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Message-ID: <44329asstr$1063743003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Cooperative Defendant {Kellis} (MMF oral)
Date: Tue, 16 Sep 2003 16:10:04 -0400
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The Cooperative Defendant

a Short Story
Copyright (C) Kellis, Summer, 2003





"People versus Eve NMI Nunn," cried the bailiff loudly over the
noise of the courtroom, reading from his clipboard, "charged with
Possession of WMD, Threatened Use of WMD, Larceny of a Chartered
Financial Institution, Grand Larceny, Concealing Evidence,
Fleeing Arrest, Trespass and Littering."

The policeman holding her upper arm pushed Eve to the middle of
the bench.  The female prosecutor's assistant followed just
behind the policeman but no one else stood close.

The judge, fat, fifty and bald with a pepper-and-salt moustache,
looked up from the legal papers on his desk.  "And _littering_?"

The bailiff scanned further, "To wit: casting trash into the
public street."

The judge grinned sourly.  "Bank robbery plus littering -- oh,
for the good old days of neat thieves!"  He sighed impatiently.
"I know NMI means No Middle Initial, but kindly refresh my memory
on WMD."

"Weapons of Mass Destruction," intoned the Bailiff.

The judge's eyebrows rose.  "Serious business for such a pretty
girl!  How do you plead, Ms. Nunn?"

The defendant stood in the orange jail suit, hands dangling at
her sides.  Short brown hair was a mass of natural curls.  The
face, a symmetrical oval background for arched eyebrows, large
brown eyes and pinkly pursed lips, was striking, even with the
mouth twisting indecisively.  The judge's eyes widened in
appreciation.

"P-plead?"

The judge's voice softened.  "You heard the charges against you.
You must say whether or not you're guilty."

The roar of voices quietened somewhat as others in the courtroom
regarded the girl curiously.  After a moment she shook her head.
"I don't like this place."

"Few do," retorted the judge.  "The sooner you plead the sooner
you'll get out of here."

"Oh.  And I have to say 'Guilty' or 'Not Guilty?'"

"Yes."

"Okay.  Guilty."

Beyond the policeman the prosecutorial assistant stiffened
suddenly.

The judge grinned at the neatly dressed woman.  "I take it this
comes as a surprise to you?"

"Yes, your honor," she said, rolling her eyes.  "Until now this
defendant has denied everything."

"Has she!"  The man redirected his attention to the defendant.
"Young lady, do you realize by pleading guilty now to such a
serious charge, you are precluding the possibility of bail?"

The girl lowered her eyes.  "If you say so, judge."

"Ms. Alford," asked the judge suspiciously of the prosecutor's
assistant, "how old is this young lady?"

"She claims to be legally adult."

"'Claims to be?'  What about her driver's license or birth
certificate?"

"She has no documentation, your honor, and says she was born in
the Alaskan wilderness."

"Alaska?  And I suppose you don't have a fingerprint match?"

"The FBI has no record of her."

"Speaking of the record --"  The judge glanced at the listening
court reporter before turning to Eve.  "How old are you, Ms.
Nunn, for the record?"

"Twenty-one."

Again the assistant prosecutor started.  "_Twenty-one_!  Your
honor, she told the police she was 19."

"Which is it, Ms. Nunn?" asked the judge.

The girl shrugged.  "I'm older today."

"Not two years older!" declared the assistant prosecutor dryly.

"Could you be confused?" the judge wondered, gazing into
untroubled brown eyes.  He shook his head and drew a breath.
"Ms. Alford, you'd better make very sure this girl isn't a
juvenile."

The woman blinked.  "Even 19, your honor --"

"I know, I know," the judge interrupted.  "Ms. Nunn, do you have
an attorney?"

"No, sir."

"Then I expect nobody has pointed out to you the very serious
penalties that can be imposed for using weapons of mass
destruction."

The girl blinked.  "Using what, sir?"

"Call me 'your honor.'  Bailiff, let me see those charges."

The officer handed up his clipboard.  Scanning it, the judge
murmured, "Threatened to blow up the bank ...  But no bomb was
actually found."

The assistant prosecutor injected tartly, "Because she threw it
off the roof of a building before she could be arrested."

The judge had reached the bottom of the paper.  He looked up.
"Was the bomb found in the street?"

"No, your honor.  Not yet.  But may I respectfully suggest this
is not the correct hearing to inquire about that?"

"You're right, Ms. Alford, though you'd better find that bomb.
Talk about _reasonable doubt_!"  The judge returned the clipboard
to the bailiff.  "This young lady obviously needs counsel.  I'm
going to ignore her plea at this time, appoint her some counsel
and reschedule her arraignment for tomorrow.  Is that all right
with the people?"

"But she just pled guilty!"

"I'm not convinced it was competent plea.  Ms. Nunn, did you
threaten to blow up a bank?"

The girl smiled engagingly.  "I like banks, your honor."

"Because they have all that money, no doubt."

Her eyes lit.  "Oh yes!  And I like you too."

"But don't blow me up," the judge cautioned dryly.

"Oh, not _up_, your honor!"

He studied her thoughtfully a moment before turning to the
assistant prosecutor.  "Ms. Alford, I'll see this defendant here
again tomorrow, or as soon as she has conferred with counsel."
He raised his voice.  "Court is adjourned until the afternoon
session."

The policeman, a lean fellow in dark blue with truncheon and
holstered pistol on his hip, caught the girl's wrists, drew them
together before her and clipped plastic handcuffs onto them.

"Did you have to do that?" she asked plaintively.

"WMD is a Class A felony," he explained, taking her upper arm to
tug her out of the courtroom.  People ahead of them soon vanished
through other doors in the long hall.

"Class A, imagine that!"  She looked around.  "Where is
everybody?"

"It's lunchtime," said the man, holding her with a grip
appropriate to the tales of her fleet-footedness, though today
she was anything but swift.  "What's your problem," he asked as
she dragged back, "not hungry?"

"Is it lunch that you're in such a hurry for?"

"No."  He led her closer to the right-hand wall and the
nondescript door about half way along it.  "I ain't forgot what
you did in the lobby while we waited for the ride."

"Oh?" she breathed airily.  "What was that?"

"You cranked me pretty good."  He chuckled.  "Even while the
change squad was coming through.  You've got balls."

She mocked him.  "A girl with balls!"

"I've known a few.  And you look so innocent; you had the judge
eating out of your hand.  Wanna stop in here and finish what you
started?"

They had reached the unmarked wooden door.  She looked up and
down the hall.  Her eyes turned up to him unblinkingly.  "Except
I don't want you eating out of my _hand_!"

