Jury of Peers (35 page)

             
“Another…” Seth said.  “
The system is in place for kids like Saul who are forced to do horrible things
…”  He sorted through the pile.  "There are tens of thousands of entries on websites all over just like these I’m sure, but let me make one thing perfectly clear.  Saul Brown stood by and watched while my wife was being raped… and all of them killed.  He had the means to stop it, and he didn’t.  He apparently has some sympathy vote because he’s young, his mom’s on the television begging for his shitty little life, and he’s smart enough to know that when he’s trapped, he should say
sir
.  But he’s guilty just the same…”

             
“It’s my opinion, therefore, that both of them should be given the same sentence.  Death by gunshot.  Both of them should suffer like my family did because of what they’ve done.  If you, the jury, decides to convict these individuals on the charges of rape and murder, this is the sentence that will be carried out here at midnight tonight.  Court is adjourned for fifteen minutes.”

Chapter Sixty–Four

Teflon

              When the cameras came back on they were focused on Derek “Bolo” Siclo, and he alone.  Meek’s disembodied voice could be heard over the microphones, “Here’s your chance to tell your side.  No poor schumck of a lawyer has to defend your sorry ass to put food on the table for his kids, it’s just you Derek, give it your best shot.”

             
Bolo looked from Meek to the camera.  “I ain’t scared of you man,” were his first words.

             
“I couldn’t care less,” came Meek’s voice, “but you’d better be scared of the people watching you now dip shit, millions and millions of ‘em all waiting to fry your ass for being a fucking savage.”

             
He pursed his lips, a disturbingly feminine expression from such a gnarled face.  “Man, you don’t get it man.”

             
“Enlighten me.”

             
“Man the streets ain’t like some suit’n tie job motherfucker.  People tell me what to do an’ I do it.  ‘Sides, little nigga here picked the crib, the bitches, everything.  Wasn’t me man, I was doin’ what I was told.”

             
“You always do what you’re told?”             

             
“Yeah, no… I mean, fuck man, you do what you do on the street or somebody busts a cap in your ass.”

             
“Did you want to kill them?”

             
“Nah man, I was just doin’ what I was told,” Bolo said, over–relaxed and almost smiling.

             
“Did you want to rape anyone?”

             
“Nah.”

             
“Did you hate doing it?”

             
“Yeah man, I ain’t no monster.”  His casual air had the feel of celebrity about it.  He wasn’t selling out, he was just racking up street cred.

             
Footsteps were heard, then a metallic snap.  The muzzle of a square black pistol materialized on screen, pressed into Derek’s throat. 

             
“Do you like this?  Hate it?”

             
“Fuck you.”

             
The pistol slid down his neck and out of sight.  "Alright then, we’ll give you one chance to prove it.”

             
“Prove
what
motherfucker?”

             
“That you hated raping them.  Get it up right now.  If I don’t see a hard–on in thirty seconds, I’m going to blow your package inside out.  Time’s tickin’.  Come on.”

             
The face on the camera was stricken.  "Man I can’t… wait…”

             
“You're lying.  What we saw was very clear.  You don’t rape people without
liking
it.  You
liked
it.  So if hated it so much, I’d expect that you’d be able to get a hard–on right now with a gun in your sack just the same.  No?”  Meek jabbed the muzzle into Derek’s crotch and the kid screamed.  “Nothing?”

             
“They told me to man, told me to!”

             
“So your defense is that it’s not your fault because someone told you to do it?”

             
The eyes darted back and forth.

“You were told to rape and murder two people.”

              “Yeah man, told to.”

             
“By who?”

             
“Hey man I ain’t no narc.”             

             
“Sure you are,” Seth said.  “Think it through.  Get the heat off of yourself and you might walk.  Someone might believe your sorry sob story if you give up the guy who told you to rape and kill people.”

             
“I ain’t no snitch.”  He sounded less sure.

             
“Listen, at midnight I’m putting this gun up your ass and pulling the trigger.”  Seth repositioned the gun a little lower on the outside of Bolo’s urine stained shorts.  “If you’re lucky, your lungs will fill with blood and fecal matter and you’ll suffocate in an hour.  You can go find a new rock to hide under and start looking for new women to rape.”

