Worship You

Chapter Twelve - Arraignment

Chapter Twelve -Arraignment

The first time I met One-Way Goff, Public Defender, was the day of arraignment. Goff introduced himself as my lawyer and explained what would happen. 

"The judge will read the charges against you. They will set bail. Do you have something else to wear? Do you have a suit?" He was frowning at the orange overalls they give you to wear in jail. 

I shrugged. I didn't own a suit. The clothes I was arrested in, were now evidence. All I had that moment were the bright orange overalls. They were used and should have softened up by now but they were made of a thick stiff polyester that was almost like plastic. How many guys had worn them before me I didn't like to think about. I pictured Death Row, dead men walking in orange jumpsuits. 

Goff sighed and shrugged back at me. 

"At least there's no jury today. But it'll look bad in the press. Too bad we don't have time to get you something else." 

Cummings, the Corrections Officer, handcuffed me and put the leg irons around my ankles connected by a chain so that I could only lift my arms to my chest. The chain between my ankles was short and I took short choppy steps as they lead me to the van. You can't run. Though where they thought I would run to, I had no idea. 

The Perp Walk is the walk you take from the jail van into the court house and I hopped like a jailbird for the cameras, people shouting my name and snapping and whirring and strobe flashes blinding my eyes. 

The court room was brightly lit and the tables and railings gleamed with the cleaner-rubbed grease of decades. There must have been fifty gallons of Lemon Pledge wiped over the stuff in that room. The place smelled funny. 

The court room was full of people gawking at the Thrill Killer. Reporters writing on pads and electronic devices, thumbing text. No pictures were allowed in there. 

A cop, or maybe he was Department of Corrections. I don't know what they have at court. Maybe the Marshall's Office like Tommy Lee Jones in The Fugitive? Anyway, he took the shackles off and I started rubbing the blood back into my hands. Cummings always snapped the cuffs on tight. I always thought Cummings would like to hurt people if he could get away with it. Then they took us to court. 

The prosecutor was already sitting at his table. He was about forty, I think, a good looking man with a great head of hair. You could tell it was his pride and joy and he took good care of it. He was wearing big gold rimmed glasses and he took them off to stare at me as I walked into court. He didn't blink once or turn his eyes away until, finally, when Goff guided me to my place, he let his eyelids slowly fall, cutting me off from his sight and he turned his head away and went back to his reading. 

Goff and I were standing by the defense table when Cassie came in.  

She stopped for a moment to say something to two women sitting on the aisle. They were stern looking creatures with long black hair and eyes like Cassie's. One of the women had a single shock of gray through her hair, one white stripe an inch wide as if she'd been struck with lightning and it had turned her gray just there. She felt me staring at her and she looked at me. I could feel those black, black eyes on me. Then she let a little smile leak onto her face and it felt like a drink of water, it had been so long since anybody had smiled at me. 

Cassie turned away from them when the policewoman took her arm and told her to move. Cassie was wearing a dress that just reached her knees but showed me her legs. It was the first time I'd ever seen her dressed that way. She wore makeup. I had never seen her like that, although sometimes she would cut two hard lines of black pencil over her eyes, like war paint, if she was feeling mean.