Vic Vaughn is Vicious by J.A. Huss

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - VIC

Days go by. No lawyer visit.

I try to call home. No one picks up.

I try to call the shop. They don’t accept collect calls at that number.

I would try more numbers, but I never memorized them, so. Yeah. That’s how my fucking week goes. I’m actually looking forward to my family court hearing this morning because if I don’t see a face I trust and recognize I’m gonna start thinking someone is fucking with me.

They cuff my hands in front of me, shackle my ankles, and lead me into a little room. Then they just close the door and leave me there.

Maybe an hour goes by and then the door buzzes and opens. Two guards appear. One takes off my shackles, but leaves me cuffed. And then the other one says, “Let’s go.”

Now I get nervous. Not about the terrorist thing, even though that’s kind of a big deal. I get nervous because no lawyer.

Where the fuck is Alec Steele?

But then they lead me into the courtroom and I see him. And Daisy. Ah, my heart feels so much better once I see her. Then I see Veronica, Spencer, and all the kids. All six of those beautiful children. The real world is still out there! I was not abandoned.

I’m escorted to the table where Alec and Daisy are in the front of the courtroom. I sit down, smiling, so eager to talk to my people, but when I open my mouth to say hello to Alec, he puts up a hand and shakes his head. “I’m not your lawyer, Vic. I’m here to represent Daisy, and only Daisy.”

“What? Since when?”

It’s Daisy who answers. And she does it ventriloquist-style, with eyes straight ahead and lips barely moving. “Your ex-girlfriend is a vindictive witch.”

“What?”

“No more talking,” Alec says. “They are not fucking around, Vic. Sorry. I’m not sure what they have planned, but you’re on your own.”

Someone taps my shoulder and when I look behind me, Ronnie is leaning over the railing. “Don’t worry,” she whispers. “We’re cooperating too.”

“Cooperating with who?” I ask.

Daisy scoffs. “Fucking Lucille.”

Ronnie looks at Daisy, confused. “Who’s Lucille?”

But I’m not paying attention to Ronnie anymore. Because that’s when I notice that Lucille Lancaster is on the prosecutor’s side of the courtroom. “What the hell is she doing here? I thought this was family court?”

“All rise,” the bailiff says.

I shut up and stand. But I’m side-eyeing Lucille. She’s here to make trouble for me about that stuff in the mountains. To be a witness or something. Even though she’s not a witness. I don’t know how she found out about what Bobby and I are doing up there, but it’s clear that she knows.

The judge comes in, we all sit, then the bailiff calls the case. The judge opens the file and reads. After a couple of uncomfortable minutes, he peers at me from behind his glasses. “Mr. Vaughn?”

I stand. “Yes, your honor?”

“Where is your counsel?”

“Uh. I don’t have any.”

He frowns. “OK.” His gaze goes to Daisy. “Miss Lundin. This is your counsel?”

She says it is. Then he gets to the prosecution.

So that’s it? Where’s your lawyer, Vic? Oh, you don’t have one? Cool, let’s just get this show on the road then.

That’s just great. And where the hell is my pops?

But I forget about that when I realize the prosecution is calling witnesses to the day in question.

First up, of course, are the Donut Nazi and Alexa what’s-her-face from the AA meeting.

They make me look like a dick. And there’s no lawyer representing me to stop them.

I look around for Bettina from the Bohemian Poet’s House, but she’s a no-show. I’m gonna have to send her a little Sick Boyz gift certificate for being loyal once this is all over. But then… Lucille takes the stand. And because she is an artist, she paints a picture of me up there for the judge. “Foul mouth,” she says. “Left the child sitting alone in the gallery for a period of time so he could use the bathroom. Probably doing drugs.”

“What the actual fuck?” I say.

But I get yelled at for that. And the f-word didn’t help my case. But seriously? Drugs?

“This bitch is insane,” I mutter under my breath.

“You have no idea,” Daisy mutters back.

“Shh,” Alec cautions.

But Daisy doesn’t shh. She keeps going. “She’s trying to steal Vivian.”

“What?” I hiss back.

“Yeah. She threatened me. She’s going to steal her. She’s going to send you to prison for being a terrorist and then make me look like an unfit mother. And she can do this because her husband is the mayor.”

This last part comes out loud. So loud, the whole room goes silent for a moment and then all faces are looking at Daisy.

“What?” she snaps. “She threatened—”

“Your honor,” Alec cuts her off. “Can we have a break?”

The judge’s answer is a very firm, “No.” And then he spends several minutes chastising Daisy for the interruption, threatening her with contempt of court.

