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The rest of the trial passes by in a blur since there’s not much my lawyer can do to refute the claims. The cameras outside of the club—cameras that had recently been installed because the strippers were being attacked by drug addicts for their tips—showed me cornering Antonio and beating the shit out of him for at least ten minutes.
Because of that tape alone, my lawyer urged me to take a guilty plea in exchange for twenty years but fuck that. You can’t appeal if you take a plea deal and I plan to appeal the fuck out of this sentence if it’s anything over five years.
I’m being charged with assault with a deadly weapon, aggravated assault, and attempted murder. The attempted murder charge is bullshit, so I’m hoping that won’t stick.
Right now, my lawyer is trying to argue that it was a misunderstanding that went too far and I had no intention of killing Antonio. Which is only half true. I don’t like to leave my work unfinished, but a dead man can’t pay off his debts.
I can’t argue the assault charge. I know I’ll have to go down for that. I told Prez I would take the fall without complaint and wouldn’t say I got any orders from him. Prez knows I’m loyal and would never take anyone down with me.
Doesn’t matter. I’m going to do time. My record is already a mile long with petty offenses. I know the judge and jury won’t go easy on me from that alone. I only hope this overpriced lawyer earns his pay.
Court is in recess shortly after, the jury sent off to deliberate. I’m taken to a holding cell, Shane telling me the jury may be back with a verdict soon. I remove my suit jacket and pace the cell in these shoes that fucking pinch. God, I wish I had my Timberland boots. Along with my leathers, my cut, and some nice, worn jeans. But Shane said that kind of shit would turn a jury against me easily. Whatever. I’m going down for this anyway—I should get to be comfortable for when they send my ass up the river.
My long brown hair is slicked back into a neat ponytail and fucking Shane made me trim my beard until it’s a smooth goatee. With my blue eyes and almost boy next door looks, he said I might get lucky if some of the female jurors found me attractive. Guess I have to use what I got.
Can’t cover the thick Devil’s Mayhem tattoo on my neck or the ink on my hands and wrists. Oh well, can’t win 'em all.
I’m surprised when, two hours later, the bailiff leads me back to the courtroom. My lawyer has a drawn look on his face, so I’m sure he thinks my people will get rid of him if I serve any time. So far, he’s done his job well, so he might be safe.
“It’s not a bad thing that they’re back so early,” he says quickly and quietly. “It could mean they looked at the evidence and decided on a lesser charge.”
I look at my lawyer with a smirk. “It’s cool man. Let’s just see how things go.”
He gulps and I know my smiles don’t tend to give people the warm and fuzzies. I haven’t quite mastered how to convey anything less than sinister. To him, I probably look like I’m about to steal his lunch money with my grimace.
After everyone is back in the courtroom, the judge calls the jury back in and asks if they have a verdict. “Yes, Your Honor,” the foreman says.
Nodding, the judge says, “The defendant will rise for the reading of the verdict.”
Shane and I stand, and he puts a hand on my shoulder. I want to shake him off, but I know he’s doing it out of fear for himself, not hope for me. Whatever.
“On the first count of aggravated assault, how do you find?” The judge asks, peering down his nose at the foreman.
After shooting a frightened look at me, the foreman says, “We the jury, find the defendant not guilty on the charge of aggravated assault.”
“Yes!” Shane says quietly. We both figured that would be tossed out, but I’m glad to actually hear it.
“On the second count of assault with a deadly weapon, how do you find?”
“We the jury, find the defendant not guilty on the charge of assault with a deadly weapon.”
My lawyer squeezed my shoulder, his hand shaking slightly. Another charge we thought would be dismissed. I had brass knuckles, but the camera couldn’t make out if it was rings or the knuckles. The assault was evident, though, so I wonder why they tossed both of them.
Then I get my answer.
The judge asks, “On the count of attempted murder, how do you find?”
The pause after the judge asks is heavy, pregnant with anticipation. The foreman looks at me and audibly gulps and I know before he says anything. “We the jury find the defendant guilty of attempted murder.”
“Fuck,” my lawyer whispers, patting my shoulder and lowering his head. “I’m sorry man.”
I shrug, knowing that was a hard charge to beat. There was a video for fucks safe. “Let’s see what the sentence is. You did a good job, man.” His face relaxes and I take grim pleasure in knowing he did his best work because he was afraid to die. I’ll send a message to Zeke to let Prez know the lawyer is good people. I’ll tell them to put him on retainer in case someone needs good representation later down the line.
The judge dismisses the jury and looks down at me, his glasses at the tip of his nose. “Young man,” he says and I bristle. I might only be thirty, but I’ve seen and done more shit than he can imagine. I haven’t been a young man in years. “Let this be a lesson not to fall in with the wrong crowd. You can do so much in your life and you have time to change it.” He shakes his head like he’s a disappointed parent. “Because of the severity of your crime, I hereby sentence you to fifteen years to life. You will be eligible for parole in fifteen years, where I hope you’ve changed your life. May God have mercy on your soul.”
My lawyer almost crumples, his face drawn as he looks at me and talks fast. “We’ll appeal. I’ll start filing as soon as I get back to my office.”
I nod. “Call my best friend, Zeke and tell him these exact words.” The lawyer nods, paying rapt attention as the bailiffs start to pull me away. “Tell him life is good on this side of the fence.” That’s our code for everything is fine. Zeke will understand that I’ll be okay and the lawyer is okay too.
