The Dis. Judge Death Part 2

Late afternoon broke over London, the glow of sunset giving the giant cosmopolis a heavenly, almost paranormal, aura. And under the rays of retiring sun, sat in a humble café near the mighty Thames, sat Dan and Risa. "Any luck?" asked Risa, finishing her frappe. "Damn it! I just can't figure out where I heard Andrews, Richards and Netherland all together before!" he yelled, bringing some mutterings from fellow customers. "Are you sure? Maybe you just misheard something?" Risa replied, wondering if perhaps Dan had maybe got it wrong, "No, I'm sure of it. I just need to figure out where!" "Well, I'm off down to the archives, see if I can dig up anything on them. You coming?" "No. I'm going back to the crime scene and see if perhaps, any clue or answer of some kind, even if it's hidden under the wastage of a toilet courtesy of a fat man!"

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"Right-o, that'll be ten quid, fifty," spoke a shrewd voice from the front of a London black cab, swerving into a parking spot. "Here ya go. Keep the change, mate." Dan replied, stepping out of the door and handing the driver a £20 note. "Cor, cheers, man!" the driver smiled, giving a big, toothy grin, showing off the fact that he knew little about dental hygiene! Walking up the uphill street, followed by a turn left through a cobblestone alley, and then through another road, Dan arrived at what was left of Andrews' office; a giant pile of blackened rubble, with long blue & white security tape ringed all around the mess. Scanning about to make sure there was no guard, Dan carefully crept towards the ruin, his eyes constantly rolling around, making sure there were no watchers. Creeping carefully so as not to disturb the rubble, he began searching through a clump of burnt and singed clutter; chair, draws, computers and piles of half disintegrated papers and files all clustered together. His hands ever so gently and swiftly sifted through the mess, checking each and every paper. Most were tiny black crisps, or had been burnt up to the letter head. Then, on the verge of quitting, Dan's scrabbling paid off; under a cluster of burnt bricks and debris, he uncovered a paper, or rather half. The letters on it had just escaped being singed like the blackened edges. The red-ink-inscribed words read,

The ending of the letter, were the signature WAS, was burnt off. "Well, we got a time, and maybe a link." Dan thought, pulling out his mobile and rapidly dialling a number. "Hey kid… nothing, eh?… well relax… listen… can you check court cases back thirty years ago… good… now see if any have Richards, Netherland or-"

Unable to finish his sentence, Dan leapt over and behind the rubble heap to escape the sudden BUDDA-BUDDA of bullets. Someone had been watching him!

Not a man to take attacks sitting down, Dan's Uzi roared back violently, its ammo flying in all directions like angry, metal bees. Confident that he had panicked the assailant, Dan carefully got back up and noticed a fleeing shape. Darting over the debris as if it were smooth road, Dan engaged in pursuit, his Uzi blaring after the running form. Turning corners, darting down alleys and wandering through back roads, it was a miracle no one was around, automatic and Uzi sending sparks at their opposing nemesis, each one trying to clip his enemy. Eventually, the two reached a darkened dead-end street where, with one incredible bound, Dan knocked the would-be killer to the pavement, his automatic sliding across the road. Thrusting him against a wall, Dan immediately started barking at his bleeding prey, a short-haired weasel dressed in leathers and jeans.

"Don't tell me. Mayor hire you to shoot pigeons, eh? You work that cheap, eh?!

"Suck it, cock!" was the crook's first full sentence apart from grunting in pain and rage. Dan's hand shifted from the killer's back to his throat, applying a crushing pressure. Not strangulation, but painful nonetheless.

"Spill it, sunshine. Why did you want to fill me with holes over there, huh?"

"I… ain't… telling… horsesh-AAAHH-mmph!"

The crook couldn't finish his response as Dan crushed his hand tight over his mouth, his spare hand producing his Uzi, now loaded with a red-cartridge. Pulling the trigger, out shot a massive tongue of orange fire, bringing screams of panic from the helpless hitman. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'm in the mood for a Sunday roast!"

