The Dis. Judge Death Part 3

Simultaneously with this discovery, two more events occurred; First, blue lights blared and flew down the road, stopping abruptly in front of the house. Out got Cullock, his trench coat and tie whirling. Stamping up to the house with a distinct hurry in stride, his eyes shot open and he ran towards Risa. "You alright?" he asked, his hands on the girl's shoulder. "Yeah, but they got Giva." she replied with a tone of defeat.

"I don't believe this! Two idiots come back to the police station, saying they've been relieved, when he we didn't send any damn replacements!" he yelled, his face red with fury at his underling's stupidity. At the same time however, Rico flew out the door, this time attired in leather jacket and jeans, one hand clutching Dan's Uzi, the other, a Spencer repeating carbine, the cherry-wood shining under the moonlight. "Wait a minute, who are you? And where's Dan?!" blurted Cullock.

"Where do you think?" Rico muttered, his right hand swinging a short distance up. "Wait, he impersonated your MOTHER?" asked Risa with a tone of disbelief, "but where is SHE?!"

"Fast asleep in the basement, like Dan ordered," Rico replied, "Dan switched places with Mum after dinner, then he gave me his clothing."

"So you were Dan all this time?!" Risa spat, even more disbelieved.

"He wanted to keep the thing up as long as possible."

"Hold on a moment. Where do you think you're going with those guns? This is police and MI4 business, son. Go look after your mother," ordered Cullock, his finger pointed square at Rico, who quickly responded, "When the trial was going on, my dad told me, he swore he would make the people who hurt Mum pay!" he thundered, indicating the carbine was his father's. "He had been to Bosnia, to Kuwait and even to the Gulf, but he had never felt anything like that before. It's only 'cause Mum needed care that he didn't go after DeSilvio himself!"

"Rico, please! Revenge solves nothing. What if this guy isn't DeSilvio? What if he's just some whack?" Risa asked, putting a hand on the young man. "If you come with us tonight, it must not be for vengeance. Otherwise you're no better than DeSilvio. You must come to ensure justice for all the families hurt by this nut!"

"Risa! You're not seriously saying what I think you're saying!" protested Cullock. "We need all the firepower we can get NOW, Sean! Organizing an operation could take hours, and Dan could be dead by then. We got the tracker, now let's GO!" she yelled, running towards the car, Rico and Cullock following in fast pursuit…

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Moaning, Dan's eyes fluttered open, his vision hazy, no doubt from the chloroform he had been given during the struggle in his guise as Giva. As his eyes adjusted, he saw he was in a tiny, brick square of a room, or a cell, most likely. Then, he saw his attire as Giva had been replaced with a dusty, blue outfit with a number printed in thick black on his chest.

A prison uniform!

Stretching his spine, hearing it click back into place, the lock rattled and clicked too, and the pale illumination of sickly-white light slithered into the tiny room. In the doorway stood two figures, though against the light of the outside and the darkness of the cell, they looked more like giant black blots then people. "Judge'll be seeing ya now." came one hoarse voice from the blots. "You best pray, mate. He don't take wusses." came the other. The two blots then came forward, lifted Dan off his bunk, securing his hands with a pair of thick, iron cuffs. Pushing him out, the glare of fluorescent light shot upon Dan before fading out to reveal a long hall, but with something of note; all around, huge streaks of grey and black were blotted all over, metal bars that once would have been cell bars were now twisted black pretzels, part of them blobby and melted like wax. Marching down the aisle, the clutter of the cuff chain and the drip-drip of water drops were the only sounds to be heard, aside from the thugs' hoarse breathing, indicating they had not adjusted well to this subterranean ruin.

Arriving at the end of the burnt-streaked passage, the thug on left pushed his greasy paw against the semi-charred door, revealing a huge space, all sides nothing but walls of red bricks with splodges of ancient cement sandwiched between them, save for the forward wall, where stood what appeared to be a large, wooden block in front of a pair of giant, indigo curtains, singed black at the edges. To the left, a clutter of the most random wood and metal benches, stools and chairs were placed in rows. And in the centre, a huge square of wood elevated several metres off the ground by a block of cemented bricks, with a rickety frame overhead and dangling from that, sending a slight jolt through Dan's body, was a rope, fastened into…

A hangman's noose.