Without another word he snatched the door open and pushed her
through it before him.  With the door closed they were in
darkness relieved only by a slight glow where the bottom edge
failed to meet the hardwood flooring.  It was enough for her to
discern brooms, mops, shelves of cleaning supplies and the man's
intent gaze.

"What would happen if I screamed?" she asked.

He stiffened.  "Christ, honey, you don't have to _scream_.  If
you don't want this, just say so!"

"You're about 30, aren't you?"

"So what?"

"You might be too fast, but I won't scream if you start with your
tongue."

He did not hesitate.  "You can sit on the barrel ... after we get
this off you."

The jumpsuit's zipper ran from throat past crotch to the ankle of
the left leg.  He reached between her shackled arms and drew it
whining down her body, then peeled the garment's opened left leg
around over the right, exposing most of her torso, which his
hands immediately sought.

He laughed in pleased surprise.  "No underclothes!  Were you
hoping for a little fun?"

"Those bitchy lezzies got them away from me."

"Fun and games everywhere, eh?"  He took her under the arms.  "Up
you go!"

She perched on the waste barrel lid, leaned back on the wall, and
opened her legs to admit his face.  "Ooo!" she breathed at his
touch.

The plastic barrel creaked as her body quivered.  Her heels
tucked themselves behind his back.  Her shoulders tightened.  She
began to moan, softly at first, then louder.  His hand snaked up
between her arms, found her face and closed over her mouth.  That
silenced her momentarily but shortly she resumed nasally.
Finally she produced a choking sound and her thighs closed over
his ears briefly before clenched fists pushed his head away.

But his face fell back into her groin, licking furiously.  She
released a soft scream and pulled painfully on his ears.

At last he backed away, licking wet lips.  "God, you taste like
honey!"

Opening belt and fly, he dropped his uniform britches, holstered
pistol thudding heavily on the floor, while grinning at the
writhing torso, teeth closed on lower lip and eyes glaring back
at him through the gloom.  He pulled her off the barrel and
impaled her, supporting her weight with hands clutching her
buttocks cheeks.  Her arms and legs encircled his shoulders and
hips, and she began to bounce upon him, assisted by his lifting
hands.

Now instead of moaning she grunted in time with his thrusts.  In
another minute he ejaculated.  Her body grew rigid as his.  For a
moment they held the pose, a partly clothed woman wrapped around
a standing man.  Then both gasped for breath as her feet dropped
to the floor.

"What a grip!" the man breathed.  "You really love fucking, don't
you?"

"Yeah, too much," she admitted, stooping to find her zipper pull
clumsily with hands cuffed in front.  She clasped his wet penis
as she straightened up.  "You could soak this all day if you'd
help me escape."

He only laughed, pulling up his pants.  A moment later he stuck
his head out the door to verify a still empty hall.  His hand led
her into it as he closed the door.

Following him, she groused, "Maybe one of these days I'll get
smart enough to offer a cop that _before_ he comes!"



* * *



Patricia Alford, fortyish with a broad beam, tidy auburn hair and
freckles, dressed in a turquoise business suit with black bow
tie, entered the line-up viewing room, where a thin, nervous
woman waited in the company of a policeman.

"I'm the assistant prosecutor," she said, extending her hand.
"You're Ms. Yeager, the clerk at Field National?"

"Yes, ma'am," answered the woman, touching hands limply.

"I want to talk to you, get your impression of the crime.  As I
understand it, no one actually saw the robber's face or heard her
voice.  Is that right?"

"That's right," the thin woman agreed.

"Not quite," said the cop.  "Harrelsen and I saw her face."

"You're Officer Gentry?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You and Harrelsen signed the arrest sheet."

"We made the arrest."

"But you weren't in the bank."

"No.  When we got the call, we started for the bank and saw the
suspect walking down the street away from it.  She matched the
description so we stopped to put her under arrest."

"I've checked.  That was three blocks away and on a different
street."

"She had time to walk that far."

"Twelve minutes.  I suppose that's enough.  Ms. Yeager, tell me
exactly what you saw."

The thin woman clasped her hands behind her back.  "Not much.
This girl or woman came in from the lobby around 11:30, before
the lunch crowd --"

"Were other customers in the bank?"

"I don't believe so."

"Go on.  Was she already wearing a mask?"

"A paper shopping bag over her head with eyeholes cut in it.  She
came straight to my counter and pushed her note under my grille."

"How was she dressed exactly?"

"Brown butterfly jeans and a white long-sleeve cropped shirt.
The shopping bag was gray with a Hayes Department Store logo.
She had another one in her hand that she took the note and a
third bag out of.  The note said she had a bomb, that she meant
to die and take us all with her if I didn't put in money."

"And you did: the booby pack and how much more?"

"I don't know.  I was a little nervous and they sent me home
afterwards.  Mr. Valencia said it was almost $10,000."

"That much!"

"That's what he said."

"Plus the booby pack."

"Well, you know that only the top and bottom twenties are real.
As soon as anyone opens the pack, red dye explodes all over
them."

"I know."  Ms. Alford laughed sourly.  "A crazy jury in
California found a bank liable for putting out a thief's eye with
that stuff."  She took a breath and continued, "In fact you could
only see the thief's hands, is that right?"

"Well, and her belly.  The shopping bag covered all her hair."

"Meaning it was short."

"Or gathered up."

"Was there anything distinctive about her hands, like a scar or a
wart?"

"I don't know.  She was wearing surgical gloves."

The assistant prosecutor stiffened.  "Gloves?  That explains it!"

"Explains what?"

"The lack of fingerprints on her note.  On both hands, Ms.
Yeager?"

"I ... don't recall noticing her other hand."

"How can you be sure it was a woman?  Could it have been a boy or
young man with a padded bra?"

Ms. Yeager shook her head decisively.  "No way.  She was wearing
low hip-huggers.  Her hips were too wide and smooth and her
shoulders too thin.  She was a girl and not a very old one
either."  The woman smiled.  "She had a cute belly-button."

"That could be important.  Do you think you'd recognize her navel
if you saw it again?"

"I could maybe tell it from others."

"Excuse me."

Ms. Alford took a cell phone from her pocket and hit a precoded
key.  In a moment she asked querulously, "Where's the WMD
line-up?"

She listened to the rattling receiver and said, "She won't?
Actually that may be better.  Is Policewoman Carter in the
building? ...  All right.  She's about the right size.  Put
Nunn's clothes on _her_.  And dress the other three in two-piece
jump suits.  You do have two-piece ones, don't you?"

She grinned at her two listeners and shook her head.  "He has to
check."  A moment later she nodded.  "Okay and hurry up."
Folding the phone back into her pocket, she added with a sniff,
"Our suspect refused to put her own clothes back on.  Guess she
thought of navels too.  Well, it won't do her any good."

