Web of the Weaver: Chapter 27

The next day, I had finished my schoolwork and was in the study hall when I was called to the office.

My bugs froze for a moment, then returned to their normal activity. When I got to the office, Dad was there… What the hell?

“Dad, is something wrong?”

“I got a request for a meeting,” he said. “From the District Attorney’s office.” Dad glanced at the secretary. “I figure it’d be best to get this over with. They want to talk about the case.”

Madison.  Emma was still hospitalized, and Sophia was gone.

But why us? Victim impact statements were a thing, but those wouldn’t come until after the trial.

And the full trial hadn’t started yet. So…

I thought as we headed to Dad’s truck.

And then I had it. A full trial in the face of hostile witnesses might be seen as too much as an inconvenience, especially if the witness was the one who had been hurt worst by the crime.

“They’re going to ask us something, Taylor, do you want to come along?”

“I probably should,” I said. It was a little irritating. I had a feeling that this was going to cut into Orb Weaver’s day.

The DAs office, was a ten-story building, shining chrome and windows.

Of course, under that was an office that regularly demanded heavier sentences for minorities and had a habit of flubbing cases aimed at whites. Not enough to call in the feds, but the statistical difference over time was noticeable.

I wondered how many were working with the E88 and how many, like Mr. Quinlan, didn’t even think of themselves as racists.

Walking inside the air-conditioned building, I sent some bugs out to create a map of the building. When last I’d been here I hadn’t yet had my ability to read materials. Now I could. I’d have to think about it, but if I couldn’t find a source in the DA’s office, I might have to more directly access their records.

It didn’t take long until we were in the offices of Assistant DA Marianne Dorn, by her was another attorney, one I didn’t recognize for a moment. Then I did. Madison’s defense attorney, Joseph Ladner.

Not a local. Hired from New York, likely because someone had dropped Madison’s religion. I’d actually heard some comments about that at school.

It was terrifying, in a way, more so than parahuman villains, how quickly people could turn on you, and decide that you were one of “them.”

For those people, it wasn’t what Madison had done… it had been more about who she was.

And that was something that had been with humanity long before Endbringers and parahumans.

The silence stretched out.

“Mr. Hebert, Ms. Hebert.” Marianne said. “I expect you’re wondering why we called you here so unexpectedly.”

“You might say that,” Dad said.

“Well, technically, you don’t have any input on what the court decides to do with a criminal case. But we’ve found it’s much better to keep the victims and their family in the loop regarding…”

“Madison’s plea bargain.” The two looked at me, a little surprised. I shrugged. “It’s too early for the actual criminal case, so the only reason you’d be talking like that is if you were intending on bringing the case to an early conclusion.”

“That’s…” Dad swelled up. “So she’s going to get off?”

“No. Mr. Hebert, please understand. We…” Marianne leaned back. “A long court case benefits nobody, and there’s always the chance the jury might find for her.”

Unlikely.

“And my client is not getting off.” The other lawyer looked like an old bear, with a long, gray, beard. “The terms of the plea bargain are not… insignificant.”

“What are they?”

“Madison Clements will plead guilty to false imprisonment. That is a misdemeanor. Also, she will plead guilty to aggravated assault, a Class B felony, and lastly, conspiracy to engage in the above two crimes, in concert with Emma Barnes and Sophia Hess. In return, we agree to drop the charges involving the Baines Act in addition to others.”

I nodded. The Banes Act was a state law, passed in 2002, against trying to deprive people of their rights in the aftermath of some notorious events. I’d spent some time looking at it. Using it in a school or other government facilities, triggered mandatory minimum sentences—at least ten years.

I waited while they listed the others. Some of them were minor. Well, minor to anyone not me. Misdemeanor charges, about the destruction of my property, simple assaults for being pushed down. Others were more serious. The cost of cleaning up the locker had jumped the vandalism up to a felony.

“And what does this mean, stripped of everything?” Dad finally asked.

“The state will ask that Madison be sentenced to one year in a juvenile facility, and then be placed on supervised release until she is 21. She will be required to attend mandatory counseling sessions.”

“A year? That’s it?” Dad asked. He started to swell. “You saw everything—“

“The two years I spent in school felt like an eternity,” I murmured. Deep in the building, insects swirled around. “And I could go home. Madison would be in the juvenile hall every day, every night.” Everyone fell silent. It made sense. The two lawyers knew that I was the key.

And neither one wants the victim out talking to the news about how this is a travesty of justice. But is it? I used Squealer, I helped M—Bulwark.

Madison didn’t kill anyone. I’m comfortably certain Mush and Squealer did, if only by helping the drug trade.

I wouldn’t lie. I disliked—no, hated Madison. She was the one who just used me as an acceptable target. A way of sticking with the popular crowd. But I…

I didn’t have the luxury of doing something to make me feel better. So I focused on another question.

Was this just?

Madison would spend a year in prison. Then, until she was twenty-one she’d be under supervision. By the time it ended, she would have spent a quarter of her life paying for what she’d done?

And what if she was sorry? Would it still be just? I didn’t know. Fortunately, in this case it wasn’t up to me.