The came the beat and pounding of a drum. BOM-BOM-BOM!

Then came the tapping and pattering of mismatched footsteps, and the grumbling, curse-laden chatter of men. Through what look like a bundle of planks that served as what can be assumed as a door, a group of the ugliest faced-men piled through and sat themselves down on the rabble of seats, all with yellowed teeth, stubble and the odd scar and zit over the badly-chiselled faces.

Then came another beat. BOM!

Through the giant curtain came a figure robed in black with a golden mask, it's giant, gilded mouth formed in the widest and ugliest of cheesy smiles, as if laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of criminals running a court!

"All rise for his Honour, Judge Death!" it commanded, prompting all the mugs to stand. At the same time, the two thugs shuffled Dan onto the giant wooden square that was the platform, a long noose of thick, bristly rope dangling from the frame. Through the upper part of the curtain, where the stand was, appeared another figure robed in black, but this wore a mask not of gold, but of stone-grey colour. Also, this mask was not smiling, but set in a cold, deathly face. A skull. Streaming from the top was a tangled mess of white fibres that, to Dan, constituted a judge's wig, albeit a very shabby one.

"Sir, you have been found guilty of conspiracy against this court, and interfering in these affairs. Have you anything to say before judgement is passed upon you?" came the gold-masked one. "Yeah, I got a few things to say!" responded Dan, voice firm even in the face of thugs and killers, "first off, take off that stupid get-up, Matt! I can tell it's you. Or should I say, Mark Channels!"

"How did you-" blurted Mark, taking off the gold mask.

"Easy. Why would someone gets so panicked about their future stepson looking through their stuff if they've got nothing to hide. Add to that, you were determined not let Rico borrow your PINSTRIPE suit! You pretty much gave the game away, Mark." he said, almost mockingly at the wanted hitman. "Why that little-"

"ENOUGH!" thundered Judge Death's voice, slamming down his mallet of a hammer hard on the block, sending vibes throughout the brick room. "You sir, are here to be tried for interfering in our affairs. You will refrain from insulting members of the court or I shall have to speed up the verdict!"

"Well, your honour, if I may say so, I know who you are too." Dan replied, smirking.

"You have been warned-"

"Don't play high-and-mighty with me, Judge! I've met a good dozen psychos over the years who want to have their own perfect world, which they fail to achieve via decent means. You're no different, murdering these people!"

"How dare you! I AM-"

"A fat-headed hypocrite, Judge. And what's more, I know who you are. Take off your mask….  MITCHELL DESILVIO!"

Awed hush followed, ugly faces spinning towards the one who reigned above them on his wooden throne. Despite a snarl, the figures grey-gloved hands removed the mask from his face revealing the appearance of a stout fox, fine trimmed moustache, his features marking him of high birth. A perfect replica of his father's aristocratic visage, his raging eyes burning with hazel flame. "How did you know?!" he growled, his teeth bared in anger.

"That plane crash was NO accident, was it, DeSilvio? You planted a bomb on that plane, and managed to escape. How do I know? The parachutes of a jet are made from an inflammable material. They would not be destroyed in the blaze. Usually, there about a dozen or so, for the crew. But one was missing, and my assistant found that out when she investigated at the archives. You stole it, didn't you?"

"Yes!" DeSilvio growled.

"And what's  more, you used your 'death' to go underground, acquaint yourself with some of your father's ex-associates, who in turn, had a friend or two in the underworld. But what was in it for them? Your dad gave them their millions, and saved them when the news broke. Severed ties, cancelled agreements? Saved their sorry rears from a fine media roasting, eh?"

