Sean Black - Deadlock

‘You said in your deposition that there was a letter you received a few days after the murders,’ Jalicia pressed on. ‘You said that in that letter-’

Gross was on his feet again. ‘Can someone remind Ms Jones that we are here to hear from her witness, not her?’

Before the judge could speak, Reaper interrupted, leaning as far forward in his chair as he could, lasering in on Jalicia. ‘You asked me what I believed before that scum-sucking commie over there’ — Reaper nodded at Gross — ‘broke in. Well, I’ll tell you what I believe. I believe, with all my heart, in the fourteen words. The words spoken by a true American patriot before the Zionist Occupation Government murdered him. The words abandoned and forgotten by so-called comrades-in-arms in that dock.’

Reaper was on his feet now, pointing at the six defendants. The two guards next to him struggled to get him to sit down, but it wasn’t a fair match. They were both big guys, but Reaper had ten years of six hours’ exercise a day on them.

‘The fourteen words are: “We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children”,’ he bellowed, shoulders back, his torso military-straight.

He sat back down so hard that Jalicia could feel the floor beneath her feet vibrate. Then he started to cough violently. His shoulders hunched, he waved for his glass of water. One of the guards handed it to him.

As he raised the glass to his lips, it spilled from his grasp, bouncing off the edge of the dock and shattering on the floor. By now Reaper was doubled over, his right hand reaching up to massage his left shoulder, then moving across to his chest. Finally, he keeled over, taking one of the guards down with him, still struggling for breath.

Disbelieving silence gave way to whispers of confusion. As the noise level in the courtroom rose in volume, the judge banged his gavel. ‘Session adjourned. Clear the court.’

The six members of the Aryan Brotherhood in the dock craned forward expectantly. Across the room, Carrie held on to Lock’s arm.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ she whispered.

Lock shrugged. When it came to Reaper, it was anyone’s guess.

Streetlights flickered into life as Lock emerged from the front of the Medford courthouse. Looking up, he could see a police sniper on a nearby rooftop, framed by the fading sunset. Lock crossed to where Carrie was standing with her cameraman, a bearded woodsman type sporting a flannel shirt and dungarees who’d been drafted in from a local affiliate station. Lock pulled her a safe distance from him and the other assembled members of America’s media who clogged the sidewalk.

‘He’s fine,’ he told her.

‘What was it? He looked like he was having a heart attack in there.’

Lock shook his head. ‘They ran an ECT. It wasn’t a heart attack.’

‘So what was it?’

‘Some kind of anxiety thing.’

‘A panic attack?’ Carrie asked, disbelieving.

Lock shrugged. ‘The excitement must have been too much for him. First time outside prison in ten years, half a dozen men across the court wishing him into the ground — who knows?’

‘You think he faked it?’ Carrie asked.

It was the first thing that had crossed Lock’s mind, and he’d said as much to the paramedic who wanted to transfer Reaper to the nearest hospital for further tests. With Jalicia’s help, Lock had won the day, and they’d stabilized Reaper inside the court. But if Reaper had been faking, it was an Oscar-worthy performance.

‘I don’t know,’ he said.

‘So what happens now?’

‘There’s nothing physically wrong with him so nine o’clock tomorrow morning he’s back on the stand.’

‘Where they gonna keep him?’

Lock lowered his voice a notch. He’d been asked by Jalicia to advise on security until the Marshals Service could put in place proper replacements for their fallen comrades. ‘A holding cell inside. It’s best not to move him, although that’s not what your buddies are going to be told.’ He nodded in the direction of the press pack. ‘We’re going to move a decoy out. Muddy the trail a little.’

‘What about the six defendants?’

‘They’re staying in a different part of the same building.’

‘Isn’t that risky?’

Lock took a step back, another sniper coming into focus on a different rooftop. A police helicopter buzzed low, chasing off a couple of television news helicopters that were hovering above the courthouse snatching some overhead footage before nightfall completely engulfed the scene. ‘Right now, everything’s risky.’

Carrie sighed. ‘At least Jalicia got through most of what she wanted.’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Lock. ‘Tomorrow’s about tying up some loose ends and then the defense having their opportunity to pick it all apart, but as far as the jury’s concerned the damage is pretty much done.’ He looked at Carrie. ‘Which is just as well for you.’

She glanced up at him, puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, it took one hell of a lot of persuasion, and I had to throw in my best friend almost being killed, but I got you the interview you wanted with Reaper.’

Carrie’s mouth fell open. ‘No way. Jalicia agreed?’

‘Reluctantly, but yes. Coburn, Ken’s boss from the ATF, showed up when I was talking to her about it. He thought that Reaper on the tube might get the bigwigs in Washington to start paying some more attention to the threat white supremacists pose to domestic security, which would mean more money for his budget.’

‘And two bombed Federal Buildings won’t do that?’ Carrie said.

‘Body count wasn’t high enough, plus, as far as the politicians are concerned, it ain’t real unless it’s on primetime, right?’

Carrie smiled. ‘And what does Reaper think about this?’

‘Seems like he’s turning into quite the attention-whore. Now he’s started talking, no one can shut him up. He’s said that nothing’s off limits. You can ask him anything.’ He paused. ‘There are some conditions, however. It can’t be broadcast until after the verdict. In fact Jalicia and Coburn don’t even want it mentioned that you’ve done it until the jury are back.’

‘That’s fairly standard. Anything else?’

‘You’re not going to have a lot of time to prepare.’

‘How come?’

‘Because it’s scheduled for tonight at midnight.’

‘That means I have less than six hours.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Lock, leaning in to steal a kiss. ‘You’re like me.’

‘In what way?’

He grinned. ‘You always do your best work under pressure.’

It was two minutes to midnight in downtown Medford. With Lock behind him, Reaper walked into the blaze of TV lights, a prize fighter staking out his spot at the weigh-in. Still clad in his suit and tie, he looked more like an aging rock star than an avowed neo-Nazi psychopath. He settled into the chair opposite Carrie as Lock and two US Marshals took up a position directly behind him.

Carrie flicked through her notes as the camera settled over her shoulder to capture Reaper’s answers. While the interview was a major coup for Carrie, Lock had thought that it might also serve as a way of drawing out Reaper’s true motives for betraying his former brothers-in-arms. But before they got to that, Carrie had told Lock she wanted the viewers at home to know exactly the kind of person Reaper really was.

‘Mr Hays, why are you currently serving three life sentences without possibility of parole?’

Lock watched Reaper straighten in his chair, the muscles in his back tightening visibly as he did so.

‘Like I said in court today, I was standing up for the most beaten-down minority in America today.’