The Order of Brigid's Cross - The Wild Hunt (Book 1): The Wild Hunt (10 page)

Attorney Peter J. O’Bryan had an Ivy League law degree,
played quarterback at Notre Dame, was one of the most respected lawyers in the
city of Chicago, and loved flashy sports cars.
 
Although getting his wheelchair in and out of the backseat was a pain in
the ass, the handling of the car was worth the grief.
 
He pulled into the handicapped parking spot, opened
his door, shifted in his seat and one-armed the wheelchair over the seat and
onto the pavement next to him.
 
Positioning it correctly, he swung his body from the car into the chair,
flipped the car door closed and clicked the locking mechanism on his keychain.

Setting his tie straight and making sure his expensive,
Italian-made suit was aligned, he touched the controls on his wheelchair and
rolled up the ramp into the front lobby of the Twelfth Precinct.

“Can I help you?” the officer behind the tall, reception
desk inquired, looking down at Pete.

Pete pressed a lever, and the seat of the chair rose so he
could be eye to eye with the officer. “Yes, you can help me,” Pete said,
drawing a card from his coat pocket and sliding it under the partition between
them. “My client, Jamal Gage, has just been picked up by some of your officers
and is on his way here. I need to see him immediately, before any processing
takes place.”

“I don’t know…” the officer began.

“My client is a juvenile,” Pete said firmly. “The officers
did not give his guardian the option of accompanying him here and did not give
her the address of where he was going to be held, pursuant to Section 4-405,
Illinois Statute 705 of the Juvenile Court Act of 1987. Now, Officer, I suggest
you get on the radio and have those officers
deliver
my client to the front lobby before any other infringements of his rights
occur.”

Turning away from the lawyer, the officer picked up the
phone and spoke quietly into it for a few moments, making furtive glances in
Pete’s direction.
 
Pete pulled out his
phone, looked at his texts and smiled.
 
He
watched the officer for another moment, biding his time, and then tapped on the
glass.
 
The officer stopped his conversation
and came back to the window. “Is there something else?” he asked.

Pete nodded. “Why yes, as a matter of fact, there is,” he
said. “My associate has been following the police cars that have custody of my
client. I just wanted to inform them that all of my associates’ vehicles are
equipped with a dash cam that is required to be running at all times. I’m
afraid the officers may be inadvertently videotaped.
Nothing
personal.
They don’t have a problem with that, do they?”

The officer quickly went back to the phone and relayed the
information.
 
He came back a few minutes
later. “They don’t have a problem with that, Mr. O’Bryan,” he replied politely,
although his jaw was clenched tightly. “And they will be arriving with your
client directly.”

Smiling, Pete rolled back a few inches from the counter.
“Thank you for your help,” he said. “I have lunch once a week with the police commissioner.
I’ll be glad to let him know how professional you and your colleagues have been
in this matter.”

“The police commissioner?” the officer repeated, his face
turning a light shade of purple.

“Old family friend,” Pete replied with a shrug. “No big
deal. He was the best man at my father’s wedding.”

The officer pasted a smile on his face and nodded.
 
Pete rolled farther away from the counter,
noting the officer’s dash to the phone and his frantic conversation.

As promised, Jamal was led into the precinct lobby in a
matter of moments. Other than looking scared to death, Pete noted, he didn’t
look any worse for wear.
 
Pete rolled forward.
“Hey, Jamal, I’m Pete,” he said. “I’m your lawyer.”

“Yeah?
For real?”
Jamal asked.

“Yeah, for real,” Pete replied. “Did you talk to these
officers at all?”

Jamal shook his head. “No. Officer Trudeau, he told me to
keep quiet and don’t say nothing to nobody ‘til I had a lawyer.”

Pete looked over Jamal’s head to the officer that was behind
him. “Thank you, Officer Trudeau,” he replied with a nod.

“You a friend of O’Reilly?”
Trudeau
asked.

“We played football together at Notre Dame,” he replied. “I
was taller back then.”

The officer smiled. “You take care of this kid, okay?”

“Yeah, I will,” Pete said, his respect for the officer
growing. “Is there a place he and I can talk?”

“Yeah, follow me,” Trudeau said, buzzing them through the
security door and leading them to a small office with a couple of plastic
chairs and a metal desk.

“We spare no expense for our attorney friends,” he joked.

“Yeah, real homey,” Pete replied. “Thanks.”

Pete pulled out his phone and then turned to Jamal. “When
was the last time you had something to eat?” he asked.

“Last night Detective O’Reilly got me some food at the
hospital,” he said. “But they let me out too early for me to eat any
breakfast.”

“Burgers or chicken?” the attorney asked.

