FROM ROGUE MUTT
Prologue
I’m supposed to be in school, but there’s no way I’m going to miss this. It’s the latest “Trial of the Century,” except this time my dad is at the center of it. My dad is the one who’s going to bring down Madame Crimson and her criminal empire.
I wish I could watch it from the courtroom, but Daddy won’t let us near there. I have to watch from my bedroom with a bowl of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup next to the bed. Jessica insisted on making the soup even though she can’t boil water without burning it. The soup is my punishment for playing hooky by pretending to be sick, though conveniently it also gave Jessica an excuse to stay home from school so she can look after me.
At the moment there’s not a lot happening on the TV. I keep flipping the channels, but it’s just talking heads from different angles in front of the courthouse steps. They all keep saying the same stuff about how Lydia Schmidt, aka Madame Crimson, was arrested for racketeering after one of her people turned state’s evidence.
What they don’t mention is my dad is the one who got the guy to roll on Madame Crimson in the first place. They don’t mention the ten years he has been working to bring her down—ever since Mom died. But then these talking heads haven’t seen Daddy’s study with the newspaper clippings and diagrams that look like they belong to a UFO nut. Getting someone in her organization to turn was just the last piece of the puzzle.
I know something is finally going to happen when I see the armored truck pull up to the front steps. It takes the talking heads a few seconds to realize something big is about to happen and turn around. I flip between the channels for a few seconds, until one of the cameras finally gets a view of her.
The bitch is wearing a red dress and a wide-brimmed red hat as if she’s going to a garden party or something. They don’t even have her handcuffed or manacled. One of the cops takes her hand to help her down from the truck like she’s a princess. I wish I could throw my bowl of rancid soup through the screen to mess up her dress, but all I can do is watch and wait for her to get what’s coming to her.
All the talking heads try to get their microphones near her, but the cops push them back. The whole reason they brought her in the armored truck is to make sure none of her goons could free her before she got to the courthouse. They aren’t about to let any reporters close enough where someone could shoot her or stab her or anything like that. Daddy says the department would look like chumps if they let her get shot before she got to the trial.
I can’t see when Daddy gets there, but there’s another buzz of excitement that runs through the crowd. The cameras turn to show Daddy getting out of a police SUV. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest, as is the scrawny guy he practically drags out of the car. The guy’s name is Louie Heine, which is a pretty terrible name for anyone, but especially someone in the mob.
The talking heads shout questions at Daddy and Heine. Daddy waves the microphones away. Even through the TV I can see that vein in his forehead that always starts to throb when he’s about to ground me or Jessica. “Out of the way, you jackals!” he shouts.
“Just one question, Captain Howe,” a reporter is saying when it happens. The big guy who shoves his way into the frame is obviously bad news. I scream a warning to Daddy, but it’s already too late.
There’s a bang, a lot of screaming, and then black smoke on the screen. I flip through the channels, trying to see if Daddy is all right, but the channels have all gone dead. After about a minute I finally get an image on one channel. The cameraman must have dropped the camera during the explosion as it’s tilted at a crazy angle. There are bodies lying at the base of the steps, but I can’t see if Daddy is among them.
At the top of the steps, Madame Crimson stands there, one shocked guard still holding her by the elbow. There’s a smug grin on her face. She knows she’s going free now. This was what she planned all along, probably since the moment Daddy slapped cuffs on her.
Jessica runs into the room, phone pressed to her ear. “Come on, pick up,” she mutters. She must be trying Daddy’s phone. There must not be an answer, as she says, “Daddy, it’s Jessie. Call me as soon as you get this.”
She turns off the phone and then turns to me. “Get dressed. We’re going to the hospital.”
#
Jessica never got a speeding ticket because she always drove like an old lady. She doesn’t drive like an old lady as she takes us to St. Luke’s. That’s the nearest hospital to the courthouse. It’s also where Lieutenant Finnegan tells us to go.
Carol Finnegan is Daddy’s former partner and his most trusted officer. After Mom died she spent so much time with us that we began to call her Aunt Carol. She’s on the phone when we get to the emergency room, but she quickly hangs up to reach out for me. She squeezes me tight against her and then asks, “How are you holding up, kid?”
“I’m all right. How’s Daddy?”
“He’s in surgery,” she says. The pained look on her face is enough to tell me that it’s not good. “You girls keep your spirits up. Your dad is the strongest guy I know.”
“What happened?” Jessica asks.
Carol steers us into an empty exam room so she can recap what happened without anyone overhearing. There’s not a lot Carol can add to what we saw on the news footage. She was two cars back, far enough away that she only suffered some ringing in her ears. “A suicide bomber,” she said. “Guy with one of those vests like they used in Iraq and Afghanistan. They knew we’d have a bulletproof vest on him for protection.”
“The vest couldn’t protect him?” I ask, more concerned about Daddy in his vest than Heine.
“I don’t know, sweetheart. We’ll have to wait and see.”
The waiting and seeing is about as bad as the explosion. Carol pulls some strings to let us wait in an empty room so we don’t have to worry about reporters badgering us. I’m not sure they would with so many others in the blast—most of them other reporters.
