MORE THAN THE JOB IS WORTH by Lucy McB
Under normal circumstances there wasn't a day that went by that John Manicote's mind rested; when he could he grabbed a few hours sleep or sat in front of the television set staring aimlessly at sport. Even then it was only his body that was relaxing – his sharp intellect was keenly alert, trying to solve his current caseload or reviewing past ones. He could not stop being who he was.
Being a District Attorney was a heavy responsibility and one that he bore well considering the tremendous strain it put on his family. His wife and daughter gave him room to do his job but whilst he valued their unspoken support he was conscious of the sacrifices they made and had promised himself, and them, early retirement and a long, luxurious holiday to make up for his lack of attentiveness. He knew when it finally came it would be absurdly poor compensation for years of coming home late, missing dinners, school events or simply shutting himself away in his office at home to work. All this would not be easily forgotten with six weeks in the Caribbean, but at least he could try. He loved them very much, but he secretly loved work too, even during the most frustrating of trials.
His closest friends were in law enforcement and his happiest moments spent in court, dealing with the criminals who flouted the law and caused mayhem in Honolulu.
Normally the Manicotes socialized only for work and more often than not John dragged his wife Sharon with him to functions that neither of them had the slightest interest in. She was dutiful and charming and he loved her a great deal because of it but lately she had told him that she wanted more to life than just fundraising events. As a result, in a rare apology, he had bought tickets for a surprise evening at the theater to be followed by dinner at one of Honolulu's finest restaurants. Tonight was meant to be their night but as it turned out it was more of a group affair.
Crime was his passion but right now he was beginning to regret his particular choice of career. His only consolation was that their daughter, Karen, had not come with them. Small comfort, but an important one nonetheless.
"Okay, Manicote on your knees." The order was precise, the voice rough.
Standing in the alleyway they had been pulled into after being accosted whilst returning to their car, John Manicote simply stared at the man with a black ski mask over his face; he was so concerned with deciphering the look in the stranger's eyes and trying to remember where he had seen him before that he did not comply with their request. The weapon in the second man's hand raised a fraction, leveling it steadily with the DA's chest.
"John, please!"
Next to him Sharon, dressed for what should have been a splendid night out, begged him to do as they said.
He pulled her close and felt her body solid, but nervous, against his side. "Why, what are you going to do?" He asked and felt Sharon tense even more because of his defiance.
"Why? Because we have a gun and you'll soon find out what we want. Look, don't make this any more difficult than its gonna be. Or would you prefer we turn our attention to your wife?"
Sharon's hand slipped into John's and he clasped it tightly then let it go again as he wordlessly got to his knees. Their threat to her was all the incentive he needed to comply. The damp from the alleyway seeped into the material of his best dress pants and he felt the liquid coat him.
"There, I've done what you asked now let my wife go, whatever you want with me it has nothing to do with her. Here…" He began to reach inside his jacket pocket for his wallet, unsure what the two men sought but hoping it was simply cash.
"Uh-uh, keep your hands out of there!" The first man growled as he kicked at Manicote's arm.
John swore inwardly, if he'd been more of the physical type than the lawyer type he might have used that moment to grab the man's ankle and twist him off his feet but although he would have liked to emulate his colleagues in the police department he knew he wasn't brave enough to risk the gun going off. "I was just getting my wallet." He said, hoping to diffuse the growing tension.
"Keep your money, that's not what we need."
That voice was definitely familiar to the Attorney, he could not immediately place where he had come across it before but suspected it was in court. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a sinister click followed by a gasp from Sharon and when he looked up from his kneeling position he saw what she had seen; it was a flick knife and the wickedly sharp blade glinted in the light from a dusty overhanging lamp. This was more than a mugging, he knew it now; if they had wanted their valuables they would have got them by now and moved on. He had stupidly thought they knew his name because his face was in the papers or on television all the time but this was no coincidence, they picked him for some reason. His mouth lost all moisture and his palms began to sweat.
