Sexy DP Stories © all rights reserved
(Untitled)
By Julie
Prologue
I heard the rhythmic sound of shackles clattering together on the concrete floor almost a full minute before he was led through the door into the courtroom. One either side, holding his already chained arms, were two of the biggest sheriffs I have ever seen. Both were over six feet tall, muscular and dressed in impeccably pressed uniforms complete with side arms. The sheriff closest to the public seating was an older black man with strands of white in his hair. He wore glasses and had a rounded face. He panned the room as they turned to the prisoner’s box. His face bore not even a hint of discourse. In fact he appeared almost serene in his confidence. The younger guard was not so calm. Beads of sweat were dripping off his paled face and hand that grasped the prisoner was white at the knuckles. He did not look around the courtroom. His eyes were focused intently on the face of his charge. He reached to open the wooden gate that separated the walkway and the main court area. I saw his hands tremble on the smooth mahogany as he opened it, his eyes never leaving their focus.
If I could have laughed out loud without the threat of being tossed out of the front row of the public seating I would have. Serious moments tend to force the strangest things to pop into my head, and at this moment, I was imagining the loud bang of one of the heavy law books hitting the floor and junior pissing his pants in fear. One would think that in my line of work I could have figured this one out.
Trying to redirect my thoughts, I leaned my head to the right to get a better view
of the man of the hour as the three men walked closer and closer toward me. The
prisoner’s right foot moved forward a shortened step due to the shackles tied between
both feet. His hands were secured to metal clasps that were sewn into a heavy leather
belt around his waist. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit, bright enough to spot
him for a mile. Of course that is the whole intent, one would assume-
Right.
As they passed in front of me, I finally got a clear view of the side of his face. His head was completely shaved, not a blemish on it. It had to have been one of the best craniums for the bald look ever. His face was also clean shaven, revealing soft flawless cheeks and a squared jaw. His eyes and head were downcast. I would have expected a guy looking like this to walk into a room dripping with confidence, sarcasm and at the least, have a cocky strut with a “fuck the world” attitude. Not this one. He just looked lost in some train of thought. Strange.
Unlike others this morning who had been escorted out in chains, he did not anxiously search the room for a loved one, a friend, or look to see who was in the room out of plain curiosity and a new change of scenery.
The prisoner’s box was located less than three feet in front of me, and slightly off to the left. Made of clear bullet proof glass, all four sides and raised almost to the ceiling. It resembled more of an observation cage for a reptile than for a human being, likely experiencing the worst day of his or her life. Junior pulled out a skeleton key and unlocked the door on the far left side, and held it open while the other sheriff politely told the prisoner to watch his step as he entered the box. He stepped up, turned toward the direction of the judge’s bench and remained standing as he was locked in. I could not help but stare. I was amazed at how massive this brute’s shoulders were. As he adjusted the chains tethered around his waist, I saw the edge of a tribal tattoo poke out from his collar. I became suddenly aware of my skin flushing with goose bumps and the rise in my heart rate. I let out the breath that I was absently holding, and realized the obvious. I was afraid of him. I had no idea what he had done, but Junior sure seemed to be shitting his pants over it, which was reason enough for me to have some concern. He really was not the kind of person that you would expect to see working someplace like a senior’s home. More like a crazy creep who terrorized them. Yes, probably something like that. Some weird psycho murderer or heinous offender that was going to get the keys tossed and a special cell to keep the other prisoners safe.
But yet, there is something about him that is intriguing to me. I can’t quite figure it out. Well, that’s a lie. I am probably intrigued because everything about him is obviously bad, and lord knows I can’t resist the intrigue of something that may not be good for me. Hell no. I have a mother who will attest to that one. How much more proof do I need? I guess the orange get up was not obvious enough.
Deciding to break away from another one of my fantastical truths that are fabricated in this head of mine, I glanced at my watch. It had been almost two hours since I sat down and I still had yet to be joined by my long time friend and occasional legal advisor on matters that would simply pale to what the current prisoner was looking at. I turned in my seat, looking at the now closed large wooden doors to the courtroom and saw no sign of Jas.
The woman who sat at a large table in front of the judge’s bench suddenly stood up and said in a mousy voice, “All Rise! Judge Honourable Howard R. Steenburgen presiding”.
Judge Steenburgen was on his last leg of his judiciary career, and was rumoured to have Sudoku on his desktop instead of transcripts during most trials. He typically presided over civil and family matters, so I was surprised to see him here in criminal court. Dressed in typical judge attire, he smoothed the front of his black robe and told us to sit down. As I was sitting, Jas flopped into the seat beside me.
‘Miss me?”
“You are an asshole, Jas. I have been here for two hours. You know there are lots of things I could have done this morning instead of shopping for a date in the West Ridge’s most wanted criminals display case.”
“Oh come on, things are not that bad in your life. Still, I have a perfectly good law abiding brother who would be more than pleased to marry you”.
“Jas, he lives in India, doesn’t speak English, and what is he now...54?”
“Age smage. My mother loves you, so no need to worry about the potential for any
wife burnings, and Bal is 41, not 53! So you are a Canadian half-
I wanted to hit him right there in the courtroom. I could get myself off with a good lawyer on an insanity defence. Wise cracking Indian man suffers broken nose after one stupid joke too many leads to woman’s losing her mind and pummelling him. I like it.
“I do not incessantly bitch about being single”.
Jas raised an eyebrow and cocked his head at me. He had that same stupid look on his face that he gets when he thinks he is right.
“What?”
“Whatever old maid, in my country, Bal is a hot commodity, and won’t be on the market for long, so you’d better make up your mind. Most men don’t own their own taxi. ”
“That is not a taxi, Jas. It is a three wheeled motorized death trap with no insurance. Forget it”
“Like I said, tick tock sweetie”.
“I hate it when you say tick tock. You’re such a loser sometimes”.
Our banter was interrupted by the annoying mouse woman.
“In the matter of The People versus Pierce. Case number 2010-
“I would rather have a go with that convict here than ride in Bal’s so called taxi”, I whispered into Jas’ ear. I looked back at the prisoner’s box.
“Oh” he replied with a grin, looking toward the prisoner’s box. “I did not know you two had met yet”.
“Oh, yes. We ran into each other at Starbucks. He is a sucker for a light whip non fat mocha with sprinkles of cinnamon. Shut it Jas”.
“Seriously Jane, that’s him”.
“That’s who, Jas? What are you talking about?”
“Derrick Pierce. Your new patient.”
Holy shit.
Author’s note: This is a work of fiction
July 2010