"Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated." Another day as a bailiff in a Federal Courthouse. It seems one of my boys has gotten himself in some trouble, and rather than waiting for me, he turned States Evidence. That just won't do. Today is the first day of his trial. He's pleading guilty to some "lesser charges" in return for immunity in his testimony against my family. That will never happen.
He's seated with his underpaid, overworked public defender. Look how smug. Always knew letting some god-damn self-righteous Cambridge-educated ass into the 'Noks would one day come back to bite us on the ass. Well, today won't be that day.
"How does the defendant plead?"
"Guilty your, Honor."
"Very well. You do understand that by pleading guilty, you will waive your right to a trial by your peers?"
"Aye do ya, Honor."
"Very well. Sentencing…"
"Sorry to interrupt your honor. In return for his testimony against the notorious biker gang the Dreadnoks, as well as, the family of Zartan, Zandar, and Zarana, the State has agreed to place the defendant into protective custody. Terrorists wanted in connection with countless acts of violence against the people of the United States as well as; Canada, Mexico, England, Scotland, Japan, Brazil…"
"Yes, yes. I am perfectly aware of who the Zartan Clan are and what they are suspected of. I have no objections to the deal set forth. Bailiff, please escort Mr. Blinken to holding while he's processed for transport."
"Right away your, Honor." I have no problem keeping the scorn and distaste out of my voice. To the Judge, I'm just Bailiff George Makenzie. I watched him for several days from the gallery; watching how he walked, how he stood around, I mastered the look of overwhelming superiority and boredom that he always wore. Now I'm walking over to Ripper. "If you'll come with me." He hesitates.
"It's okay. We'll be down in a minute to pick you up. Just some last-minute signatures and whatnot. You'll be okay. No one can get you in here. Isn't that right, Georgie Boy?"
"No one will get ya on my watch." He gets up from his seat, his chair legs scrape along the floor, I can't wait to make him pay. We pass through the heavy side door of the courtroom. It opens into a long grey hallway that leads directly to the secure holding area of the court basement. On a lucky day, he'd be taken out into the underground parking area and into a waiting armored SUV after all the paperwork was processed. Today isn't his lucky day. He keeps just a few steps behind me. He's no longer a "prisoner" per se, so he's unsecured. I can hear his rapid breathing. He's scared. If only he knew.
"So where we goin' eh?"
"Well, sir, we're going to wait in a nice cozy office down here until your handlers arrive. Shouldn't take them but 10 minutes." Plenty of time.
At the end of the hall, we step through one last door. I hold it for him, "After you, sir." That's when he pisses his pants. Strapped to a chair, neck slashed, is good ol' Georgie Boy. I can see the color drain from his face. He turns towards me slowly. Surely he knows what's about to happen.
"I haven't told 'em anything. I swear to ya." He's crying.
"I know, Buzzer. I know. And now you never will." He tries to scream, but my hand is around his throat. All that comes out is his last breath. He tries to fight me off. "Really, Buzzer ol' chap, this would go much easier if you just let it happen." Now he shits himself. As he struggles, I tie the rope around his neck. Throw it up over the exposed pipes up near the ceiling. I checked them they'll hold, at least as long as I need them to. I pull him up off his feet, just barely I don't want him to suffocate. I want him to suffer. I figure I have about 8 minutes left. "Buzzer, ol' boy. Do you know what you almost did? Do you realize the gravity of the situation you're now in? Ha. Gravity. You're hanging. Sometimes I surprise even myself. Did you really think that I'd let you tell them anything? Did you really think you'd be safe?" 7 minutes. "Do you know how long a human being can live after being eviscerated? No. Neither do I. I have always wanted to know." The tension on the rope keeps him from screaming as I pull the large, twisted, rusty blade out of George's black duffel bag. "This is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you. Oh, wait no it won't." 6 minutes.
The slash leaves a jagged opening. His knees give. His head goes back, and he tries to scream, but the noose tightens. His eyes bulge. His eyes. Oh, the terror in his eyes. That's what makes this so pleasant. Blood pools on the floor. I step back so as not to track it. I take the tape off ol' Georgie Boy. Put the blade in his hand, make sure the note is clearly visible, that's when Buzzer's intestines fall to the floor. The sound is music to my ears. 4 minutes. I walk out the door. Locking it behind me. A few adjustments and George is no more. Now I look like just another bailiff. I step out into the garage, no one is around. I walk through the underground garage. I'm walking up the ramp when I hear the first scream. Except this isn't from the court. It's from in front of me, outside. Then gunfire, lots of gunfire. I run up the ramp. I still can't believe what I'm seeing. A black 1967 Ford Mustang Shelby GT500 fastback screeches to a halt. The passenger door flies open. "We gots ta get out a 'ere now." I jump in. This is a real shame. All my fun was ruined. Who's going to find Buzzer?