“Burgers,” Jamal said with a relieved smile.

“You want fries with that?” Pete teased.

“Yes, sir,” Jamal replied. “That’d be great!”

Sean O’Reilly was getting nervous.
 
He had already carried four large boxes down
to his car, and Mrs. Gage was still packing what she called her
“necessities.”
 
He had no idea how he was
going to fit her and her stuff into his car.

 
“Mrs. Gage,” he said,
walking back into the apartment. “We need to hurry…”

The knife was fixed against her wrinkled neck, only
fractions of an inch from her jugular vein.
 
Sean’s heart accelerated as he quickly considered the situation.
 

The attacker was about five feet six inches tall and fairly
hefty. He was probably sixteen years old. His hair was long and braided into
cornrows that reached nearly to his shoulders. He was wearing an oversized
jersey with gang colors unlike the colors worn by the bodies in the park.

“You need to let the lady go,” he said calmly, slowly
reaching behind his back.

One arm was wrapped around Mrs. Gage’s neck, pulling her
body close to his, and his other hand clutched a knife angled against her
throat. “She
ain’t
going
nowheres
,”
he spat at Sean. “And you
ain’t
going
nowheres
either.”

Mrs. Gage’s eyes were wide with fear, and her hands were
clasped together like she was praying. And, Sean thought, it wouldn’t be a bad
idea if she was.

“Well, shit,” Sean muttered, pulling out his gun and
pointing it at the young man. “Just let her go and no one has to die. And by no
one, I mean you.”

“Makes no matter to me,” he replied. “She
gotta
die ‘cause of what her boy did at the throw down.”

“What did he do?” Sean asked, trying to keep him talking
while he worked out a plan.

“He killed them all,” the boy replied. “He sliced ‘em up.”

“He didn’t do that,” Sean replied. “He just saw it go down.
Do you really think one kid could do all that damage? And if you thought he
could, why the hell would you come messing with his grandmother?”

“It’s the law,” he said. “We kill them before they kill us.”

“What does this have to do with you anyway?” Sean asked. “It
was other gangs, not yours that died. This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“That’s not what we heard,” he said, tightening his hold and
causing the old woman to gasp. “We
was
told he did it,
by
hisself
, and he was coming after us next. We
was
told by someone who knows.”

“Well, whoever told you was yanking your chain, because
Jamal was a street away from the park when it went down,” he said.

“My man don’t yank
no
chains,” the
boy replied.

Sean sighed. “Okay, then, if you’re not going to listen to
reason, how about this? I’m a detective. I’m trained with a gun, and I can
shoot you dead,” he said. “And it’s just you against me.”

The boy stared at Sean for a moment and then looked beyond
him and smiled. “I guess you don’t know as much as you think you do,” he said.

“Shit,” Sean murmured, without even looking behind him. He
stepped sideways, his back towards the apartment wall and turned, his heart
dropping at the sight of eight more armed gang members. Some held knives, but
several had guns and they were currently pointed at him.

One of them stepped forward, and it was obvious to Sean that
he was the leader of the group. Unfortunately, he had to demonstrate his authority.
He was skinny and tall. His arms were covered with tattoos, and his eyes were
cold and hard. He lifted his gun so it was level with Sean’s forehead, sneered
at him and nodded slowly. “We gonna lay you out, pig,” he said. “And then we
gonna have a good time with grandma before we slice her.”

He grabbed his crotch suggestively and turned his gaze towards
the old woman. “You want some, don’t you Grandma?”

Blood spurting, the thump of a gun hitting the floor and the
sound of tearing material seemed to Sean to happen simultaneously.
 
Then, suddenly, Em appeared out of nowhere
and was standing between the gang member and Sean, the tip of her long sword
hidden within the boy’s saggy jeans and pointing at the spot the young man had
grabbed just moments before.

“Bitch!
What you doing?” he
screamed, clutching his hand that was less a trigger finger now, beads of sweat
now glistening on his forehead. “You better back off.”

“I think I would be careful about giving orders, just now,”
she said, jabbing slightly with the sword. “One twist of my wrist could change
your life forever.”

He froze, looked down at the blade and looked up at her. “My
boys could kill you and your friends.”

“But not before I cut you,” she replied evenly. “Cut it
right off.”

He stared at her, his eyes wide. “What you want?” he begged.

“First, your friend needs to back away from the older lady,”
she said firmly.

“Lee-Ron, you step away,” he commanded.

“But, Marcus, you said we had to kill her,” the other young
man argued.

Em moved the sword slightly and Marcus winced. “You do what
I say,” he shouted, his voice strained. “You do it now.”

