Judge Marcus Porter had a routine. Every Tuesday night, he'd leave his chambers at exactly 8:45 PM, walk three blocks to his car, and drive home to his empty house. His wife had left him two years ago, tired of his late nights and the corruption that paid for their lifestyle. The police never did find her body.
Tonight, someone was waiting in his car.
"Good evening, Your Honor." Karon's voice was soft in the darkness. "I've reviewed your case."
The judge froze, his hand still on the door handle. "Officer Harry? What are you—"
"Detective, actually. As of last week." She smiled, though he couldn't see it. "Youngest in department history. My mother would have been proud."
"Get out of my car." His voice carried that familiar tone of authority, the same one he used to sentence innocent men to prison. "That's an order."
"You know what I found interesting?" Karon continued as if he hadn't spoken. "How many cases you've presided over where the evidence was... circumstantial. How many times reasonable doubt became unreasonable certainty. How many lives you've ruined for the right price."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool evening air. "I'll have your badge for this."
"Like Teresa Martinez's badge?" Karon's voice hardened. "The officer who tried to expose your little arrangement with the Castillo cartel? The one who died in that tragic car accident last month?"
Porter's hand moved toward his phone.
"I wouldn't," Karon said quietly. "You see, I've learned a lot from watching men like you. How power corrupts. How justice can be bought and sold. How to make accidents look... convincing."
The needle slid into his neck with practiced precision.
"Don't worry," she whispered as he slumped against the window. "I'm not going to kill you here. That would be messy. And if there's one thing my mother taught me, it's the importance of keeping things clean."
Hours later, in a carefully prepared room far from prying eyes, Judge Porter opened his eyes to find himself secured to a metal table. Surgical instruments gleamed under bright lights.
Karon stood over him, now dressed in a clear plastic suit. Her green eyes studied him with clinical detachment.
"You know what the difference is between us, Your Honor?" She selected a scalpel, testing its edge. "You corrupt justice for profit. I correct it for free."
She leaned closer, her voice carrying echoes of lessons learned long ago in a different basement. "Now, shall we discuss the proper way to deliver a sentence?"
The first cut was perfect. They always were.
The basement room hummed with fluorescent precision. Judge Porter's eyes darted frantically above his surgical mask as Karon methodically arranged her tools on the steel tray. Each instrument placed exactly two inches apart, aligned at perfect angles - a ritual she'd performed dozens of times before.
"Do you know why I chose you, Your Honor?" Her voice was conversational as she pulled on her surgical gloves. The snap of latex punctuated the silence. "It wasn't just the bribes, or the innocent lives you've ruined. It was your arrogance. The way you played God in your courtroom."
She adjusted the IV drip next to him - just enough paralytic to keep him still, but not enough to dull his senses. Mother's first lesson: awareness was essential for true justice.
"Every Tuesday, you sentenced someone's child to prison. Today, you'll experience your own kind of sentencing." She held up a scalpel, letting it catch the light. "First, for Teresa Martinez..."
The first incision was precise - along his forearm where he wore his watch. A judge's time was precious, after all. His muffled screams behind the mask were perfectly timed with her movements.
"This is for David Chen, the innocent man you sent away for fifteen years." Another cut, methodical and measured. "And Sarah Williams, whose children grew up without a mother because you took a bribe."
Each cut represented a life he'd destroyed. Each measured slice, a story of injustice. She worked with surgical precision, taking her time. This wasn't about death - it was about accounting.
Hours passed. The judge's consciousness faded in and out, but Karon ensured he stayed aware enough to understand. The paralytic kept him still as she worked, his eyes conveying what his voice couldn't.
When dawn approached, she finally stepped back to observe her work. The table was clean - she'd been careful about that. Mother's second lesson: cleanliness is next to godliness.
"Court is adjourned," she whispered, administering the final injection. She watched his eyes - they always told the most interesting stories in those last moments. His showed recognition, finally understanding what true justice felt like.
Later, after she'd disposed of the evidence using the industrial acid in the corner drain, Karon carefully packed her instruments. Each one would be sterilized, polished, and returned to its proper place. The room would be scrubbed until it gleamed, ready for the next session.
She checked her watch - still enough time to shower, change, and make it to the morning briefing. Jade would have coffee waiting, and they'd probably catch this case in a few days when the judge's body was found in his car, apparently the victim of a cardiac episode.
As she climbed the stairs, Karon touched the small key pendant at her throat. Mother would have been proud of her technique. Though maybe not of the mess - there had been a moment when emotion had made her hand slip, just slightly.
She'd have to be more careful next time. After all, perfection wasn't just about the kill - it was about the artistry.
The morning sun was just breaking as she drove away, her police badge catching the light on her dashboard. Another Tuesday, another sentence carried out. Justice, she'd learned, worked best in the shadows.