After making it through the line outside the Supreme Court building, then the line inside the building’s concourse, Judge and friends were stuffed into a long pew in the courtroom. Good seats, even if they were tight, second row back from the “bar” the bronze rail that separates the Court, comprised of the justices and case lawyers, from visitors. The courtroom held two hundred fifty general public spectators in three sets of pews five-deep. At floor level it was a busy place, but above them were three stories of empty space bordered by carved inlays, the white marble walls covered by red and gold drapes two stories high. Day two of the fall term’s oral arguments were about to begin.
Each of the justices noticed them, or rather Owen. Associate Justice Coolsummer, the newest judge on the bench, made direct, prolonged eye contact with him. In Judge’s estimation it was an optical illusion kind of thing for them, Owen looking like a disembodied black magic voodoo head from their slightly elevated vantage point. To Judge, Owen could have used a kid’s booster seat, but mentioning this would have gotten them both tossed out on their rude asses for loud, abusive language. Besides, Owen appeared to be in his element. So serious. He studied every inch of the courtroom, the attorneys, the law clerks, the railing, and each of the justices, even scrutinized a number of the courtroom visitors. The majesty of it all showed on his solemn, beaming face. What Judge was seeing here, finally, was some maturity. An awe-inspiring moment for him. When the solemnity disappeared, it was replaced with a pleasant, contented smile.
“Judge.” Owen’s beckoning fingers waved him down to him.
Judge leaned in. “What is it now, Owen?”
“I’ve got a boner.”
A face-palm moment. “All this judicial pomp and you’re going with that?”
“Well, yeah. Easy to bust a nut, all nine judges together like this. Exciting shit, dude.”
His blog entry had telegraphed their intentions, and the bounty said she’d kill Judge’s dogs, and here was Owen thinking he was on a choose-your-own adventure.
“You’re an idiot. I swear to God, Owen…”
Geenie put her finger to her lips to shush them. Judge calmed, all of them settling in to listen to the presenting attorney at the lectern.
The second reason for the visit was to see how security was handled, considering the increased threat. Protocol now included a full body scan like at the airport, and the courtroom walls were lined with armed law enforcement. Judge counted twelve cops. The place looked secure enough that if someone tried to commit a crime here this person for sure wasn’t getting out. Threatening behavior of any kind could be a death wish on the perpetrator’s part.
Owen leaned forward to check out the spectators farther down their row. Geenie’s gaze followed his, Judge’s followed Geenie’s. Across the aisle in the other group of benches, same row as them, two Native Americans in nineteenth century buckskin, beads and feathers sat quietly, a man and a woman, each engrossed in the proceedings. Beyond them were more spectators, all settled in for the Court session, until a woman at the far end of the row leaned forward to face them. Black hair, straight and thick covering both sides of her head. Another appeared Native American, just wasn’t dressed the part. She studied Judge and his friends, didn’t try to hide that that was what she was doing, then sat back in her seat.
Owen reached into his pocket, retrieved the doctored flyer of the bounty and smoothed it out on his small lap for the three of them to see. The doodled nun-habit artwork framed the mug shot same as the straight black hair framed the face of the woman across the aisle.
Whoa. Larinda Jordan. They’d made her.
The woman slipped out of her end seat. Looked like she had made them too.
She walked casually to the closest exit. Judge popped out of his seat, climbed over other Court visitors while keeping his eyes on her. “’Scuse me, ’scuse me, move, move, MOVE.”
At the end of his row he scrambled to the rear of the courtroom, turned on the afterburners and sprinted toward the exit. He yelled at the court cops to stop her, fucking stop her, tackle her, do something, except…shit…what was in his head wasn’t what was coming out of his mouth:
“Fuck her! C-c-cunt! FUUUCK HERRR!”
The court chambers crowd murmured and stared as the court cops converged on Judge, not his bounty. Taking longer and faster strides, she reached the exit. Judge was a few strides behind, still babbling like an epileptic carnival barker. Once in the concourse it was more open, less confining, better visibility and…
A sumo-sized cop crashed into him, jammed his chin into his chest, lifted him off his feet and body-slammed him. A second cop, then a third, joined them. Judge’s Tourette’s outburst eased up only because he had little air left in his lungs.
They flipped him onto his stomach. Knees pressed into his shoulders, and a bony third knee punished his temple, grinding his cheek flat against the chilly marble. The handcuffs were out, his wrists soon attached together behind his back, his shoulder blades feeling the strain…
“…Wuhmun,” came out almost coherent, but was all he had. “Wuh-munnn…!”
The cold steel of a gun barrel bore into his ear. “U.S. Deputy Marshal Trenton. Do. Not Resist.”
Nearby on his left, Owen leaned into Judge’s line of vision, talked to him, yelled at the cops until they tased him and put him onto his stomach, his butt cheeks twitching like electrified jumping beans. The concourse pedestrians stopped to gawk, all except one. Geenie slipped past the commotion, picked up her pace, and kept moving in the direction the target had taken.
The cops…they needed to know who, what, they’d missed. Soon as they sat Judge down and his head cleared, they would, but the lights started dimming, he was fading…