Page 8 of Justice

But it is the girl on the table at his feet that makes the blood in Justice's veins boil with hate. Mandy’s naked body lays lifeless on the table, her fingers dangling over the edge. Her open eyes are bulging and bloodshot, a river of blood trickling from her nose and into the sweat-slick strands of her blonde hair.

Stone ends the call, telling Jones something she can’t make out. It’s not until he reaches for his wallet, handing over his shiny black credit card as his team follows Stone to the bar, that she understands.

Leaning her head against the cold glass, she catches Sanchez as he presses several keys on his phone, and then places it in his pocket, before joining the men at the bar. She wonders if he recorded what happened? And if so, why?

Mandy wasn’t the first girl the Senator had strangled, as long as his heart kept beating and his credit card still worked, she wouldn’t be the last.

She climbed into her bunk later that evening, Molly is wide-awake having heard the news of Mandy’s death and demanding every detail. Justice promised her friend she would tell her in the morning after her mind wraps around what happened. When the soft snores of Molly’s slumber filled their cell, she reached between her legs and pulled out the bundle Graham had placed inside her. Using the light from the hall, she looked at the rolls of one-hundred-dollar bills wrapped securely in a condom. Ripping a hole in the latex, she counted the four rolls, totaling four-thousand dollars. After she secured the money, she stared at the ceiling, Senator Graham’s words echoing over and over in her head.

Tomorrow she would go to the library, look up Director Steele and see if there was any other news on System-One. Change was on the horizon, she could feel it. The question was, would she survive it?

CHAPTERFIVE

“What reason would Sanchez havefor recording a dead girl? I mean, he’s one of them.”

Molly had given Justice enough time to get her breakfast tray before she demanded to know the details of Mandy’s death. Rumors had started as soon as the sun touched the horizon. Justice filled her in on everything she knew, minus the large sum of money shoved into her snatch.

“Don’t know,” Justice shrugged, shoving a spoonful of eggs into her mouth. “He’s your bestie, why don’t you ask him?”

Molly opens her mouth to argue when the sounds of a fight shatter the silence of the early morning meal.

“I said no, you fat motherfucker!” Deidre shouts at Officer Stone as her breakfast tray hurls past him, hitting the block wall, the contents falling down the gray paint and dripping to the floor.

“Now leave me the fuck alone,” she adds, turning her back on the guards as if the conversation is over and she isn’t about to be tossed on her ass and tasered. She makes it three steps before Stone and the rest of the guards in this section, take her to the ground, restraining her hands and feet behind her back, carrying her off to solitary confinement.

Warden always starts out easy on the girls she selects for the Chosen. First, it’s a pleasant conversation, followed by the offer and a few days to consider. It was during the few days Justice was given, she saw what saying no got you. Next, she sends one of the guards, usually Stone, to see if she has come to a decision. Either Deidre is stone cold stupid, or believes her cellmate is a diabetic and the shit going in her arm is insulin and not the drugs she is addicted to.

“Ten bucks says she stays the full three weeks.” Molly holds out her hand, palm up waiting for Justice to take her bet.

Slapping her hand away, “Shut up, of course, she’ll stay the full time. The bitch is psycho.”

Warden has the guards place the more hesitant ones in solitary confinement, where she lets them cool off for a day or two. She then removes their clothes, followed by the lights, and then finally food and water. Most of the ones who last the three weeks come back with injuries which require pain medication, and sadly the beginnings of an addiction. By the time they are released back to their cells, they are willing to do most anything for the guards, as long as they get their fix.

“Oh, yeah, before I forget,” Molly lifts her top, pulling the newspaper from the waste of her pants, sliding it across the table to Justice. “I saw this when I was waiting for Sanchez to unload my shipment. Seems as if I’ve heard you say the name before.” Molly points to the article on the bottom of the front page.

The first charges have been filed in the developing case against System-One and its involvement in the wrongful prosecution of nearly sixty murder convictions. Documents filed with the State of Georgia Board of Commerce, have the registered owner as Vincent Chambers, of Morrison County Georgia. Chambers was arrested during a raid led by Deputy Director Charles Steele. In a statement released by Steele’s office, Vincent Chambers falsely represented himself as a Forensic Evidence expert. Testifying to the validity of the false reports created by his company, which mislead jurors and influenced wrongful guilty findings.

“I knew the motherfucker was paid off.” Justice tossed the paper to the table, the feeling of disgust ruining her appetite. Vincent Chambers had walked into the courtroom, in his polished suit and black-rimmed glasses, using words he most likely stole from one of those crime shows on television, going into great detail on the tests done at the crime scene. He testified to the lack of drugs in her system, and how the amount found in her stepfathers was enough to kill him. He had testified how he wasn’t sure how the man was still alive.

“I hope like hell he gets a cellmate with a flagpole for a dick.”

“You know what this means, Justice?” Molly leans over, her eyes carrying an edge of seriousness as she places her hand over Justices.

“If your case is one of the ones they investigate, they’ll have to give you a new trial. One with real evidence and not the bullshit Red invented.”

Justice had lost sleep for weeks trying to wrap her mind around why her lab results were negative for any drugs, and yet she felt the after effects of something for days. She accepted her mother most likely died of an overdose, but the GHB found in Red’s system left her scratching her head. He was known to smoke enough weed to make Snoop Dog shake his head, but he wasn’t someone to fool easily, especially not when it came to his drink being spiked or slipping him a pill.

“Come on, let’s go see if Olson can get us a list of the cases they’ve pulled.”

Beth Olson was the custodian for the library and the unofficial protection for hire inside the prison. A former marine, she was sentenced to twenty years for the murder of her husband, after she claimed he tried to beat her. She, like Molly, did not make the cut for the Warden’s Chosen.

Olson stood with her head tipped back, shelving a book as Justice and Molly walked through the door. Thick glasses covered her eyes, the magnification making them appear so much larger than they actually were.

“I know why you’re here, and the answer is no.” She snapped, not bothering to stop as she shelved the next book in her arm.

“We haven’t asked a question yet.”

“The book you requested last week, it hasn’t been returned.”

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