             
“You ain’t nevah gonna let us up outta here.”

             
Seth sighed audibly.  “Derek, if the people watching vote to let you go, I’ll let you walk out with a head start.”

             
“Bullshit.”

             
“Don’t judge me by what you’d do you piece of shit,” Meek’s voice rose, as pitiless and stark as the wind outside.  “We know what you are, but I’m giving you a chance.  Redeem yourself!  Go on, try!”  He rammed the pistol forward and Bolo started talking.

             
For twenty five minutes he rambled on about his time with the Widmore Crew, naming names, spilling information on tangent after tangent, and generally stepping all over himself in an effort to convince the world that he was the victim.  Somewhere Suki was probably shredding a fern and smiling. 

Bolo went through the whole idea of being jumped into the gang, of how he was, of how it was supposed to go down for Saul.  He placed the blame squarely on the shoulders of anyone but himself.  He was told what to do.  Probably though, it would have been a better speech if his audience hadn’t just come watched him strut around on camera like a B movie star boasting about the size of his dick.

              “Didn’t even pick the bitches,” he concluded.  “Saul did that, he did it all.”  Sweat was running into his eyes giving him the sniffles and the outward appearance of real tears.  “Wasn’t me man.”

*              *              *

              Meek shifted the camera to Saul without warning.  It adjusted to his darker complexion in moments, showing the same scared, but somehow serene eyes.  Glossy and fixed. 

             
“What about you?” Meek said.

             
From off camera came Derek’s voice.  Panic crept into his voice, “Hey man, I ain’t done talkin’.”

             
“Yes you are,” Meek said.  There was a buzzing, like the release of an electronic lock, and Bolo stopped talking.  “Don’t interrupt your friend.”

             
When Saul looked back at the lens, he was shaken.  The threat of being shocked jolted him back to the moment.  “Mr. Seth, I don’t wanna…”

             
“Just say what you have to say,” Meek said.  His voice was coming back to his usual even keel, but was still far from soothing.  It was the voice of a man tired of being awake, but terrified of going to sleep.

             
Saul started to talk, but he didn’t look at the camera.  He looked at Meek.  He knew who was trying his case–he knew the judge.  “Mr. Seth, I did all of them things.  I was there.  I hadda gun.  I shoulda done somethin’.  But I didn’t.  I know you ain’t gonna believe me, not after all that, but I ain’t gonna lie.  I didn’t do all that ‘cause I was ‘sposed to, I did it ‘cause I hadda do it.  Serious.  They came and got me, told me that it was time to move up, and then we’s in the car.  I didn’t know it was gonna be like that.  But if I didn’t do it…”

             
“What?” Meek cut in.  “If you didn’t act like a fucking human being and stop it, you had a gun for Christ’s sake!”

             
“You didn’t stop it either,” Saul replied without any malice. 

             
Meek was cut to the bone.  He reeled, tried to sit and missed his chair.  He fell out of Saul’s view, hands covering his face.  The world could hear him weeping.

             
“I didn’t stop it, and I shoulda.  I was all wrong.  But I couldn’t stop it any more than you could.  I thought it was a way outta my life, and my momma’s life, and all of this killin’ an’ shit.  I wanna go see somethin’ green, or the ocean or someplace that just ain’t grey.  Only color I ever see is blood.  I don’t wanna see no more blood.  Jus' like you.  I'm sorry for not doin’ what’s right.  But I couldn’t see it then, what’s right I mean.”

             
Meek cried.  He was naked before the world, and even though they couldn’t see his face, the sounds of his anguish were just as powerful when mixed with the apology of a boy that didn’t know how to set things right.  For nearly a quarter of an hour the camera stayed focused upon the stricken face of Saul Brown while he listened to the man that wanted to kill him cry like a child.

             
Ray looked on with a clear view of Seth on the concrete floor, snot streaming from his nose, sobbing unabashedly and without any control.  Beside him lay the pistol.  He wondered just how long it would be before Meek simply put it to his own head and blew all of the NSA’s secrets unto the wall.  He seemed like the most insane of people, the ones who can convince you of their lucidity with bright eyes and a tempting smile; occasionally though, the true darkness would seep out.

