William Rabkin - Psych - Mind Over Magic

The criminal justice system was a farce. Millions of lawyers fought in thousands of courtrooms, and the result was almost always the same. Criminals walked free and victims were hurt all over again.

Henry Spencer had been fighting this realization for all the years he’d been a member of the Santa Barbara Police Department. He’d had to, because if he had ever acknowledged it, he’d never have been able to put on his blues in the morning.

But as of today, there was no longer any way to deny the truth. The court had jammed his face in it as surely as if he were a puppy that had left a mess on the living room carpet.

Six months Henry had been tracking a bunko crew. Six months he had interviewed the little old ladies whose life savings had been scammed away by these sleazebags. Finally he’d been allowed to set up a sting and the creeps walked right into it-caught on tape, caught with the cash, caught with no doubt.

Except to the United States criminal justice system, that was. For them, there was plenty of doubt. Reasonable doubt, they called it, but it was only reasonable if you could bring yourself to believe that the crooks accidentally switched a bag full of scrap paper for the one holding their victim’s life savings, and then accidentally used her money to buy first-class tickets to Antigua.

Henry slammed through his front door and kicked it shut behind him. He should be at the station right now, finalizing the paperwork on a burglary case that was going to arraignment tomorrow, but what was the point? Even if he did everything perfectly, the defense lawyer would argue that the defendant thought he was entering his own house, and that he only crowbarred open a second-story window because he’d misplaced his keys. And the idiot prosecutor would be unable to come up with a way to argue the point.

Henry tossed his gun in the safe and banged it shut, spinning the combination lock. He didn’t want the feel of the weapon against his thigh; he didn’t need any more temptation-especially since he had a sixer of Anchor Steam in the fridge and no one he needed to share it with.

He pushed his way through the swinging door into the kitchen and froze. Where he had left breakfast dishes scattered over the table, there now arose an enormous tiered edifice of white frosting with a small plastic bride and groom standing on top.

“Shawn!” he shouted. “Get down here.”

Two small faces appeared on either side of the wedding cake. Henry was pretty sure they belonged to his son Shawn and Shawn’s best friend, Gus, but both were so completely smeared with white, they could have been snowmen.

“Hi, Dad,” one of them said in Shawn’s voice. “Want some cake?”

“I want you to tell me where you got this,” Henry said. “And then I want you to tell me exactly how much trouble you’re in.”

“It’s our cake, Dad,” Shawn said.

“Which I’ll believe as soon as you show me the ring on Gus’ finger,” Henry said.

Gus lifted both hands and waggled his fingers. No rings. “We went into the bakery and Shawn asked for the biggest, best cake they had. And they had this, because someone had ordered it and never picked it up.”

“Poor Kathleen,” Shawn said. “If only she’d listened to her father. He knew Steve was no-good, that lousy two-timer.”

Henry could feel the blood vessels under his scalp constricting. His day had been bad enough already without having to deal with his own son’s malfeasance.

“Even accepting that this ludicrous story is true,” Henry said, “where could you have possibly gotten the money for a cake like this?”

“They gave us a big discount,” Gus said. “Apparently there isn’t much of a market for used wedding cakes.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Henry said. “But you went into the bakery and asked for the biggest, best cake they had. And I want to know where did you get the money for that?”

Shawn shrugged innocently. “Oh, you know,” he said. “Around.”

Henry briefly considered his alternatives. He could get the gun out of his safe, but Henry had long felt that if the imposition of discipline required the threat of deadly force, you’d probably lost the moral authority needed for good parenting. He played with the notion of putting Shawn across his knee and waling on him, but deep down Shawn was Henry’s son, and physical punishment would only make him more stubborn.

No, Henry wasn’t going to get anything out of Shawn. The kid just didn’t seem to have a conscience-at least not an internal conscience. Fortunately, the external model was tiptoeing toward the door, his face still covered with frosting.

“Gus,” Henry said softly. “Son. Tell me. Where did the money come from?”

Gus froze. “I’ve got to be getting home now,” he said. “My folks are probably waiting for me.”

“I’m sure they are, Gus,” Henry said. “Say, why don’t I give you a ride?”

“Uh, no, thanks, that’s okay,” Gus said.

“It’s really no problem,” Henry said. “I’ll just run you over to your house. Of course, I should probably walk you to your front door, just to make sure everything’s okay.”

“Honestly, you don’t have to do that,” Gus said.

“Really, Dad,” Shawn said, “Gus has walked up his front steps lots of times.”

“That way I can say hello to your folks,” Henry said. “Lovely people, so proud of their son. I’m sure they’ll be dying to hear how their talented boy made so much money in one day.”

Gus stared at Shawn, who glared back at him. Then he turned back to Henry. “Shawn did it,” he said. “He was playing spot the lady.”

“Spot the lady?” Henry said. “That sounds like fun. Do you think I could play?”

Shawn sighed-caught. “Costs a dollar.”

Henry reached for his wallet, then pulled his hand away. “I think we should play one round for free.”

Shawn shot one last glare at Gus. He wiped his hands on his shirttail to get the icing off, then wiped them again on Gus’ shirt to make sure they were clean. Then he dug in his shirt pocket and came out with three playing cards. With great effort he shoved the wedding cake to the edge of the table to clear off a space, then put the three cards down with their faces up. There were two numbered clubs and the queen of hearts.

“It’s a card game,” Henry exclaimed. “Why don’t you show me how to play.”

“It’s really easy,” Shawn said. “I shuffle the cards around. You pick out the queen and you win.”

“My, that does sound easy,” Henry said. “Let’s try.”

Shawn flipped the cards over and smushed them around on the table. Henry pointed to the card in the middle, and Shawn turned it over. It was the queen.

“Congratulations, you win,” Shawn said. “Now I’m tired. I think I should go to bed.”

“Not quite yet,” Henry said. “I want to see you play it for real.”

“That was for-”

“For real.”

Shawn started to move the cards around the table again. This time he moved them quickly and kept up a fast patter. “Okay, find the lady, find the lady, she’s looking for you, only one dollar, be a man.”

Shawn separated the three cards and stepped back. Henry pointed at the center card. Shawn flipped it over. A club.

“Sorry, Dad, you lose,” Shawn said. “You can just add the dollar to my allowance.”

Shawn started to collect the cards, but Henry was faster. His hand slammed down on the table and before Shawn could stop him, he turned over the other two-also clubs.

“Where’s the queen, Shawn?” Henry growled.

“That’s what you’re supposed to figure out,” Shawn said. “That’s what makes the game fun.”