Bailiff Gabriel Nail stepped up to the armored driver’s window of Unit 04 with a wide, gap-toothed sneer.
The muzzle of his pneumatic staple-gun rested against the reinforced steel plate just below the glass. Behind him, the high-pressure nitrogen lines hissed with cold condensation, blowing tiny plumes of white frost across the dark cobblestones.
“Step out and unhook the girl’s ventilator, clerk,” Nail commanded, his harsh voice booming through the glass.
“Why would I do that?” Julian asked through the speaker.
“Because that machine belongs to St. Jude’s Central Billing Trust,” Nail barked. “It’s valued at twelve thousand dollars.”
“The bed under her is three thousand two hundred,” Nail added. “You’re transporting stolen municipal collateral.”
“You have the ledger wrong, Bailiff,” Julian answered.
“I have the impound order right here in my hand!” Nail snarled.
