DA Meadow: The Sinner and the Sadist (A Jason Todd/Red Hood Fanfiction) BOOK 1

One: Shooting

"Get a grip. Get a grip. Get a grip."

Saying it out loud doesn't help anymore than chanting it in my head.

The pep-talk I seem to be constantly giving myself echoes around the empty bathroom of Gotham's court house. Lately I spend more time here than anywhere else. Usually I wouldn't mind. The days drag on slowly when Gotham is quiet because it's all paperwork. I much prefer the other side of this; put a thug on trial in a deal he can't refuse, fry him on the stand and toss him in jail.

Whether or not I'll fail isn't what's got me on edge. I was so busy yesterday and last night I haven't had one drop of alcohol for at least twenty four hours. Not my preference. I'm itching for a drink.

My water bottle is empty though.

I doubt the jury won't find him guilty. Statistically if it's the head state prosecutor (in this city, me) they tend to rule against the defendant. Batman likes to point out that when I practice in the lower courts, the jury flock to my side.

Which is why I took this case, because Max Barbent needs to be put away for good.

"Venus?" I hear Telysha's voice from the other side of the door. She's one of my Assistant District Attorneys; has been since I begun.

They lost Harvey, spent years in turmoil, unable to find someone that fit the role. I was an ADA and I proved myself to Gordon, the Mayor and the person with the biggest say in the city; the Bat.

I'm the youngest District Attorney so far, but I'm also one of the most successful. I repeat my chant once more, take a deep breath and open the door to smile at her.

"I'm ready. Let's go get this son of a bitch," I say confidently.

"Please tell me you're wearing your lucky anklet," Telysha mumbles as we leave and approach the court room, ignoring the stares of passersby.

"Never come into this place without it," I tell her without much thought.

'Lucky anklet' my ass. It's a lie I told her to fix her under-confidence. She's good, smart, but without the fierceness she needs to perhaps rival me one day.

I reach into my bag and take out the case files for the prosecution.

Walking through the doors, the room is minutely filled. Max Barbent, on trial for rape and petty theft, sits on one side. By the witness stand is the court reporter and on the other side of the bench, the clerk.

"All rise for the honourable Judge Daley," the Clerk announces. Everyone in the room stands as Daley, bald and thin with thick, square glasses enters.

"Please be seated," he invites, after nodding to me and not Barbent's lawyer. That's the difference between a respected attorney and a gang-intimidated pile of trash.

The case goes on with the opposition's defense doing their best to portray him as a good soul. That Max Barbent was unfairly targeted by the bat because he has tattoos on his face from a sketchy past; that putting him in prison is counterproductive to his family.

It is only when the lawyer begins attacking my witness who isn't even on the witness stand yet that I had something to say about it.

"Objection!" I state firmly, standing up. "I'd say badgering the witness but Miss Peters is not even on the witness stand Your Honour." I give Gadly an irritated look that seems to frighten him, "Mr Gadly has no right to question her."

Judge Daley nods at me, "Mr Gadly; continue, but keep your questions directed where they should go," Daley says.

"No further questions your honour," Gadly says, giving me a weary look as he retreats to his bench, fidgeting with his jacket as Barbent glares at him.