Free Black Treacle Magazine (Issue 4) by Black Treacle Publications Page B

never like so-called members of the
bar. Given proper provocation, I’ve happily bitten off the
occasional counselor’s head in the past. However, I needed
information and therefore struggled to remain civil.
    “So glad you
could make the time for us, Ms. Llewellyn,” I said. “As I told you
earlier, I’m writing a magazine piece on the upcoming release
of--”
    “Yes, about
that,” Llewellyn interrupted. “How did you come across that
information? That news is so recent it’s barely fact.”
    “I am an
investigative reporter,” I replied as if that alone should answer
this and any future queries.
    Llewellyn
leaned back in her swivel rocker and touched her index finger to
her thin lips. “All right,” she said. “What do you want to
know?”
    “Where did you
get the DNA evidence to acquit Tomas Grandon?”
    “From the
evidence storage room at the courthouse.” Llewellyn shook her head
like the answer was obvious. “A single strand of glorious hair from
the crime scene . . . not belonging to my client, of course.”
    “Of course,” I
said, my tone brittle as a dead fly’s wing. I knew the crime scene
intimately. There had been no hair strand to find. “Who told you of
this hair? You are, at best, a mediocre attorney and have neither
the skills nor the imagination to take on a case like Grandon’s
unless you had an edge. Who contacted you?”
    “Just who the
hell are--”
    I launched
across her desk and grasped the lapels of her cheap business suit.
Her mouth dropped open, her expression pure terror as my head
tripled in size. My jaws unhinged like a python of prehistoric
proportions revealing rows of long teeth dripping greenish-yellow
pus.
    “I--I don’t
know,” Llewellyn whimpered. “I got an email from an anonymous
sender. It said to check hair samples for DNA. That’s all it said
and that’s all I did. Everything was in storage. I didn’t do a
damned thing wrong. And it saved my client. God, oh, God, what’s
wrong with that?”
    “What’s wrong
with that?” Putrid ooze sprayed her face as I worked words around
my massive fangs. “Have you not heard the phrase, in His own image?
No? Well, let me explain, you silly woman.
    “The Other
Side holds much credence in honesty, and imparted upon your kind
the best lie detector in creation. Your foolish justice system is
merely performance art. DNA, the very building blocks of humankind,
proves right from wrong, good from evil.” I leaned ever closer
toward Llewellyn’s ashen face until my teeth reflected in her wide
eyes. “That means if you sin, you are ours... that is, until
now.”
    The lawyer’s
face went through a series of contortions and it was questionable
whether she was going to scream with insane terror or vomit.
Instead, she did something quite remarkable and unexpected. Body
trembling as though a conduit of electric current, she pointed at
the door with a tremulous finger.
    “I did nothing
wrong! Now, get out, you crazy freak.” Her hoarse shouts rose into
a crescendo of near lunacy. “Get out, God--”
    Had she
finished, Kelly Llewellyn might have secured herself a place in
heaven by rebuking a duly appointed representative of Satan.
However, as her head slid down my gullet, that eternal salvation
would never come to pass. It was a close thing, but as I dabbed
blood from my chin with a scrap of her imitation silk shirt, I
comforted myself that I was well within the Ten Second Still Clean
Rule.
     
    ***
     
    Human
intelligence is an oxymoron. How can any sentient creature
willingly choose the darker sides of their nature knowing the
consequences of such actions? Physics is Physics. For every action
there is an equal reaction. To believe in Him is to believe in us.
Faith is a package deal, and make no mistake, dogma is irrelevant.
Good or evil, right or wrong, can or cannot.
    Of course,
there are always those who feel there is a gray area. Hell is
filled with them, particularly the disreputable creature called the
computer