Manicote looked up at his wife, her eyes were fixed on the weapon and her bosom heaved beneath the plum silk dress she wore. She was scared, and so was he.
"Please let her go." He almost begged this time.
The leader of the two stepped towards him and he held his breath. He watched the man's lips and eyes in the slits of the knitted ski mask and in that moment he almost discovered the man's identity but ultimately he was too confused by the situation to be thinking clearly and getting angry with himself he breathed in deeply, trying to remain calm, "I want you to think very carefully before you do anything foolish to either of us. If you don't want Five-0 breathing down your neck let us go and get out of here!"
The slap was hard and it stung. Sharon's resultant shriek pierced his ears and the world spun momentarily. He hoped that someone might hear her and come to their aid now but her yell was brief and the situation too precarious to hope for any help.
"Enough! Shut up or what I have planned for you, I'll do to her instead!"
He felt a whoosh of air as his wife was pulled from his side and held against the man's hip, knife pressed to her neck. A tiny jewel of blood oozed from where the tip touched her pale skin.
"John!" She pleaded anxiously.
Incensed, he began to rise but the second man threatened him with the gun and he dropped back to the ground, hands half raised in supplication, "Okay, okay. Just don't hurt her."
"Good now listen carefully mister DA and perhaps we can all go home."
Manicote locked eyes on his wife, now hostage in the control of the stranger, she was blinking rapidly, her breathing shallow and was clearly in shock.
Gripping the scared woman, the man continued, "You have a case coming up before the courts on Wednesday and certain interested parties feel the evidence isn't fairly balanced, in fact it's not balanced at all. We want you to change that in favor of the defendant. There, not such a big thing to ask is it?"
The DA's forehead creased as he listened. So this was the crux of the matter. He knew very well which case they meant, even though several were coming to trial that day; he and Five-0 had fought long and hard to bring this particular criminal to justice and not without casualties. It meant a lot to them all to see the man go down. He couldn't – wouldn't be threatened into diverting the course of justice.
"You know I can't do that." He stated simply and felt faintly ridiculous for arguing in the position he was in.
The response was swift and cruel. The knife that slashed his cheek was wielded with a sure hand and blood began pouring down the side of his neck.
"Oh God!" Sharon pulled away from the assailant's hold and hissed at him "You animal!" before crouching down by her husband's side, unsure how to staunch the flow of blood. Manicote had fallen back on his haunches clutching his torn face in pain.
Unperturbed by her outburst, the man barked back, "That was just a warning, you have three days to come up with a solution that will satisfy my employer. THREE. If you fail – if he goes down then your wife and that virginal daughter of yours will get the same – or worse. Think about it Manicote; think about what a knife can do to their pretty, soft skin!"
With those words the two men stepped into the shadows and disappeared into darkness, leaving the couple alone.
Sharon watched them go then, with shaking fingers, began searching John's pockets for the clean handkerchief she had given him to use that evening. Finding it, she pressed it against her husband's wound. "You poor thing." She said absently.
Manicote found it hard to speak, the edge of the blade had caught the corner of his mouth and he needed medical attention and most likely stitches to suture the injury, but he tried to reassure her nevertheless. "I'm okay – you all right?"
She shook her head, "Of course I'm not all right! I was terrified!"
"Makes …ouch…two of us."
Sharon's deep green eyes appraised her husband seriously, "What will you do, John? Will you do what they asked?"
Manicote sighed, the threat was very real, his face slashed to prove it and for once in his life he wasn't sure precisely what he would decide. The criminal was dangerous, he had already proved that when he stalked and attacked one of the Five-0 officers, almost killing him in the process. But clearly the man's associates were just as deadly and that made it a very difficult choice. Very difficult indeed.
Holding his wife's arm he raised himself painfully from the ground, bringing her up with him.
Facing the direction the masked men went and favoring his damaged cheek he replied simply, "This time, I really don't know."
END OF SCENE