Bundled up to the chin with winter clothes, to ward off the mid-November chill, people gathered upon the steps of the Federal Judicial building trying to observe the arraignment of Lemario Mitchell.
People ventured out of the comfort of their homes, to watch the media circus taking place in their city.
Beneath the vast dome of pale blue sky, the sunshine was radiant, but there was no warmth...
The eyes of the city were focused on Lemario Mitchell.
Head down, a scarf wrapped about his face, Brad Riner maneuvered through the cluster of people and went to courtroom 23.
As he muscled his way through the crowd, Brad did not notice the collection of photographers in the hallway.
Several covert shots were taken without his awareness, and it showed a granite mask of hatred and fury.
He was in the courtroom when Lemario Mitchell was brought in from an adjoining hallway.
Lemario Mitchell was brought into the courtroom under the escort of four beefy deputies, accompanied by his attorney.
Neither of them had noticed Brad seated behind the prosecution's table, staring daggers at their escort.
Swaylo was dressed in a Fulton county jumpsuit, walking with the aid of a crutch.
Once he entered the room, it was as if the space had gotten smaller.
Estimating the height and build of the man, Brad Riner figured Lemario Mitchell to be around six one-six two, two ten-maybe two-twenty. He appeared to be athletic.
All Brad Riner could think about was seeing Lemario Mitchell dead. Mutilated. Tortured.
Anything other than having to continue to watch the bastard breathing air that he had denied his brother...
Brad could not tear his gaze away from the man's face.
Fifteen minutes after being brought into the courtroom, the judge entered the room, and the bailiff called for an order.
"All Rise..." The bailiff called out over the courtroom.
"Hear Ye. Hear Ye. All people having business with Lemario Mitchell versus the United States, within this federal district, must draw near and be heard. The Honorable Johnathan C. Weatherby presiding."
When the judge took his seat at the bench, the court officer called the hearing to session.
"You may be seated. The court is now in session."
The court clerk passed the judge his judicial calendar.
As he perused over the documents, the clerk gave an announcement for the benefit of the spectators.
Every charge being brought against Swaylo in the federal warrant was read off, for the record.
Lemario Mitchell was being charged with five felony murders, robbery, and a long list of aggravated assault charges, deriving from the bank heist.
He was charged with three murders, from Shonda Williams and the two security guards from the bank.
He was charged with the murder of Pluto, and D-Money.
The judge glared down upon Swaylo like pigeon poop, smeared on his shoe. The look a man may give, watching a buzzard regurgitate its meal.
Disgusted with the look of the person before him.
"Counselor, how does your client plead to the charges?"
"My client pleads not guilty, Your Honor... However, given the scrutiny and accusations that are upon my client, he wants to express his condolences to the families affected by this tragic crime." Dexter Hinton stood tall and important, as though he had everything in order.
Swaylo glared between his lawyer and the judge and had to force himself not to say something. The last thing he needed was to make a scene, and validate the image that the media had portrayed. But he refused to stand by and allow them to strip him of his freedom, not without a fight,
he brooded.
"Duly noted, Counselor... What say you, Mr. Prosecutor?"
The federal prosecutor gave a detailed outline of his case, put agent Anthony Price on the stand to give his testimony about the evidence and information that he had amassed over the course of his investigation. And explained to the court how Kenny Mathis had given them a statement, implicating Lemario Mitchell in the crime.
The judge ruled to uphold the warrant. Swaylo glared at his attorney. The man did not even mention the circumstances behind how he had gotten shot, or the fact that Kenny Mathis had been the shooter.
They began talking about court dates for future hearings, but Swaylo was steaming.
The wait, to hear his attorney contest the evidence provided by the Feds, felt like watching dry paint get dirty.
"Excuse me, Your Honor... With all due respect, I want to speak for myself. I've been charged with all of these crimes, but no one is talking about the fact that the person that has said that I was involved in these crimes, is the same person that was trying to kill me!" Swaylo stated, rising to his feet." The prosecution has not presented anything that can be considered evidence, Your Honor...