"Or maybe the lab didn't wash 'em," said the cop with a leer.

"What do you mean?"

"She pissed herself in the squad car."

"She did?"  The bank teller's eyebrows rose.  "Well, I guess she
might.  My god, I never thought how it would be for her, the poor
thing!"

Ms. Alford raised her chin.  "Are you feeling sympathy for the
person who meant to blow you up?"

But the teller glared around at the cop.  "I'll bet you were
rough with her."

The man shrugged.  "She ran from us like a deer.  Might've got
clean away if she hadn't gone into that building."  He grinned at
the assistant prosecutor.  "I hear they still let cops shoot
runners in Texas."

The teller, clearly horrified, promptly stepped away from him.

Ms. Alford snapped, "Officer Gentry, would you mind leaving us?"

"Did I say something?"

"Out, please!"

The man shrugged.  "It's your show."  He jerked open the door to
expose another man in civilian clothing with hand raised to
knock.  The policeman departed as the new man entered.

"I'm Al Swigart, Nunn's attorney.  I just got the notice."

Ms. Alford's eyes widened.  She did not offer her hand.  "You
tried the Considine case."

"So I did."

"I assisted on that one.  I don't blame you for not remembering.
Making our witness out to be a hooker was a pretty low trick,
Swigart."

"It worked."  He grinned wryly at Ms. Yeager.  "And now we seem
to be starting off on the right foot."

Ms. Alford sneered.  "Just don't ask for any favors."

His grin widened.  "From the looks of the evidence, you're the
one who'll need favors."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see in court.  Is the lineup late also or did I miss it?
Excuse me: I'm Al Swigart, attorney at law, representing Eve
Nunn."

He had addressed himself to Ms. Yeager.  The thin woman looked
interested.  "Is that her name?"

Ms. Alford snapped, "Hold on!  This is _my_ witness.  You're to
talk with her only through me."

The man spread his hands peaceably.  "Don't get excited.  But you
might tell me why we're having a lineup.  I've checked.  Nobody
actually saw the thief's face.  Oh, I get it!  You're gonna
identify her belly-button."  He laughed uproariously.

"What's so absurd about that?" demanded the assistant with a
glare.

"Hey, I like it," said the man, grinning.  "Think you can get the
FBI to make a belly-button print registry?  If you do, I've got
some other body parts to recommend."  He winked at the teller,
who chuckled in response.

"Dammit!" muttered Ms. Alford under her breath.  With effort she
assumed a conciliatory pose.  "Ms. Yeager, please don't let
opposing counsel confuse you.  When the exhibit begins, I want
you to think back to the day of the robbery and compare them in
your own mind."

The thin woman raised her chin.  "I'm not confused."

Ms. Alford would have soothed further but at that moment the door
in the lineup room opened and four women filed in, shepherded by
a blue-uniformed policeman.  Three of the women wore orange jail
suits; the fourth was dressed in a white long-sleeve shirt cut
short just under the breasts plus hip-hugging brown jeans with
flaring ankles.  The three in jail suits, but not the fourth,
wore shopping bags perforated with eyeholes over their faces.

The assistant prosecutor said, still in soothing tones, "The one
in civilian clothes is a policewoman acting as a model.  Have you
ever seen that clothing before?"

"Oh, yes!" declared the witness positively, then corrected
herself.  "That is, I've seen some just like it."

"Aha!" pounced Ms. Alford.  "Where did you see the like, Ms.
Yeager?"

"On Barbara, my 17-year-old niece.  Just last night in fact."

Taken aback, Ms. Alford whirled to face the witness.  "B-but ...
Think carefully, Ms. Yeager.  Where _else_ have you seen them?"

"You mean, are they the same as what the bank robber wore?  Why
don't you say what you mean?"

"Because that's a leading question," Ms. Alford answered piously.

With a shrug the witness stood mute, seeming to study the
clothing.  Ms. Alford sighed.  "But _are_ they ... the same?"

The man laughed.

"You stay out of this!" Ms. Alford ordered him.

The witness nodded slowly.  "They're very similar.  Except ..."

"Except what?"

"I thought she was wearing _butterfly_ jeans."

Ms. Alford sighed again.  "I don't keep up with kids' fashions.
What exactly are butterfly jeans -- the way the legs flare?"

"No.  Well, that might be part of it.  But if I'm not mistaken,
the bank robber had a little yellow butterfly insignia on her
hip.  That's what Barbara calls butterfly jeans."

"Could you be mistaken about that insignia?"

The witness retorted, "I said I could be!"

"Does your niece have such a sign on _her_ jeans?"

"Not on the brown ones."

Ms. Yeager added, as if just now noticing it, "And your
policewoman's boobs are bigger."

"Than your niece's?"

"Well, yes, but I meant the bank robber.  Can they hear us?"

"Who?  You mean the lineup?  No.  That's a one-way glass and the
wall is soundproof."  As she spoke the woman leaned close to a
grill and pressed a button.  "All right.  The one in civvies can
go with our thanks.  Guard, please ask the others to separate the
front parts of their suits and bare their navels."

"My god!" exclaimed the defense attorney.  "You can't be
serious!"

"Oh yes, I can," declared the assistant prosecutor.  "Ms. Alford,
take a close look at those three navels.  Have you seen one of
_them_ before?"

In the soundproof room the policewoman had departed.  Meanwhile
each remaining female had partly lowered the bottom half of her
jump suit and raised the hem of the top.  Two of them were
wearing panties, one purplish, one pink.  The third apparently
wore none; the top curls of her pubic hair popped into view above
the jail suit elastic.  All three observers in the viewing booth
straightened.

Hastily, after a glance at the witness's open mouth, Ms. Alford
pressed the button again.  "Number Two, do you mean to show us
everything?"

The three shopping bags twisted back and forth as the wearers
studied the number tags pinned to each blouse.  Apparently the
assistant prosecutor's sarcasm had failed to penetrate the
intercom.  Number Two shrugged and bent enough to shove the
bottom of her suit down to her ankles.  Straightening up,
exposing a full pubic triangle, she gathered the top in both
hands and raised it to her shoulders.  Firm young breasts jutted
forth, crinkled nipples jiggling only slightly.

All three observers gasped.  The witness's hand rose to her
mouth.  The defense lawyer's eyes bulged but he succeeding in
producing the first words.  "Well, you can sure see her navel!"

That idea gave Ms. Alford her voice back.  "Ms. Yeager, compare
all three to your memory please.  Which one of them looks
familiar?"

"I, uh ..."

"Take your time.  Study them carefully.  Compare them to the one
you saw in the bank."