Lowering his knife, Lee-Ron released his hold on Mrs. Gage,
and then gave the elderly woman a hard shove.
 
She stumbled, but Sean leapt forward and caught her in his arms.
 
She leaned against him, her heart racing, and
he guided her to a chair out of the line of fire.

“Are you okay?” he asked her softly.

Tears slid down her wrinkled cheeks and she nodded. “Thank
you,” she whispered.

“That was not well done,” Em said to Lee-Ron, her eyes
blazing with anger.

He backed up and raised his arms so they were extended out
on either side of his body. “So, what you gonna do about it?” he asked, a
sneering grin on his face.

Using her other hand, she raised it into the air and, as if
grabbing something, twisted it quickly and pulled back. Immediately Lee-Ron
gasped and clutched his throat. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t breathe in. His
eyes grew wide as he struggled, trying to move towards Em. Finally, he fell to
his knees. His panic increasing, he ripped at his shirt collar, fighting for
air.

“Em,” Sean said urgently. “We can’t just kill people. That’s
not how the law works in this country.”

She quickly glanced at him and then at Lee-Ron. “He
dishonored the old woman,” she said, her eyes still blazing.

“Yes, he did,” Sean said. “And he will answer for it, but this
is not the way.”

Exhaling impatiently, she turned back to Lee-Ron, now lying
on the floor, and made an impatient wave motion with her hand. The young man
inhaled with a shudder and continued to gasp for air.
 
He glanced up at Em, saw the anger still visible
in her face, and crawled into the corner of the apartment.
 

Em turned to Marcus. “This one,” she said, nodding in the
direction of Lee-Ron. “He is one of yours?
 
He is under your command?”

He shook his head. “I
ain’t
no
leader,” he cried. “We just heard Jamal was gonna come
get us next.
 
We needed to stop him.”

“And by stop him, you mean to inflict pain on a helpless
woman?” Em demanded, putting a little more pressure on the hilt of her sword.

“
Ahhhhh
,” Marcus screamed. “Please
don’t cut me. Please don’t cut me.”

She glanced at Sean once again. “Is there a rule in this law
of yours that prohibits me from castrating their leader?” she asked.

Sean scratched his head, actually enjoying the terror in the
creep’s eyes. “Wow, that’s a good question,” he said. “I’d really have to look
through the book on that one. I don’t know if I’ve ever been asked about
castration.”

“Hey,
brutha
, we all good,” Marcus
pleaded to Sean. “It’s all a misunderstanding. You
know,
a mistake.”

Sean looked at Marcus. “You know what she is?” he asked.

Marcus shook his head.

Well, damn,
Sean
thought,
neither do
I.

“She’s like an alien,” he replied. “You can’t hurt her, but
she can find you and hurt you. She just appears—like she did today—whenever and
wherever she wants.
 
And the next time
she appears, I might not be here to tell her what the rules are. You get me?”

“Yeah, man, I get you,” he replied, his voice shaking.

“She might show up when you’re in bed, or in the shower, or
with your lady,” Sean said. “And she might just decide to finish off what she
started here.”

Marcus looked at Em and swallowed hard. “What you want from
me?” he begged.

“Take your gang back to your own hood,” Sean said, walking
up to Marcus and sliding one of his cards into Marcus’ shirt pocket. “And then
you call me and let me know how I can find you when I need you.”

Marcus nodded eagerly.

“And if you don’t,” Sean said. “Then I’ll let my friend here
find you for me.”

“Yeah, I’ll call you,” he said. “You got my word.”

Sean turned to Em and could actually see a flicker of humor
in her green eyes. Then he walked over to the kitchen, picked up an empty
laundry basket and put it in the middle of the room. “Have your homies put all
of their weapons in the basket before they leave,” Sean instructed.

Marcus looked at the men standing in the hallway and nodded
his head in the direction of the basket. “You heard what the man said,” he
shouted. “Do it now.”

They shuffled in, muttering under their breaths, but dropped
knives and guns into the basket.
 
Em
studied them. “You, number four,” she demanded. “You have a hidden weapon on
your leg. Take it out.”

Shocked, the man rolled up his overly large pant leg and
pulled out the hidden pistol.
 
He placed
it on the pile and backed away, keeping his eyes on Em.

“They can go downstairs now,” Sean said. “Then I want them
all standing under this window, where I can see them.”

“You heard him,” Marcus said. “Go. And take Lee-Ron.”

Sean shook his head. “Sorry, Lee-Ron is going to take a ride
down to the police station,” he said. “I promised the lady he would answer for
his crimes.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” Marcus said, looking at Em. “That’s all
good. The lady here, she’s calling the shots.”

Sean nodded and smiled. “Yes, it seems like she is.”