Jimmy was being forcibly shoved towards what looked like an abandoned pharmacy. According to The Dark Gentleman’s information, it was now the courthouse for The Judge and his gang.
Moving with a stealth that would have surprised even those closest to him, Michael exited the alley and crept towards the pharmacy. The windows were mostly boarded shut now and when the door closed behind Jimmy and his captors, there was no way for those within to see the masked hero as he approached.
Pressing his ear against the door, The Dark Gentleman could hear a variety of male voices within, some of them sounding surprisingly jovial. He had a hunch that Jimmy wasn’t one of those.
“The Judge is waiting downstairs,” one of the men said.
“Who’s doing the defense duties tonight?”
“Smithson.”
“This won’t take long, then!” A good number of the men guffawed at the joke and Jimmy began wailing that he could pay them whatever they wanted. His pleas were cut off abruptly and The Dark Gentleman heard the all-too familiar sound of a fist striking flesh.
The Dark Gentleman thought about forcing his way in but he thought better of it. He didn’t want to miss out on his true quarry – The Judge. If he made a scene now, the Judge might escape through some back exit and then he’d be right back where he started.
Realizing that patience was the key, he waited until the sounds of footsteps and laughter faded away. When he was confident that they had moved downstairs, he reached out and tried the handle. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. He was confident that he could batter the door down with a couple of good shoves but the noise would be hard to hide… so instead, he retrieved a lockpicking kit from the inside of his coat and went to work. It wasn’t a difficult lock and in less than a minute, he was inside the villains’ lair.
It wasn’t exactly the Taj Mahal. The floor was covered with garbage and a fine layer of dust. Cobwebs dotted the corners of the ceiling and a few cheap stacks of girly pictures lay on a table, alongside a deck of playing cards. The room smelled of fear, sweat and booze – hardly what came to mind when The Dark Gentleman thought of justice, be it of the vigilante variety or not.
From down below, the sounds of muted conversation reached his ear. He also recognized the noise of a gavel being struck against a bench. Court was in session.
***
Okay, let me return to what Winkie calls “first-person narration.” This stuff is written down in my private journals, in-between the tightly written prose of my chronicler. I like to fill in the gaps that he can’t or won’t include in the official narrative.
I crept down the stairs and got my first glimpse of The Judge… and let me tell you, he was a sight to behold! Winkie described him in his usual graceful manner but I think you might benefit from a more visceral set of words. He looked big and plenty scary, nothing like most judges that I’d met over the years. He was at least six foot six, his broad shoulders covered by heavy black robes. His face was hidden behind a dark mask that left only his eyes and hair visible… and the silver tuft atop his head made me realize that this guy was no spring chicken. He’d lived a long life, if you get me.
Jimmy was standing before the judge, his alleged attorney at his side. For the prosecution, a gallows-faced individual was approaching the bench, dropping a set of photographs in front of the judge.
“As you’ll see, your honor, the facts are beyond dispute. Mr. McIntosh is scum. He contributes nothing to society and beyond that, he’s nearly six months behind in his payments.”
I leaned forward at that. Payments? Was this some sort of elaborate protection racket? Keep the dough coming or The Judge will come calling?
The Judge spoke up then and his voice sent a chill down my spine. I could barely keep from gasping aloud… because I knew that voice.
It belonged to the one man in this city that had always seemed to strive for what was best… and the only one who had ever, even for a moment, inspired my father to do the same.
The Judge was Igby Kern.
***
Igby Kern was born near the docks of Sovereign City. He grew up in one of the roughest areas of the city and lived hand-to-mouth for most of his youth. His mother washed clothes for a living and his father was a fisherman with a violent temper and a taste for booze.
Igby could have been like so many others, allowing his life to become a carbon copy of those who had come before him. But he had a different vision for himself. He stole books and educated himself. At school, he was a sponge, absorbing information and processing it in ways that his teachers had trouble comprehending. It wasn’t long before he ran away from home, eager to escape the darkness that was his father’s physical threats. He eventually took refuge at Mother Mary’s School for Destitute Children, where he was finally given the opportunities that had been denied him previously.
He met The Dark Gentleman’s father at Sovereign University and despite the wild differences in their upbringing, they had bonded immediately. Each of them wanted to exceed the grasp of their parents and in each other, they found the perfect support system.
In recent years, however, one of them had backslid into the comfortable world of moral indolence while the other had continued crusading for justice, right into retirement.
The Dark Gentleman had admired Judge Kern for a very long time… but what he was seeing now was enough to shake him to his very core.
In fact, it was the shock that made him act in a manner that wasn’t much like him. He gasped aloud, drawing the attention of the men in the courtroom. When they saw him perched on the stairwell, guns were immediately pulled into view and for a moment it looked like chaos was about to ensue – but thankfully, The Judge banged his gavel and restored order. He, at least, recognized that a gunfight in an enclosed space might lead to more harm than good.
“It appears that we have a surprise visitor,” The Judge intoned. “One of Sovereign’s masked heroes, it appears.” After a brief pause, he added, “A vigilante who seeks to do good outside the confines of the legal system. Like us.”
“Believe me, I’m no kindred spirit,” The Dark Gentleman said, stepping fully into view. He held his hands out to the side, palms exposed. He was armed, of course, but if he kept his cape and coat just so, they wouldn’t be able to tell.
“And how are you different?” The Judge asked.
“I only do this because Sovereign needs me to… but there will come a day when men have been inspired to do what needs to be done. And on that day, I’ll take off my mask and lay down my gun. The judicial system can work, we just have to let it do so.”
The Judge paused for what seemed like a long time and The Dark Gentleman wondered if his words were seeping in, reaching the core of the good man that he still believed lay within.