"My god!" exclaimed Swigart excitedly.  "They all look alike."

"Hold your tongue!" ordered the assistant prosecutor, adding
darkly, "I know what you're looking at."

"But he's right," declared the witness, reaching her conclusion.
"These are all young women who've never been pregnant.  Maybe
close up in a bright light you could find a difference.  But not
here -- and the light wasn't very good in the bank anyway.  It
was an overcast day."

In the lineup room the guard had finally reacted.  He appeared
behind Number Two and jerked her suit bottom up around her waist
while the girl released the top to settle over her hips.  He said
something to her that caused her to duck her head.

Ms. Alford pressed the button.  "Thank you.  Guard, that
concludes the lineup.  Return the prisoner to her cell."

"Just a moment!" interjected Swigart.  "Now would be a good time
for me to confer with my client."

The woman shrugged, finger still on the button.  "Take the
prisoner to Interrogation Three.  Her attorney wants to talk to
her."

The lawyer bristled.  "In complete privacy, if you don't mind."

The Alford chin rose.  "I assure you, Mr. Swigart, nobody will
listen to your conversation.  But any man alone with that forward
little tart needs to be watched."



* * *



When Swigart reached Interrogation Three, he found Eve and the
same guard standing very close together beside the table.  The
larger body of the guard blocked his view of Eve's orange suit.
As the lawyer passed through the door, the policeman spun partly
around, hand flying into his pocket.  He gulped and demanded,
"Who're you?"

"You know me, Ackers," said Swigart, grinning wryly as Eve, still
in the two-piece jail suit, pulled up its elasticized bottom.
"Were you inspecting the prisoner?"

"Y-yeah."  The policeman's eyes widened gratefully.  He squared
his shoulders and stuck out his chin.  "Somebody might've passed
her something in the lineup."

"I understand.  Now leave me alone with my client."

But Eve frowned.  "What does he have to leave for?"

"So that we may confer privately."

"Let him stay."  She winked at the flustered policeman.  "Two's
more fun."

Ackers blushed.  He still stood beside the girl, hip under her
forearm where it extended from the jail suit's elbow-length
sleeve.  Eve's wink became a sly grin.  Her hand bent around and
caressed the front of his uniform trousers.

Immediately Swigart sidestepped to stand in front of them,
blocking the view through the window.  Eyes on her hand, now
seeming to grasp something under the cloth, he said warningly,
"You do know about one-way glass, don't you?"

She sniffed.  "You think anybody's watching?"

"I'm afraid so, especially a certain prosecutor's assistant."

"That old bag?  I got an idea.  Let's sit down with our backs to
her."

Ackers shook his head.  "The chairs on this side are for
interrogators."

She smiled.  "No problem.  I'll ask _you_ some questions."

She turned her back to the mirror and plopped into the middle
chair.  Ackers raised his eyebrows inquiringly at the lawyer, who
shrugged with a grin.  "Might as well take a seat.  Let's see
what she has in mind."

With a curious mixture of expressions the policeman sat gingerly
on the girl's right.  The lawyer sat on her left.  She swung,
bright eyed, from one to the other, and directed, "Put your heads
close so we can -- what'd you call it? -- confer.  Hey,
_confer_!"  She giggled.  "Does that mean put your fur together?"

The men obeyed.  The lawyer's arm went across the back of her
chair.  The girl's hands paused above their belts.  "Suck in your
guts."

Again they obeyed.  Her hands plunged into the voids thus
produced.  The lawyer grunted and slid his hips slightly forward.
Both men sat motionless, looking down in wonder at their
undulating britches' fronts.  The girl breathed, "See?  I told
you two was more fun."

"Ah, yes," said Swigart, taking a deep breath but otherwise
holding very still.  "You like two, do you?"

"Or even more.  It's so _busy_!"

"Busy?"

"Oh, wow, lots to do and feel!  Beats the hell out of TV."

Swigart nodded slowly.  "Ackers and I might agree with you there.
The more the merrier, eh?"

"And the longer it lasts.  A girl can do a bunch at once."

"An interesting point," conceded the lawyer.  "I've heard of
three."

The policeman licked his lips.  "_More_ than three at once?"

"Oh yes.  Four's easy.  And five works too, though it can get
messy."

"God, I guess!" breathed the cop.

"That's without using your hands."

The lawyer declared, "This I'd like to see!"

"I'll show you if you can get me the guys."  She chuckled.  "One
of the things that makes this fun is the differences."

"You mean, between the men?"

"Yeah.  Your thing is longer but Ackers' jewels are bigger.
Isn't that interesting?"

"His _jewels_!" muttered the lawyer aggrievedly.

"You're both very nice," she said.  "Hoo!  Ackers, your thing is --"

The loudspeaker interrupted her, braying in Ms. Alford's strident
tones, "Officer Ackers, what are you doing in there with a lawyer
and his client?"

"I'm c-c-coming!" the policeman wailed.  He turned slowly out of
the chair and shuffled toward the door, back bent, hand in
pocket.  Eve's right hand rose to her face where the fingers
popped into her mouth.  With hand on doorknob, Ackers looked back
at them and groused under his breath, "_She_ would have to look
in just now!"

"What was that?" asked the loudspeaker.

"Coming," he repeated before closing the door behind him.

Swigart took a very deep breath and said quietly, "I do
appreciate a girl with enthusiasm, but it's no good, Miss Nunn.
I need more than a hand."

"Well, I don't have 300 an hour," she said dryly.

"Where'd you hear that?  Now it's 350."

She pushed her shoulder firmly into his side.  "I don't have any
money but I'll give you anything you want if you can get me out
of here.  Are you really my lawyer?"

"Yes, I am, appointed by his honor, Errol E. Baker, judge of
superior court.  I must say, it's a pleasure to shake your hand,
Ms. Nunn."

"With your cock," she smirked.  "I'd do a lot more than that to
it if I could."  Her hand continued to move gently in his pants.

"I'm sure you would."  He took a notepad from his pocket.  "Let
me confirm a few things.  Are you really Eve no-middle-initial
Nunn?"

She snickered.  "No."

"You mean you do have a middle name?"

The snicker became a chuckle.  "My bladder let go in the police
car, so I took my jeans off as soon as we got to the
stationhouse.  They're like, 'Do you think you're Eve?'  I go,
'Sure.'  They're like,  'What last name you got to go with that?'
I'm like, 'None,' seeing that Eve's not even my _first_ name."

The man stared at her.  "Then what _is_ your name?"

She smiled slowly.  "Wouldn't that be self-incrimination?"

He frowned.  "You ought to tell your lawyer."

"Why?"  She tossed her head and sat up straight after removing
her hand from his body.

