THE DCFutures Underground Fan Fiction group acknowledges that DC Comics owns the concepts behind John Constantine and all DC characters that may be used here. These concepts are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the future of the DC Universe. However, the original concepts presented here are the intellectual property of the author.

HELLBLAZER:DCF #6

"Trial & Error"

Written and Edited by David Lee

NorAm: Three Mile Island Correctional Facility

"I'm sorry, Mr. Constantine, but you're going to have to be more candid with me about your past." John smiled wryly at the barrister that Hob had hired for him. A pretty little thing she was, with red hair and green eyes. And she probably had a really nice smile, not that she was inclined to show it just now.

"What are you doing after the trial?" John asked for the third time, a smirk becoming evident on his features as his defender became even more exasperated with him. But as far as he was concerned, their relationship was progressing swimmingly.

"Mr. Constantine! Perhaps you don't realize that your life is at stake here? The media has already been turned against you, and you're going on trial for the murder of a police officer in less than a week! Can we please return our attention to the business at hand?" As her client's defender, she was required to believe in his innocence, but she was forced to wonder what kind of amoral savage would try pick up lines on his attorney within the walls of a maximum security prison. "And I prefer that our relationship remain professional only. Please address me as Ms. Walker."

"Anything you say, luv," said John, becoming even more smug. A mild, throbbing sensation began building between Rachel's temples, and a slight groan passed between her lips. This case was just a high-profile headache, and if it had been anyone but Robert Gadling asking her to do this, and as a personal favor no less, she would have dropped it long since. Nothing was worth this kind of aggravation.

"Fine, then. Have it your way," said Rachel, punching a few keys on her datapad. "John Constantine," she began, repeating what scrolled onto its screen. "Born in London on April 1st in the year 2170." She raised an eyebrow. "April 1st?"

"God has a bizarre sense of humor," said John, still looking smug, despite the fact that Hob had had far too much fun at his expense while creating this false identity for him.

"Educated at the Alfred Pennyworth School for Wayward Boys in Liverpool," continued Rachel. "No further education and no home address. All mail is received care of Robert Gadling. No other information available," she said, raising an eyebrow. "There seems to be a large hole in your personal history. Would you care to fill me in?"

"Fillin' holes is me specialty, luv," said John, the double meaning behind his words eminently clear. The way that Rachel gritted her teeth at this remark only served to encourage him further, but he decided to take pity on her and relent. "Heh. Let's just say that I've done a lot of backpacking 'round the world since me school days ended. Been lucky enough to stumble across a few antiques in me travels that've turned me some coin, most of it from Hob Gadling."

"I see. So your relationship with Mr. Gadling is a professional one, then?" Rachel had always been curious about the enigmatic Robert Gadling. One of the richest men in the world, very little was really known about him. Unlike other mega millionaires like Tim Drake and Alexi Luthor who showed up at holovized gala events on a regular basis, he rarely appeared in any newscasts.

"Hell no, luv. Hob and me, we're mates. We go back a long ways and we've been through thick and thin together." John closed his eyes as he reminisced about old times. "Hob was quite the adventurer back in his day."

"I see." She pursed her lips in a pensive fashion that John mistook for enticing. She thought to herself that perhaps she'd be better off discussing John's personal history with Gadling instead. Then, maybe she'd get some straight answers. "And you insist on a plea of not guilty? You're certain that you won't consider a plea of temporary insanity?"

John hardened his gaze. "I didn't kill him, luv. Loony bins and I just don't get along, and I'll not be put in one." Unspoken, the word 'again' reverberated through both Rachel's and John's thoughts.

"Very well, then," said Rachel, getting to her feet. "I think I've learned everything I'm going to here pertaining to this case." She reached into her briefcase,and pulled out two items, a carton of Dunhills and an old-style hardcover novel, handing them over to John. "Mr. Gadling asked me to deliver these to you."

John ignored the priceless antique and pulled the carton of Dunhills to his nostrils, inhaling deeply. "Good old Hob."

NorAm: Hobbes Tower, New York City

Hobbes Tower had replaced the World Trade Center a few decades ago. An enormous structure, it was practically a self-contained city, with floors upon floors of shops, apartments, and schools as well as a few dedicated floors for botanical and zoological gardens, aquariums, and museums. It was a kingdom and a castle all in one, and its ruler was Robert Gadling.

Thank God these elevators are fast, thought Rachel to herself as she made her way to the Penthouse. Checking her hair in the mirror, she listened to the classical tunes that Gadling favored in his private elevator. What was that playing now? Debussy? She sat down on the antique wooden bench and admired the potted plant, waiting for the elevator to reach its destination.

