Advanced Litigation

"State your name for the record." Apparently deciding the men hadn't been threatened enough, Shadow Man seemed ready to get down to business. He spoke with a calm yet authoritative voice, as if this was some kind of court of law.

"My name is Dave Motts." The man, apparently named Dave, said in a very meek, small voice.

"Dave..." Blake said reflexively, even though he didn't recognize the man, but the lawyer in him couldn't allow him to just let a man talk. "Don't say a damn thing - AW FUCK!" His free legal advice was rewarded with another painful shock to the hip. It felt even more painful than the first shock, and tears began to leak from Blake's eyes and into his fur.

"Jesus Christ!"  Shadow man exclaimed with frustration over the crackle of the cattle prod. "What do you think this is, some sort of courtroom? I thought you lawyers were smarter than this!"

Blake bit back a retort, deciding discretion would be the better part of valor in this case. As electricity coursed through his body, Blake did his best to focus through the pain. Now that he had a name, Blake was quickly sorting through his internal rolodex, trying to remember when he had represented any man named Dave Motts.

"Now, Mr. Motts." Shadow man said, resuming his questioning once he was done punishing the lawyer. "Why are you here?"

There was a long beat of silence, before Dave spoke up. "I don't know."

"Wrong answer." Shadow Man snarled with an anger that caused Blake's blood to run cold.

You can negotiate with almost anyone, scared men were the easiest. A scared man will take any perceived out to his situation, it was why prosecution was for the dumb and lazy in Blake's opinion. Ultimately, it didn't matter. Powerful men, angry men, principled men, proud men, strong men... all you needed to do was find out what they needed and find a way to give it to them without losing too much in the process. Did Blake always win? No, not if by 'winning' you mean getting a client off scot-free. Winnable defense cases were rare in the criminal justice system. When DA offices were concerned about 'winning' more than justice, they rarely took cases that were anything but a lock. Still, Blake believed he almost always managed the best possible outcome for his client, and that was as good as a win when representing the damned. Now, Blake felt like one of his clients, one of the 'damned'. For what the lawyer heard in Shadow Man's voice was pain, the deep pain of a man who has lost everything. You could never negotiate with a man like that.

What the fuck have we done to incur such a wrath? Blake wondered.

"Wait! Wait! Wait!" Dave pleaded, but his pleas went unheeded. The crackle from the cattle prod filled the air again, and Dave howled in misery.

"Think, Mr. Motts!" Shadow Man shouted angrily. "Surely you can think of at least one thing you've done wrong in your life?"

Dave Motts... Dave Motts... the name was on repeat in Blake's brain as he attempted to remember who this man was. For the life of him, he couldn't place his name.

"I'm... I'm a drunk?" Dave volunteered.

"Truer words..." Shadow Man said, with a pleased tone in his voice, he was getting somewhere. Dave was also pleased, or at least relieved. He was a scared man, and willing to give up anything in the negotiation to not be hurt. Blake heard it in the high pitch of his voice, and the relief as he sighed deeply. Blake was confident that still wasn't the right answer. You didn't go to lengths like this over a man enjoying booze too much. "Yet, still not exactly the answer I'm looking for. Take another stab at it."

The man fell silent for a while, as if thinking it over. It wasn't until the menacing crackle of the cattle prod filled the air that Dave continued to speak. "I... er... I have driven drunk."

"Warmer still, maggot."  But Blake had finally pieced things together on his own. In fact, he felt rather dumb for not having figured it out much sooner.

"Listen," Blake began, he was prepared to give a speech about how the sins of the accused or even the guilty were not the sins of the lawyer. After all, Blake was just one cog in the machine. If one of his clients did bad things after he represented them, that was a flaw in the judicial system, not a personal character flaw. Blake didn't get very far with his pity speech, however. This time, Shadow Man didn't bother with the cattle prod. Instead, he kicked Blake in the stomach as hard as he could manage.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU STUIPD BASTARD." Shadow Man screamed as Blake coughed and sputtered pathetically.

The pain was so bad, Blade nearly passed out, red-hot agony radiated from his stomach and across his entire body. The wolf would have doubled over had his chains not been restraining him. He'd always wondered how Houdini had died from a punch to the stomach, he would never wonder that again. By the time he came to again, Shadow Man's attention had been brought back to the sniffling little human. "Dave..." he said, speaking in an almost whisper that sounded scarier than the loudest of screams. "Tell me why you're here."