             
He watched as Meek’s hand sought out the pistol and drug it across the floor.  It rested there between his feet for a moment.  He wiped his nose on his sleeve, inhaled and the met Ray’s stare. 

             
“What will make it right Seth?” Ray asked quietly.

             
They watched one another for a long moment and then Meek rose and walked back over to Saul.  “Are you lying to us Saul?”

             
“No sir,” came the reply.

             
Meek stood over him, casting a shadow across his face – pistol in hand.  “How do we know that you’re not just the clever version of your friend over there?”

             
“Ain’t hard to be smarter than Bolo,” Saul said.

             
“You're just a smooth talker, the guy who knows how to say mister when the police are around.”

             
“Yeah, my momma taught me.”

             
“But maybe you’ll just fool everyone now and then grow up to be just another kid with another gun.”  Meek leaned in, “The kind that gets a hard–on for killing.”

             
“I get scared ‘bout that sometimes.”

             
“How do we know that if we let you go, you won’t hurt anyone else?”

             
Saul blinked, looked away from the camera, and said, “I guess you don’t.  I mean, I dunno if that’ll be me or not.  Livin’ on the street ain’t good, makes ya do things all upside down.  Makes people think about getting’ out, and when ya figure you can’t get out, there’s not much else.  Makes ya into a hater.  Put up a front, learn whatcha gotta do to get by, and do it.  That’s what I was doin’ there in your house Mr. Seth.”

             
“What were you doing?” Seth repeated still looming over the kid.

             
“Tryin’ to get free.”

             
The shadow disappeared and moments later, screens around the world went blank.

Chapter Sixty–Five

Totem

“That’s it?” Smokey said.  He lit another cigarette before complaining further.  "He’d better get his ass back on there and tell us what’s goin’ on.”

“Yeah,” Tonic said.  He tossed a dried olive at Finn.  "It’s ‘bout time for us to go sit on the JHS building.  Our shift.”

Finn looked at his watch, "
Your
shift.  I got shot."  He stood and was about to make his way for the bathroom when the screen flashed again.  Smokey pulled him back into his seat without looking away.  People in the bar came back to the televisions and things quieted.

*              *              *

“Mr. Meek has asked me,” Ray began, and then cleared his throat, “to summarize in place of any formal closing arguments.  So…”  He looked over the notes Seth had prepared.  “The defendant, Derek Siclo has been charged with three counts of first degree, or premeditated, murder.  Emily Meek, 33, Jennifer Meek, 8, and Justine Meek, unborn and the sexual assault of each.  He plead not guilty.  The defendant Saul R. Brown as been charged with one count of attempted murder, Seth Meek.  One count each of conspiracy to commit murder, and accessory to sexual assault.  He plead guilty to the count of attempted murder, and not guilty to conspiracy to commit murder and accessory to sexual assault.”

Ray looked up at the camera and then back at the notes.  "The grand jury is now instructed to consider all of the facts that have been presented during the trial, namely the testimony of Mr. Seth Meek, a video taken by the accused in the Meek home, and the statements of the accused.”

“Jurors are then instructed to enter their decision at the website,” he looked off camera, “visible on the screen now.  This address will be removed at 11pm this evening when the jury’s voting time elapses.  As was the case last time, each voter may cast four ballots to account for multiple voters on one IP address, meaning one computer.  There is no age restriction in voting as this obviously cannot be practically enforced, nor are voters excluded on the basis of their nationality.”

“The Juror’s website will become active shortly, which should allow those who wish to vote, time to do so.  The verdict then, will be announced at 11:30pm, and the number of votes tallied will be held confidential until this announcement.”

