Free Blind Justice by William Bernhardt Page A

get the Feline’s Fancy.”
    Giselle followed close on his heels. He opened a can of the gourmet cat food and set it on the floor. Giselle dove in nose first, acting as if she hadn’t eaten in days. Come to think of it, Ben thought, she hadn’t, although she appeared to have sufficient fat reserves to carry her through several lean periods.
    “But don’t get the idea that this is your permanent entree,” Ben said, trying to reassert his tenuous role as master of the house. “Once this can is gone, it’s back to the cheap stuff.”
    Giselle nibbled happily and ignored him entirely.
    Ben heated a Pizza Pocket in the microwave and took it into his living room. There was not much there in the way of furnishings—a TV, an old piano, and pizza delivery boxes stacked practically to the ceiling. His only indulgence was the stereo system: Mitsubishi receiver and CD player, Boston Acoustic speakers. A throwback to his days as a music major, no doubt, and his dreams of glory.
    Ben thought about playing the piano, but he knew he couldn’t compete with Joni and Jami’s Guns-N-Roses records reverberating on the other side of the paper-thin walls. He channel-surfed the TV—there was nothing worth watching. He listened to his CD of Judy Garland—Live at Carnegie Hall. An amazing recording, but he couldn’t focus.
    He decided to turn in early. He would have to get up around six to prepare for the hearing anyway. He performed his nightly ablutions, pulled on some old gym shorts, and crawled into bed. He tried to clear his mind, to drop off to sleep, but found it impossible. Everything was racing through his head at once, demanding his attention. Mike, and Spud, and Abshire, the FBI agent from hell. The chickens. Derek. And Christina, her face smeared with black.
    He couldn’t help but worry. Christina’s life was on the line. Even if she managed to avoid the Big Needle, this incident could destroy her life. He had to be thorough, had to consider every angle. If he let anything slip, the results could be tragic, even fatal. He would not let her down. The way he had Ellen.
    There was a sharp stinging in his eyes. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t relax, couldn’t let go. His head was throbbing, He closed his eyes and tried to force the demons out of his head. It was no use. He rolled over and pulled the covers close.
    He felt something wet and ticklish brush against his nose.
    He opened his eyes. It was Giselle.
    Ben raised the covers, and she crawled inside. She did her push-paw routine for a little while, then she settled into a nice warm spot in the small of his back and fell asleep.
    So did Ben.

11
    W OLF ALMOST STEPPED INTO the trap.
    He shone his flashlight down toward the ground. There, partially hidden by leaves and brush, was a steel rabbit trap. He would have to be more careful. Even a rabbit trap could take off a toe or paralyze an ankle.
    He poked a stick between the teethed blades and disarmed the mechanism. The drag chain was tied to a loose log—so the trapped animal couldn’t get any leverage and escape. Wolf untied the chain and slipped the trap free. He noted the number engraved on the upper blade indicating its tensile strength, a matter of great importance to trappers. If the trap was too strong, it would snap off the animal’s leg, or cut so deeply that the animal could (and would) chew his own leg off. Either way, the animal would escape, maimed but free. Until the next trapper came along.
    Wolf tossed the disarmed trap info his backpack. Trapping wasn’t allowed, at least not in his forest. He realized that some people were poor and hungry, especially around here. It didn’t matter. They would have to think of something else. He managed to get by without killing anything. They could, too.
    He completed his rounds, then headed back to the shack. The shack was probably originally built as a blind for hunters, but no hunter had used it for years, and none was likely to now. Wolf had posted a fake notice on