"Well, so your relatives can find you, for example."

"Ha!  That's a good reason to stick with Eve Nunn, if you don't
mind."

He sighed.  "Okay.  Where in Alaska are you from?"

"Way in the outback."

"The what?  The _outback_ is in Australia."

"Okay.  Then I'm from Australia."

"No, you aren't."

"Because Australians talk funny?"

He grinned at her.  "Have you told one word of truth to anybody,
Eve?"

"Eve?"  Her eyes twinkled.  "Eve doesn't have to tell the truth."

"No, that's right.  You don't actually have to tell anyone
anything, though you can get in a lot of trouble lying to the
court."

"Worse than I'm already in?"

He took a breath.  "Probably not.  You're charged with serious
crimes."

"Heavy shit, eh, Law?"

"Who?"

"You can call your doctor 'Doc;' why not your lawyer 'Law?'"

He grunted.  "I guess because they don't have docks in doctors'
offices."

"Huh?"

"Let's get down to it.  Why did you run into ..."  He flipped
elsewhere in his notepad.  "... the Western Heights Apartments?
That wasn't the first door after the cops started chasing you.
Do you live there, by any chance?"

"I know how to get to the roof on that place.  I hurried up there
to dump it."

"The money?"

"The _juansio_."

"The hwan-- what?"

"_Juansio_.  It's super Columbian pot."

"You had ... a bag of pot?"

She sneered.  "Better than a bag of money."

"So long as nobody can find it."

"Oh, they'll never find it," she said confidently.

"And what were you doing walking on Grissom Avenue?"

"Where's that?"

"The street where the cops spotted you, walking along with your
shopping bag and exposed navel."

"Is it against the law to show your bellybutton?"

"It's against the law to rob banks.  Where were you coming from,
if not the bank?"

She sniffed.  "You mean you can't figure it out?  From Tugger, of
course."

"Ah, _Tugger_?"

"My pot dealer."

He straightened up, regarding her searchingly and taking a deep
breath.  "Describe Tugger, please."

She shook her head.

"Eve, they'd have to let you go if we found Tugger and he
confirmed your story."

"Sorry.  I don't rat."

He tried another approach.  "You -- or somebody -- left a demand
note in the bank teller's cage.  If your fingerprints show up on
it, your goose is cooked."

She smiled slightly.  "I don't see how they can."

"Why not?  Because you didn't leave the note?"

"What note?"

He sighed.  "Eve, defending you would be a lot easier if you'd
cooperate."

"Cooperate?  I'll suck your cock.  What else do you want?"

He studied her and chuckled at the smug demeanor.  "You think
cock sucking is the key to life?"

"To men."

"You won't find many cocks in the women's prison."

She made a face.  "So keep me out of it."

He took a breath.  "You're to be arraigned properly tomorrow
morning.  The bail for a WMD charge is going to be very high.  Do
you have any money to pay a bondsman?"

She shook her head.  "I'm broke."

"I wonder."  He shrugged and got to his feet.  "I'm going to
press for an immediate preliminary.  Maybe you won't have to stay
in jail very long."



* * *



His honor, Judge Errol E. Baker, looked down from his high bench
and declared loudly, "This is the preliminary hearing for Eve
Nunn, charged variously with larceny of a financial institution
using weapons of mass destruction.  Our purpose is to determine
if the state has sufficient evidence to bind Ms. Nunn over for
trial in superior court.  Let the record show that defendant is
present, represented by Mr. Alvin Swigart."  He turned to the
prosecutor's table.  "Is the state ready to proceed?  Where is
Dave Price?"

A woman got to her feet behind the table on the judge's left.
"He's attending another trial and has delegated me, Patricia
Alford, to prosecute this one.  The state would like more time,
your honor."

"Only if the defense agrees."

"We do not, your honor," declared Swigart, seated beside Eve, his
hand atop hers on the table to the judge's right.  The girl wore
an orange jumpsuit.

The judge said briskly, "Motion denied."

"Then the state is ready," Ms. Alford admitted, frowning
grumpily.

"Does the defendant maintain her plea of not guilty?"

"She does, your honor," replied Swigart.

"Very well.  Ms. Alford, you may proceed."

The woman cleared her throat.  "Less than six days ago, your
honor -- not much time to evaluate evidence! -- the defendant
entered Field National Bank on Valence and Marshall Street just
before lunchtime when very few customers -- none, in fact -- were
in the bank.  She presented a shopping bag and a computer-printed
note to one of the inside tellers, claimed that she had a bomb
and would blow up herself and the bank if they didn't give her
money.  The teller filled the bag with nearly $10,000, whereupon
the defendant marched out of the bank.

"Some time later she was spotted on Grissom Avenue, two and a
half city blocks away, still walking along and carrying the
shopping bag of money.  The police tried to arrest her but she
simply outran them and entered a ten-story apartment building.
She was nearly caught at the elevator.  She entered a staircase
and climbed to the roof, where the police finally cornered her
after she had thrown her shopping bag into the street below."

The woman paused, scanning a clipboard of notes.  "For my first
witness I'd like to call --"

"One moment," the judge interposed.  "You failed to say how much
of that you can prove, Ms. Alford."

"All of it, your honor!"

"Objection!" screamed Swigart, leaping to his feet.

The judge's eyebrows rose.  "To what question are you objecting,
Mr. Swigart?"

"She can't prove _any_ of that, your honor.  Her whole case,
except the defendant's arrest on that rooftop, is purely
circumstantial, subject to many interpretations.  She can't prove
_this_ defendant took anything.  She can't prove _this_ defendant
was even in the bank.  She can't prove --"

The judge slammed his gavel down.  "Restrain yourself, Mr.
Swigart.  You'll get your turn."

"But it's such a waste of everyone's time, your honor.  Ask her
how she intends to prove the defendant was ever in that bank."

The judge looked from Swigart to Alford and back.  "Do you have a
motion, Mr. Swigart?"

The lawyer declared, "I move for a judgment of insufficient
evidence."

The judge grunted.  "That's premature, to say the least.  Kindly
restrain yourself, Mr. Swigart.  Ms. Alford, is this your first
independent prosecution?"

"Ah, yes, your honor."

"Then I warn you: don't waste the court's time."

"No, your honor."

"You may proceed."

The prosecutor called Ms. Yeager, the bank teller, who having
been sworn, described the robbery and the hooded thief.  She
stated that her manager had put the amount of money taken at
$9,857.  The judge looked to Swigart for a hearsay objection but
the lawyer only smiled confidently.

