“By Genblade,” John spat, clenching his fists. “So, no, we will not be running any stories about how Xander Drew wants to help Genblade. Or any stories about anyone but Genblade being the killer. We will not be doing anything that poses even the slightest doubt onto his guilt. And for the record, any interest, even a passing one, in that monster should not be called anything remotely human.”
“Yes sir,” Don nodded, standing. “I’m sorry, sir. I just... I guess I just thought...”
“What?” the older man huffed, letting his palms fall to the desk. “What did you think?”
“I thought maybe I could help. That we could break this open.”
John laughed, wiping his mouth with his sweat-covered palm.
“What?”
“Even if I let this story go to print, which I am not, there is no way that it will result in the vindication of Genblade or Xander, or the downfall of anyone else. The information isn’t relevant to anything. It barely even qualifies as information. Leave the investigative reporting to the investigative reporters.”
“Sir, I can be a - -”
“No, you can’t,” John yelled, standing up as Don took a pace back. “You know what investigative reports do, Don? They investigate things. They do not sit around the office, waiting for a story to come over the fax machine,” he said, waving his hands toward the machine. “They go out and look into things. They leave the office from time to time. You take useless information and try to build a story around it. Worse, it’s information everybody already knows. Seriously, it’s not like Drew’s involvement is a state secret or something.”
Don sighed, turning away from the desk and heading toward the door. When his hand touched the brass knob he stopped, turning his head slightly to look at his editor. “If I’m as bad as all that, then why hire me?”
“Because you’re good at all the other stuff,” he drawled, sitting back down and straightening the picture of his daughter. “You’re good at getting the quote from the Mayor and getting just the right photo to go with our lead story. You excel at all the things that Drake can’t be bothered with.”
Don nodded, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
John double-clicked on the S drive and found the story Don had placed there, deleting it without even opening it. Nothing like that was going to break a story like this open.
Natasha Mayer walked with a power in her step.
Courthouses, especially this one, had always scared her, ever since she had been a little girl. Her mother had been called to it more than once during her childhood and she’d learned to associate with bad feelings from a point very early in her life. In the years since she had learned to put on the brave face, censuring which emotions that she let others see. Now, as she strode down the lime marble hallways carrying her opening statements in hand, she made sure that the only one she displayed was calm. Inside, her stomach still fluttered at the sight of the large stone pillars and gothic moldings that made up the antiquated Coral Beach courthouse.
A statue of the blind justice stood looming at her at the end of the hall, holding the scales out in front of her and pointing them directly at Natasha. As a child she remembered thinking that the statue was mad at her, somehow. The sculptor had made its gaze too stern and instead of the tempered frown, the woman’s head was forever drawn back in a subdued scowl. Now she almost pitied the woman holding the scales, forced to carry the weight of either side for eternity, no matter which way the scales tipped. “Justice isn’t only blind. She’s enslaved,” she mumbled to herself as she passed by the tall stone figure. Composing herself again, she stuck her nose into the air and continued her strut down the hallway towards the courtroom.
She past the massive doors of petrified wood and nodded to the bailiff, her heels clacking all the way up through the center of the gallery, finding her way to the defense desk. She placed her briefcase upon it gently, maneuvering it tediously until it was in just the right position. When she was done, she turned back to the rows of empty seats behind her and let out a sigh, the first signs of real emotion she’d let pass since entering the building.
Soon the seats behind her would be filled with the loved ones of those Genblade had killed, media, legal students and just about anyone that would fit from the citizenry of Coral Beach. In her mind’s eye, she could almost see three rings forming in the colors of the seats to make it a real circus.
“Nervous?” asked the bailiff, stroking his thick goatee as the sweat stains beneath each of his armpits grew to immense proportions.
“How am I supposed to look at them?” she asked, smiling at him as best she could. “I’m defending the person who killed their children. The person that destroyed all their lives.”
“That’s why the judge is up front, Miss,” he responded, pointing toward the head of the courtroom. “So you don’t have to face them.”
I hope Xander comes soon, she thought to herself, turning back toward the table.
The doors behind her swung open, startling her to the point that her composure fell and she let out a little squeal.
Megan Greene strode into the courtroom, her walk strong and confident. Her red hair flowed behind her as she walked, catching the sunlight that shone in through the large stain glass windows. Three men, each of whom looked very lanky and weak, walked silently behind her. Everything about her entrance, from the way she walked down to those little lackeys who were no doubt nothing but yes men,
