Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Gallows Eve ❯ Chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )

Gallows Eve (Part 2)

 

By DRL

 

 

Heero Yuy watched the jury as they filed out of the jury box and were escorted out of the court. The prisoner was then taken back to the cells beneath the rambling old building, which was itself once a notorious prison. The two prison officers, one preceding, one following, seemed an unnecessary and excessive show of force, so slight was the form of the prisoner between them. He watched the retreating back, focussing on the contrast between the dark fabric of the sombre black suit the prisoner wore and the thick, chestnut-coloured plait of hair that lay against it. Abruptly, as one of the prison officers stepped into his line of vision, blocking his view, Heero rose and hurriedly left the court.

 

He took a corner table at restaurant some distance from the court, so as not to encounter anyone who had anything to do with the proceedings, and ordered a meal he had no appetite for. While he waited for his order, sipping from a glass of Perrier, he watched as tall, willowy young man with a strikingly handsome face and cinnamon coloured hair which was neatly coifed, except for a stray forelock which fell across one eye entered the restaurant. He looked elegant and dapper in a dark navy jacket, charcoal grey pants and open-necked white shirt. He took a brief moment to scan the restaurant with intelligent, emerald green eyes, then he wove his way gracefully between the tables towards Heero.

 

“How long do you think they'll be out?” He asked gently and without preamble, as he took a seat opposite Heero. His voice was soft and mellow, but with an underlying keenness that spoke of a strength of will that belied the serenity of his manner.

 

“They'll be some time, if Quatre does his job correctly.” Heero replied tersely.

 

“Oh he will,” The newcomer said, and his eyes softened as a gentle smile played about his lips, “You can rely on him.”

 

“Good, now I need your mind above your waistline Trowa. Is everything arranged for tomorrow?”

 

“Well not exactly, but it will be.” The man named Trowa replied. “Wufei can't arrange anything definite until the verdict is in of course, but with the prosecution case so strong, he can't press the issue without giving the game away. Everyone seems to think that it's an open and shut case, so as far as they're all concerned, tomorrow will be the first of the fourteen days prior to the execution.

 

“Yes,” Heero said grimly. “It certainly looks that way. If Quatre fails, Duo Maxwell will hang for sure. At this moment, he is all that stands between the prisoner and the gallows.”

 

“He won't fail.” Trowa said softly.

 

Heero's blue eyes fixed Trowa with a hard, flinty gaze, his scepticism readily discernable in a mockingly raised eyebrow. Trowa's own expression hardened and his green eyes locked with Heero's, staring him down unblinkingly with a look that was pure steel. The tension between the two men was palpable, but was abruptly broken by the shrill voice of the waitress.

 

“Can I get you anything sir?” She asked, smiling enthusiastically at Trowa.

 

“No thank-you.” Trowa replied without breaking eye contact with Heero.

 

“Yes, bring him the same as I'm having.” Heero interposed quickly, and as the waitress scribbled on her pad and hurried away he added, “You might as well. We have quite some to kill, because as you say, Quatre won't fail.” Trowa bowed his head slightly, acknowledging Heero's concession, but said nothing. “You'll have to forgive me Trowa,” Heero continued, “Quatre may be your lover, but he's also the best operative you have. I'm apt to let the one issue cloud the other.”

 

“Well I don't.” Trowa said levelly. “He'll do what is required of him, or perish in the attempt. That's what all my people undertake to do, and Quatre is no different.”

 

“Well I shouldn't think that will be necessary in this situation,” Heero said with a mirthless laugh “Although it might be simpler. Where is Chang?”

 

“He went down to the cells to see his client. “Trowa replied. “I've told him where we are, so he may be along later. He's still a little apprehensive about the whole business. He still thinks it undermines the fairness of the `Trial by Jury' system, and he's worried about being disbarred if it was to ever come to light.”

 

“It won't come to light,” Heero said, “Because there is nothing to come to light. There is nothing illegal or unethical in w hat we are doing, and even if there were, nothing can be traced back to Chang, so he needn't worry.”

