Artemis Fowl_ The Opal Deception - Eoin Colfer [45]
As soon as he had been transported to the Deeps Maximum Security Prison outside Atlantis, Mulch had put in a request for a counsel call. When his state-appointed attorney had grudgingly turned up, Mulch advised him to check the dates on the search warrant leading to his original arrest. Somehow, amazingly, the dates were wrong. According to the LEP computer, Julius Root had searched his cave before obtaining a search warrant. The warrant nullified this and all later arrests. All that remained was a lengthy processing period and one last interview with the arresting officer, and Mulch would be a free dwarf.
Finally, the day had come. Mulch was being shuttled to Police Plaza for his meeting with Julius Root. Fairy law allowed Root one thirty-minute interview to squeeze some kind of confession from Mulch. All the dwarf had to do was stay quiet, and he would be eating vole curry in his favorite dwarf chophouse by dinnertime.
Mulch closed his fist around the medallion. He had no doubt who was pulling the strings here. Somehow, Artemis had hacked the LEP computer and changed his records. The Mud Boy was setting him free.
One of the marshals, a slight elf with Atlantean gills, sucked a slobbery breath through his neck, letting it out through his mouth.
“Hey, Mulch,” he wheezed. “What are you going to do when your appeal is turned down? Are you gonna crack up like a little girl? Or are you gonna take it real stoic, like a dwarf should?”
Mulch smiled, exposing his unfeasibly large number of teeth. “Don’t worry about me, fishboy. I’ll be eating one of your cousins by tonight.”
Generally the sight of Mulch’s tombstone teeth was enough to freeze any smart-aleck comments, but the Marshal was not used to back talk from an inmate.
“Keep at it with the big mouth, dwarf. I have plenty of rocks for you to chew back in the Deeps.”
“In your dreams, fishboy,” retorted Mulch, enjoying the banter after months of kowtowing.
The officer rose to his feet. “It’s Vishby, the name is Vishby.”
“Yes, fishboy, that’s what I said.”
The second officer, a water sprite with batlike wings folded behind his back, chuckled. “Leave him alone, Vishby. Don’t you know who you’re talking to? This here is Mulch Diggums. The most famous thief under the world.”
Mulch smiled, though fame is not a good thing when you’re a thief.
“This guy has a whole list of genius moves to his credit.”
Mulch’s smile faded as he realized that he was about to be the butt of more jokes.
“Yeah, so, first he steals the Jules Rimet trophy from the humans and tries to sell it to an undercover LEP fairy.”
Vishby sat rubbing is hands in glee. “You don’t say? What a brain! How does it fit in that itty-bitty head?”
The sprite strutted along the shuttle’s aisle, delivering his lines like an actor. “So then he lifts some of the Artemis Fowl gold, and lays low in Los Angeles. And do you want to know how he lays low?”
Mulch groaned.
“Tell me,” wheezed Vishby, his gills unable to suck in air fast enough.
“He buys hisself a penthouse apartment and starts building a collection of stolen Academy Awards.”
Vishby laughed until his gills flapped.
Mulch could take it no longer. He shouldn’t have to put up with this; he was virtually a free fairy, for goodness’ sake. “Hisself? Hisself? I think you’ve spent a bit too long under water. The pressure is squashing your brain.”
“My brain is squashed?” said the sprite. “I’m not the one who spent a couple of centuries in prison. I’m not the one wearing manacles and a mouth ring.”
It was true. Mulch’s criminal career had not exactly been an unqualified success. He had been caught more than he’d escaped. The LEP was just too technologically advanced to evade. Maybe it was time to go straight, while he still had his looks.
Mulch shook the chains that shackled him to a rail in the holding area. “I won’t be wearing these for long.”
Vishby opened his mouth to respond, then paused. A plasma screen was flashing red on a wall panel. Red was urgent. There was an important message coming through.