"OK! OK! JESUS MAN, DON'T HURT ME!" screamed the terrified assassin, Dan having removed his hand. Keeping the barrel close to the man's head, sweat dripping down his face, Dan kept his hand firm around the perp's throat as he began talking, "Look, some geezer in a posh suit came up to me in the pub. Paid me 200 quid to blow you away."

"What did he look like?"

"I dunno man. Honest! The bloody pub was so dim, his hat hid his face so as I couldn't see 'im."

"If you don't know him, why did you accept his cash, eh? My finger's begging to pull the trigger, ya know…"

"Look man! He's just some guy I used to hang out with back when I was working in crack rackets. Mark something' I think was his name. Honest!" he squealed, crying like a baby as he felt the barrel pressing the side of his sweaty head. "Well, thanks a bunch mate. I'll make sure ya get double portion of pie in prison…" Dan smirked, whacking the perp square in the head with the butt of the Uzi, knocking him out cold. Using some rubbish bags, Dan tore them up and bound the assassin, slung him over his shoulder and carried him down to the nearest police station.

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The small, gilded gold clock chimed ten in the morning, sitting lonely on the mantle piece. Once again attired in dressing gown, Dan poured himself  black coffee into a bright red mug; He wasn't one for cappuccinos, or mochas, or frappes, or any fancy gourmet shit, as he would say. Just the beans and that was it. Gulping down the hot liquid, he proceeded to a nearby side-table, adorned with a small lamp with a green shade and a silver box gilded with various sea creatures. Opening it, he pulled out a cigar, the label saying, 'Havana's Finest', got out his Uzi, still loaded with the red cartridge, let out a flame and began a smoke. Blowing his first puff, his peripheral vision caught Risa, her green raincoat and boots soaked, entering through the door with some kind of portfolio tucked in her arms.

"You know how you brought up a possible link between the three going back thirty years?" Risa began, laying down the portfolio on the main table and spreading out a collection of papers, "Well, I managed to uncover this: De Silvio Conivicted Of Rape Charges!"

As Dan ebbed closer, his eyes scanning the bundle of documents, Risa began reading the yellowed article, the photo above showing the face of a stout fox, fine trimmed moustache, his features marking him of high birth, the paragraph underneath reading,

"Former casino mogul Daniel De Silvio, 39 (pictured above), was today convicted on seven accounts of rape on his female employees and has been sentenced to life without possibility of bail. The prosecution, headed by renowed solicitor Harvey Netherland, produced damning testimony to His Honour, Justice Richards, which defeated De Silvio's legal team, headed by James Andrews…"

"You thinking what I'm thinking, kid?" shot Dan, placing the paper back on the mahogany desk.

"Somebody getting revenge for De Silvio? Well you're out of luck again, Dan. A few months into his sentence, De Silvio commited suicide. Then, oddly enough, the prison kitchen caught fire and the place was burnt to the ground." replied Risa.

"Maybe it was family."

"Nope. Only known relative is his son, Mitchell, but he died in a plane crash over Calais about a year ago. The rest of his family died a long time back."

"Any friends?"

"All posh types. They pretty much deserted him when the rape case hit the papers."

"And, what of the company?"

"Went bust after the scandal. Whatever was left was bought up an oil tycoon…umm… Henry Jackson was his name."

"Hmmm… What of the victims themselves? Any still around?"

"Most immigrated after the trial, no doubt escaping whatever secret 'friends' DeSilvio had. As a casino mogul, he would have his hand in something dirty, probably-"

"But what of the victims? Any stay?" Dan interrupted, grabbing Risa's arms, wanting her to hurry up her explanation .

"Ok, ok! None I think except ah… Bella Giva. She was a roulette dealer at one of his casinos. Somehow, Jackson convinced her to stay, with a big, fat pay rise-"

Cut off again, but this time by the ringing of the silvery telephone in the corner of the huge room, Risa puffed in annoyance as Dan strolled over to the phone, picking up the receiver and pressing the speaker to his ear.

"Yeah… Oh hey, Sean… Uh-huh… he spat, eh?… Yeah… Sure… I'll take a butcher's at it… yeah, cheers Sean." "What happened?" asked Risa, turning in her seat towards Dan. "That was Cullock. He says the prep I caught last night has given his name. Jim Rapley."