Dave was sobbing now. Blake, fighting off the pain, turned to face his former client, knowing what was coming. The lawyer watched the tears stream down the human's dusty cheek. He'd seen those guilty tears many times in his career.  "I... I killed a girl."

"Bing-fucking-o."

Blake took great pride, and often bragged about 'never forgetting a case' but, admittedly, there were times he needed a little help to remember. After all, plenty of clients had come and gone in his seven years as a lawyer. Still, he probably should have remembered Dave Motts a lot sooner, as it was his first 'big' case as a defense attorney. Now his memory had finally been jogged enough to recall the Motts' case, he could remember all the details like it was yesterday.

..

Shortly after 2 AM on January 1st, 2015 Dave Motts was spotted by sheriff's deputy Brain Thompson heading northbound on I5 driving a red 1995 Chevy Silverado. The vehicle raised Deputy Thompson's suspicions because there was notable damage to the passenger side of the vehicle, and it was driving erratically. Deputy Thompson proceeded to pull Motts over and, after failing multiple field sobriety tests, Motts was subjected to a breathalyzer.

He blew twice the legal limit, and later three eyewitnesses told police they witnessed Motts' Silverado hit and run with a silver Ford Mustang they were riding in.

Typically, being a defense lawyer, Blake would have prefaced the story with at least one 'allegedly', but what did you want from him? The whole thing had been caught on the patrol car's dash cam, there was eyewitness testimony, a mountain of physical evidence... and it still got worse. Motts' license had been suspended from unpaid court fees. It was also his third DUI at only 23 years old: he shouldn't have even been driving at the time. Plus, the red truck lacked the court mandated ignition interlock designed to prevent him from drinking and driving.

At this point, back when he'd first gotten the case and was reviewing the file, Blake was already expecting simply to manage a plea agreement between Motts and the prosecutor and try to mitigate the damage. He was a young yet skilled and imaginative lawyer. Neither he nor any of his older mentors could think of a way out. And that was before the final nail in the case, the final 'fuck you' cherry atop Motts' sundae of shit. Taking the bench in the case was Judge Robert J. Kingsley.

The honorable Judge Kingsley was a former prosecutor known among the defense pool to be one hard ass. He'd been brutal as a prosecutor, often going after maximum sentences and charging everything he could think of, no matter how petty or mirror the infraction. This trend had continued after taking the bench, with Kingsley acting more like an extension of the district attorney's office than a judge. However, as prejudiced as Judge Kingsley was against the defense, he found a way to double down in DUI cases. Blake had heard the judge had lost a daughter when a drunk blew through a red light and t-boned her SUV.

To make a long story short: Dave Motts was undeniably fucked, six ways over in fact. None thought there was a legal mind alive that would get him out of this jam. Yet, Dave refused to plead, much to Blake's frustration. Perhaps he decided he was done for either way, he might as well let it ride and hope for a miracle. If that was the case, a miracle Motts got.

In the 11th hour, a disgruntled former civilian employee of the sheriff's department came forward. He told Blake he had overheard several sheriff's deputies bragging at their substation. He claimed the officers joked about keeping a small bottle of whiskey in their cruisers, so they could tie up anyone they didn't like with a bogus DUI charge. All they had to do, according to the former employee, was rub some booze over the mouthpiece of the breathalyzer before administering the test.

Even the defense was slightly incredulous. Hearsay evidence such as this is almost always inadmissible in court, and for good reason. It was barely sufficient for the judge, however reluctantly, to sign off on a warrant to search Deputy Thompson's patrol car. The snitch's info turned out to be good. Sure enough, just as they'd said, a small bottle of cheap whiskey was discovered under the driver's seat. It wasn't exactly hard evidence, but it was enough to sow 'reasonable doubt' over the breathalyzer test. Sure, even without the breathalyzer it was still a damning case against Motts: given the failed field sobriety tests, erratic driving, and physical damage to the vehicle all conveniently caught on dash cam. Furthermore, they could have had Deputy Thompson take the stand and admit under oath the whiskey bottle had been for personal use anyway. He would have been still confessing to a crime and fireable offense, but a much lesser one compared to the alternative. At least, not in a courtroom. Knowing the damage it would do if the story got out in open court, Blake challenged both the district attorney and the sheriff's department. Did they really want to debate the scandal in public view? "I'm sure I can find a class action's worth of guys in the jail who'd love to use this to overturn their own drunk driving convictions!" He'd threatened.