"My father was the only family I knew! My mother died in childbirth, and he was the only one there for me. I looked up to him, trusted him and learnt from him. He was the only one who went to my school plays, my football games and even organised parties for my friends and me," DeSilvio spoke, holding back a tear or two, "I was only 10 years old when they arrested him. Do you know what that's like, hmmm? To have everyone revile you as the son of a rapist? To have all your friends turn on you and abandon you in your hour of need?"

"Better then you could imagine…" Dan mumbled.

"I spent five long years inside a urine-hole of an orphanage, waiting for the day when, perhaps the verdict would be overturned and Father could walk free. But it never happened!"

"You weren't told he committed suicide?"

"Of course not! When I was adopted by a pair of old biddies, they made me change my name, hiding the so-called shame of being a DeSilvio!" Mitchell yelled, shooting out of his seat, "Oh but when I had graduated with a degree in accounting, I immediately began tracing my father's frozen accounts, searching day and night for the money that was rightfully mine! And when I found it, they wouldn't give me it! His own son was denied the right to his money! And a dead man's money, at that!"

"So you killed because of that?"

"These people took everything away-"

"You murdered people with families, with CHILDREN, all because you spent thirty years crying about not being spoilt to death by your daddy with his millions?!"

"They had no ri-"

"No right! Your father was the lowest level of scum imaginable! He raped the very women who worked for him, treated them like turds in the streets, as if they were there to be his 'toys'! Compare your denial of valued paper to the denial of a normal, good life for these people! They were traumatised and had to leave friends and family because of their experience at the hands of your father! You call him a hero, when in fact, he was the biggest piece of-"

"SILENCE!" screamed Mitchell, now red-faced and furious at the allegations, "I AM JUDGE HERE! I MAKE THE DECISIONS! I AM THE LAW! YOU ARE NOTHING! NO ONE! I SENTENCE YOU TO DEATH, EFFECT OF IMMEDIATELY! GUARDS!"

Suddenly, Dan felt the tight clamp of huge hands on his shoulder, and the mass of bodies pushing him forward, the noose now dangling above his head. As the mug  to his right pulled the rope in front of him…

BOOM!

A shot echoed throughout the room, the thug collapsing in a instant into a crumpled heap upon the wooden floor. Several shots boomed, sending the jury into a panic, all of them desperately trying to get out of their seats and to safety, or to weapons, tripping and falling and bumping into each other like moving skittles. Seizing the moments, Dan gave the remaining thug a mighty elbow to the gut, sending him hollering in pain off the platform, followed by a CRACK on the concrete floor. "Kill them! Kill them all!" screamed Mitchell diving under the stand for cover, sidling his way through the curtain to avoid detection. Soon, a squad of goons appeared, pushing their way through the routing jury, all armed with automatics, Mark producing a pair from under his robe. From the shadows of the dark doorway, Risa, Cullock and Rico sent a barrage of bullets across the courtroom, picking and clipping a criminal or two every round, his father's beloved carbine resting against Rico's shoulder as he let off volley after volley thanks to the repeating feature of the carbine, allowing him to fire ten shots at a time. "Hey! Dan!" yelled Risa, catching the green fox on the platform, "Take this!" She hurled the Uzi through air, spinning into a circular blur as it landed just a few inches short of Dan. Wriggling his way over like a bug, Dan managed to fondle his fingers into the trigger and let off one shot, snapping the chain on his heavy handcuffs. Now free, he brought his Uzi in front and immediately let ff round after round, the gun barrel spurting bright flame as its message hit various thugs, quickly shrinking their numbers as their companions lay screaming on the floor, clutching their arms and legs, oozing red.