Lucille proceeds to make me look like the worst person in the history of people. Motorcycles, tattoos, loud music, raging parties, and, of course, that “eyesore of a mansion on Mountain Avenue.” She moves on to Daisy after that. And I’m not very worried about it—I mean… it’s Daisy. But then Lucille is just making shit up. Seven or eight fake examples of how Daisy is an unfit mother. Except she points to a group of people in the back of the courtroom who will testify if necessary that, yes, indeed, they have all personally witnessed Daisy Lundin being a horrible mother.

Finally, she ends her testimony with the declaration, “Vivian Lundin is in imminent danger if she is not removed from the custody of her mother and prevented from ever seeing her vicious father again.”

Our next-door neighbor is called up next. He hates us. So of course he says every horrible thing about me.

Then several unsatisfied Sick Boyz customers make an appearance. Three more ex-girlfriends take the stand. And the whole ‘Vic Vaughn is vicious’ campaign is rounded out with my face on a magazine cover with that exact headline splashed across the front.

The prosecutor slaps it down on the table and declares his case made.

“I don’t think this is going well,” Daisy mutters.

“Just relax,” Alec soothes her. “We haven’t had our say yet.”

“Mr. Steele?” the judge says.

Alec stands up. “Yes, your honor. I’m ready.”

“Sit down, Mr. Steele. I would like to hear from Mr. Vaughn first. Would you care to take the stand?”

I know everything about this is wrong. I also know I should not take the stand. I should object to pretty much everything that has just happened, but that feels a lot like cowering.

And after that Lucille Lancaster shitshow, I feel the need to set the record straight.

So I say, “Fuck yeah, I would.”

And this does not earn me points. But who cares at this point? These people are out to fuck me over. This is all about Lucille and her new man, the mayor, I just know it. So if I’m going down, number one, I’m taking people with me. And number two, I’m gonna save Daisy and Vivian while I’m at it.

I’m still cuffed. Which is unfortunate optics as I make my way up to the testimony chair and do the little ‘whole truth’ thing. But I just pretend like I don’t care.

The prosecutor starts in immediately, peppering me with question after question. “How is it that you mistook Vivian Lundin for your niece?”

This is an easy one, thanks to Ronnie. I point at her kids. “Do you see them? If Vivian Lundin was sitting in this courtroom between those girls, you would not recognize her either.”

And that’s when Ronnie winks at me. Because Vivian is sitting in this courtroom. Right between the Little Mermaid and Snow White. I don’t even think Daisy knows she’s here because they are sitting behind her.

I don’t say anything. Just let the prosecutor rant on and on about how I am not only a bad father, but a bad uncle as well.

I expect him to keep going about that day, and maybe that was gonna be his next question, but then the judge interrupts. “I have a question for you,” he says.

I wait for it.

“What are you doing up there in the mountains?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“This is family court. That’s another charge.”

“Are you refusing to answer?”

“Yes. For many reasons.”

“Care to explain? And let me caution you here,” he says. “If you refuse, I will be forced to consider your refusal to cooperate when I make my decision about where Vivian will be sleeping tonight.”

I think that was a threat. “Is that a threat?”

“Is that a refusal?”

“OK.” I nod. “Fine. Ask me that question again and I’ll give you my answer.”

“What are you doing up in the mountains, Mr. Vaughn?”

“I’m afraid you’re not authorized to know that information.”

“What?”

“It’s a matter of national security.”

“Are you messing with me, Mr. Vaughn?”

“Oh, no, sir. I’m dead fucking serious. This is need-to-know information. And I’m afraid it’s above your pay grade.”

And just as I say that two things happen at once.

The doors bang open and a team of uniformed men walk in, line up on either side of the aisle, and then salute as a general strides past them and approaches the bench.

And someone’s phone rings and then Lucille’s very loud voice says, “What do you mean they’re outside?”

The judge bangs his gavel and yells for order.

But the general is having none of it. He barks, “What the actual fuck are you doing, Castian?”

“What?” the judge says.

“I asked you a question, Judge. What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing with my asset in your courtroom without my permission?”

“Asset?” The judge looks over at me.

I shrug. “Did I or did I not tell you this was a matter of national security?”

“Did he or did he not tell you,” the general yells, “that this was a matter of national security?”

“Cease fire!” Lucille yells. “I mean,” she stammers. “Call it off. Call it all off now!”

The judge bangs his gavel again, then starts pointing. “You, you, you! In my chambers! Now!”

His points were for Lucille, the general, and Alec.

There is some order to rise, but people are way too distracted to give a shit. And then, moments later, they are gone and the whole room erupts in a cacophony of chatter.