In the end, citing the 'greater good', the prosecutor and sheriff's office was more than happy to let a drunk have a freebie when faced with allowing the department to be flogged publicly. Charges against Motts were dropped, with prejudice: meaning Dave Motts couldn't be charged again under double jeopardy, and Deputy Thompson was made the fall guy. He lost his job and now worked as a private contractor for the court's parking lot. Blake took great delight in calling him 'Deputy' every time he happened to see him, rubbing in what the other man had lost. Still, while the incident had never received wide scale news coverage, word of his courtroom victory quickly spread and Blake became one of the most in demand lawyers in the city. The tiny little 'lost cause' case had turned out to write Blake's meal ticket and make him either a devil or a hero, depending on who you asked. In the end, things seemed to work out fine. Five years later, and Dave Motts had never been so much as pulled over for failure to use his blinker. Perhaps the local PD was just scared to pull him over, or maybe it had been a 'come to Jesus' moment. Either way, Dave had been clean... until six months ago on Halloween night.

Dave was driving a green 2003 Ford Taurus when he, an entire bottle of whiskey deep, fell asleep at the wheel and careened into a big group of trick or treaters.  Thankfully, one of the parents had turned around just in time and managed to shout a warning. Half the group managed to get out of the way, the other half (in a testament to modern crash safety standards) bounced more or less harmlessly off the hood of the Taurus. However, a six-year-old girl and her mother got rolled up under the wheels of the Ford. The mother, who'd gotten between the car and her little girl, took the brunt of the impact, and died at the scene. Regrettably, the mother's sacrifice was for naught. The little girl was rushed to hospital, where she was pronounced dead three days later. It was the type of senseless accident that could make a medium-sized town feel like a small town. There was a community wide collective outpouring of grief and anger at the senselessness of it all.

Blake would certainly understand if he knew you felt a... certain way about him after hearing that story. People already don't like lawyers, and they really don't like the ones that get guilty people off. You might even think he has some culpability in the crash, after all had he not done his 'lawyer thing' Dave Motts would have been in jail on the night of the crash.

Blake understands. Sympathizes, even.

He would never admit this to anybody, but there had been nights, particularly earlier in his career, where he'd been unable to sleep at night wondering if he was doing the right thing. The reality? Once Blake was aware of the underhanded tactics of the police in that case, he was legally obligated to bring it to the court's attention. It would be malpractice if he didn't. Besides, had the police done their job fairly and legally, there was nothing Blake could have done, and Dave Motts would've been sitting in jail and not driving his car that fateful Halloween night.

As Blake thought about the past, his former client spilled his guts with a tearful confession, even though both Blake and Shadow Man already knew every last detail. As he babbled, Blake watched Shadow Man closely, taking another stab at his identity with this new information. He was pretty sure Shadow Man was actually the little girl's father and husband to the slain woman: Darrel Peak.

For one, while there were undoubtedly many people in town who would have liked to find themselves in a dark room with the man who'd done the nasty and the man who'd enabled him to do so, his lawyer; how many would have the means to make something like this happen? Peak was an actual local cop, which gave him the type of access few others would have.  Furthermore, that hurt in his voice? The pain went deeper than mere sympathy. This was too personal for someone trying to play Batman. Lastly, as Blake searched his memories of the various press conferences and news reports he'd seen in the days after, he remembered the father being a dark-colored wolf: which matched the admittedly very vague physical description from the slight glimpses Blake had managed to sneak of Shadow Man.

Dave had finished talking, sad and tragic as the story was, it wasn't a particularly long one. He now sobbed almost silently while Shadow Man stared down at him with contempt. But then he surprised Blake by offering a bit of kindness to Dave. "Care for a drink?"

Instantly, Blake was suspicious: but he didn't dare speak up. Surely another blow like that last one could kill him! What would Shadow Man do if Blake ruined his plan for revenge by speaking up at the wrong time? While there was an instinct in Blake to intervene, protecting the damned was a difficult thing to give up apparently, he helplessly watched as Dave gratefully accepted the offer.

Shadow Man disappeared into... shadows, where apparently there was some sort of bar. Blake could hear the sounds of bottles being uncorked and ice tinkling into a glass. Whatever sort of 'root cellar' they were in, it was unlike any Blake had heard about before. Of course, for all the root cellars Blake had been in, maybe a wet bar was a common accoutrement? A few minutes later, Shadow Man reappeared. He was carrying what looked like whiskey on the rocks, but something made it look extra menacing. Again, Blake willed Dave not to drink it, but wasn't brave enough to speak up. He just watched, feeling helpless, as Shadow Man held the glass up to Dave's mouth and the human began to drink up.