The prosecutor asked the teller to identify the threatening note,
which was then entered into evidence.  Also introduced into
evidence were the shirt and pants worn by the defendant when
apprehended.  Ms. Yeager would swear only that they were the same
color and style as those of the bank robber.

Invited to cross-examine, Swigart got to his feet.  "Could you
see any part of the thief's body, Ms. Yeager?"

"Only her abdomen."

"Were you asked to identify her navel during a police lineup?"

Titters arose in the courtroom.  The judge frowned.

"Yes.  Yes, I was."

"And did you?"

"They all looked alike."

"Thank you.  Let me ask you, Ms. Yeager, how many young women do
you think could be found wearing a white, cropped shirt and brown
jeans on any warm day in this city?"

"Objection!" declared Ms. Alford.  "Calls for an opinion."

"Sustained," agreed the judge.

"Then, Ms. Yeager, let me ask you this: did you ever see the
thief again after she left the bank?"

"Not to be sure who she was."

"Thank you.  That's all."

Alford called a heavily muscled man in uniform.  When he was
sworn and seated, she began, "Officer Harrelsen, did you have
occasion to see the defendant on the day of the bank robbery?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Tell us the circumstances, please."

He described hearing the radio alarm, heading for the bank and
spotting the defendant walking down the sidewalk.  He and his
partner, Patrolman Gentry, halted the squad car and jumped out to
arrest her, but she was already in flight.  It was soon obvious
that she was too fast of foot, despite the full shopping bag she
bore.  Gentry continued the chase while Harrelsen returned to the
car to call for assistance.  They chased her another block,
Gentry afoot and Harrelsen in the car, until she turned into the
Western Heights Apartment.  They followed quickly and spotted her
across the lobby, awaiting an elevator.  When she saw them, she
dashed to the stairs and outran them again all the way to the
roof, a ten-story climb.  They were exhausted by the time they
reached the roof behind her.

"How far behind her were you?" asked the prosecutor.  "That is,
how long was she on the roof unobserved?"

"Probably a couple minutes," admitted the man, glowering across
the room toward Eve.  "We had to stop and get our breath back on
the eighth floor."

"Enough time for her to hide a shopping bag?"

"Or throw it off the roof."

In a tone of exasperation Swigart declared, "Objection, your
honor."

The judge snapped, "Overruled!  Let's get on with this, Ms.
Alford."

"Officer Harrelsen," said the woman, "you have testified that the
defendant was carrying her shopping bag as she entered the
building and while she climbed the stairs.  When was the last
time you saw it in her possession?"

"When she reached the landing next to the roof door."

"Was it in her possession on the roof?"

"No, ma'am."

"Did you check the roof to see if she hid it?"

"Yes, ma'am.  Gentry held her while I looked in the vent
housings, which were the only places you could hide anything."

"It's a gravel roof?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What did you find in the vent housings?"

"Nothing.  The openings were covered with hardware cloth to keep
birds from nesting."

"Did you ask the defendant what happened to her bag?"

"Yes, ma'am.  She said, 'What bag?'"

"How close to the edge was the defendant when you first saw her
on the rooftop?"

"Leaning over the parapet.  We thought at first she meant to
jump."

"So she must have thrown it over the edge?"

"Objection!" screamed Swigart.

"All right, all right," muttered the judge.  "Keep your shirt on.
Ms. Alford, you know better than that."

"I'm sorry, your honor.  That's all."

Eve leaned close to Swigart and whispered, "Ask him what color is
the wart on top of his cock."

"What color is it?"

"Purple."

Swigart chuckled behind his hand and got to his feet.  "You
arrested the defendant on that roof and read her rights, did
you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then what happened."

"I searched the roof, didn't find anything, and we took her
downtown for booking."

Swigart flipped open his notepad.  "As I understand the testimony
so far, the bank was robbed at 11:40, you and your partner
spotted the defendant at 11:52, but she wasn't booked until 2:25
p.m."

"Yes, sir."

"Where was the defendant when you first told her she was under
arrest?"

"On the roof."

"Did she try to run away on the roof?"

"No.  She knew it was no use."

"Then if you hadn't told her you meant to arrest her and she
submitted as soon as you _did_ tell her, how can you justify the
charge of Fleeing Arrest?"

"Objection!" called Ms. Alford.

"Sustained," said the judge.  "Now is not the time to argue your
case, counselor."

"Thank you, your honor.  Now then, Officer Harrelsen, assuming it
took you about ten minutes to corner the defendant on that roof,
will you please tell the court what you and Officer Gentry did
with this helpless girl from 1:02 until 2:25, a period of 83
minutes, considering that it takes about ten minutes to drive
from Western Heights Apartments to the stationhouse where she was
booked?"

The policeman rolled his eyes.  "Helpless, ha!"

"What did you with her?"

"Objection, your honor," said Ms. Alford in feigned weariness.
"Officer Harrelsen is not on trial here."

"That's true," said the judge thoughtfully.

"Your honor," complained Swigart, "83 _minutes_!"

"Overruled.  Answer the question, Officer Harrelsen."

"It was lunchtime.  She said she was hungry."

"What did you feed her?" asked Swigart.

"We stopped at a fast food joint."

"Which one?"

"Ah ...  I don't recall."

"That was less than six days ago.  What do you mean, you 'don't
recall?'"  The lawyer's voice dripped sarcasm.

"Objection!" yelled Ms. Alford.  "He's arguing with the witness."

"Sustained," said the judge.

Swigart asked, "Did you search the defendant?"

"Yeah."

"What did you find?"

"A wad of tissue in one pocket."

"That's all?  No identification?"

"Nothing."

"Did you interrogate her?"

"Ah ...  I guess we asked her a few questions."

"Such as?"

"Well, like her name and address and what she did with her
shopping bag."

"You interrogated her in the absence of her attorney?"

"Well ..."

The policeman threw a worried glance at the prosecutor, who sat
up straighter and declared, "Objection, your honor!  I repeat:
Officer Harrelsen is not on trial here."

The judge said thoughtfully, "It's not illegal for officers to
question a suspect at any time.  However, they may not testify to
the information obtained in the absence of her lawyer unless
defendant has waived the right of counsel."  He directed a
warning look at Swigart.  "Or unless defendant _asks_ what they
learned."

Swigart smiled confidently.  "Defendant is asking, your honor."

The judge nodded.  "Answer the question, officer."

"Ah, what was it?"

Swigart interjected, "What did she tell you and the other officer
while you spent 83 minutes on a ten-minute trip?"

The witness answered sullenly, "She, ah, told about growing up in
Alaska."

"What did she say her name was?"

"She wouldn't say."

"Her address?"

"She wouldn't say."

"Her age?"

"Twenty."

"Twenty?"

"Yeah.  Though it dropped to 19 on her booking card."

