Elmond Hall of Justice, courtroom 3

Elmond's hall of justice was its pride and joy, next to the university. Among all of its judges none were more respected and admired than Irwin Hall. He sat on the bench today, presiding over Elmond's highest profile case. The trial of Vincent Dargo.

"My client," Vincent's lawyer continued his final words. "Is the victim of stereotype profiling. When a major crime that was committed couldn't be solved by the police they looked for a scapegoat. The city's most prominent Italian-American citizen was an easy person to blame. We've all watched Sopranos haven't we?"

"It's an old prejudice, and an easy one to fall back on. I ask you, with all the turmoil and hate that is spreading these days, to not give into the prejudices that have so infiltrated our society during this time and let my client get back to his wife and children that he loves," he concluded.

With his final words the jury was dismissed into their chamber and Judge Irwin went into his own. He sighed and removed his glasses. It was quite a case. The police have long tried to catch Dargo with his hands in the cookie jar. They had finally done so.

Despite the defense lawyer's reference to the Sopranos, Dargo was not involved in the mafia, or in the mob, whatever it was called these days. He was instead, as was widely known, involved in the local gang called the Scars. The only thing that Dargo had going for him on this case was that he lacked the "X" scar on his shoulder.

There was a knock at his door, he sighed heavily and rose from his seat. He quickly put his glasses on and opened the door. It was Scott, the policeman who had been present during the entire trial.

"They're ready, your honor," Scott told him.

"Who?"

"The jury," Scott looked at him as if he was daft.

"Already?" Judge Hall had never been involved in a trial where the jury had been so quick to decide.

"Yes, your honor," Scott told him.

Judge Irwin closed the door behind him and quickly went to his bench. He hoped that Dargo truly was receiving a fair trial, though the decision was probably easy. So much evidence was stacked against him.

"Foreman," Judge Hall asked once he had seated himself and the courtroom had settled down. "Has the jury reached a verdict?"

"We have, your honor," the foreman stood, holding a piece of paper before him. "We the jury find the defendant, Vincent Dargo, guilty of both counts against him."

"Vincent Dargo, you have been found guilty by a jury of your peers of conspiracy to commit robbery and aggravated assault on a minor. I sentence you to twelve years of prison without bail," Judge Irwin proclaimed and banged his gavel once to symbolize his final word.

The accused, Vincent Dargo, glared at the judge and mouthed something the judge didn't catch. He rose from his bench. It had been a long day and it was time to go home.

"The Flight of Hawk and Dove"

Part 1: The Price of Justice

By T. L. Veselka

University of Elmond

The University of Elmond was the center of the small city. Elmond and the University had grown together. The University had started as nothing more than a community college, but as its graduates and professors gained prestige so did the school. Now it was considered to be at nearly the same level as an Ivy League school.

Hank Hall had wanted to attend the college all his young life, not so much for the education, but for the football team. They were nearly always among the top ten of the nation. Now he was living his dream. He had worked hard for it, practicing during the off season and even letting his annoying younger brother, Don, help tutor him so he could keep his grades up.

The school meant a lot to him, so when he saw other students protesting the war on campus he grimaced. He stalked forward with a large frown on his face. Then he saw something that made him pause and frown even deeper. He marched forward again, even faster than before.

He grabbed one of the protesters by the shoulder and spun them around, "Don! What are you doing here?"

"I'm protesting the war," Don told Hank. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Though the two were brothers they couldn't be less similar. Hank was tall and muscular with brown hair and strong features, Don was thin and blonde with a much leaner, though still fit, frame.

"You don't belong here," Hank grabbed his younger brother by the elbow and pulled him away. "You're still in high school."

"So what," Don retorted as he let his brother lead him away. "That doesn't mean I can't believe in a cause."

"Come on," Hank ignored Don's comment. "I'm taking you home."

Hank opened the door to his pickup and half-shoved Don in and then walked around and got into the vehicle himself. "You're only in high school," Hank repeated. "What do you know about the way the world works?"

"You're only a year older than me, Hank. Stop pretending to be so wise. It's not about the way the world works. It's about the way the world should work."

"The way the world should work is that the good guys should always win and everyone should be rich. You might as well believe in fairies and dragons."

"I'm not suggesting the world be perfect, but I at least I am trying to make the world a better place."

"How?" Hank asked as he drove down the streets. "By lying down and letting everyone walk all over you because you are against war? This isn't France, Don."

"We aren't at war defending ourselves," Don frowned. "We are out there for revenge and for oil."

"Come on," Hank gestured violently at his brother. "That is not why we are out there, you guys just assume it is. We are out there because sometimes you have to take the initiative. Sometimes you have strike before the enemy can strike you."

"Why?" Don asked.

"To protect America," Hank sounded as if this should all be logical to Don.

"So we are protecting America by sending her citizens to another country to die?" Don asked. "That's bullshit, Hank. Even you have to admit that."

"No, Don, it isn't," Hank growled. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

Don laughed.

"Son of a bitch!" Hank slammed on the brakes. Don flew forward, but caught himself on the dash, he hadn't buckled up. He had been too busy arguing with his brother. He looked fearfully over at his brother, but his older sibling was too busy glaring angrily out the front windshield.

Don glanced out the windshield and saw a junkie car with no plates speeding away in front of them into their neighborhood.

"That moron almost ran right into us. He ran the stoplight," Hank shouted.

Don felt a sense of dread as his hot-tempered brother punched the gas, racing to catch up with the careless driver.

"Calm down," Don attempted. "Maybe a pregnant woman's in there about to have a baby."

"Then why are they speeding away from the hospital?" Hank asked. Don closed his mouth, from his brother's taut voice he knew there was no calming him down at this point.

They watched as a young man about their own age leaned out of the back seat of the car. "Don't I know him from somewhere?" Hank asked.

Suddenly the guy pulled out some sort of machine gun from the behind him and opened fire. He was doing a drive by. It was their house he was shooting at.

Hank slammed on the brakes again. Don barely had the presence of mind to catch himself before his body collided with the windshield. It was over before either of them could open their doors. They burst from the door like angry bees from a hive. They raced toward the house, not believing what they had just seen.

"Mom!" Don shouted in anxiety.

"Dad!" Hank shouted as they raced to their door. All of the windows in the front of their house were broken or shattered. The door was open with several bullet holes in it as well. Hank crashed through the doorway and Don was hot on his heels.

Don found himself colliding with his brother. Their parents lay on the carpet, blood already oozing up from their bullet wounds. They rushed forward. Don kneeled down to his mother, quickly feeling for a pulse or anything. There was nothing left to feel. She was dead.

"Dad's still alive!" Hank shouted suddenly. Don jumped at the sound of his brother's voice. "Call 911!"

Don tore his cell phone from his pants pocket. He dialed 9-1-1 but his fingers weren't steady and he misdialed.

"Give me that!" Hank grabbed his phone from him and dialed it himself, then held the phone up to his ear. "Come on!"

"Yes! Hello!" Hank shouted when they answered the phone. "My parents were just shot at 298 Juez st., it was a drive by. We need an ambulance here right away, there's blood everywhere, but dad is alive!"

Hank hung up the phone without listening to whatever the woman on the other end had to say. Hank threw the phone away from him, shouting as he did so. Don just leaned over and held his mother, tears seeping from his eyes. Why had this happened?