Tanser-MacLeod College. Beverly was bringing up the new curtains she’d made, and a new couch and chairs would be delivered at the same time. Fred had already contacted the management office about renting out the condo for the tail end of leaf season.
“We were going to crash on friends at our old dorm anyhow, but that’s just for the weekend.”
I cast a glance up at the pressed tin ceiling. “What’s up on the second floor here? Could you camp out up there?”
“Lord, no, don’t even think about it,” said May.
“It’s jammed with all the junk that came out of the ground floor,” June chimed in.
“Dirty.”
“Cold.”
“Spiderwebs.”
“I think I saw a mouse when we carried up the last load.”
“And anyhow, there’s no water up there.”
“And no shower in the ladies’ room down here.”
“Besides, if the Health Department caught us—”
“—not to mention the zoning people—”
“—we could lose our restaurant permit.”
“So where will you go?” I asked.
“We’ll think of something,” said June.
“Here, have a cruller,” May said.
Afternoon court was a repeat of the morning, until shortly before three, when I was presented with a couple of judgment-impaired twenty-one-year-olds from Tanser-MacLeod College who had gotten drunk and disorderly in a Howards Ford bar, where they did six hundred dollars’ worth of damage to the mirrors and bottles behind the bar. Both were white, both had that slightly arrogant stance of kids who were used to doing what they liked, knowing that their parents would clean up the mess. Indeed, Matt Dodson, an attorney I’d met at the Ashe party, presented documents that showed me that restitution had already been paid.
I listened to their guilty plea and their pro forma apologies and I heard what the prosecutor was recommending, then Dodson made a game plea for a low fine and community service.
Nice try, but I’d caught a good glimpse of the first youth when he swaggered up to the defense table in a preppy, long-sleeved rugby shirt, khaki shorts, moccasins, and no socks even though it was a cool fall day.
“Step out from behind the table,” I told him when both stood to hear my ruling.
There on his leg, from his ankle to his knee, was a tattoo of an extremely explicit nude with her legs spread wide. A full frontal view.
“Do you really think that tattoo is appropriate for a courtroom?” I asked.
He shrugged and with a nod toward Dodson said, “Well, he did tell me maybe I ought to be wearing long pants today.”
“You should have listened to him,” I said.
At least his partner in crime wore clothes a bit more appropriate: long cargo pants and a navy blue sweatshirt that read, “If you don’t love the South …”
“Excuse me, Your Honor,” the bailiff murmured, “but you might want to ask him to turn around.”
The young man glared at the bailiff and then reluctantly turned around when I made a circular motion with my finger.
There on the back was “… then you can suck my Dixie.”
Both had previous convictions for DWIs, so I fined them a thousand each with the stipulation that they pay the fines out of their own earnings and provide proof of it, but instead of suspending the full forty-five days as I might normally do, I decided that serving two days of it in jail this coming weekend might be a better attitude adjuster. I’m pretty sure I saw an amused gleam in Matt Dodson’s dark eyes as he thanked me for my leniency.
“Absolutely,” I said. “You have the freedom to talk your way right into a contempt of court.”
“Hey, dude, chill,” said his friend, which gave me a little hope for learning experiences.
“Sorry, Your Honor,” said Dodson and hustled his clients out of the courtroom.
The last three cases of the day asked for continuances, which I granted. I signed a couple of show-cause orders, but there was nothing else on my docket so I adjourned court shortly before three-thirty.
Rather than go back to the condo and veg out, I dug into my purse for the card that Billy Ed Johnson had given me Monday night with his cell phone number. He was so proud of the work he’d done in the area that he’d offered to tour me around. “Anytime,” he’d said. “Just give me a ring.”
When he answered on the third ring, he sounded pleased that I’d called. “I thought you were just being polite.”
I laughed and reminded him that I still had his ball cap from our drive up to the Ashe house.