The doors opened to reveal a hallway lined by glass cases. Rachel often wondered where Mr. Gadling acquired his eclectic antiquities: the original Diary of Anne Frank and Umberto Eco's first doctoral thesis, Jimmy Stewart's Army Air Corps uniform, and a cello that once belonged to Yo-Yo Ma. Her employer's taste in antiquities was considered quite unusual in an age when superheroic paraphernalia was all the rage.

She found Hob opening some old cardboard boxes in the middle of his living room. Through the large, picture window, she could see the smoking remains of what was once the Statue of Liberty that marred the otherwise beautiful view. "Good afternoon, Mr. Gadling. Thank you for agreeing to see me."

Hob looked up from what he was doing to greet his visitor. "Rachel, we've been over this before. Call me anything but Mr. Gadling. And it's no trouble. After all, you're the one that's doing me a favor," said Hob, smiling as he went back to work. "A few costumes from the old Monkees television show. I've made a new business acquaintance who's a fan so I decided to pull this stuff out of mothballs for him. Anyway, what can I do to help you?"

Old TV show? Hob's knowledge of history and trivia never failed to impress her and probably never would. "Sorry, Robert. I talked to your friend, and I have to say that he's one of the most frustrating clients I've ever had to defend. He was being difficult about his personal history so I thought I'd be better off asking you."

Hob raised an eyebrow. "Did you now? Well, I suppose I should have warned you about John right off. He's really a good guy, though, and we've been friends a long time. Still, he can be a God-awful prick when he wants to." Hob shook his head, fearing for the fate of his friend. "Isn't that right, Barnabas?"

Hearing the commotion, Barnabas walked in. He took one look at Rachel and started barking. "Wow, she's a looker. This is the lawyer you hired to protect John? What were you thinking?" he said, running up to Rachel and licking her face. Rachel gave Barnabas a quick hug, rubbing his back.

"Where did you get this beautiful dog, Robert? He's so friendly!"

Hob rolled his eyes, wondering what it was that made beautiful women ignore men and lavish their affection on furry animals instead. "Actually, Barnabas is a friend of John's who's staying with me while he's in prison. Barnabas, this is John's attorney, Ms. Rachel Walker. She's defending John as a personal favor to me. Now, I owe her one."

Barnabas turned to face Rachel more formally, standing tall and straight, and extended a paw. "Well met, miss." Naturally, Rachel didn't hear a word that Barnabas said, suggesting that the charm that John had placed on his collar was working properly.

"Isn't he just the cutest, most darling thing!" exclaimed Rachel, petting Barnabas more vigorously. "I can't believe he belongs to John Constantine of all people. Speaking of whom, what in the world were you thinking, publishing a holo-novel about the 'Jesus Christ Killer?' Do you have any idea how damaging that was to your friend's case?"

"Don't blame me. That was all John's idea. Said if they were going to lock him up in prison over this, he might as well make some money off of it and defray his legal expenses. John likes playing fast and loose with other people's rules. Sometimes, I think he likes it far too much for his own good." This was an understatement, but Hob didn't want to unnerve Rachel any more than necessary.

"But that's crazy! Doesn't he realize his life's at stake here?" At this, Barnabas turned to lock his gaze with Hob's. They looked into each other's eyes and nodded acknowledgement to each other.

"Let's just say that John has more important things to worry about than living or dying."

NorAm: Hall of Justice, New York City

"All rise! This court is now in session, the Honorable Thomas Hancock presiding!" yelled the Bailiff, calling the courtroom to order. No longer open to the general public, the courtroom was filled with journalists who would later edit the material and holovize it for the wealthy, who could afford the coded satellite channels that had replaced cable in the mid-21st century.

The Judge entered the room with a scowl already on his features. Judge Hancock had had something of a noteworthy, if not distinguished, career. He'd started out chasing ambulances and eventually won enough cases to be drafted by the insurance companies. Soon after, he'd been called into UN service on behalf of the Justice League and eventually made a judge in the criminal court, bypassing several career district attorneys. Why? Because he'd come to understand that justice was not about right or wrong. Justice was about money.

Pounding his gavel, Hancock seated himself on the bench. "Alright counselors, what do you have for me today?" He looked up at the two attorneys standing before him and noted that they were both impeccably dressed, that they were both familiar faces in his courtroom, and that the counsel for the defense was very pretty.

"The People vs. John Constantine, your Honor, better known as the Jesus Christ Killer," said the District Attorney. An out-of-work actor turned lawyer, Grisham Darden was one of the most successful attorneys to ever serve in that office. He knew how to present a case, and he knew how to lie with conviction. That's what good lawyering is all about.

