Justice for ALL Victims.
Sick Crime—Sick Man.
No to Perverts Running Our State.
“It’s the trial of Walter Riley,” Ricardo said, reading from his smartphone.
“Ah yeah, heisa sick bastard,” Sean muttered.
“I agree. And it seems his presence here has angered all the females in Miami.”
“All of Florida by the looks of it.” Jonathan flicked on the siren to get through a tangle of people and cars.
“We’re to go around the back of the courthouse, handle the situation inside first,” I said.
“The protestors are in there.” Jonathan glanced at me. “They’ll be after his blood. You know what he did, right?”
“Yes, I do. As if two counts of rape weren’t bad enough, he was found with seriously hardcore, disgusting and violent porn on his laptop.”
“Maybe we should let them at him,” Sean said.
“Tempting.” I twisted and caught his gaze. “But we have a justice system for a reason.”
He huffed and rechecked his weapon.
“Here we are.” Jonathan steered the van to the back of the courthouse. There were at least a dozen uniform patrol vehicles there.
As soon as he pulled to a stop we jumped out, our sturdy boots landing heavily.
A uniform rushed up. “They’ve breached the lobby. Time to stop playing nicely. We need them out before the shit really hits the fan.”
“We’re on it.” I nodded at him. “There’s another SWAT team on the way, right?
“Apparently they’re on another job, will be here soon as.”
Damn it, where are Hal and his men when I need them?
“Come on, guys.” With shields in hands, we ran through the back door and then a network of corridors. The sound of excited babble and chanting grew louder.
We found ourselves spat out into the lobby. About a hundred women had breached the revolving doors before they’d been locked by uniformed officers and they now stood about punching the air, shouting for justice and for blood.
“Fuck,” Ricardo muttered next to me. “They’re not happy.”
“And I don’t blame them.”
We stood in a line, protecting the doorway to the courtroom itself. If the braying crowd got in there, goodness only knew what would happen.
A woman rushed up to me. “Hey, you! Traitor.” She slapped my shield.
I took a step forward. My men did the same.
“Traitor. Traitor. Look…” She spun around. “There’s a goddamn woman protecting Walter Riley.”
“A woman!”
Again we stepped forward, scooping up several protestors with us and moving them backward.
“Traitor. Traitor.” A new chant was starting up.