 

Both men curtailed their conversation as their order was brought to the table, and they remained contemplatively silent as they pushed the unwanted food around their plates, both occasionally spearing a forkful of food and raising it to his lips for the sake of appearances.

 

“Is there anything wrong with the prosecution's case?” Trowa asked eventually.

 

“Nothing at all.” Heero replied tonelessly. “That will be Quatre's biggest problem. It is completely watertight; there is nothing wrong with it at all. He will have to make bricks without straw.”

 

“And make them he will,” Trowa said flatly, “But completely off the record, you do seem to be going to an awful lot of trouble for this man Maxwell. Why are you so convinced that he is innocent?” He asked. “I'm not asking officially, because it is not my concern one way or the other, I just do what I am asked to do, but what is your interest in this case?.” Heero did not reply, he just fixed Trowa with an even, steady gaze. “Oh,” Trowa said finally, as realisation dawned, “Oh no!”

 

 

From his seat in the pulic gallery, Heero watched as the jury came back into the court and took their seats in the jury box. He searched the faces of the 12 ordinary men and women that were to decide the prisoner's fate, looking for one in particular. He found it, sweet, cherubic and the picture of benevolent innocence. A face of almost feminine beauty, with a `peaches `n' cream' complexion, breathtaking aquamarine eyes and silky golden hair. Heero smiled inwardly. No wonder Trowa had been smitten. Quatre was indeed beautiful, both outside and in. Just at the moment, however, Quatre's face, usually open and honest, was completely inscrutable. The rest of the jury were looking shifty and restless, but Quatre's gaze appeared to be focussed on nothing in particular, neither dead ahead, nor to one side or the other. He was just there, giving nothing away, yet concealing nothing. Trowa was right, he was the best. The face of an angel, the heart of a saint and the hands of an assassin. An interesting combination in a mate he thought to himself, and with that thought, he looked up at the prisoner.

 

Despite the fact that within a few minutes he was to discover whether he would live or die, Duo Maxwell's bearing was still strong and upright. He looked wan and a little tired now, but he still looked remarkably in control, although the light of mischief that had once danced in his violet eyes was now stilled. His chestnut hair was brushed back from his forehead and fell to well below his waist in a thick braid, but several stray wisps had worked loose and hung around his heart-shaped face like tendrils on a vine. His masculine good looks were tempered with a softness that made him appear quite frail, although the set of his jaw and the erect way in which he carried himself belied this. His prison officer guards stood outside the dock, lest the prisoner should make a sudden break for freedom, and Duo stood in the centre of the wooden structure, his slight figure dwarfed by its gargantuan proportions. Suddenly, as Heero studied him, the prisoner's eyes swivelled in his direction and locked with his, meeting and holding his gaze with a slightly quizzical one of his own. At that moment the judge cleared his throat and began to speak.

 

“Members of the jury, would your foreman please stand.” He paused while a stout, bearded man in an ill-fitting, navy, chalk striped suit fought his way laboriously to his feet, then he continued. “Have you reached a verdict on which you are all agreed?”

 

“No, my lord, I'm afraid we have not.” The foreman said in a doom-laden voice. “We find it impossible to come to an agreement.” A hum of voices rose from the public gallery, but they fell silent again as the judge spoke.

 

“Perhaps if you had a little more time…?”

 

“I'm afraid not my lord.” The foreman replied, “I fear that that would not make any difference. I see little prospect of us ever agreeing.”

 

“If there is anything I can do to assist you, perhaps some further explanation of the evidence…?”

 

“We fully understand the evidence my lord, it's just that we cannot seem to agree upon it.” The foreman jutted out his double-chin, as if staunchly defending his intelligence.

 

“You're quite sure?” The judge asked, clutching at the last remaining straw, “I do not wish to hurry you in any way. You may take as much time as you like, you are aware of this fact?”

 

“We shall never agree my lord,” The foreman said steadfastly, “Not if we were to remain here for a week.”

 

“Very well.” The judge said. “In that case I have no option but to discharge you and order a fresh trial with a new jury.

 

Heero slowly and noiselessly expelled the breath he had been holding. “Well done Quatre,” He said to himself, “You've done it! He's got another chance.”

 

(To be continued)

 

 

 

 

1