The booze seemed to restore some of the color to Dave's cheeks, bringing some warmth and helping to dull the memories of that awful night. He finished the drink in one slow motion gulp, Shadow man tipping the glass only very slightly, so the whisky barely trickled out of the glass.

"I hope you enjoyed that drink. Because I'll bet it's the last you'll ever have."

The little color that had come back to Dave's face instantly disappeared again, the human looked up at his canine capture with a look of utter horror in his eyes.

"Oh, don't worry! I'm not going to kill you or anything!" Shadow Man laughed, although the laugh had very little humor in it. "See, it's like I've already told you. I'm not a cruel man. While I'd be totally justified in killing you for what you've done to my family, I know it wouldn't bring me any pleasure. It wouldn't help my pain. But, what I can do is... declaw a monster. You understand?"

"Not... not really?" Dave said hesitantly as the chains that held him to the chair fell away. But he didn't move, not even to rub his wrists in an attempt to get feeling back in them. Dave was clearly scared of saying the wrong thing.

"You see, Dave, you aren't really a bad guy." Shadow Man continued, Blake watching with bewilderment. "You're sick. Being angry at you would be like being angry at someone for having cancer. You didn't choose to be a drunk piece of shit, right?"

"Right..." Dave said even more hesitantly.

"If you could choose not to love booze, you would. Wouldn't you?"

"Of course!" Dave said, this time nodding frantically. Blake, a cynic when it came to human nature, assumed he decided this was the best way to escape this hellhole with his life: just agree with whatever Shadow Man said.

"Exactly! I knew you weren't a bad person, Davey. Just sick." Shadow Man said. His words were kind, but they struck Blake as a sickly sweet poison. "Care for another drink?"

"Uh..." Dave hesitated. Saying 'yes' or 'no' seemed to go against Shadow Man's interests. He'd just admitted wanting to give up booze! How could he say 'yes' to a drink thirty-second later? Yet, it seemed clear that for some reason, Shadow Man wanted him to say yes.

"It's OK, Davey! It's not like you're driving tonight!" Shadow Man said, with another one of his booming yet humorless laughs.

He produced another glass full of whiskey, and Blake could tell Dave was trying not to appear overly eager as he accepted the glass. Again, it struck Blake just how pathetic the other man was. Perhaps jail would have been the best place for him. This time, the booze would bring no relief or satisfaction. With his very first sip, his face seemed to turn a green color, screwed up with a look of utter disgust and horror. He quickly dropped the glass and spat the amber liquid out onto the ground.

"What's the matter, Davey? You don't like your drink?"

"It... it... it tastes like battery acid!" Dave spluttered, actually sticking out his tongue as if trying to check for damage.

"Well... I did mix it a little strong, I suppose. Another for the road?"

"No!" Dave exclaimed, scrambling away from Shadow Man with a look of horror still in his eyes.

"Well, if that's the case, I guess you should be leaving now. Mr. Bertrand has been waiting very patiently since Mr. Shocky taught him some manners." He led Dave to the door, opened it with another loud howl on its rusty bearings, before slamming it shut again.

He flicked two switches in quick succession; killing the blinding 'main stage lights that had so brightly illuminated the two chairs and bringing on the 'house lights' that softly illuminated the entire dungeon. Then he took off the ski mask, which caused Blake's heart to sink and his blood to run cold.

It is basically a cliché in action movies: if your kidnappers are allowing you to see their faces, it means you're a dead man. They aren't worried about you identifying them to law enforcement after they kill you. Like many action movie tropes, there is a degree of truth to this, but nothing is universally true. Many people see criminals as being dumb and lazy. Again, there is a degree of truth to this. Mostly because, with precious few exceptions, it is the dumb, lazy, or unlucky that get caught. Smart criminals break just one law at a time, they don't take uncalculated risks: they quit while they're ahead, and they hide their faces even if they plan to kill you. After all, you might find a way to escape. Perhaps they'll have to cut and run in a rush, without time to thoroughly clean up after themselves. On the other hand, plenty of criminals aren't that smart. They get lazy, act impulsively, perhaps dull their senses with drugs. They won't bother to hide their face because they literally cannot think beyond the now. In short, a criminal may or may not kill you, but it has nothing to do with wearing a mask. However, if you're ever kidnapped and your kidnapper suddenly decides to show you his face after hiding it the entire time, that is bad news.