Cruel Justice

53

“GOT IT!” HE EXCLAIMED.

Royce looked away from his new camera. He’d had to buy a new one, since his good buddy left his old one in that deserted building with the kid. He’d spent the past hour trying to figure out how it worked. Seemed like the high-end cameras got more complicated every year. Soon only computer programmers would be able to operate them. “Got what?”

The man’s dark eyes glistened. “A plan.”

“For what?”

“To get the kid.”

Of course, Royce thought. What else? Ever since his friend’s narrow escape from the law, he’d been obsessed with getting to that boy. His desperation grew more intense every minute. Royce hated to think about what was likely to happen to that kid if he ever got his hands on him.

“Look,” Royce said, “the police haven’t come anywhere near you. Don’t you think the safest thing would be to just leave him alone?”

“No, imbecile. Don’t you know every stupid cop in this city is looking for me?”

“But they haven’t found you, have they?”

“They will. I have to make sure that when they do, they don’t have a witness to identify me.”

Royce felt a sudden chill. He didn’t at all care for the look in the man’s eyes or the expression in his voice. “If you’re so sure the cops are on your ass, why don’t you just move?”

“And live in fear? Always looking over my shoulder? Always worrying that my life might be ended by some stupid, naughty boy? Never!”

This guy was over the edge, Royce realized. Around the bend: Totally and dangerously nuts.

“Have you been following the Leeman Hayes trial, Royce?”

“I hear what they say on the evening news.”

“Well, it’s in the state courthouse, Fifth and Denver, sixth floor.”

“Why are you telling me?”

“Because I want you to be there tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? I’m supposed to be taking pictures down at Monte Cassino—”

“Cancel.”

“I can’t cancel—”

“Those miserable school brats will still have their fake smiles a week from now. I need you at the courthouse.”

Royce’s shoulders sagged. “What is it you want me to do?”

“Just be there. I’ll be there, too, but I want you to act as if you don’t know who I am.”

“Then what’s the point of—”

“Just be there. I’ll give you further instructions when you arrive.”

“But how—”

“Just be there!” His face burned red; his head trembled.

Royce sat down quietly and placed his hands in his lap. “Okay. Whatever you want.”

“Good.” He walked across the room and stared into an ornate hanging mirror. “It isn’t fair, you know. I was so nice. All I wanted was to love him, to cherish him. And how does he reward me?”

With a sudden burst of rage, he jerked the mirror off the wall and threw it across the room. Royce ducked just before the mirror smashed against the wall with a tremendous crescendo of glass and metal.

Royce crawled out from behind the sofa. Next time he was in this apartment alone, he was definitely removing all the glass objects.

His associate collapsed into a chair. “He hurts me, that’s how. He threatens me. Well, no more. It’s into the closet for you, Abie Rutherford. Into the closet, and you won’t come out until you’ve been punished. Punished!”

To Royce’s astonishment, his friend began to cry. “That’s right,” he said softly. “Punished till he hurts. Punished till he cries for mercy. But there will be no mercy.”

He lowered his head, tears streaming down his face. “It’s only fair,” he gasped. “It’s only fair.”

Royce edged quietly toward the door.

“But who will punish me? Who will punish me?” The man stared down at his own hands.

The last thing Royce heard as he slipped out the door was the sound of his friend shouting at top volume and crying with the same breath. “Mommy? Daddy? Tell me what to do! Who will punish me?”