"Objection, your Honor. My client is not and is in no way associated with that biblical figure. And I find the introduction of such media sensationalism in a court of law to be in very bad taste. Especially when the evidence is almost entirely circumstantial."

"I don't know, Counselor. Your client looks pretty guilty to me," said Hancock, shuffling through the papers on his desk. "And his trial should bring in a lot of ratings. Despite your objections, your client will go to trial. First thing tomorrow. Court is adjourned," he finished, pounding his gavel to make it official.

Rachel thought that he might as well have pounded it on her head. John would be going to trial, possibly even taking the stand and speaking in his own defense. This was not good.

Western Eurasia: Star Labs, London

Charles Patterson stared long and hard at Harry Constantine's undead features. Slowly, the deteriorated flesh was growing back and Harry was becoming whole again. He floated there, naked as the day he was born all those centuries ago. Soon he would be ready to walk freely amongst the living again.

"How are things proceeding?" asked Charles Patterson V. He had never really bothered with scientific studies himself, knowing that he was destined for a career in politics. Still, the process fascinated him, and he found it all quite fascinating.

Dr. Forrester responded quickly, not wanting to offend the son of a UN representative. "He seems to be doing quite well, sir. The nutrient bath is quite stable and the cellular regeneration rate is consistent with our expectations. Everything looks good to go, but I'm not sure I see the point in regenerating the tissues of a corpse."

Charles smiled. It was quite understandable that a scientist would be curious as to what this was all about, but Charles was under strict orders not to divulge anything. "You would do well not to ask such questions about my father's non-public activities, Doctor. It will be much healthier for you long term."

Dr. Forrester paled visibly and nodded his understanding. "Yes, of course. Please excuse my intrusion upon his Lordship's privacy. It shall not happen again." He quickly excused himself and left to check some other instruments. "This equipment is usually used for cloning. I'd better go over them one more time, just in case."

Charles' smile grew even wider having witnessed this reaction. Funny how quickly one becomes accustomed to wielding power and ruling by fear, he thought to himself. Yes, he was starting to understand his father better now that he'd partially stepped into his shoes.

NorAm: Hall of Justice, New York City

"All rise! This court is now in session, the Honorable Thomas Hancock presiding." The bailiff's words resounded eerily through the room as the pounding of the judge's gavel put an end to whispered conversation that had been taking place. Hancock sat at the bench with a look of mild confusion on his face, not that anyone noticed.

"May it please the court, my name is Grisham Darden, and I would like to speak on behalf of the people against John Constantine. Charged with the murder of a police officer, he is being prosecuted for one count of murder in the first degree," said Darden proudly, his words echoing through the chamber. He was nothing if not photogenic, and he was very popular with the media for precisely that reason.

Darden's fine clothes and dashing figure impressed Hancock immensely. Indeed, he reminded him much of the knights of Camelot and the days when trial by combat was the law of the land. His words resounded with the ring of a fine sword striking a well-made shield. However, his words did not ring of the truth. Indeed, this foul knight was known to him as a perpetrator of falsehoods who cared more for his personal holdings than for honor. Indeed, he was a poor choice of champion for the cause of justice.

Returning to the business at hand, Judge Hancock turned from the prosecution to address the defense. "And how would the defendant like to plead?"

"May it please the court, my name is Rachel Walker, and I would like to speak on behalf of the defendant, John Constantine. The defendant pleas not guilty, your Honor," she said, doing her best to match Darden's conviction, knowing that she held her client's life and future in her hands. A fairly new presence in the New York City legal scene, the media was quite eager to document her performance in this high-profile case.

To Hancock's eyes, Rachel Walker was a lovely young maid doing her best to defend her man against unjust accusations. Indeed, only love could bring such a noble lass to defend such a scurrilous rogue. Taking but one glance at the smirk upon the accused's face, the judge quickly surmised that he was a liar and a thief, a man who had blood on his hands.

But looking at the strength in the bearing of the lady defending him, the judge could only hope that this varlet was not in fact guilty for the lady's sake. After all, killing a king's lawman was a crime that merited the executioner's axe.

The accused just sat there smugly, impeccably dressed in fashions that had somehow become timeless, the worn appearance of the trench coat draped over the back of his chair contrasting sharply with the fine, silk cut of his suit. Curiously, his hands were resting on top of a book, a hardback novel by all appearances and probably worth a small fortune.

"May it please the court, the prosecution would like to remove one of the witnesses that it has called to testify," said Darden. He was uncomfortable with last minute changes in his court cases, knowing that the court frowned upon them. "I'm afraid that Father Thiers has made himself unavailable."