*
              *              *

              Seth checked the time on his computer.  He spent three minutes lying on his back upstairs trying not to think.  His mind had been swimming in detail for days but it wouldn't, couldn't, calm itself.  Any one of a thousand different things could end it all, but likewise, there was no reason to think that it wouldn't all play out to the very end. 
What
end he didn't know, and the weight of it pressed down on his chest without mercy.  Death was a reasonable assumption.  If someone managed to get through his encryption, it was only a matter of time until men with black machineguns broke down the door and exterminated him like a household pest.  To be taken alive and sent to prison was no option at all, and one that he'd decided simply would not happen if he still held a loaded gun – if the police didn't kill him, he would just kill himself.  And really… that was about it.  Die, or… die.  Distantly he felt some remorse for Whit.  They'd come full circle, and oddly enough, found common ground in the midst of the storm.  Also remotely troubling was the disappointment that the counselor, Marley, might feel at having him end up crumpled on a basement floor.  Despite all of her talk of redemption, he suspected that she would also feel some guilt over having lived vicariously through his rage against the chaos in life.  Beyond his disconnected father and a young woman in whom he'd found the impetus to live life – if only to scoff at death – he really had no one.  It would be an exceedingly small funeral.  He wondered if the preacher from the hospital would officiate… he blinked, snapping out of his fatigue.  He shook his head, and tried to focus.

             
He glanced at the computer again and wondered if this might be his last chance to talk to his father.  It struck him as an exceedingly odd thing to consider, not particularly sad, but outlandish.  Like waking from a bizarre dream that seemed quite completely real.  He hadn't come to the point in his life where he'd begun to consider
last times. 
And yet suddenly everything would be a last.  A last soda.  A last chance to use the toilet.  A last word.  Some things were already past.  He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember the last time he'd kissed Em.  He couldn't.

             
The computer chimed, and the Skype software showed the incoming call.  Right on time.  Seth pushed himself up on one elbow and hit
connect. 
His father's voice was as clear over the Internet as if he were standing in the room.

             
"You there kiddo?"

             
"Yeah," Seth said.  "Thanks for calling."

             
"You knew I would."

             
"Yeah."

             
The pause lengthened until Whit finally said, "Still there?"

             
"Yeah, I'm not going too far I don't think."  Seth sat up and leaned into the corner.

             
Whit was scribbling something, the rasp of his fountain pen on his pad surprisingly clear through the computer link.  "I was thinking along that line.  I put some things together for you."  His father explained what would happen at the Potomac Mills shopping mall on the other side of D.C., and how Seth could use it as a timer of sorts. 

             
"You've done enough Whit," Seth said.  "I don't want this to come back on you."

             
A laugh.  "It'll be coming back for years Seth.  But I want you around to listen to me bitch about it all."

             
Without warning tears welled up in Seth's eyes again and he let his head fall back against the wall with a thunk.  He gathered his voice.  It took two tries.  "It's better this way."

             
"Maybe," Whit said.  "Maybe, but I think my ending is better.  Trust me."

             
Seth's head came up and he worked to blink away the tears.  He finally just wiped at his eyes.  In his mind he stood on the dock once again, arms flailing over the icy water–this time though, Whit reached out and took hold of him before he could take the plunge.  He held him close with his words,
trust me. 

             
"Listen kid, these are all just options, but a man needs options in the present so he can make the right decisions about the future.  Whatever you decide though… I'm proud of you.  You could have opted out the night it happened, but you didn't.  It would've been easier.  I bet you thought about it, but you didn't do it, and now here you are.  The world's different because of you.  It's different in the way that it changed when men stepped out on the moon.  Everyone's watching, everyone's considering what it'll mean for the future.  In what it means for the system.  You did that and you didn't have to do it."

             
"But I did it for me." 

             
"I know.  And I hope you found what you were looking for.  I did."

             
They listened to the line hum for a moment.

"Seth, think about what I'm saying.  I just want you to step outside when it's all over and I'll take care of the rest.  Alright.?"

              "Thanks dad."

             
"Yeah well… it might be awhile until we get to talk again."

             
"Seems so."

             
"I'm proud that you're
my
son."

             
The line went silent.

             
Seth stood, gathered up two of the three of the cell phones that he had purchased and wrapped them in a plastic garbage bag.  He pulled the garage door up about six inches and pushed the bag out into the snow and wind.  Twenty minutes later the bag was gone.

             
Whit would do the rest.