Kill All the Judges Read Online Free PDF Page A

broken-down machine, enhancing it.
    â€œBob Stonewell,” Mary called out. “Unsightly Premises Bylaw.”
    Word was passed outside, and in a moment Stoney was peering in, holding the door open for McCoy, ushering in a cold wind that blew out some candles.
    â€œShut that damn door!” someone yelled.
    Arthur could see his stalker out there, so he stayed inside. McCoy slammed the door behind him as he left.
    Ill-adjusted to the dimness, Stoney stumbled into the cannabis sacks. “Yow, this stuff is really working.” Constable Pound tried to pull him away, but Stoney resisted. “Hey, man, this hemp is heating up.”
    â€œWhat’s the problem over there?” Judge Wilkie was standing.
    â€œMr. Stonewell is trying to interfere with the exhibits, sir.”
    Stoney spoke with urgency: “Your Honour, I have some experience in these matters, and this here skunk is dangerous, it’s cooking…”
    Pound gave his arm a tug. Stoney went off balance and their momentum carried them against a post, knocking a kerosene lamp off its hook. It fell on the sacks. There were loud gasps as the superskunk quietly ignited, giving off an otherworldly blue glow.
    Stoney bolted up the aisle and past the judge to the front door. “That shit is going to explode!”
    Arthur had known compost to smoulder but had never heard of it exploding. Despite this egregious case of shouting fire in a crowded theatre, only a handful of locals joined the court staff and visiting press in panicky flight out the two doors. Otherwise, evacuation was calm and orderly, children and seniors first.
    He stayed put for a few moments, transfixed. A bubbling sound was coming from the oily sludge the cannabis had become. The flames had spread to other bags and were hotter now, yellow with orange tips, dancing in the gusts from the open doors. By the time the hall’s extinguishers were finally located and brought into play, flames were licking up the cedar-shingled wall.
    â€œHoly shit.” Nick, beside him, finally excited about something. “This place is totally doomed, Grandpa, we got to split.” He grabbed Arthur’s arm, breaking him out of his rapture. Volunteers were running about, filling buckets, forming a brigade, as Arthur grabbed his briefcase and followed Nick out to the slushy lawn. Others hurried to move their vehicles out of harm’s way.
    A familiar voice. “I need to talk to you about this Pomeroy character.”
    â€œCud, the community hall is burning down.”
    â€œI weep. I did my first reading here.” He emerged from behind Arthur, a wet, hatless head poking from a Mexican poncho. “Meantime, another tragedy unfolds. Struggling poet Cudworth Brown is looking at doing life in the crossbar hotel for a murder he didn’t commit. The evidence against him is flimsy, claims celebrity barrister Arthur Beauchamp, but he’s too busy to take on his old chum’s case, so he refers him to a lunatic.”
    A siren could be heard faintly; the volunteer fire department was on its way. But the pumper would be too late to save the hall–flames were leaping to the roof.
    This would be a day to remember and mourn. A heritage building, a loss of history. Arthur felt depressed, weary. He wanted to go home, go back to bed, wake up again, start this day over. He wanted…a drink.
    That was prompted by Cud pulling out a flask, having a nip. Brandy, by its scent. “The trial starts in two months. Pomeroy ain’t nowhere near prepared, he wants to sell me out.”
    Arthur finally bit: “Why do you say that?”
    â€œLast time I saw him he looked like a suicide bombing. Bedraggled, a week’s growth, red, wacky eyes. Asked me if I’d be willing to cop to manslaughter. I almost punched him out.” A pause to catch his breath, then he shouted frantically over the sound of the approaching siren: “ Manslaughter ? I didn’t fucking chuck