I lean against Jessica, glad for her arm around my shoulders for the first time in about five years. She stares down at the floor, probably thinking I can’t see her crying, but I still can. She has already been through this once after Mom’s car was hit by the drunk driver, but I was too little to be at the hospital back then. I didn’t find out the next morning when I got out of bed and found Daddy in the kitchen, face in hands.
“Where’s Mommy?” I asked.
He raised his head so I could see tears in his eyes for the first time ever. He quickly wiped those tears away and then motioned for me to sit on his lap. “Your mommy had to go away for a long, long time.”
“Where?”
“To Heaven, with Jesus and all the angels.”
“Can’t we visit her?”
“No, sweetheart. You can’t visit her for a long time.”
“Why?”
“Because you have to be…you just can’t,” Daddy said. He hugged me close to silence any other questions. It wasn’t until later that Jessica explained it better to me. She always had a knack at destroying my illusions, like when I was four and she told me there was no Santa or Tooth Fairy.
“Daddy will pull through,” Jessica says, probably more for herself than for me.
As if on cue, the door to the room opens. Carol is there with a doctor. The tears in Carol’s eyes are all I need to know what the doctor is about to say. “I’m very sorry, girls, but we did everything we could for your father. The damage from the blast was just too severe—”
I let out a scream and then leap from my chair. I might have killed the doctor if I had a weapon. As it is I can only get in a few shots with my fists before Carol wrestles me away. I thrash in her arms, but she’s strong enough to keep hold of me until I finally go limp.
“I’m sorry, Robin. I’m so sorry,” Carol says.
“I don’t care if you’re sorry!” I shout at her. I manage to get a hold of myself enough to growl, “I want you to get her. You get her and make sure she goes to jail this time.”
“Robin—”
“If you don’t, then I will.” I tear myself away from Carol to wrap Jessica in a hug. It takes her a moment to hug me back. All we have now is each other thanks to Madame Crimson.
I don’t care how long it takes; I’m going to make her pay for it. I’m going to finish what my father started.
CRITIQUE
Right off, I'm an anti-prologue guy; I believe in starting a story with the start of the story...but meh, no biggie.
I think the writing was good and clear. I understood everything. Despite writing in first person present, it is not a narcissistic wall of "I", "me", "my", and that tells me you've been at the writing game a while. First person present is difficult to suggest improvements, because it is much like dialogue, and any suggestion can be countered with "Well, that's just the way my MC talks, that's her voice, and I'm not changing it." But the writing is decent, so I wouldn't have tons of suggestions anyway except to say this: her voice to a large degree (along with her actions, of course) communicates her intelligence and maturity. Now, this young lady (I'm guessing she's 14-16 years old) plans to go up against a criminal mastermind...does she sound like she could do it? In my opinion, no. I think you nailed her as far as an average teenage girl, but I think she should sound like she's a cut above. This is where my About Hammer & Tongs guidelines can help. The more mature and intelligent you want her to sound, the harder you edit her by those guidelines. Plus, she sounds like she loves and respects her father and his job. She's probably picked up quite a few terms, ideas, modes of expression, and knowledge of how the legal world works that most teenagers would not know. If her father is a captain, he's probably a pretty educated and eloquent man, and he certainly didn't become a captain by losing his cool in tense situations, and I think you portray him wrong in the crowd scene. A captain is more of a politician, more cool and calculating (despite TV portrayals), and I think an injection of higher language would enhance the MC's character considerably. Plus a few well-placed metaphors, maybe something her father might have heard her father say, like, "This situation is explosive, and Madame Crimson just lit the fuse." All of that communicates more intelligence and maturity. Or you could just demote her father to sergeant and stick with what you have. The language the MC uses and ascribes to her father, and her father's actions in the crowd scene fit that level.
I think Madame Crimson sounds kinda cartoon-y. Maybe change it to The Crimson Madame?
The only real quibble I have is its length. It stretches out a little longer than needed, in my opinion. I think you could cut parts that really don't contribute to the story like the soup thing, comments on Heine's name, and such, and maybe even the flashback dialogue. Read it cut by over 20% (I kept the flashback dialogue):
I should be in school, but no way I’m missing the “Trial of the Century”, because my dad is at the center of it. He is going to take down Madame Crimson and her criminal empire, so I pretended to be sick so I could stay home and watch it. My sister Jessica stayed home “to take care of me”, but she just wants to watch it like me.
I want to watch it from the courtroom, but Daddy won’t let us. I have to watch on my bedroom TV. I keep flipping the channels, but it’s just talking heads from different angles in front of the courthouse steps. They all keep saying the same stuff about how Lydia Schmidt, aka Madame Crimson, was arrested for racketeering after one of her people turned state’s evidence.
What they don’t mention is how my dad got the guy to roll on Madame Crimson. They don’t mention the ten years he worked to bring her down—ever since Mom died. But then, they haven’t seen Daddy’s study with all the newspaper clippings and diagrams tacked to the walls. Getting someone in her organization to turn was just the last piece of the puzzle.
