Hung (Selected Sinners MC #4) - Scott Hildreth
Standing in the courtroom with a Sheriff’s officer on each side of me - my hands handcuffed, my feet shackled, and the two tied together by an interconnecting chain - caused me to feel more like a serial killer than a common criminal. As I waited for the judge to enter the room, I alternated glances over each shoulder and studied the officers.
I raised my hands slightly, pulling the chain taut which connected my hands to my feet. Somewhat frustrated at the entire series of events leading up to my arrest, additional jailhouse punishment, and being shackled and chained, I began yank against it repeatedly, causing it to rattle through the ring in the chain wrapped around my waist.
“Any chance of gettin’ one of you fellas to take these fuckers off?” I asked as I gazed down at my shackles.
“Not a chance,” bad cop responded under his breath, “And if you know what’s good for you, you better quit fucking around with your restraints.”
I stopped yanking on the chain and tilted my head to the left as I waited for good cop to respond.
The officer on my left shook his head and lightly chuckled, “After the shit you pulled this weekend, I don’t think so.”
I lowered my forearms and sighed, “I didn’t pull a god damned thing. The cock sucker tried to steal my fuckin’ cookie. Put yourself in my shoes, fellas. I look like Hannibal fuckin’ Lector here…”
As I began to explain myself, the door in the rear of the courtroom opened and the judge walked onto the elevated platform. An average looking gentleman roughly fifty years old with salt and pepper hair, he looked like a reasonable enough man. Hopefully he would see through the mile of shit the cops were certain to have placed out in front of him and have a little compassion for me. After quietly finding his seat and glancing down at the desk, he lifted his head and gazed my direction.
“This is a combination of an arraignment and the bond hearing for…” he paused and peered over the top of his glasses at the paper he held in his hands.
“Dalton Biskette. Mr. Biskette, you have been charged with speeding, reckless endangerment, resisting arrest, and since your incarceration of Friday evening, two counts of jailhouse battery. Do you understand the charges?” he asked under his breath.
“Yes sir,” I breathed.
“Be it known the penalty for these charges is a maximum of five years imprisonment, a $250,000 fine, or both. How do you wish to plead?” he asked flatly.
Five years for fuckin’ speeding?
I swallowed heavily, knowing he was doing nothing more than trying to scare me. I decided trying to explain myself, using my wit and charm to the best of my ability - while trying to be respectful during the process - would be my best bet.
“How do I wish to plead, your honor? I wish to plead not guilty, but I’m well aware that ain’t…I mean that isn’t going to do me much good. I guess I’d like to plead guilty to the speeding, and speak my peace on the rest of the charges. Can I do that?” I asked as I did my best to shrug my shoulders.
He placed the paper on the desk, removed his glasses, and tilted his head to the side, “Absolutely.”
As he clasped his hands together and provided what I was certain to be a sarcastic grin, I began to recite my best recollection of the events on Friday night.
“Well, I was headed to a meeting, and I was runnin’ a little late. Kind of lost track of my speed, I guess. Next thing I knew, a cop was pulling me over. He uhhm. He had a little bit of an attitude; you know he seemed kind of mad about the whole speeding thing. Next thing I knew, there was about fifty cops screaming at me, and I was shot with a Taser. Unnecessarily, I might add, your honor…”
As I spoke, the judge appeared to be sorting through the paperwork on his desk. Before I had a chance to explain myself further, he raised his hand and interrupted.
“Officer Obie was unable to attend this hearing, and if his testimony proves necessary, we will reschedule. Are you aware, Mr. Biskette, the officer makes notes on his copy of the citation, providing his best explanation of the arrest and the events that led up to it?” the judge asked as he raised a beige piece of paper from the desk.
“I guess not,”