"What else did she admit?"

The witness thought a moment.  "That where she grew up she was
the only girl among a lot of boys.  Oh.  And she liked cops."

"She liked cops?"

The man nodded.  "She said that."

"How much did she like them?"

"She said a lot."

"Did she demonstrate how much?"

"Objection!" shouted Ms. Alford.  "This testimony is irrelevant."

"Sustained," agreed the judge.

"83 minutes, your honor!" said Swigart.  "That's a lot of talking
and eating."

"I sustained the objection, Mr. Swigart."

"Could I have a moment, your honor?"

"Make it quick."

Leaning down, Swigart whispered, "Did both of them rape you?"

Eve whispered back, "It wasn't rape."

"But both of them did you?"

"Yeah."

"Eve, the judge won't let me mention that."

Her eyebrows rose.  "Why not?"

"Because it has nothing to do with the crime."

"I thought pissing yourself was a crime."

"Umm."  Swigart straightened up.  "Did you frighten the
defendant, Officer Harrelsen?"

"Her?  Not a chance!"

"You restrained her for 83 minutes.  Did you deny her request for
relief?"

"Your Honor!" Ms. Alford complained in a tired voice.  "What does
all this have to do with the charges?"

The judge glared.  "Please answer that, Mr. Swigart."

"I'd like to ask the witness if the defendant's clothing was wet
when she arrived at the stationhouse."

"'Wet,'" repeated the judge.  He shook his head.  "Mr. Swigart, I
cannot imagine how wet clothing might bear on these charges.
What do you hope to prove?"

The lawyer shook his head at Eve.  "Your honor, I withdraw the
question."

"Very well.  Continue with your cross."

Swigart consulted his notes.  "Officer Harrelsen, you've
testified that you and your partner chased the defendant through
the front door of the Western Heights Apartment, up ten flights
of stairs and onto the roof.  To your knowledge does any sign or
indicator exist stating that building to be private property or
that forbids trespass?"

The witness frowned.  "No, not that I recall."

"So much for the trespassing charge!"

The judge asked, "Is that a question, Mr. Swigart?"

"No, your honor.  That concludes my cross-examination."

"Call your next witness, Ms. Alford."

She got to her feet.  "The prosecution rests, your honor."

"The defense may proceed."

Swigart stood.  "We have no witness, your honor, or other
evidence.  I'm ready to argue."

"Go ahead."

"Very little needs to be said.  The prosecution has offered no
proof for even a single item in that list of charges.  They
cannot place the defendant in the bank, nor a bomb in the bank or
on the defendant's person, nor resistance to arrest, nor trespass
nor even so much as one scrap of paper thrown onto the public
street.  The best they can do is show her walking two or three
blocks from the bank, wearing clothing similar to the thief's and
bearing a shopping bag that cannot be produced, then breaking
into a run, for which action many reasons besides fleeing the
police may be offered, finally being arrested on the roof of an
apartment building.

"I now renew my motion for dismissal on the grounds of
insufficient evidence."

The judge's attention turned to Ms. Alford.  He tapped a pencil
eraser thoughtfully on his podium.

She said, "I'm ready to argue."

He shook his head.  "I'm going to grant defense's motion."

"But, your honor --"

"Dismissal for insufficient evidence does not bar future
prosecution, Ms. Alford."  He raised his voice.  "Case dismissed!
The defendant is released from custody.  Bailiff, the court will
recess for lunch."

"If you can find her again!" sneered the assistant prosecutor,
glaring at Eve, who smiled back demurely.

Swigart caught the girl's arm.  "Come on.  We have a date."

She allowed him to tug her toward a door at the rear of the room,
muttering, "I want to get out of these awful clothes."

"You'll soon do that!" he muttered back.

"But what'll I wear afterward?"

"That's why I asked for your sizes."

"Oh."  She drew abreast and grinned slyly.  "I hope you have good
taste, Swiggie."

"I'll guarantee it won't be orange."

They ascended a staircase to a door marked, _Private / Legal
Chambers_, where the lawyer knocked three times.

Bade to enter, they passed into an office with a large desk,
chairs and two couches, drapes open upon a downtown view and a
far door standing open to reveal a sink and toilet.  Perched on
the front of the desk was his honor, Errol E. Baker, judge of the
superior court, a fortyish brown-haired man dressed informally,
absent his black robe.

He smiled.  "Ah, yes, Miss Nunn.  How nice of you to drop by!  I
hope you like cheeseburgers."

She returned his smile brightly.  "Oh, I do, your honor, but I'm
so thirsty!"

"Here.  This coke has your name on it."

"Oh, thank you, your honor."

The two men joined her in consuming the bag of sandwiches and
tray of drinks.  Around a mouthful the judge asked, "Did this
morning go to please you, Miss Nunn?"

"Yes, sir."  Her eyes twinkled.  "But it would've been fun to
tease that cop."

"Tell me how that happened.  Did he tickle you so much you pissed
your pants?"

"Not exactly.  I peed on the car seat and he made me wipe it up
with my pants."

"Because he was tickling you?"

"Because he wouldn't stop licking on me."

"Why do you suppose he wouldn't stop?"

She shook her head.  "Everybody says I taste like honey."  She
snorted.  "Until they make me pee."

"Which brings up a good point.  Would you like to use the
toilet?"

"Yes, please.  I'll be right back."

She unzipped and without hesitation or evidence of concern flung
off the one-piece jumpsuit before entering the bathroom, where
she sat with the door open, staring back at them over thickly
falling water, a conical young breast pointing at each man.

The judge grinned at the lawyer.  "Al, have you tasted this honey
pot yet?"

"No, but I've heard several guys speak of it in awe."

"Yes, so you said."

"I suppose you'll want to go first."

"Rank hath its privilege, you know.  I'll clean off the lingering
piss flavor for you."

"Thank you, Errol.  You're all heart."

The judge grinned.  "What are the chances Dave will renew charges
on this girl?"

"Not Dave: the Alford broad.  Damn slim unless somebody finds
that bomb bag."

"You really think Eve is innocent?"

The lawyer huffed.  "_Innocent_?  She's the least innocent girl I
ever saw.  Of course a genuinely sweet cunt would persuade
anyone."

They watched as its owner stood at the sink to wash the item in
question in warm water.  She turned around to smile at them as
she patted herself dry.  "You can't ever get all the pee out, you
know."

"Oh, a little bit is legal," said the judge, hopping off the desk
edge.  Something in his pockets thudded dully on the carpet as
juridical britches and underpants dropped to the floor.  He
gestured.  "Would you please lie back on this couch?"