My name has been drug through the mud by the media, on the word of a man who has tried to kill me."
"Let me tell you something Mr. Mitchell," judge Weatherby stated, with a wave of dismissal." you don't tell me how to implement the law in this courtroom. I've made my ruling and that's that, sir... Now have a seat."
"What about a bond, Your Honor?"
"Do you think that I'm about to release you on bond, with an attitude like that? I'm afraid a decision like that might cost some innocent person their life."
Swaylo glared at the judge and turned to his attorney.
"Aren't you going to say something? I know damn well there's a law that can help me against these false charges." he spat, knocking his seat aside.
Dexter Hinton gave a filmy cough, sniffed the mucus back through his nasal cavity, and wiped his nose with his shirtsleeve. He carried the posture of an idiot.
He was groveling and acting subservient, not confident and assertive.
"My client is seeking bond, Your Honor..." Dexter Hinton gave a helpless shoulder-shrug.
"Your client needs to sit down before I have him removed from my courtroom..." judge Weatherby bellowed.
"With all due respect, sir... I'm not about to sit down and allow you, people, to railroad me, and I stay quiet. Hell Nah!" Swaylo spat. "And I want this dude took off of my case, he's not trying to help me."
"Mr. Mitchell have a seat!" judge Weatherby roared. "You will conduct yourself within the guidelines of this courtroom. This is not the streets..."
Swaylo glared up at the bench, rising higher on his feet.
"You can't keep me locked up like this, without any evidence to substantiate the crime that you're accusing me of having committed."
Judge Weatherby scanned the courtroom, his expression was one of shock and astonishment.
A look that said that his mind was having a hard time processing how Lemario Mitchell was still talking, after being instructed to sit down.
"Bailiff, if this man opens his mouth one more time, I want him removed from my courtroom," Weatherby stated with a jab of his finger in the general direction of the defense table. "We will proceed without him."
"You redneck bastard," Swaylo spat in frustration.
"If you think that I'm going to just lay down, while y'all loop a noose around my neck, you have gotten me mistaken!"
Swaylo jabbed a finger at his lawyer.
"I want this man taken off of my case, Your Honor!"
Judge Weatherby points a stiff finger at the bailiff.
"Remove this man from my courtroom!" he instructed.
"I'm not about to let you redneck racist railroad me!"
Swaylo bellowed, punching Dexter Hinton hard across his nose. He staggered over his chair as he slumped to the floor. His bulk made the table topple forward, his briefcase, paperwork, and pitcher of water went cascading from its surface.
Before the bailiffs could reach Swaylo, he threw his chair at the judge. It crashed into the front of the wooden bench, where judge Weatherby sat.
"If anybody deserves to be dead it's you... You and your whole fuckin' family, you lowdown bastard!"
The surge of security guards tackled him to the floor, subdued him, and carried him from the courtroom yelling and screaming.
Charmaine's voice could be heard in the fray, screaming for them not to hurt Swaylo.
The rage in his voice had her heart aching. She wanted to fight through the cluster of bodies, and help him break free, but the stream of tears was the only thing that she was incapable of controlling.
She stood like a statue, awed by the way their lives had taken a spiral from its perch in the world.
Brad Riner stood amongst the cluster of people, eager to offer his assistance, without catching an assault charge.
As every news station in the city recorded footage of the courtroom dramatics, Brad Riner could hear Lemario Mitchell's voice oscillating through his mind like a stone tumbling down a rocky valley.
"I hope all y'all muthafuckers burn in HELL!"
That was the sound bite footage that ran with the headline news... It was the image that was branded upon the city.
No one expected a person such as him, to ever be given his freedom. Death was lingering in his wake, like a lion stalking his footsteps. One wrong move, and life as he knew it, would cease to exist.