe you should give me your cell number now.”

“Will you use it to let me know if the DA asks where Maryette is?”

“I couldn’t do that, Hendricks. But I told you there was something I wanted to talk over with you.”

Hendricks held his gaze. Jackson went on, “Maybe I’d call in the next couple of days.”
 

Hendricks nodded, “Before the hearing?”

“Or maybe it could wait until after.”

Hendricks nodded. “You could be taking a chance.”

“I hope not.”

“Good enough. You want to see Maryette before you go?”

Jackson look down at Wiley. “Would I be taking a chance?”

From the ground, Wiley said, “Nah. You’re good.”

Hendricks told Jackson, “You should probably hand him back his trinkets before you leave, though.”

In the other square room, Maryette sat on the cot by the window. Jackson was immediately relieved.
She’s obviously not being held captive
, he thought,
Hendricks would never leave her alone in a room with a window if she was.

Her smoky voice curled into his head, almost too quiet to hear. “Have you come to save me?” His heart thumped.

“Do you need saving?”

“No.” She looked up at him, “I might like it though.”

 
“Are you being held here against your will?”

“What will you do if I say, ‘yes’?”

“Don’t play games with me, Maryette.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were safe. And I can see that you are.”

She stood and slowly crossed the floor to him. “Is that
all
you wanted,” she said, close, looking up at him. The warmth of her body was unsettling. His throat was dry, “Are you sure that’s
all
, Jack?” she lifted an eyebrow as her teeth teased her red lip.

A strong surge of sensation cascaded through his chest and his stomach. His blood pumped so hard he heard it beat. His cock stiffened so fast it jammed, still pointed downwards and his pants tightened awkwardly around the top of his leg. He had to get out of there. Even if he were to follow the throb of his physical instinct, a cabin with Hendricks and Wiley in the next room wasn’t going to be the place.
 

Chapter 10

They were all back in Judge Hooper’s courtroom, Bishop included, for the hearing on McGhee’s arson and trafficking charges. The evidence was compelling and plentiful, and McGhee had offered Jackson nothing of any use in the way of mitigation.

Turned out Gracey hadn’t cared too much about losing the original charge. When McGhee had been languishing in the state pen awaiting trial for the later indictments, Gracey had offered him a plea bargain on the Treacher case. DA Bishop was none too pleased about it though.

Treacher then made a sudden and miraculous recovery from his injuries and said that he was unwilling to testify. It was shortly after that when he had an equally sudden setback leaving the hospital. He emerged out of a seventh-floor window.

No amount of energetic defense on Jackson’s part was going to make a difference and Judge Hooper was relaxed and businesslike handing McGhee five for the arson and two to ten for trafficking.

All of the easy money and the good money in criminal law was in defending. Jackson knew that. The prosecution has to get more or less everything right. One hole and they’re sunk.
 

Effective use of the presumption of innocence meant that for most of the time a competent defender only had to get enough right for reasonable doubt. He also knew that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the easy money, nor with its sources.

Not when it meant defending the McGhees of this world. Those thoughts led him again into thoughts about his father and that left him torn. Jackson wanted to believe that the connection between he and Karl was purely biological. That it was finished nine months before he was born.

He’d like to have thought that he and Karl had nothing in common. That they didn’t share anything more significant than markers on a chain of DNA.

‘A man’s entitled to a fair trial and a good defense,’ Karl would say. Jackson’s response would be, ‘Sure, but when he’s guilty, he ought to be a man and say so, not hide behind lies, technicalities and confusion.’