Page 40 of Thick

After deliberating for thirty minutes, the jury convicted Becker of the murder charge.

A tear rolled down Crip’s cheek at the thought of losing his brother as Becker was led away in handcuffs.

As he reached the door, Becker turned to face Crip. Dressed in a suit and tie that he’d bought for the occasion, Crip stood and raised his clenched fist in support, and in protest.

“Dirty Diablos Forever,” Crip whispered.

Becker paused and gave one last nod before being ushered through the door. “Forever Dirty Diablos.”

After being sentenced to life in prison, Becker was soon diagnosed with cancer. While receiving treatment in the prison’s second-rate hospital, he met and befriended one of the prison guards, Allison.

They spoke of life, love, and of hope. They were both convinced that love existed, but neither had managed to be fortunate enough to find it. Their conversations about life, love, each other’s system of beliefs carried over from week to week. Their desire to have met that one person who would change their life became the topic of choice. As the weeks rolled past, they learned intimate details of each other’s lives and shared dreams for their future.

Despite the fact her visits with Becker were limited to the thirty-minute wait times he typically had before and after his treatment, she managed to fall deeply in love with the man she believed him to be.

As his cancer worsened, she researched his legal case. She found that there were witnesses who had come forward, but were never called to testify. Their testimony, although damning to the prosecution’s case, was not entered into evidence. After reading several versions of the story, all of which included descriptions of the man in the black hoodie, she hired and attorney.

When word came that Becker was getting a new trial, she couldn’t tell him. His condition worsened to a point that removing him from his cell was impractical. What little treatment they felt was still needed was done in the confines of his cell.

So far, I was fifteen chapters into the book, and there was no sex, but I didn’t care. A gratuitous sex scene would have done nothing but cheapen the story. As it was written, I simply loved it. The characters were true to themselves, to each other, and to the story.

Allison now sat and nervously waited for the jury to return from deliberation. The new trial, conducted in Becker’s absence, had gone well, or so she’d hoped.

Emotionally exhausted, I rolled to my side and removed a face wipe from the package on my night stand. After cleaning my smeared makeup, I tossed the wipe in the waste basket and inhaled a deep breath. The last chapter ended with her saying a prayer. I hoped for the best, feared the worst, and flipped the page to the next chapter.

She prayed not for Becker’s freedom, but for justice. As the jury entered the room, she looked up, hoping to see a hint in their eyes of the verdict they would soon reveal. With their heads hanging low as they sauntered into the courtroom one by one, the jurors gave little indication as to the decision that had been made.

Allison feared another conviction was imminent.

The bailiff, a dedicated man who had served seventeen years under the honorable judge, cleared his throat.

“All rise!” he bellowed.

The courtroom fell silent.

She clenched her shaking hands into fists, stood, and then pressed them against her thighs.

The judge walked to his seat, unfolded his glasses, and then sat. As he draped the wire temples over his ears, the bailiff once again cleared his throat.

“You may be seated.”

The judge pushed the glasses halfway up the bridge of his nose. After situating the paperwork in front of him, he looked up.

He’d taken an oath to remain impartial. This particular case, however, troubled him from the beginning. The jury’s outcome in the first trial left him biased toward the very system that he swore to uphold.

He was knowledgeable of the jeweler’s claimed craft, having seen one of his remarkable rings on the wedding finger of a friend’s wife preceding the first trial. His knowledge, however, was never entered into the court’s record, nor would it be allowed.

There were facets of the law that had always concerned him. Correcting these deficiencies was the responsibility of the appellate court, which he openly hoped to serve upon one day. For the time being, he presided over the lower court a proud man. He believed, in summation, that the problems inherent to the legal system were minimal, and would one day be resolved.

During the original trial, he sat silently as the prosecution presented their case, and as the defense defended to the best of their ability. The guilty verdict sickened him to the point that he wept the night of the conviction. The law, however, had no provisions for him to second guess the jury.

The judge said a silent prayer and then gazed toward the jurors. “In the matter of the United States versus Becker Wallace, have you reached a verdict?

The foreperson stood. “Yes, your honor, we have.”

“How do you find the defendant?”

The foreperson unfolded a sheet of paper, studied it, and then met the judge’s gaze. “In the matter of the United States of America versus Becker Wallace, we, the jury, find the defendant not guilty of murder.”