"What good will that do us? Has he got any big connections?"

"Nah, he's just a two-bit turd for hire. But they linked Rapley to a big crack-cocaine racket three years ago. Apparently that Mark guy was the top goon for the drug barons. Mark Channels was his name; A tall tiger, mid forties, about six foot, usually attired in a pinstripe suit"

"Is he behind bars?"

"Nope, meaning the perp was telling the truth. In which case, we've got a heightened game; the sole remaining victim and a major hitman on the loose. I think we should pay Miss Giva a visit, don't you?…"

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"Yes.  I remember him. That bastardo wouldn't leave me for a minute's peace at work. Every minute, he was behind me, his hand rubbing all over me." came the shrill voice of Giva, a middle age cougar with short, greying-blonde hair, a set of tortoise-rim glasses resting on her nose, her voice marking her as of Spanish-Italian origin. "And then, one day, he came while I was changing, and then… and then-" she gulped, busting into a sob, the painful memory of DeSilvio's treatment, his mad, lusting eyes still burnt in her memory. Dan placed a hand on the sobbing woman and whispered, "I am very sorry, Miss Giva. I did not wish to ignite old memories-"

"No, no. I know," interrupted Giva, slowly straightening back up, wiping back the tears. As she tried sipping tea to calm her nerves, settling in her frilly, white sofa, the oak door edged open and in slid a much younger cougar, about 17 or 18, male this time, with spiky oil-black hair, attired in a grey hoodie, Manchester City top and battered jeans. "Mama, I heard you crying from upstairs. Are you okay?" he said, placing his hand on his Giva's back. "Ah, perdon. Mr Clancy, Miss Velton, this is my son, Rico. He has been a good man of the house since Juan, my late husband, passed away six years ago. Rico, these two are from the government. They wanted to know about-"

"Yeah I read on the BBC website," Rico interjected, "All these killings link to that douche's trial."

"RICO! Mind your mouth!" shouted his mother, somewhat embarrassed in front of the two agents. "But that's how Dad always called him!" he replied. Just then, the door opened again, this time a tall tiger, about in his mid forties, about six foot high, dressed in a purple shirt and suit trousers, walked in and sat himself next to Giva, bringing a mumbling from Rico. "Ah, perdon again, Mr Clancy. This is Matt Crispin, my fiancee. He has been with me for a good year. He worked for that Judge, Richards."

"The same one who tried DeSilvio?"

"Yep, that's him," spoke the tiger, "Calvin was a nice bloke. He didn't deserve to be killed that way. I suppose you're on the case?"

"That is correct, Mr Crispin," replied Risa, placing her white-china cup back on the shimmering-glass table. "Please, call me Matt. Enough people in the courtroom call Mister this and Mister that." he chuckled.

"We've been investigating these murders, and we've found that Miss Giva is the last related person involved in the case left in this country," announced Dan. "We think that whoever is behind this may be carrying out some form of revenge on behalf of DeSilvio," continued Risa, brushing back her red hair.

"But who would still be friends with that dead asshole?" mumbled Rico, hands in pockets. "RICO!" yelled Giva, before Matt put a hand on her shoulder and smiled, "C'mon Bella. Kid's only concerned about you, ain't you Rico?" All Matt got was a cold stare from Rico. Dan's eyes had spotted this, and sensed something was not quite sticking here. And yet, before he could continue, the calm of the sitting was shattered by a thunderous BUDDA-BUDDA-BUDDA of AK50's, their bullets speeding through the air, holes sprouting all over the furnished room; glass and china cracked and split, wood chipped and broke into random segments while the curtains seemingly danced with the force of the blazing bullets. Dan's Uzi roared a useless response back at the unseen attackers, its bullets untimely flying through empty air.

"Mama! Mama, are you alright?" screamed Rico, panicking over his mother's fate. A lifting of the over turned, bullet-peppered sofa eased his fear, however, Matt had her held tight in his arms, making this relief sour in taste. "Are we dead yet?" muffled Risa, her hands covering her face as she lay crouched on the clutter strewn floor. "No, but there's THAT!" Dan pointed, lifting Risa to her feet, indicating what looked like an arrow, shot straight into a painting of fruit on the wall. Wrapped around it was a sheet of paper. Unfurling it, Dan's quickly studied the message;

"Just like that message in the ruins!" Dan thought, clasping the sheet so tight he began crumpling it. Risa also spied the note and asked, "What do we do now, Dan?"