The clergy was refusing to speak against this man? To Hancock's mind, that boded well. "Was any reason given for his failure to appear at these proceedings?"

"Ahem... I'm afraid that the good priest is under orders from the Vatican not to testify," said Darden while trying to loosen his collar, knowing that this admission might do much to damage his case.

And as far as Judge Hancock was concerned, it was a certainty. The Church of Rome itself would not stand against this man? He knew well that the papacy was not so easily cowed and understood that the accused must be a man of great influence. Either that, or he was innocent.

"Then given that the rest of the prosecution's evidence is entirely circumstantial, I move that all charges be dismissed. Mr. Constantine has already taken and passed a lie detector test stating that he did not kill Officer Monahan and I see no reason to detain my client any longer." Rachel's words, resounded not only with the truth, but also with hope.

Darden was quick to interject. "Yes, but he has also refused to undergo a telepathic scan. His refusal clearly indicates that he is guilty of some other crime, even if not that for which he stands accused."

Judge Hancock narrowed his gaze. He couldn't quite remember when due process had last been thrown to the wind, but he knew that Darden's objection was a lawful one. Indeed, the lords of this land ruled with an iron fist and it irked him that he was agent of these dark powers. His gaze passed to the jackbooted UN security forces lining the courtroom's entrances and exits, black knights that surely served no good purpose.

The judge found it passing strange that these things had never bothered him before. He could see no reason why an individual's refusal to be made subject to this sorcerous practice called a telepathic scan should be held against him. As such, he decided then and there to put an end to the act of injustice playing itself out before him.

"Your objections are noted, Mr. Darden, but this court does not require any more evidence to prove his innocence. The charges against Mr. Constantine are dropped herewith. Case dismissed." The pounding of the judge's gavel made his ruling official. And the only person more stunned by the verdict than Grisham Darden was Rachel Walker.

Western Eurasia: The Cambridge Club, London

The holovized news services were already calling it the shortest and most unorthodox trial of the century, but Lord Patterson was hardly surprised by the not-guilty verdict. He had been surprised when the Honorable Thomas Hancock resigned from the bench to pursue a new career doing pro-bono legal work. Yes, this John Constantine was a most extraordinary adversary. Indeed, uncorrupting a career UN judge was no simple task.

Even so, Lord Patterson was quite pleased with the results of his first gambit against his family's most hated enemy. A guilty verdict would have been icing on the cake, but the true objective of this move was to expose the fact that John Constantine was alive and in New York on planetary holovision. After all, Constantine had to have other enemies outside of the Patterson family.

It mattered not to Lord Patterson which piece it was that removed John Constantine from the playing field so long as he was removed permanently. And if all went according to plan, Constantine would soon find himself consistently in check.

NorAm: New York City, "Warriors"

Following the conclusion of the trial, Rachel, John, and Hob congregated at Guy Gardner's establishment for a small celebration. "To victory!" they all said in unison, clinking their pints together. They were all feeling pretty good, but Rachel was still slightly stunned.

"I can't believe we won," she said, staring at her Guinness. The news services were all still abuzz about the upset in the verdict and Judge Hancock's resignation.

"You were that certain that I was guilty, were you?" The words were accusational, but John's tone was light. So was his smile.

"It's not just that," said Rachel jokingly. "I know Judge Hancock, and this is totally out of character. He wrote the book on modern criminal procedure and what he just did today isn't in it. Unless, of course, there was a bribe of some sort involved." Hob and John both did their best to look shocked.

"Don't look at me. I was busy with my Monkees paraphernalia," said Hob, drowning further comment in a long sip of the black stuff.

"And don't look at me, neither," said John. "I was in prison."

"Then how would you explain the verdict?" she asked.

John just shrugged. "Maybe I just live right." Hob and Rachel both let that comment pass, and John snickered. "Who knows why anyone does anything? Here, Rach, a present for you." John slid a book across the table, the one that Hob had loaned to him, the one that he'd had close at hand during the trial.

"No, I couldn't," said Rachel, pushing it back. "It must be worth a fortune."

"Maybe, luv, but I value my freedom more. Please, I insist. And if there's ever anything else you need me for, all you have to do is ask." It was yet another obvious pass, the kind that John Constantine was known for.

"I'll let you know," she said, winking at Hob, who winked back. John could only guess that he'd committed himself to something that he would later regret, not what he'd had in mind.

The novel in question was a copy of Cervantes' work entitled "Don Quixote de la Mancha."

- End of HELLBLAZER:DCF #6 -