The buzzing, it wasn’t just in his head. The smell of petrol washed over Morgan. A wind blew through the office, banging doors. It carried yells from below. A thousand voices raised in protest. Blood dripped merrily into his eyes, blurring the desks to outlines. He heard the tap of footwear and his fist balled.
“They say justice is blind.”
“I have a warrant,” he warned.
By the sound of her heels, the woman was to his left.
“That means nothing to them.”
An arm moved in front of him. His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. He felt her flinch. His knees ground as he rose, ready to fight again. No one struck. She had no backup. He jerked her arm overhead and leaned in close. Cheap perfume and sweat. The stink of the enemy. Yet, fluttering down into his face was a tissue. He let go.
 
Aine drew back, clutching her wrenched wrist. He towered over her, larger than the world. That savage strength! Even blinded and blinking he looked a tiger trying to work out if she was food. For a moment she wanted to confess, anything, everything, just to get it over with. Her stomach churned at the thought of what those fists could do.
“Who are you? What do you want?” he growled.
“Justice.”
Outside the mob howled, hurling rocks to drive away a helicopter. Morgan dabbed at his eyes to little effect “Go down to the lobby and the guards will escort you out.”
“He’s in the board room with twelve legal aides, two Kings Inns, the rest retainers. They have habeus corpus, quo warranto, in ten minutes Certiorari right to the supreme court. What are you going to do? Hit them?”
Morgan snorted, all he saw was the red rag “Where’s the boardroom?”
“I can guide you. I’ve seen their files. I know their tactics.”
“You work for them.”
“I’ve seen their evil and how they get away with it.”
“If this is a trick, or a ploy for sympathy… You will share the fate of the accused.”
Aine nodded. She went over to the stairwell and with a phone, shattered the glass. The fire alarm added to the background noise of chaos. She unhooked a fireaxe. It was a slender thing, with a head made for chopping wood. Gingerly she offered it to him. Morgan took up the axe like one born to it. He stared through her. Surely it was just the blood but she remembered youthful indiscretions, of those childish years playing punk and antifa. She was in the spider’s lair, climbing on the tiger’s back.
“Let’s go.”
 
The board room was an oasis of calm. In high-backed chairs they sat, sorting through accounts, referencing precedents, straightening alibis. Their suits were identical but their ties bore a certain frivolity.
“False imprisonment,” said one. “Unfair media representation,” another. One was on the phone to the Bar Council.
And at the head of his twelve disciples sat the Man in Black. It was to his chagrin that he had no drink for the occasion. Stirring a cup of tea lacked that je ne sais. On a whim he pulled out his phone.
“How’s it going down there, Inspector?”
“We’ve got them away from the doors sir. There’s no way we’ll be able to get your car out yet though.”
“You’re doing a marvellous job all the same, Tom.”
He left the phone down “Where do you think for dinner? I fancy a little meat.”
 
The door slammed open. A young man, little more than a boy, stood there, in surplus riot gear. He glared with glassy eyes from a blood drenched face. In his hands was an axe.
“I have a warrant for the arrest of-”
The solicitors leapt for him. Their briefcases were shields, their documents swords. Their battle cries were “Failure to serve!”
The boy went down under their weight. Blood joined with blood on his face as they cut him, wrestled him down and buried him in red tape. The Man in Black felt some sympathy. He’d been young once and filled with righteous fury. A flicker of movement caught his eye. Beyond the brawl he saw her, fumbling for the name. Allie? No, Aoife? She was lugging a law journal. He took out his phone again.
“Inspector, any word on that car?”
“Sorry sir, we haven’t tried since.”
“Could you be a pal and give it another go? In fact, I’d consider it a favour if you’d hurry.”
“Sir?”
She darted into the fray, yelling the name of some obscure procedure. The solicitors fell back, blocking the exit.
“Just do it please, inspector.”
The Man in Black rose from his seat. But the tide had turned. Up from the fray rose that bloody, scarred boy, his axe raised high. The solicitors heaved on him, the barristers beat at him. Twelve of the finest men and women money could buy. And he swung, twelve times in all, to the sound of Aine’s pronouncements. He stood amidst the debris of shattered appeals.
“For all who betray justice, I am their fate. And fate carries an executioner's axe.”
The Man in Black could still see their arguments dying, punctured by that sharp little one. He should have seen her coming. It was right there in the name.
The boy approached him, blind, unrepentant. He brandished the axe.
“Mr O’Meara, you are wanted before the court.”

1 Comment

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  • Herohshima  
    This was tres cool, but I'm not sure what to think of the cast of characters!

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