Warren Murphy - Total Recall

Total Recall

The Destroyer #58

by Richard Sapir & Warren Murphy

Copyright © 1984

by Richard Sapir and Warren Murphy

All Rights Reserved.

Total Recall

A Peanut Press Book

Published by

peanutpress.com, Inc.

www.peanutpress.com

ISBN: 0-7408-0852-4

First Peanut Press Edition

This edition published by

arrangement with

Boondock Books

www.boondockbooks.com

CHAPTER ONE

Billy Martin was fifteen years old, and already he was a repulsive little toad. That meant that when he grew up, he might graduate to a full-fledged snake— if he grew up.

Which right now looked doubtful because Billy Martin was in jail, charged with the murder of his parents, whom he had bludgeoned to death while they slept in their home in the Detroit suburbs.

The judge who handled the youth's arraignment was Wallace Turner, a notorious bleeding heart who could somehow find, in his speeches, some reason to blame society for every crime committed against it. The press covering the arraignment winked at each other, knowing that Billy would not only be released without bail; he might very well get a medal from Judge Turner for not killing his parents earlier. After all, it must have been their fault that their son was a murderer. But Turner surprised everyone. He ordered Billy held for trial as an adult murderer and set a half-million-dollar bail. He would stay in jail, Turner said. He belonged in jail.

Turner's harsh action shocked everyone involved with the Billy Martin case— everyone except the prosecutor, who had told the judge before the proceedings that if the Martin kid were set free like every other juvenile killer who went before Turner, the prosecutor would be sure to let the press in on Turner's relationship with a woman in Grosse Pointe who went by the professional name of Didi the Dominatrix.

"You can posture and preach from the bench all you want, Wally," the prosecutor said. "Just so you know when to bend in the wind." He winked at Judge Turner.

Turner winked back and bent so fast he almost broke his back. At the arraignment, he announced in his mellowest tones that the crime involved was of such heinous character that he would be derelict in his duty if he were lenient.

Immediately after announcing his decision, Judge Wallace Turner left the bench and retreated to his chambers, where he removed his robes and sat behind his desk with a sigh to await a phone call. Even though he was expecting it, he jumped when the phone rang.

"Judge Turner," he said into the receiver.

"Satisfactory," a man's voice said in low tones. "Very satisfactory."

"Uh, th-thank you," the judge stammered, but by the time he got it out, he was holding a dead phone.

* * *

Across town another phone rang, this one in the office of a lawyer named Harvey Weems. Weems had not won a case in four years, but he was without equal as an ambulance chaser. When the phone rang, he looked at it dispassionately, trying to decide whether or not to answer it. Lately, no one called him except creditors and clients threatening to sue him for mishandling their cases.

After fifteen rings, he couldn't take the suspense any longer. "Attorney's office."

"Is this Harvey Weems, the lawyer?" a man's voice asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Weems said wearily. "How much do I owe you?"

"You don't owe me anything, Mr. Weems."

"All right. How much do you want to sue me for?"

"I don't want to sue you, either."

"I don't owe you money, and you don't want to sue me?"

"That's right."

"You asked for me by name," Weems said, puzzled, "so you can't have the wrong number."

"This phone call could mean a lot of money to you," the voice said.

"Really?"

"Unless I end it now."

Not one to be slow on the uptake, Weems got the idea and shut up.

"Thank you. Mr. Weems, I have a job for you. Have you read about the Billy Martin case?"

"The kid who pounded his parents to death in their sleep? Yeah, I know a little about it."

"Very good. We— I would like you to post bail for the young man and get him out of jail."

"Post bail?" Weems asked, incredulous. "Do you know how much Judge Turner set bail for? Who in his right mind would go for that much loot to put that little pissant on the street again?"

"I would."

"Uh, you would?"

"Yes, and I'll pay you ten percent of that amount to pay the bail for me."

"Ten percent? That's very… generous," Weems said, writing the figure down oh the piece of paper and then drawing a heart around it.

"The money will be delivered to you in one hour, in small, used bills. Included will be your fee."

"In cash?" Weems asked, writing I.R.S. on the piece of paper but not drawing a heart abound it. Instead he drew a happy face with the three initials forming the nose.

"In cash. Take your fee out, then take the rest and bail out Billy Martin."

"Uh, what am I supposed to do with him after I get him out?" Weems asked. "He did just make himself an orphan, you know."

"There will be a piece of paper in with the money, with an address on it. Give it to him, and then forget about him."

"Forget him? You mean he won't be my client?"

"You are being paid to bail him out, Mr. Weems, not to represent him. Give him the address, forget him, and forget this conversation. You are being paid quite a lot of money for this job. In cash. If I thought that you weren't obeying my instructions to the letter, I'd have to notify the I.R.S. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"No," Weems said, drawing a larger heart around the smaller one containing the figure that represented his fee. "No, I wouldn't like it. You're the boss, Mr. —"

"The money will be in your office within the hour, Mr. Weems. There won't be any reason for us to talk again after this."

The man hung up without saying good-bye, leaving a puzzled Harvey Weems holding a dead line.

Fifty-three minutes later, there was a knock on Harvey Weems's office door, and he got up to answer it.

"Mr. Weems?" a young kid asked. He couldn't have been any older than Billy Martin, the one Weems was supposed to bail out.

"That's right, kid. Who're you?"

"I have something for you."

The kid picked up a brown attaché case he had put down alongside the wall next to the door and handed it to the lawyer.

"Is this the money?"

"That's what I was supposed to give you," the boy said, and then he left.

Screw him, Weems thought, closing the door. I wasn't going to tip him, anyway.

He carried the case to his desk and opened it up. Neatly piled stacks of used bills, banded together, stared up at him. For a fleeting moment Weems wondered what was to stop him from taking it all and disappearing. He took out the stacks that comprised his fee and put them in his desk, then closed the case, regretting that he didn't have the courage to find out.

He picked up the case and headed across town to bail out Billy Martin. Weems knew that the little punk was probably guilty of murdering his own parents. The pissant had practically admitted it. But Harvey Weems didn't much care. He had his fee, and he was just glad that he didn't have to defend the little snot to earn it.

That was going to be somebody else's headache.

He thought.

Jail did little to dampen Billy Martin's insolence. Weems could see that on the kid's face.

"What the hell do you want?" the kid demanded.

"I'm the man who bailed you out, son," Weems said.

"So give yourself a medal, fatso," Billy said, brushing past him.

Weems was in his early forties, easily old enough to be Billy Martin's father. He found just the possibility of that disturbing.

"Well, what are you waiting for? You want maybe I should fall to my knees and thank you?" Billy sneered.