Finally, I see the armored truck pull up to the front steps. It takes the talking heads a few seconds to realize something big is about to happen. I flip between the channels, until one of the cameras finally gets a view of her.
The bitch is wearing a red dress and a wide-brimmed red hat as if she’s going to a garden party. She’s not even handcuffed. One of the cops takes her hand to help her down from the truck like she’s a princess. I want to claw her eyes out, but all I can do is watch and wait for her to get what’s coming to her.
Reporters shove microphones at her, but the cops push them back. The whole reason they brought her in the armored truck is to ensure none of her goons free her before she gets to the courthouse. They aren't about to let anyone close enough to shoot or stab her either. Daddy says the department would look like chumps if they let her get shot before the trial.
Another buzz of excitement ripples through the crowd, and the cameras turn to show Daddy getting out of a police SUV. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest, as is the scrawny guy he practically drags from the car. The guy’s name is Louie Heine, the prosecution’s star witness.
Reporters shout questions, but Daddy waves the microphones away. I can see that vein in his forehead that always starts to throb when he’s about to ground me or Jessica. “Out of the way, you jackals!” he shouts.
“Just one question, Captain Howe,” a reporter is saying when it happens. A big guy shoves his way into the frame, and I scream a warning to Daddy, but it’s already too late.
There’s a bang, a lot of screaming, and then black smoke on the screen. I flip through the channels, trying to see if Daddy is all right, but the channels have all gone dead. After about a minute, I finally get an image on one channel. The cameraman must have dropped the camera during the explosion as it’s tilted at a crazy angle. Bodies lie at the base of the steps, but I can’t see if Daddy is among them.
Madame Crimson stands at the top of the steps, a shocked guard still holding her by the elbow. She grins smugly, knowing she’s going free now. She planned this all along, probably since the moment Daddy slapped cuffs on her.
Jessica runs into the room, phone pressed to her ear. “Come on, pick up,” she mutters. She must be trying Daddy’s phone. There must not be an answer, as she says, “Daddy, it’s Jessie. Call me as soon as you get this.”
She turns to me and says, “Get dressed. We’re going to the hospital.”
#
Jessica never got a speeding ticket because she drives like an old lady. She doesn't drive like an old lady to St. Luke’s, the hospital Lieutenant Finnegan told us to go to. Carol Finnegan is Daddy’s former partner and most trusted officer. After Mom died, she spent so much time with us that we began to call her Aunt Carol. She’s on the phone when we get to the emergency room, but she quickly hangs up to hug me. She squeezes me tight and asks, “How you holding up, kid?”
“I’m all right. How’s Daddy?”
“He’s in surgery.” Her pained look tells me it’s not good. “You girls keep your spirits up. Your dad is the strongest guy I know.”
“What happened?” Jessica asks.
Carol steers us to an empty exam room to recap what happened without anyone overhearing. She can’t add much to what we saw on the news footage. She was two cars back, far enough away to suffer only some ringing in her ears. “A suicide bomber,” she said. “Guy with one of those explosive vests they use in Iraq and Afghanistan. They knew we’d have a bulletproof vest on your dad.”
“The vest couldn't protect Daddy?” I ask.
“I don’t know, sweetheart. We’ll have to wait and see.”
The wait is about as bad as the explosion. Carol pulls some strings to get us into an empty room away from reporters. The reporters are plenty busy with so many others in the blast—most of them other reporters.
I lean against Jessica, glad for her arm around me. She stares down at the floor, probably thinking I can’t see her crying. She already went through this once after Mom’s car was hit by the drunk driver, but I was too little to be at the hospital. I didn't find out until the next morning when I woke and found Daddy in the kitchen, face in hands.
“Where’s Mommy?” I asked.
He raised his head, and I saw tears in his eyes for the first time. He wiped them away and motioned for me to sit on his lap. “Your mommy had to go away for a long, long time.”
“Where?”
“To Heaven, with Jesus and all the angels.”
“Can’t we visit her?”
“No, sweetheart. You can’t visit her for a long time.”
“Why?”
“Because you have to be…you just can’t.” He hugged me close to silence any other questions. Later, Jessica explained it better to me. She has a knack for destroying my illusions.
“Daddy will pull through,” Jessica says, probably more for herself than for me.
As if on cue, the door to the room opens. Carol is there with a doctor. The tears in Carol’s eyes tell me everything before the doctor says a word.
I shriek, leap from my chair, and begin pounding the doctor with my fists before Carol wrestles me away. I thrash in her arms, but she holds me until I finally go limp.
“I’m sorry, Robin. I’m so sorry,” Carol says.
“I don’t care if you’re sorry!” I growl. “I want you to get her and make her pay!”
“Robin—”
“If you don’t, then I will.” I tear myself away from Carol to wrap Jessica in a fierce hug. It takes her a moment to hug me back. All we have now is each other thanks to Madame Crimson.
I don’t care how long it takes; I will make her pay. I will finish what my father started.