"Ooo-oo!" she murmured, passing in front of him to take the
position, head thrown back and legs spread.  "You want to taste
me, judgie?"

The judge fell to his knees and declared, "I'm going to lick all
the nectar I can reach!"  His face bent to her groin, from which
slurping noises shortly arose.

"Oh, wow!" the girl breathed, rolling her eyes at the grinning
lawyer.  "He's damn good!"

Swigart said, "You're not the first to feel that sharp tongue."

"I reckon not.  Oh, judgie!"  Her eyes closed.  Her body tensed
and shivered.  Soon her hands closed on the judge's head, trying
to push him away, but he caught her around the hips and stroked
the harder.  Her body flung itself this way and that without
dislodging him.  He desisted only when she screamed.

Standing up, leaving her writhing on the couch, he bent down to
find his handkerchief and wipe his face dry.  He looked sharply
at Swigart.  "You want to taste before I fuck it up?"

"Yes, thank you."  Having already doffed his britches, the lawyer
dropped to his knees only to find the girl's legs clamped
together.

She glared at him.  "I can't stand any more of that until one of
you fucks me."

"Just give me a taste."

"I want cock!"

"You'll get it.  Give me one taste."

Grudgingly her legs opened.  Tongue already extended, Swigart's
head passed between them.  He likewise caught her hips.  Her
shivering resumed.  "Oh, god!" she cried.  "Oh, god.  Quit, you
bastard!"

He raised up with a sigh.  "I'll quit, but I hate to.  That's the
sweetest cunt I ever tasted."

"Out of the way," ordered the judge, pulling on Swigart's
shoulder.  When the path was clear, he turned the girl's body
down on the couch, fell upon it and began to hump vigorously.
She moaned, hips rolling to his rhythm.  When his body froze in
climax, her moans merged into a soft scream.

The judge rose to his feet and staggered back, shaking his head
groggily.  Gasping for breath, he leaned on the desk and watched
Swigart fall upon the writhing girl, who immediately resumed her
eager acceptance with the new partner.  He outlasted the judge,
who soon changed positions, the better to see Eve's flushed and
contorted face.

When Swigart finally rose to find his britches, the girl lay
panting, sprawled dissolutely.  She smiled upon the two
observers.  "Oh, god, guys!  That was so _good_!"

The judge shook his head at the lawyer.  "_Honey_ isn't the right
analogy."

Swigart retorted enviously, "Well, you got the better taste."

"Maybe honey and sausage.  You ever try that combination?"

"Maybe.  I reserve judgment until further testing."

"Yes, yes, very good.  Did you explain our proposal to Eve?  What
about it, my dear?  Did Al tell you about the apartment?"

She raised up slightly, a hand between her legs, and studied the
judge askance.  "He said you hadn't made up your mind on it."

"Well, I have now," he retorted, "including the allowance of 400
a week."

She nodded slowly.  "That's nice, but you got a problem.  You
don't want the cops to follow me to your love nest, do you?"

Swigart said admiringly, "Told you she's smart too!"

The judge agreed.  "They'll want to keep you under surveillance
for a while.  But what if they can't?"

"Huh?"

"Show her, Al."

"Let's see what you think of my taste in clothing," said the
lawyer with a smirk.  He fetched a large hanging plastic bag from
the coat closet and unzipped it to reveal a man's denim shirt and
work pants but a woman's brassiere and panties.  From beneath the
shirt he produced a pair of large square sunglasses and a driving
cap.  "Your hair will go under this.  And there's a wallet in the
pants with a hundred bucks in small bills."

The girl's eyes widened.  "I can't ..."  Her voice trailed off
into a thoughtful grin.  "Actually, maybe I can."



* * *



The rain had subsided to a drizzle when the taxi stopped in front
of Western Heights Apartments.  A thin-shouldered young man,
wearing a driving cap, work clothes and sneakers, emerged from
the vehicle, slammed the door and ran like a deer into the
building lobby, unimpeded by the new and obviously empty
schoolbag born in one hand.  With the glass entrance door closed
behind him and the lobby verified empty of witnesses, he stood
slightly to one side of the door and scanned the street for a
minute or two.  No other vehicle stopped within a city block in
either direction.

Smiling in satisfaction, he strolled through the lobby to the
elevators, boarded the waiting one and ascended to the tenth
floor.  At the end of the hall was an unmarked door.  It opened
easily when he turned the knob, revealing a succession of
staircases winding down around a central air shaft and one
staircase going up.  Again he ascended to a heavy door with the
legend, _Roof_, which also opened readily.

On the outside gravel he walked completely around the elevator
building, scanning in all directions.  Thankfully the drizzle had
ceased.  Having spotted neither person nor helicopter, he
proceeded directly to the far edge of the roof.  After dashing
water off the top of the parapet, he leaned over it to feel along
the base of the cornice for the missing section known to be
there.  He had to shift his body twice, but soon he straightened,
having retrieved a bulging shopping bag, gray with the Hayes
Department Store logotype prominent on both sides.

He shielded the bag from possible observers between his body and
the parapet.  It contained two similar bags, one folded, and a
limp surgical glove.  By far the largest item was the third
shopping bag: overflowing with packets of money.  Nodding, he
stuffed the outer bag and its contents into the canvas school
bag.

A brief smile appeared on the young face before its owner left
the roof.  In the descending elevator the sneakers were restless,
dancing back and forth impatiently.  Their wearer froze, however,
when the door opened to the lobby -- and to the grinning
countenance of Alvin Swigart, Attorney at Law, who leaned forward
and caught the arm holding the school bag in a vise-like grip.

"Wh-wha--"

"Surprised, Eve?  Come along, we sure as hell don't want to
linger here.  Alford hasn't tumbled yet, but she will soon.  I've
got a car waiting."

Eve stumbled willy-nilly after the man, who led her to a side
door of the building.

"Am I under arrest?"

"My dear, I'm your attorney!"

She asked dryly, "Then where are we going?"

"Where you can think over the judge's proposal."

Reaching a car parked beside the dumpster at the rear of the
building, Swigart popped the trunk, took the school bag
forcefully away from Eve and tossed it in before slamming the
lid.  "Quick, into the car," he told her.  "And don't jump and
run at the first stop light.  I'm going to get you out of this
mess."

"You are?  How?"

"The bank will be glad to get the money back."

"How about the cops?"

"If the bank's happy, the FBI will drop it.  That leaves our
precious Ms. Alford."

"That old bag!"

Swigart chuckled.  "And that's your worst problem, Eve."

"She hates me."

"Not at all.  But that's what I mean."

"_What_ do you mean?"

"She wants to taste your honey too."



END
Contact kellis@dhp.com
Stories gratis at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/kellis/www

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