Perfect Justice

15.

“WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED to you?” Ben staggered into the Hatewatch office, clutching his side. Belinda jumped up from her desk when she saw him and helped him to a chair.

“I’ve had a tough night,” Ben mumbled.

“No kidding.” Belinda took his head in her hands. His face was bruised and his left eye was swollen shut. A long red laceration highlighted his eyebrow. “Where’d you spend the night, a trash compactor?”

“Close. City jail.”

“Jail? You? What was the charge?”

“Drunk and disorderly.” Ben grimaced; talking only exacerbated the aching in his side. “I’m … sorry, Belinda … I know you didn’t want me back here …”

“Don’t be stupid. You’re hurt.”

“But what if Frank and—”

“Frank and John will be out all morning.”

“It’s just—” Another sharp shot of pain blazed through his rib cage. “Didn’t … think I could make it back to the campsite, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“I said, don’t worry about it. Who did this to you?”

“The Right Honorable Deputy Gustafson.”

“Oh, God. Why was he after you?”

Ben rubbed the soreness in his side. “Wanted me to admit I was in on an ASP firebombing.”

“Why the hell didn’t you? It’s not as if you were under oath.”

Ben shrugged. “Principle of the thing.”

Belinda shook her head. If Ben wasn’t mistaken, just the tiniest trace of admiration crept back into her eyes. “Principles can get you beaten up badly with a redneck like Gustafson.”

“You know him?”

“He’s come around here a few times, trying to get us to do some stupid thing or another. Did he tell you about his sister?”

“I believe he mentioned her, yes. Although he let his club do most of the talking.”

“How long did he beat you?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I kind of faded out there toward the end. When he was done, he just left me lying on the stone floor. I couldn’t move a muscle. About an hour later he dragged me into Cell Block B. With three members of ASP.”

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Did they hurt you?”

“No, worse.” Ben touched the cut on his face gingerly. “They were nice to me.”

A faint smile played on Belinda’s lips. “You poor kid. Let me get a first-aid kit.” She ran to a room in the back of the office, then returned with the kit and a washcloth. She applied a medicated Q-tip to the cut over Ben’s eye.

“Ow!” he said. “That stings.”

“Don’t complain. It’s good for you.”

“Haven’t I been tortured enough?”

Belinda ignored him and continued dressing his wounds. She was being extremely kind, Ben thought. Was it possible his first impression hadn’t been altogether wrong? Was it possible that there might still be some attraction—?

“How was your bed?” Belinda asked.

“No beds. No cots, no metal bunks. We slept on the floor. Which became particularly unpleasant after my drunken roommates began vomiting all over the place.”

She lifted his shirt and examined the ugly blue-black bruise on the side of his rib cage. “My God, that’s terrible. Did he break a rib?”

“I don’t think so. He seemed to be pretty good at inflicting pain but stopping short of any permanent damage.”

“Permanent damage leads to lawsuits. A few bruises can be written off to an alleged escape attempt. You are going to sue, aren’t you?”

“No way.”

“Ben, he violated your civil rights!”

“What else is new?”

“If it’s a question of money, Hatewatch could subsidize the expenses—”

“No. I’ve got enough problems without any new lawsuits.”

She removed a gauze bandage from the kit and wrapped it around his chest. “Vick case not going well?”

Ben watched as she expertly tended to his wounds and abrasions. She obviously had some medical training. Which was not surprising. Given her choice of vocation, she probably came face-to-face with violence on a regular basis. “The Vick case isn’t going at all. No one will talk to me. No one will help me. My own legal assistant won’t help. I can’t even get a room for the night.”

Belinda finished wrapping his chest and pulled down his shirt. “Can’t say I feel sorry for you. Your client is pond scum, Ben.”

Ben tucked in his shirt. “C’mon, Belinda, you’re a lawyer. You know the process doesn’t work unless both sides are represented.”

“True. But that doesn’t mean you have to represent every dirtbag on earth.”

“No one competent would represent this dirtbag. It was either me or a probate attorney who doesn’t know abstracts from arraignments.”

“Still—”

“If we’re not going to give the man a fair trial, we might as well not give him a trial at all. Is that what you want? Conviction without a fair trial?”

“In the case of Donald Vick, I won’t shed any tears.”

“Then you need to ask yourself if the ASP members are the only fascists around here.”

Belinda frowned. She packed up her first-aid kit, then placed it on her desk.

Ben reached out and took her wrist. “Belinda, I’m desperate.”

She tried to shrug him away.

Ben turned her head with his finger and made her look at him. “I need your help. I can’t do this alone.”

Her movements slowed; her face showed her confusion. Ben noticed, however, that she did not remove his hand. “I’m not going to help you get a murderer off the hook.”

“I’m not asking you to. I just want you to help me investigate. You were planning to investigate the case anyway; you told me so. We might as well do it together.”

“I’m not sure that’s wise. We’re not on the same side.”

“We both want the same thing. The truth.” He looked at her pointedly. “Isn’t that right?”

Belinda thought for a long time before answering. “I suppose if I accompanied you, people might be more willing to talk.”

Ben quietly released his breath. “That’s the spirit.”

“But I warn you, if we uncover any evidence that incriminates your client, I’m going straight to the DA with it.”

“Understood.” He leaned back in the chair, careful not to strain any sensitive muscles.

Belinda rubbed her hands together. “Let me take care of a few emergencies, then we can get started. If you’re up to it.”

“I will be. Just give me a minute to pull myself together.”

“Fine. Anything else I can do for you?”

Ben tried to open his swollen eye. “Well … you could uncancel our dinner date. …”