“I didn’t want any ill to come to them,” I said, sipping the water I’d been given. “I spent most of the first year trying to figure out why this was happening. The second year was just trying to survive. But… It wasn’t just Madison. It was the school that didn’t stop her.” I glanced at her attorney. “I never bore any ill will to her. I just wanted to be… left alone.” He nodded. “But if you’re asking if I’ll oppose this. No. I won’t. Also, I know that some people have talked about Madison’s religion. That had nothing to do with her actions, and if anyone wants me to say it, I will.”

Her lawyer nodded. “Thank you.”

Dad is stewing next to me, and for a moment, I worry that he’s going to explode. Dad’s temper is a liability. If flares up—and burns out.

But he takes a deep breath. “And she’ll take responsibility for her actions?”

“That is what a guilty plea means, but if you mean will she say that? Yes.”

Whether she means it… I didn’t say anything. My power wouldn’t help me there.

***** 

But as we were leaving the DA’s office, my phone buzzed.

Not a direct call for me. That would be incredibly stupid. No, I had several watches set up on PHO, ranging from Void Cowboy to Legend—and the ID I’d given to Carole Dallon. I’d had to write a little routine to route it through another ID, before it was forwarded to me.

“Dad?” I said. “I have a meeting with some friends at school. I… I’d like to just go and forget all about this.”

He took a breath. I expect he’d been preparing to ask me to go and eat with him, but that might… lead to unfortunate questions.

It was better this way.

“Sure, where can I drop you off?”

“The library,” I said. “I can wait there for them, and take the bus back.”

“Right.”

As we drove over, I used the advantage of a few traffic stops to terrify a shoplifter and would-be mugger with Orb Weaver’s unnerving laughter. And then we were off, Orb Weaver being established as active far away from where I would be. Or rather, The Investigator.

I barely waited for Dad to leave before I headed to the alleyway behind the library. My tripwires and other alarms showed that nobody had interfered with the little space I’d made in the alleyway, bugs eating out the concrete between the brick. Now, they did the same in reverse while other bugs kept watch, and in a few moments, The investigator was ready. Behind me, the bricks were back in their place, and soon honey bees and other bugs would be covering the gaps with their materials, then coating them with dust and dirt, laying drag lines that any investigator would have to break and thus warn me the moment I walked into range.

The walking stick I’d included in the cache was just a cheap extensible stick I’d painted, not very useful in a fight.

But if I got in a fight with Carol Dallon, it would mean that my meeting had gone very poorly.

Then I picked up the burner phone.

“Hello, Ms. Dallon,” I said. “I received your message, and your suggested meeting place is fine. The Gilded Lion it is.”

“Thank you. I will be there in thirty minutes. I will have a table ready.”

“Thank you.”

A neutral zone. Not home, not her firm. Wise, when meeting an unknown parahuman.

I would have to move fairly quickly.

I was going to have to put some time aside to learn to drive.

I kept up a good pace, actually signing a few autographs as I walked, and came to the Gilded Lion. In front was a lion, done up in silver and gold accents. The establishment was known for good food, albeit not the most expensive. It had gotten a certain popularity among capes, for its provisions to let them eat just a “normal” meal, with a strict “no autograph” policy.

I walked up to the front and nodded at the waitress. “The Investigator, here to meet Carol Dallon.”

She looked me up and down and I could see some doubt in her eyes. Even with the…enhancements to my figure the suit provided, there was no way to disguise the fact that I was definitely on the young side.

“Come this way, Ma’am, she said.” I followed her past the restaurant’s, sole concession to its popularity among capes. A few photos were of locals, a few of out of towners. I saw one image of Alexandria focusing on her tomato soup.

It seemed oddly… mundane for the head of the Protectorate.

On the other hand, soup’s good if you’re worrying about moving around a lot. I used soup a lot for that reason.

I supposed that if I ever met Alexandria it would be a good conversation opener.

And there was Carol Dallon. Sitting in civilian clothes.

Well, she was an open cape. I sat down, putting my walking stick to the side. “I’ve never eaten here before. Do you have a suggestion?”

“I would suggest the steak,” she said. “It’s easier to eat without leaving… identifying marks on your uniform.”

I nodded, chuckling. “That would be rather awkward, wouldn’t it.”

The waitress came, and we made our orders. Soon we were sitting and looking at each other, my tea and her coffee being put out down by the waitress. The silence lengthened, and then Carol spoke.

“You’ve only showed up recently, stopped a few small crimes, and done a good deed. Why this?”

“I… have an ability to gather information,” I told her. I’d decided well in advance that nothing I said could be an outright lie. “I’ve given some thought to using it to benefit this city, but the fact that I am… not bulletproof puts some limits on what I can do.”

“Why not join the Wards? Or Protectorate if you’re older than I think you are.”

“The Wards and Protectorate both come with limitations.” I paused. “Investigations often require me to follow the information rather than being restricted to the Boardwalk, or on a patrol. Also, the Protectorate is legally limited in large part to focusing on parahuman crime. That is not the kind of crime I am most effective in dealing with…”

The waitress arrived with our food, and I carefully sampled the steak. The cook had basted it with a mild sauce, but not so much it would drip.

“Such as a lawyer who may or may not have committed crimes, but who clearly antagonized me,” Carol said. Now she was focusing on me, like I was a butterfly pinned to a sample case. “I expect that’s why you selected this case. Tell me, why are you really interested in this case. Is it him, or are you interested in manipulating me. You wouldn’t be the first.”

I took another bite of my steak while I prepared my thoughts.

Because I’d only have one shot at this.