Devon Hartford - Reckless

Russell pulled away and looked me in the eye. “Stow it,” he murmured. “Game face from here on out. Got it?”

I nodded solemnly, and reeled my smile back in.

“Keep your mouth shut, and I’ll do the talking, feel me?” he ordered quietly.

Russell pulled out a chair for me. I would’ve done it myself, but it was embarrassingly awkward with my wrists chained to the belt around my waist.

I leaned toward him and said quietly, “Such a gentleman.”

“I know how to treat a bitch,” he whispered in my ear before sitting down next to me. His face remained blank and rock calm. Only his words belied his good humor and confidence. “If you’re lucky, I’ll buy you dessert. Now shut the fuck up.”

The judge had not yet entered the courtroom, but the judge’s assistant was already sitting at one of the tiered sub-desks surrounding the judge’s palatial bench.

A moment later, a door opened at the back of the courtroom.

“The Court will now come to order,” the uniformed bailiff said. “All rise for the Honorable Geraldine Moody, presiding.”

The judge walked in, her black robes billowing around her like a dark ghost. She was not what I expected. Normally, when it came to judges, I imagined some kind of stern, cranky Judge Judy grandmother-type, or an aging tough guy who fancies himself the law of the land, Old West style with six guns holstered beneath his robes. The woman in front of me was a graceful beauty. Older, but still radiant. Long blonde hair fell to her shoulders and careful makeup enhanced her features. She sat down primly on the edge of her chair, scooting up to the desk, looking like the fucking Pope on high.

Had this been any other situation, I would’ve flirted things to my advantage. One look at Mizz Moody, and I decided to hold my charm in check.

She surveyed me with a single top-to-bottom glance. A savage scowl flashed across her features, but was quickly quashed by her professionalism. Somehow, I felt like I was the guy who’d run out on her after cheating on her, leaving her with a hefty mortgage and stranding her children high-and-dry without a father. Not that I knew the first thing about Geraldine’s personal life. But her expression told the story.

I wished my prison jumpsuit had long sleeves to cover my ink. My confrontational tats were incriminating me without me opening my mouth.

“The State of California versus Christos Manos, felony arraignment,” the judge’s assistant read from the paperwork in front of her.

“Mr. Manos,” Judge Moody intoned, “There’s been a complaint filed in case SD-2013-K-071183A against you that alleges count one, charging the defendant with felony Aggravated Assault, which occurred on September 22nd, on or around 8:30 a.m., in violation of section 240 of the penal code, Christos Manos did willfully and unlawfully attempt, coupled with a present ability to commit, a violent injury on the person of Horst Grossman.”

Horst Grossman? You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. That was the name of that fat fuck who’d tried to bite Samantha’s face off on her way to SDU yesterday? It suited him well.

“Count two,” Geraldine continued formally, “Christos Manos did willfully and unlawfully use force and violence on the person of Horst Grossman. An enhancement is alleged, in violation of section 243 D of the penal code, Christos Manos did willfully and unlawfully use force resulting in the infliction of Serious Bodily Injury on Horst Grossman.”

In other words, I punched that fucking lunatic when he tried to jump me because I was helping out Samantha, and he got hurt.

“How does your client plead?” Geraldine asked Russell without once looking me in the eye. Business as usual for her, I’m sure. If she had any kids, she probably never looked them in the eye either, unless she was sending them to bedroom lock-up for leaving dishes in the sink.

“We are entering a plea of not guilty, your honor, on all counts,” Russell said smoothly.

“Shall we discuss the matter of bail, Mr. Schlosser?” Geraldine asked the Deputy District Attorney.

“Due to the seriousness of the charges, the State asks that bail for the defendant be set in the amount of $25,000.”

“Your honor,” Russell said calmly, “Christos Manos has significant ties to the community. His family is here, and he is a graduate student at San Diego University. He’s not at risk of flight. If it pleases the court, we ask that he is released on his own recognizance, your honor.”

Judge Moody flicked her eyes at me, then flipped through the paperwork on her desk. “Due to the defendant’s prior record of ongoing offenses for reckless driving, numerous speed contests and exhibition of speed, multiple counts of misdemeanor assault and multiple counts of misdemeanor battery,” she paused to jot down a note, “bail will be set in the amount of $150,000.”

“If your honor would please note,” Russell said gently, “my client has not committed any crimes in the past two years. I would ask for bail to be set to a more reasonable amount.”

The judge lowered her head and glared at Russell from beneath her brows. “I can set bail at $175,000 if you would prefer, counselor.”

“No thank you, your honor,” Russell said confidently, showing no sign of reproach.

“$150,000 it is,” Judge Moody said flatly. “The defendant is not to have any contact with the victim and shall be restricted to the state of California until trial.” She consulted her calendar. “At this time, I will set a trial date of February 14th, 2014, at 10:00 a.m., and a pre-trial date of February 12th, 2014.”

A trial on Valentine’s Day? The universe was having a laugh at my expense on that one.

“Anything further from the State, Mr. Schlosser?” Judge Moody asked.

“No, your honor,” the Deputy Distract Attorney answered.

“Anything further from the defendant, Mr. Merriweather?”

“No, thank you, your honor,” Russell smiled curtly.

The deputies led me out of the courtroom. Russell followed.

In the carpeted hallway, Russell asked one of the deputies, “May I speak with my client in private for a moment, gentlemen?”

“I’ll give you two minutes,” the guy with the buzz-cut replied.

“Thank you, deputy.” Turning our backs to the officers, Russell walked me several paces away. “You need me to call your grandfather for bail money?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “I don’t have any choice.”

“You could call your dad.”

“No way.”

“Thought I’d ask,” Russell smiled. “You really oughta cut the man some slack, Christos. He is your father.”

I ground my jaw.

“Anyway, I’ll call Spiridon and have you out by this afternoon. You heard what the judge said. Keep your ass in town. And don’t get in any trouble. In other words, keep it under the speed limit and keep your hands to yourself. I advise you to garage that crotch rocket of yours and take the bus. If I find out you get in any more fights? I’ll bust your ass myself. Feel me?”

“Like a sandpaper massage,” I said.

“Don’t get smart with me, young man.” Russell squeezed my neck with one large hand and shook me affectionately. “This is the last time I save your ass. Hear me? I don’t want to do this again. You’re better than this, Christos.”

“I promise you, Russell, this was self-defense.”

“You got any witnesses?”

I thought about Samantha. She’d seen the whole thing up close and personal. Maybe too personal. That scumbag Horst Grossman had put her through enough already. Did I want to drag her into my mess too? Make her take the stand while Horst fucking Grossman gave her dirty looks and the whole courtroom stared her down? Hell no. I’d known her for all of one day. She deserved better. Besides, I didn’t want her to see how much of a fuck up I really was underneath my carefully constructed yet fragile facade. I wanted her to believe I was the man I wanted to become, not the punk I’d been for most of the last six years.