The hallway was filled with well-dressed, nervous people. I peered through a slim sheet of glass embedded in the heavy wooden door that led into the courtroom - there was nobody inside. I scanned the hall for my lawyer, but there were too many people: fellow alleged criminals, their families, friends, and legal representation. I was alone.
After a thousand dollars and several months, the only advice my lawyer had given me was to dress nicely for the hearing. Evidently, everyone else's lawyer had given them the same advice. I found the suggestion somewhat troubling. I thought judges were supposed to be impartial to that sort of thing. Maybe I was supposed to be showing my respect for the court, in which case I was lying - I had none.
The combination of heavy dress clothing and painkillers made me uncomfortably warm. I was saturated with perspiration. It was my first hit of pills that day, so I wasn't nodding out yet and my eyes were probably reasonably sparkly, at least more than they would be later. I spent several minutes drinking from a water fountain.
Finally, I saw my lawyer push his way through the crowd. He was tall and heavy-set with balding blond hair and an eye-patch. He reminded me of a used car salesman, but he was supposedly one of the better lawyers in the county, whatever that meant.
Gabe walked up to me smiling and shook my hand, "Good to see you Darren."
"You too." What a liar.
"You wait right here, I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Okay."
Gabe scurried off around the corner which led to some unknown hole in the courthouse. My mouth was still completely dry and I was nearly dehydrated from all the sweating. I returned to the water fountain and spent several more minutes drinking. When I lifted my head, everyone was filtering into the courtroom. I was getting a bit nervous. Where the hell had Gabe gone?
Several minutes later, he came bouncing around the corner. He stood uncomfortably close to me and spoke in a hushed tone, "Did you have any alcohol in the car?"
"No, I don't really drink."
"Not even empty cans or something? We can work on getting your charge reduced if you only had some alcohol in the car."
I shook my head, "I really don't drink."
"Okay," he replied, in a somewhat defeated voice. He turned and headed back around the corner, "Wait here."
I sat down on a bench outside the courtroom. The hallway was mostly empty except for me and a few other people, no doubt with lawyers as flaky as mine.
Again, Gabe came around the corner and invaded my personal space, sitting right next to me. I wouldn't even let some girls sit that close to me.
"Please tell me you had some alcohol in the car. Even if it was a friend's."
He looked at me with a perceptible pleading in his eye. Suddenly, I got it. He wasn't asking me if I really had alcohol in the car. He was asking me to say I did, whether it was true or not. He was back there making a deal with somebody - the prosecutor? The judge? Whoever it was, they obviously didn't care about the truth. The fact that I didn't like to drink and didn't lie about it meant nothing. As a lawyer, Gabe couldn't simply ask me to lie. That could get him disbarred. He had to maneuver me into it.
Well, if they weren't interested in the truth, then neither was I, "Oh yeah. I think I did have some friends drinking in the back seat. Come to think of it, they did leave some cans in there."
Gabe popped up off the bench, his eye brightened, "Good!"
He scurried back around the corner, returning only a few minutes later to accompany me into the courtroom. He patted me on the shoulder, "Everything's going to be fine."
I sat and watched with only mild interest as Judge Stuckey dispensed justice upon one person after the other. Most were bad checks. A few were people on probation making their scheduled appearance before the court. Eventually, my case was called. I walked up to the table with Gabe, somewhat proud that mine was the most significant charge yet that morning. I smiled at the spectators as I made my way toward the judge's bench.
The hearing itself was a joke, taking no more than ten minutes. Everyone spoke so fast, I couldn't even catch half of what they were saying. Gabe spoke first, at the prompting of the judge. His speech reminded me of a used car salesman.
"My client has low mileage and an excellent exhaust system. He was in an accident but has been fully restored with all new paint and tires and new brakes. He's a steal at one year probation, a hundred fifty dollar fine and drug education classes."
The judge turned to the prosecutor, "Is that okay with you?"
The prosecutor nodded.
