You made me miss the light, stupid bitch…
Christos smiled. “I’m right here, agápi mou. I am your love and support.”
“But, I’m afraid it’s all going to come crashing down around my head. Like college is going to somehow go away, and I’m going to lose Madison, Romeo, and Kamiko. Worst of all, I feel like I’m going to lose you.”
Get off the road, slut…
Christos shook his head. “That’s crazy, agápi mou. I would never let that happen. I love you more than anything in life.”
“I know, but…I don’t know. I just feel worried.” Silent tears were flowing now. I sniffled and smeared them from my face. I began sobbing softly.
Don’t back talk me, whore…
Christos stroked my temple, gently smoothing my hair while kissing the crown of my head. “Shhh, agápi mou. I’m right here.”
“Promise me you’re not going anywhere?” I pleaded.
Move it, skank…
“I promise,” Christos said solemnly.
I eased further into his loving embrace, my back warmed by his solid front. Enfolded against him like this, I felt shielded from all the terrible things the world might throw at both of us, like his powerful arms would defend me from all forces that might try to tear us apart. Nothing could come between us.
So why was I still worried?
I’m talking to you, pinhead…
No answer came as I drifted off into deep, dreamless sleep.
CHRISTOS
THREE MONTHS EARLIER…
In the morning, a couple of deputies led me out of the crowded inmate dorms at the downtown jail and shackled me in the hallway while I leaned my face against the cold cement wall. When I was chained, the deputies walked me through a bunch of security doors and hallways that slowly transformed from bulletproof and cement to painted sheetrock and carpeting.
At the end of a new hallway, a third deputy opened a door into the side of a dark, oak-paneled court room.
Russell Merriweather stood ramrod straight, waiting for me behind the defendant’s table. He was a dark-skinned African-American man in his mid-40s wearing a perfectly fitted athletic-cut suit. He was even taller than I was, although not quite as built. He struck an imposing figure anywhere he went.
The deputies hovered on either side of me like I was Public Enemy Number One.
“Give the young man some breathing room, if you please, deputies,” Russell commanded.
Both deputies stood stoically behind me. Neither of them moved an inch.
Ignoring them ignoring him, Russell reached forward and pulled me into his chest. He embraced me affectionately and clapped me on the back. Whispering in my ear, he said, “What kind of trouble you got your ass in this time, boy?”
I couldn’t stop a huge grin from drawing out my dimples.
Russell pulled away and looked me in the eye. “Stow it,” he murmured. “Game face from here on out. Got it?”
I nodded solemnly, and reeled my smile back in.
“Keep your mouth shut, and I’ll do the talking, feel me?” he ordered quietly.
Russell pulled out a chair for me. I would’ve done it myself, but it was embarrassingly awkward with my wrists chained to the belt around my waist.
I leaned toward him and said quietly, “Such a gentleman.”
“I know how to treat a bitch,” he whispered in my ear before sitting down next to me. His face remained blank and rock calm. Only his words belied his good humor and confidence. “If you’re lucky, I’ll buy you dessert. Now shut the fuck up.”
The judge had not yet entered the courtroom, but the judge’s assistant was already sitting at one of the tiered sub-desks surrounding the judge’s palatial bench.
A moment later, a door opened at the back of the courtroom.
“The Court will now come to order,” the uniformed bailiff said. “All rise for the Honorable Geraldine Moody, presiding.”
The judge walked in, her black robes billowing around her like a dark ghost. She was not what I expected. Normally, when it came to judges, I imagined some kind of stern, cranky Judge Judy grandmother-type, or an aging tough guy who fancies himself the law of the land, Old West style with six guns holstered beneath his robes. The woman in front of me was a graceful beauty. Older, but still radiant. Long blonde hair fell to her shoulders and careful makeup enhanced her features. She sat down primly on the edge of her chair, scooting up to the desk, looking like the fucking Pope on high.
Had this been any other situation, I would’ve flirted things to my advantage. One look at Mizz Moody, and I decided to hold my charm in check.
She surveyed me with a single top-to-bottom glance. A savage scowl flashed across her features, but was quickly quashed by her professionalism. Somehow, I felt like I was the guy who’d run out on her after cheating on her, leaving her with a hefty mortgage and stranding her children high-and-dry without a father. Not that I knew the first thing about Geraldine’s personal life. But her expression told the story.
I wished my prison jumpsuit had long sleeves to cover my ink. My confrontational tats were incriminating me without me opening my mouth.
“The State of California versus Christos Manos, felony arraignment,” the judge’s assistant read from the paperwork in front of her.
“Mr. Manos,” Judge Moody intoned, “There’s been a complaint filed in case SD-2013-K-071183A against you that alleges count one, charging the defendant with felony Aggravated Assault, which occurred on September 22nd, on or around 8:30 a.m., in violation of section 240 of the penal code, Christos Manos did willfully and unlawfully attempt, coupled with a present ability to commit, a violent injury on the person of Horst Grossman.”
Horst Grossman? You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. That was the name of that fat fuck who’d tried to bite Samantha’s face off on her way to SDU yesterday? It suited him well.
“Count two,” Geraldine continued formally, “Christos Manos did willfully and unlawfully use force and violence on the person of Horst Grossman. An enhancement is alleged, in violation of section 243 D of the penal code, Christos Manos did willfully and unlawfully use force resulting in the infliction of Serious Bodily Injury on Horst Grossman.”
In other words, I punched that fucking lunatic when he tried to jump me because I was helping out Samantha, and he got hurt.
“How does your client plead?” Geraldine asked Russell without once looking me in the eye. Business as usual for her, I’m sure. If she had any kids, she probably never looked them in the eye either, unless she was sending them to bedroom lock-up for leaving dishes in the sink.
“We are entering a plea of not guilty, your honor, on all counts,” Russell said smoothly.
“Shall we discuss the matter of bail, Mr. Schlosser?” Geraldine asked the Deputy District Attorney.
“Due to the seriousness of the charges, the State asks that bail for the defendant be set in the amount of $25,000.”
“Your honor,” Russell said calmly, “Christos Manos has significant ties to the community. His family is here, and he is a graduate student at San Diego University. He’s not at risk of flight. If it pleases the court, we ask that he is released on his own recognizance, your honor.”
Judge Moody flicked her eyes at me, then flipped through the paperwork on her desk. “Due to the defendant’s prior record of ongoing offenses for reckless driving, numerous speed contests and exhibition of speed, multiple counts of misdemeanor assault and multiple counts of misdemeanor battery,” she paused to jot down a note, “bail will be set in the amount of $150,000.”
“If your honor would please note,” Russell said gently, “my client has not committed any crimes in the past two years. I would ask for bail to be set to a more reasonable amount.”