Author's note: Thanks again to Lange! I'm so glad you're here to review this story.
The head of the match sparked, and then burst into flames as Snyder scraped it against the bottom of his shoe. Scowling, he clumsily lit a cigarette and drew a long, hard drag. "Where are they?" he grumbled softly as he glared at the heavy wooden door. "Monahan was always excellent about immediately sending criminals to jail where they belong. What could he possibly be doing this time?"
Although his eyes were also focused on the door, Detective Sarmons had managed to ignore the ex-warden's complaints. Unlike Snyder, the detective sat very calmly, as though he were relaxing on a park bench rather than awaiting a criminal's fate in a courtroom. Even his grave, intense eyes possessed an uncharacteristic sense of serenity. Had Sarmons been a man who cared to express his thoughts, he would have told Snyder not to worry, that Lucia unquestionably would soon be dangling from a sturdy tree branch.
I've captured an elusive, bloodthirsty criminal and justice is about to be served, Sarmons remarked to himself as a slow, serpentine grin spread across his lips. Years of painful effort are finally coming to a perfect end.
In the back of the courtroom, Specs paces back and forth like a caged lion, ready to pounce on any available prey. His eyes flashed dangerously from Sarmons to the chamber door to his companions.
"Ya t'ink if we hit him ovah da back of da head, he'll calm down?" whispered Painter to Snoddy.
"I don't think he'll calm down even if we give him a good sedative," he, raising his eyebrows, muttered in return.
Dutchy moved to put a hand on his friend's shoulder, halting the boy's incessant movement. "Heya, Specs, ya gotta cool it," he said quietly, as though he were speaking to a wild animal. "Walkin' a hole inta da floor ain't exactly gonna make Shadow come out heah any fastah."
The other newsie sighed heavily and roughly pushed a hand through his hair. "I can't help it," he replied solemnly. "I know Monahan; he'd just assume t'row us all in jail, jus' like dat detective guy ovah deah." He gestured to Sarmons, whose eyes were fixated on the door. The newsie fell silent at the sight of the detective, whom he had never truly noticed before. At first glance, he looked like any other man on the sidewalks. Specs had most likely sold hundreds of papers to men just like him- a once handsome gentleman wearing his age and frustration on his face and back. And yet there was something in Sarmons's eyes that made Specs shudder slightly, despite the sweltering mid-morning air.
"All rise," the bailiff's voice echoed against the walls of the courtroom, causing everyone else's chatter to instantly cease. Monahan and Shadow emerged from the next room, although no one could infer anything from their stoic expressions.
Both Specs and Detective Sarmons studied Shadow as she marched back to her chair. To even the most keen of observers, she appeared utterly detached, her mouth set in a perfectly straight line and her eyes replete of even the slightest traces of tears. However, the newsboy noticed that she was a shade more pale than usual and her hands were trembling ever so slightly. Specs assumed that she must have been absolutely petrified.
So he didn't tell ya if he was gonna t'row ya in jail or not, Shadow remarked to herself as she attempted to steady her nerves. At least he listened ta ya. Dat was somet'ing. At least he didn't jus' t'row ya ta da wolves. She turned slowly in her seat to glance back at the newsies. Feeling her spirit sink, she inwardly sighed, Why did it take all dis ta get me ta realize?
Her thoughts were interrupted by Monahan noisily clearing his throat. Immediately she whirled back around to face the judge. Clenching the arms of the chair as though they were a life preserver, she imagined the worst.
"This case," the judge began, "cannot be so strictly defined by words such as murder and prostitute and crime. Life is never quite so simple. Earlier, Detective Sarmons said that the 'praised Senator Bainesworth' had been 'savagely murdered' by Lucia Navar, at that time working as a prostitute in Chicago. That information is indeed correct. Lucia herself"-he nodded to Shadow-"admits to both prostitution and taking a man's life. Obviously, these are both abhorrent crimes that should not be permitted to go unpunished in a just society."
Shadow felt her heart shrivel up in her chest. Dat's what ya get for trustin' people, she remarked to herself, bitterness dripping down her throat like a burning liquor.
"However," he continued smoothly, "in the case of Lucia Navar, I find that there are many extenuating circumstances that cannot be ignored. For too long, the well-being of the youth of this city has been disregarded, bring about still more horrible crimes. Lucia Navar was raised in an environment in which she was forced to fend for herself from the day she was born. This instinct continued to her days in Chicago, where she worked as a prostitute and encountered the sadistic behavior of Senator Bainesworth." He eyed Detective Sarmons as he went on. "The court currently knows of the senator's illicit activities, ranging from hiring prostitutes to first-degree murder. Lucia, knowledgeable of the senator's plans, acted solely in her own defense, as anyone else undoubtedly would have in her place." The judge paused, his eyes resting upon the apprehensive newsgirl. "Therefore, Lucia Navar is acquitted of all charges." His gavel came down with a crack that seemed as loud as thunder.
The newsgirl was so shocked that she could barely hear the amazed cheers of her friends. For a moment, she wondered what strange dream had she stumbled into and when would she wake to cold reality? Then she caught sight of Judge Monahan, who made a small nod to her. The beginning of a smile curled at the corner of her lips, and then the judge disappeared once again into his chambers.
"Well, Monahan has certainly gone off a bit," the new warden commented in surprise as he rose from his chair.
"Certainly," Snyder agreed with scathing sarcasm barely hidden beneath a veneer of complaisance. "Of course, this never happened when I was the warden."
Sarmons heard none of the wardens' conversation. The only sound in his mind was his own wildly pounding blood. You let a killer walk free, a malicious voice berated like needles tearing at his brain. You call yourself remorseful, willing to do anything to repent. You let her walk away from a vicious murder. The sight of his young wife lying cold on the floor flashed behind his eyelids. Then everything seemed to grow a deep red to the detective as he leapt from his chair and reached into his coat, extracting a small revolver. The metal gleamed dully as he pointed it directly at Shadow's skull.
Fortunately, Specs had instantly caught sight of the detective's movements. "Shadow!" he screamed frantically, eyes widening at the sight of the insane man clutching the gun.
The newsgirl turned to find herself facing the mouth of the revolver. A wave of fear and reality washed over her as her body automatically threw itself to the side. For a moment, everything seemed to occur in slow motion, as thoughts forked through Shadow's mind like lightning. Who'd've thought Monahan'd let me off like dat…So dis is what it was like for Baineswoith jus' befoah I killed him… Specs called out my name… Dat detective guy is really a nutcase… Funny dat as soon as I get free, I'm killed jus' like Baineswoith.
Then Shadow felt an incredible ripping pain surging through her body. The shrieking congregation of voices seemed to dim, and soon peaceful darkness crept into her mind.
To be continued…please send feedback