The judge looked at me, "Mr. Mann, I am inclined to be lenient with you. I'm giving you one year unsupervised probation. You will have to appear before me every three months. You must attend two drug counseling classes and pay court costs plus a fine of one hundred and fifty dollars. If you satisfy all these requirements, your charge will be reduced to a misdemeanor minor in possession of alcohol. If you fail to meet these requirements, you will be charged with felony possession of marijuana and your sentence will be five years in prison and a five thousand dollar fine."
Wow, what a scam.
So this was it? This was the American justice system which was supposed to be the best in the world? Where deals are made behind closed doors and hearings are simply technicalities? Suddenly, the picture became nauseatingly clear. It was all about money. Gabe hadn't said anything I couldn't have said myself. Yet, if I had gone up there before the judge and spoken the exact same words, I would probably have been sent to jail. The only thing that mattered was that I paid him a thousand dollars.
Lawyers had a monopoly. Gabe could charge me whatever the hell he wanted, because every other lawyer in town would do the same and I would be fucked up one side and down the other without one. Then court fees and fines - the judges had to get their sticky little hands in my pockets too. Not to mention that the "drug education class" to which I was assigned was run by a friend of the judge and cost over a hundred dollars an hour.
Drug dealers had it just as good. Anyone with an addiction was at their mercy. At that point, I would have done anything to get my opiate fix. All Willie had to do was supply me. The only people left at the bottom of the food chain were the drug users. Politicians, judges, lawyers, cops, shrinks, dealers - they all preyed on people's addictions.
I was in a daze as Gabe led me out of the courtroom a mostly free man. He shook my hand and pointed to an office down the hall where I would pay my fines. He briefly reviewed the outcome with me, pointing out that if I made it through the year without getting arrested, the charges would stay a misdemeanor and the whole thing would remain sealed. It would be as close to never happening as it could legally get. He patted me on the back and headed back down the hall and around the mysterious corner to save some other poor schmuck's ass.
Having spent all my money on lawyers and fines, I had no choice but to move in with my mother in her new apartment in Platte City. Platte City was home of the north station which was still under Jenny's management. She replaced Toad with her daughter Cheryl, who was Daryl and Daryl's fiancé. Her other daughter worked on weekends. The place was infested with Ted's family and I avoided it as much as possible.
I moved into the apartment a few days before my mother. Shafto was overjoyed to come home one night and find me gone. He even offered to take my mother out to dinner, completely unaware that she and Sung would be gone in two days.
Once the divorce was final, Shafto wasted no time in marrying his waitress princess. The ceremony was held at the bar in which she worked. Only Shafto could have come up with something that romantic. This woman was much more compatible with Shafto - she was a hick and she had a young daughter.
Having some time before my shift at the station began, I decided to head home and get loaded in the blissful Shafto-free environment. I rolled up a joint and sat on the couch watching shows on cable - a luxury we hadn't had out in the country. Halfway through my joint, the phone rang. I let the answering machine get it as usual, turning down the television so I could hear the caller's message clearly.
"Uh yeah, this is Toad. It's 10:33:17 am. Tuesday."
I wondered if Toad set his watch by some atomic clock. It was even worse getting directions from him - he would describe the route down to the foot. If a customer came in asking how to get to L.C.'s from the gas station - which was just down the road - Toad would most likely have them so confused after fifteen minutes of his directions, they'd end up in Canada.
"I need you to come in as soon as possible."
Oh God. What now?
"It looks like Daryl has left."
Well, at least there was a silver lining. I looked at the glowing ember of my joint and watched the smoke rising hypnotically into the air. My stomach churned. I was used to staying up until hours most people weren't even aware existed. Now Toad was going to make me work on the day shift. I was the only one who could do it, since Josh had school. I would have to get up impossibly early. I would have to work with Toad. He was fine in small doses, but every day... my nerves would be frayed in a week.
I extinguished the joint, took a deep breath and sighed. I didn't even have a chance to enjoy my freedom. I might as well have been thrown in jail, I thought as I left for work. I wondered how long I was going to have to give up my beloved night shift.
Posted by DevilMonkey at 10:40 PM