I firmly believe that most people are good at heart, that they want to be good. It’s hard sometimes, what with ignorance and peer pressure and all our basest instincts constantly being hung out to dry. But I also know that the world is changing. For the better. So many of the evils that have plagued humanity since the dawn of time have been eradicated. Slavery, racial discrimination, gender discrimination, exploitation of children. With all the good that is happening, how long can prejudice and bigotry against gay and lesbian people survive? How long can it be before we too shall be released? If being part of the Alliance has made me realize anything, it is that when all is said and done, people who hate gays aren’t prejudiced because of some obscure passage in the Book of Leviticus. This prejudice, like every other prejudice, is based on the fact that we are different from them. They don’t care that mankind was made in God’s image; they want the world to be made in their image. Bottom line, they get uptight because I’m not just like them. And that scares them. And scared bunnies do crazy things.

48

“Is Ben here?” Loving said breathlessly as he ran through the front doors of their temporary offices.

“No,” Jones said, looking down a long nose. “Could I possibly serve as a substitute?”

“I need Ben. When do you expect him back?”

“How should I know? He never tells me anything.”

Loving’s eyes widened. “Didn’tcha see the press conference? It was on television.”

“As if I have time for television,” Jones grunted. “Someone has to keep this office afloat.” He paused, a puzzled expression on his face. “Ben gave a press conference? I thought he considered that the hallmark of sleaze.”

“So you don’t know nothin’ ’bout what happened in the courtroom today?”

“As I said-”

“You’re not gonna believe it. This case has had more twists and turns than the Million Dollar Highway.” Loving continued recounting the day’s events. It was only a matter of moments before Jones became so entranced he turned away from his computer monitor. After a minute, he dropped his pencil, hanging on every word. He was so wrapped up in Loving’s account that he didn’t even look up when the front door chime sounded.

The visitor crossed the front lobby and approached Jones’s desk.

“… and once Ben proves who the fourth partner is, my bookie’s laying three-to-one odds that the judge-” He stopped abruptly as the visitor entered his field of vision. “Psst. Jones.”

The visitor was a large man. His posture spoke of strength and power and a blustery sort of confidence. He was wearing a nondescript blue suit with a bland black tie. About the only noteworthy thing about him was his face-or lack thereof. He was wearing a mask, one of those cheap plastic Halloween masks that come from discount toy stores. Jones couldn’t be certain, but he thought he was looking into the simulated face of Captain Kirk.

“May I help you?”

“Yes,” said the deep voice behind the mask. “I’d like you both to come with me.”

A deep furrow crossed Jones’s brow. “Come where?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

Jones and Loving exchanged a look. “Then… why would we want to come?”

The man’s hand emerged from his suit coat pocket holding a small revolver. “Because if you don’t, I’ll have to kill you.”

Ben and Christina trudged from the parking lot back to the building where Kevin Mahoney had his offices. Ben was carrying a large and heavy banker’s box. Christina was hauling a catalog case in each hand.

“Have I mentioned that this is the worst part of any trial?” Ben said.

“Only every day,” Christina grunted back.

“I don’t know why they won’t let us keep our stuff in the courtroom.”

“Because it isn’t safe. If something happened to it, they don’t want you trying to blame the court because your case goes south. Besides, you never know what you’ll need to prep for the next day.”

Christina dropped one of the cases and opened the glass lobby door. “At least this time around we have Vicki-an extra set of hands and an extra car. That saves at least two or three trips a day.” She gathered up the case with a grunt. “She’s a bit on the timid side, of course, but she sure gets the job done. And her French is excellent.”

Ben grinned. “And that’s important when you’re trying a brutal homicide case.”

“Civility is always important,” Christina replied airily.

They entered the elevator and rode up to the floor where they were borrowing space from Mahoney. When they entered the office, they found it deserted.

“I expected all of Kevin’s people to be gone this late in the day. But where’s Jones?” Christina asked.

“Or Loving? Dunno.” Ben scratched his head. “Jones is usually right at the door waiting for us, so he can give me his complaints of the day.”

Christina smiled. “He gives me doughnuts.”

“I guess we know where his heart lies.” Ben left his materials by the door-so they could be more easily carted back to court again tomorrow morning-then headed back to his office. He’d been there maybe ten minutes when he heard the front door chime.

Who would be coming in at this time of night? he wondered. It was way too late for business visitors. Probably just Jones returning from whatever errand he was on. Maybe a reporter. Or Ellen. Or… there was one other possibility. He clapped his side coat pocket. He was ready, in any case.

He pushed out of his chair and approached the door. He was almost through it when a man entered-wearing a Hallo-ween mask.

Ben drew back. “Excuse me. What are you-”

The man did not wait for him to finish. He shoved Ben back, hard. Ben fell against his desk, the edge slamming into him.

Ben didn’t waste a second. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small handheld radio. “Boxer? Now! Call the police and come!”

The man in the mask knocked the radio out of his hand. “Would you by chance be calling Boxer Johnson?”

Ben felt his mouth go dry.

The man reached into his coat and removed another radio, just like the one Ben had, then a black leather wallet. “Boxer Johnson, age fifty-five, blue eyes, one hundred and seventy-five pounds, eyesight restriction.” He threw the wallet into Ben’s face. “Bad news, Kincaid. He won’t be coming.”

Ben pressed back against the desk, trying to get as far as possible from the man. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Oh, but you already know that, don’t you? This is your party, after all.”

“I don’t know what-”

“Don’t treat me like a jerk.” He drew his hand back and slapped Ben hard across the face. “You set this up, with your little press conference. You knew I’d have no choice but to come after you. I wasn’t going to let you screw everything up. Not after all the work, all the… killing. Maybe you thought I’d wait till you left the office, but I figured I better move quick, before it’s too late. Before you were ready. First, I took out your two little friends. But I kept telling myself, this kid Kincaid can’t be this stupid. He’s practically inviting me to come after him. He must have backup. So after you went into the office, I sat back and waited. And sure enough, as predictable as clockwork, your rear guard showed up, chatting into his little radio, making his rounds.”

“If you’ve hurt him-”

“Oh, I’ve hurt him all right. I hurt him good, like he won’t forget for a long time. If he can remember anything.”

“Ben, have you got the ex-” Christina stepped through the doorway, then froze. A millisecond later, she turned to run. The man in the mask whirled around, grabbed her arm. As she tried to pull away, he jerked her backwards. Ben knew that it hurt; he could see it in her eyes. She flew backward and careered into the desk beside him.

“And here’s the pretty one,” he said, contempt dripping from his voice. “I might have a little fun with you, before it’s over. Or after.”