Page 9 of Dirty Judge

He stared at me, looking slightly amused.

“Actually, no.” I didn’t give him a chance to ask me again. “I don’t want a lawyer.”

“The state is fine if she wants to represent herself.” A blonde in a custom olive suit stood up at the table to my right.

“Very well,” Judge Ashton said, finally looking away from me and down at his folder. “Miss Kline, now that Miss Spencer has decided to make an appearance in my courtroom, how would the state like to address the penalty?”

“Your Honor, Miss Spencer has demonstrated an utter carelessness for our state’s traffic laws—with her speeds exceeding twenty miles an hour on multiple occasions,” she said. “Her vehicle’s registration is currently delinquent and she’s obviously learned nothing from the driving class she was forced to take five years ago.”

“I can see her charges just fine,” he said. “What penalties are you suggesting?”

“The state is asking for court costs, all ticket fees, and for her license to be suspended for at least twelve months.”

“Are you out of your mind?” I looked at her. “Twelve months?”

Her eyes widened.

“I got forced to take that driving class because my turn signal was broken,” I said, “and I was going with the flow of traffic for those other ones. The cops just happened to stop me first.”

“Miss Spencer…” Judge Ashton lightly tapped his gavel. “There’s no cross-talking in my courtroom.”

“But that woman is lying on me.”

“There’s no talking back to me in this courtroom either.”

“Then tell her to stoplyingon me.”

A collective gasp filled the room, but the judge’s lips curved into a slow smile.

“You were saying, Miss Kline?” He looked over at her.

“I think Miss Spencer’s license should be suspended for at least a year, Your Honor.” Her voice was softer than before. “In addition to the fees and costs, I would like to recommend a safety driving class that’s at least sixty hours.”

I considered speaking up again, but the bailiff shook his head at me—silently warning me not to.

“Is there any reason why I should reconsider what the state is asking for, Miss Spencer?” Judge Ashton asked.

“Yes.”

“Now would be the time to give me the reasons…”

“I’m broke as shit, sir—I mean, Your Honor,” I said. “I’m working two jobs just to cover my rent and bills as is, and I can’t afford another penalty. I just—I can’t…”

“I also need my car to get around because I’m renting in New Jersey because I got evicted from my Harlem place and…”

I pressed a hand against my heart, attempting to soothe the ache in my chest.

“I could really use a break and some sympathy, Your Honor,” I said. “And I can promise that I’ll never go a single mile over the speed limit again.”

“Is that all, Miss Spencer?” he asked.

“Yes.” I nodded.

“Okay, good.” He shut his folder. “You’re officially ordered to pay all court costs and all ticket fees via an eight-month payment plan that the court clerk will set up for you.”

“You may keep your license, but the court will install a speeding alert and breathalyzer on your ignition that you will be forced to use for the next twelve months.”

What the fuck?