Judgment by Lee Goldberg

disappeared."
    Shaw changed the channel.
    ". . . while Police Chief Jed Stocker urged the Good Samaritan to assist police in their investigation by making himself known."
    Frustrated, Shaw hit the remote control again.
    "The question remains: Who is Mr. Jury and will he strike again?"
    Shaw turned off the set. "Wonderful. That's all we need, some lunatic vigilante shooting up the streets. The news media has taken this thing and blown it all out of proportion."
    Sunshine stroked Shaw's thigh absently. "Lighten up, Ronny. So what's the big deal if people indulge their Superman fantasies a bit?"
    "Because it's liable to spur this guy on. Sunny, this Mr. Jury is nothing more than a killer."
    "A killer who saved that girl's life."
    "This time. Next time he decides to kill a couple of guys it may not be so clear-cut."
    They were silent for a moment. "Hey, Ronny, weren't those two of the guys who—"
    "Yep. I won't be sending a wreath to their funeral."
    As Brett Macklin watched the news in the garage, sitting on the hood of his Cadillac, he kept reliving the previous night. He couldn't dredge up any guilty feeling. They were animals, and if he hadn't stopped them, they would have ravaged the girl, possibly killing her. After what they had done to his father . . .
    Macklin leaned forward and changed the channel.
    An old man, with skin like a peanut shell, bent towards the newsman's microphone. "I think they should give this Mr. Jury guy a medal."
    Next up was a woman trying to balance her teething child in one hand and pull up her slipping bra strap with the other. "I'd sleep better at night knowing Mr. Jury was in my neighborhood. There just ain't enough cops out there."
    A man with "accountant" written all over his face was stopped on a busy street. "Mr. Jury? Just another maniac with a gun. He probably shot those guys because they didn't give him his turn with the girl."
    A crisp-looking businesswoman was quizzed in front of an impressive building. "I think it's great. We need a guy like him." She smiled into the camera. "I just hope Kryptonite doesn't bother him."
    Macklin snapped off the set and went to bed. He slept like a baby.

CHAPTER TEN
    "A Job Well Done Means More Jobs to Come."
    Melody stared at the maxim, which she had needlepointed in a sampler and hung on the wall, and smiled to herself, patting the naked man atop her on the back.
    "Oh God, please don't stop!" she shrieked, faking an orgiastic squeal.
    The mattress creaked underneath her as the man quickened his pace. Business ain't bad today, she thought to herself, hoping she would handle three more guys before quitting time. Her body rocked under him. If she was real lucky, she could make it home in time to catch the nightly Hawaii Five-O reruns on Channel 13.
    She glanced up at the water stains on the ceiling. They were like clouds to her. Each day they looked like something different. Today they were a giant clam with arms and legs like a man. His thrusts were beginning to hurt her.
    "Oh God, I can't take it!" she screamed joyfully, her way of saying 'Hurry up, already, I ain't got all day, buddy!' to her customers. It usually worked, and this man was no exception. The man tensed up, groaned deeply, and fell on her, sweating. Melody glanced over his heaving shoulders at her wristwatch. Ten minutes had passed. Great.
    After a few moments, he recovered and propped himself up on his elbows, grinning the way one would expect a person to grin after enduring an orgasm that could change a person's eye color.
    "Shit, Melody, you're gonna kill me. I don't know if I can handle you twice a week," the beefy taxi driver said between sharp intakes of breath.
    Melody grinned and gave his penis a playful squeeze.
    "You've been saying that for six months, sport." She slid out from under him and reached for her clothes. Artie was one of her "old dependables." He paid in advance and always came back for more, despite the guilt he said he felt about sneaking away from his