"Clancy! Behind you!" bellowed Cullock, his eyes widening at what was behind the agent; Mitchell DeSilvio, a huge axe in his hands, his eyes bloodshot with fury, his teeth bared and snarling. Narrowly dodging the first swing, Dan sidestepped and carefully leapt aside each time as the mad judge swung and slammed his giant blade around like a party streamer, "Stay still, dammit! Just…Stay…STILL!" he kept screaming, his axe missing its green target each time. Now, Dan's mind immediately switched from dodging to running, all around the platform, almost Chaplin-esque, with DeSilvio in angry pursuit. However, the agent's charade was for a reason; the noose had been lowered by the thug, and Dan was running straight for it. Seizing the second, he ducked down and slid almost over the edge while DeSilvio collided with the rope, choking him upon connection. As the false judge squirmed furiously to get the noose off his neck, Dan clambered back up and clasped the trap-door lever with both hands.

"NO!" screamed DeSilvio, his eyes bursting with fear. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't after all the deaths you've caused, after all the families you tore apart just to avenge your scumbag dad for not giving you his cash?" Dan asked, the usual smoothness of his voice gone, now replaced with absolute cold, emotionless seriousness, his eyes burning with flame at the evil man in the noose. "Please! Have mercy!" DeSilvio squealed, "Have pity! Have…A GOOD BROKEN NECK, MORON!"

This change of tone was followed by a large form crashing down upon Dan like a boulder; It was Mark, determined to protect his boss, his huge hands clamped tight around Dan's throat, strangling him, squeezing all air out like a balloon. Kick and wriggle as he may, Dan could not escape the hitman's constricting grasp. While the duel was unfolding on the platform, Rico had managed to charge out of the door way, avoiding criminal fire and hid behind one of the jury chairs, his carbine still spitting a defying challenge to the crooks across the halls, who had just face a barrage from three sides, rapidly draining their numbers, their reckless aim failing miserably at hitting the targets. As he reloaded the weapon, pulling out another cylinder loaded with ten bullets, he spied the fight on the platform, and quickly realised the winning figure was his mother's fiancée, Matt Crispin AKA Mark Channels. Realizing the grunts could only be Dan, the young man ignored the bullet war around him, and aimed his weapon at the treacherous man. Then, the carbine spat three shots. As if suffering a heart attack, Mark leapt up in absolute pain, losing his grip on Dan's throat, leaving him to cough back his air supply, as the tall tiger went tumbling back, landing square on the trap-door lever.

Then came a loud, chilling scream.

And then a SNAP!

Judge Death, Mitchell DeSilvio, mastermind of murder and vengeance, was no more as he dangled like a carcass in a slaughter house, the very same way his victims had suffered. A fitting end to a lunatic such as him…

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"But I how did you figure he would pick his dad's prison as a hideout?" asked Cullock, pointing to what one would think an abandoned pile of black bricks and broken steel, sipping on a polystyrene cup of dark, black coffee, sirens wailing in the background as villains swore their Fs and Bs at officers, herding them into snow-white van with orange chequered around the middle, "POLICE" written in massive red letters on top. "Isn't it obvious?" replied Dan, lying on the bonnet of a police Astra as if he was sunbathing, "If you were avenging a family member who died in that building, you would pick it to intimidate your victims. And as for his jury, they were survivors of the original fire. They knew every knook and cranny of the place, so DeSilvio sought them out."

As he finished his explanation, Rico appeared, alongside him was Giva. "You did good, kid. I'm sure your dad would be proud." smiled Dan, patting the young man on the back, "I'm very sure he is. You did magnifico, Rico. You helped them stop a murderer and saved me too. Your are a good son." the women smiled, giving her son a hug, somewhat embarrassing in front of the agents and the inspector, who all let out little giggles.

"Clancy!" came a familiar, stout voice. "Oh, boy. Its bland-man, again!" mumbled Dan, sliding off the bonnet and towards his blue-suited superior, a small silver phone clutched in his right hand. "Its for you. It's the British Ambassador in the US, Sir Thomas Bentley," he whispered, handing Dan the phone.

" 'Ello, Tommy-boy! Long time no see!" Dan laughed, leaving Borrigard red-faced at his seeming lack of respect.

"Daniel! I need you over here. Something horrifying has happened, and the police have turned up nothing. Pease hurry!" spoke the voice on the other end .

"Don't worry sir. I'm on my way…"

The End.