Unfortunately, when The Judge finally did speak, his words dispelled any notion of a peaceful resolution. “I admire your conviction, young man. Once upon a time, I would have agreed with you. But experience has a way of giving one a different perspective. When we die, the world will continue on as it always has… our civilization of today is only different from those that came before in the trappings of fashion and language… at our core, humanity is corrupt and always has been.”
“Why all of this?” The Dark Gentleman asked, approaching the bench. “You’re not really dispensing justice, not even of the vigilante variety, are you? You’re running a protection racket… if people pay their fees, they’re safe. If they miss too many payments, they’re put on trial in this kangaroo court. I’m right, aren’t I?”
The Judge stood up, looking down at The Dark Gentleman with obvious contempt. “I wasted a lot of my life in the judicial system, young man. It was a farce… just, as you say, this court is. But it had its uses and I admired its pomp and circumstance.” He gestured to the gunmen around the room. “I’m tired of this conversation. Bailiffs, please remove The Dark Gentleman from the courtroom – preferably dead.”
The Dark Gentleman moved with a speed that aston
ished everyone in the room. Even as the so-called bailiffs approached, several of them having traded their pistols for police-issue nightsticks, the masked man drew out his gun and opened fire at The Judge. Three bullets struck the man in quick succession, all hitting him below the waist. The shots wouldn’t be fatal but they would keep Kern from fleeing the scene without assistance.
The Dark Gentleman felt strong hands seize him around the neck and he twisted forward, using his attacker’s momentum to flip him to the floor.
As the other men rushed to enter the fray, The Dark Gentleman was on the move. He bolted towards the stairs and reached them after decking a bailiff with a stout roundhouse punch. Taking them two and three at a time, he was back on the ground floor in a moment. He spotted another set of stairs leading to the top floor and he was up them in a flash, finding a set of makeshift offices that obviously belonged to The Judge and his “lawyers.” To his disgust, he saw a framed photo of Kern and his own father on the wall.
After yanking open a window, The Dark Gentleman managed to pull himself to the roof. He heard footsteps and shouted voices behind him and he looked to the building next to him. It was a good leap and he’d probably break every bone in his body if he failed to make it… but he didn’t have much choice.
He took several steps back and then sprinted towards the edge of the roof. He jumped, praying that he wouldn’t end up a smear on the road below.
***
And that, my friends, is where we came into this story, isn’t it?
Yep… there I am, hurtling through the abyss with bullets flying in my wake. It’s damned flamboyant, isn’t it? I mean, I don’t like to toot my own horn but if I were a female, I think I’d be properly swooning right now.
I landed a little less than gracefully and my ankle felt a bit out of sorts as I tried to keep running. I heard the guys behind me trying to make the same leap – a couple of them made it but at least one ending up screaming his lungs out as he fell to hard asphalt below.
Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, eh?
I spotted a fire escape and hurried towards it, grunting as a bullet ripped right through my top hat. Those things are expensive!
What was my plan at this point? Well… truthfully, I was making it up as I went but I think I was going to flag down a patrolman and direct him to the bogus courtroom. Sure, Kern might buy his freedom but his standing in the community would be ruined and his scheme would be scuttled so I’d count that as a victory.
To my surprise, that wasn’t necessary, though.
Down below, a virtual flood of police cars was descending upon the scene. A paddy wagon screeched to a halt and nearly a dozen armed policemen stormed out, busting their way into the building behind me.
I was dumbfounded. Nobody knew where I was going except for the stoolie who’d given me the address so who…?
“Winkie,” I muttered. That damned fool had done this before, worrying himself so much over me that he tipped off the authorities – or, even worse, somebody like Lazarus Gray or Fortune McCall. At least I didn’t have one of them rushing on the scene to steal my thunder…
Not that it’s about the glory, of course. It’s just nice to have it when you can get it.
The guys who had come over to the rooftop with me were swearing and cursing, of course. They’d completely forgotten about me, focusing instead on the cops below. I calmly walked up behind them both, tapped them on the shoulders, and punched their lights out in quick succession. It was small consolation for a ruined hat but it would have to do.
From there, I slipped down the fire escape and made my escape, confident that The Judge and his goons would curse my name enough so that everyone would know who had brought the gang low.
***
“You’re lucky I don’t kick you out of our little partnership,” I said to Winkie about an hour later.
He didn’t seem particularly concerned. “I saved your bacon.”
“I had it under control.”
“Doesn’t sound like it. What if that bullet had gone through your head instead of the hat?”
I didn’t have a handy reply to that one so I let it slide. I was more concerned to think that one of the few good men in Sovereign had turned out to be anything but. It left me feeling hollow inside and wondering if he and my father were right – maybe there wasn’t anything I could to change this city for the better.
“Go see your girl,” Winkie muttered.
“What?”
“You’re being melancholy. It doesn’t suit your character.”
“I’m not a fictional creation, you know. I have feelings. Depth.”
“Go see your girl.”
Sighing, I stood up and walked to the door. “Write it up nice and dramatic, Winkie.”
“I always do. I always do.”
THE END – FOR NOW
You have just finished reading
THE JUDGMENT OF THE SHADOW COURT
by Barry Reese
This story is part of the Single Shots Signature Series.
Edited by Tommy Hancock
Editor in Chief, Pro Se Productions-Tommy Hancock
Director of Corporate Operations-Morgan McKay
Publisher & Pro Se Productions, LLC-Chief Executive Officer-Fuller Bumpers
Cover Art by Jeff Hayes
E-book Design by Russ Anderson
Pro Se Productions, LLC
133 1/2 Broad Street
Batesville, AR, 72501
870-834-4022
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