The Judge (Original Short Fiction)

This is day 10 for me in @dragosroua's 30 day writing challenge. I have taken time out from writing the "Notes From an Amateur Writer" series. Instead today I have a short story written for @anarcho-andrei's Descriptions on the Spot: Jun 29 - Jul 6. I have used the writing prompt (which are offered in the comments section of that linked post) Mediation.

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THE JUDGE

The large warehouse was mostly empty, except for the table and three chairs placed in the centre. Pillars of steel were located throughout the cavernous interior, their grey painted surfaces coldly matching the vast concrete floor that lead from wall to wall. It was a building designed to store enormous amounts of goods as they awaited sorting and delivery out into the world. Such a building also came in handy as a meeting place. A place where another type of business could be conducted.

The brothers sat at either end of the table, occupying two of the seats. They waited, nervously, eyes locked on the other, but neither of them willing to speak. A door had opened against one of the distant walls, a small entrance for the industry giant that was about to make his presence felt. They listened as the footsteps of the man and his two assistants could be heard approaching them.

They dare not look, a fear born of the reputation that adorned “The Judge”, as he was known. One powerful step after another could be heard as he neared them.

As he reached the table, he stood in front of the seat placed there for his use and said nothing. He looked to his left, and then to his right, giving each of the brothers his fair share of The Judge's attention. Each of whom failed to hold his stare. A cold sweat appeared on both of them, in unison. Perhaps it was a sibling thing, but most probably not. The Judge could try you and find you guilty without uttering a word. Or so the rumours indicated.

One of The Judge's men moved his chair back allowing him to take his seat at the table, flanked by his guards, standing silently behind him.

After what seemed an eternity to the brothers The Judge spoke up. “So which one of you two is responsible for this mess?”

They pointed at each other, but said nothing. A juvenile attempt to downplay the pressure coming their way.

“I asked you two a question. Someone had better answer me.” The Judge made eye contact with each of the brothers. A look that had been perfected over the many years he had practised his own style of interrogation. Matched as it was by the street style justice he was known to dish out.

“It was an accident,” Ricardo said. Slightly older than his brother, he wanted to protect his younger sibling as much as he wanted to stay alive himself. They had both entered the warehouse on orders. A choice was not offered to them. And somebody was going to have to pay a price for what had gone wrong. No one had talked their way out of a punishment from The Judge. Ricardo hoped that today could prove a first.

“You almost killed a cop.” The Judge showed the first sign of emotion, as he raised his tone of voice ever so slightly. “It matters not if it was an accident. You've got half of the city's force out there looking for you. And you two imbeciles would be dumb enough to lead them straight to us.”

“We were driving away from the job. He jumped out in front of us. Honest, that's how it went down.” Ricardo spoke up again, in a vain attempt to shield his younger brother. He held his hands flat on the table hoping to mask the slight tremble he now felt.

“Who was driving the car?” The Judge turned and looked piercingly at Ricardo. He shook his head to indicate it was not him, casting his eyes down knowing he had probably just signed his brother's death warrant. The Judge turned and faced Carlos, who until now had said and done nothing. “So it was you who ran down the cop?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Did he get time to see your face?”

“I don't know. I don't think so.”

“Was he facing the car when you hit him?”

“Yes.”

“Then he saw your face. Probably giving a description to the sketch artist as we speak.” The Judge pushed his chair back and stood up. “You either kill or don't kill. But when you do a job you do it right. This nonsense will lead all the way to me if I don't sort this out now.”

The two brothers sat at each end of the table awaiting their fate. Was he about to issue a death warrant for one of them, or make them go and finish off the cop in an attempt to stop the damage from spreading? Thoughts flew around in their minds as they nervously awaited the verdict.

The Judge walked over to one of his men and whispered in his ear. Reaching into his jacket, he produced two guns, handing them to The Judge. In a heartbeat The Judge turned, pointed the guns at the brothers and pulled the triggers. They both slumped back in their chairs, a bullet wound to each forehead, blood slowly trickling down between their eyes.

“The rot stops here. It always does.” The Judge issued his verdict after meting out his punishment.

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Image sourced from unsplash.com.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. If you liked it then please like, comment, and follow.

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Notes From an Amateur Writer #1 - The Search For Inspiration
Notes From an Amateur Writer #2 - A Call to Action: Interacting With the World Outside of Me
Notes From an Amateur Writer #3 - Facing the Challenge
Notes From an Amateur Writer #4 - The Soundtrack to Grief and Loss
Notes From an Amateur Writer #5 - Music as a Catalyst for Imagination: Jimi Hendrix's Little Wing
Notes From an Amateur Writer #6 - The Stories All Around Us
Notes From an Amateur Writer #7 - Introducing Nomad [A Cyberpunk Mystery in the Making]
Notes From an Amateur Writer #8 - The House at the Edge of the World
Notes From an Amateur Writer #9 - Making Peace With My Kindle

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