"-but Matt! You've been training for that snooker final for weeks! You must go!"

"I'm not leaving if there is some nut who wants to kill you!"

While Dan's mind began piecing things together, Risa turned and heard the sudden argument between Giva and Matt. "I'm not leaving you, Bella!" he continued protesting, before receiving a kiss from her, "I'll be alright, amor. Rico and these two will protect me. Please go. For me."

"'Scuse me, Mister uh…" whispered Rico, having sidled next to Dan while his mother and potential stepfather embraced. "I wanna a quick chat with ya." Leading Dan into the garden, Rico sat himself down on the lime-green bench and began, "I guess you probably noticed me and Matt don't quite gel." "But he seems nice enough, kid." Dan replied, a quizzical look upon his face as he watched the young man continue, "He is, and he ain't. He goes all nuts when I stumble into his room, wouldn't let me use his laptop when my computer crashed back in May and doesn't let me borrow his any of his suits when I …"

"These suits… Which one? It wouldn't happen to be pinstriped?" asked Dan. Rico just stared in complete astonishment, "Yeah! That's it!"

"Hmm…listen Rico, I think I know who is behind these killings. Are you willing to help out?"

"For Mum. Anything, sir!" Rico shot up, like a soldier at attention.

"Good! Here's what we do…" Dan whispered, pulling out a metal box from beneath his coat…

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"Well, we've made a thorough check, Miss Velton. Nothing suspicious so far," said two police, returning out of the chilly black that was the London night. Inside, the living room, half cleared of bullet-blasted mess was dimly lit by a table lamp. Giva lay on the sofa, asleep, a tartan blanket covering her, She said she didn't want to go to her bedroom, and Risa decided to stay on guard, along with Dan. Strangely though, all Dan had done through the evening and into the night was sit by the window sill, hat pulled low and collar up, staring out of the darkened window, as if meditating. Having known her partner for quite some time, Risa felt it was perhaps best to leave him be. Matt had left, most reluctantly, to go to his snooker final, while Rico had went to bed hours before. "Water please, Senora Velton," came the quiet tone of Giva, her eyes only a fraction open. Filling a nearby glass, she raised to the woman's lips as she sipped slowly. While she drank, Risa felt something on the side of her leg. Checking quickly, she saw nothing, and dismissed it as maybe a nerve.

"Ah! Night shift's coming!" came one of the officers, having returned outside. The two approached the small, rusted gate, greeted their two replacements who arrived by car and relieved them of their duty. As if reacting to this, Dan, without a word, trudged out of the room and down the hall. Then, the doorbell rang. Assuming it was the two officers, Risa got up and opened the door. What she got in return was a gun barrel in her face. "Don't bother screaming for your chum, Missy, or I'll blow your pretty face off," came the taller officer, his shadowy face now bearing a gleaming, malicious grin. Pushing her aside, his great paw of a hand gripped tight over her mouth, the tall ordered his companion in crime in. The false cop quickly ran to the living room, and, following some grunts and sounds of struggle, was dragging the unconscious form of Giva along the carpeted floor of the hall. "You want I should tie this one up?" came the tall villain, "Nah, Mark. Boss wants this job done quick. Get this cow and get out, was what he said." replied the short one, hauling Giva along the stone walkway outside, and towards a van that seemed to have appeared out of the night, the gleam of its body and glow of headlights was the only thing to distinguish it from the rest of the darkness.

Keeping his gun aimed at Risa, the false cop slowly edged out backwards through the door, along the walkway and into the van. Driving off, Risa snarled and began stamping her feet in rage, swinging her arms as if swatting invisible wasps. "WHY?! WHY?! Why must I-"

She stopped her rantings when her hand collided with something large in her pocket. Realising this is what she had felt when she was giving water to Giva, she pulled it out, revealing a metal box with a digital grided map and a small, beeping yellow dot on the move along a highlighted road. A Tracking Device!