They took his shoes and tagged them. They took the jacket. They accepted his tie. They wrapped up his belt in a coil. All the expensive swag he’d worn to the police station went away, replaced with an orange jumpsuit and booties. The box that engulfed his clothing shut away for him years of college and law school, toiling by the dim lamps of cavernous libraries far into the night. He blinked and brought back the experience of having his picture taken from one side and then the other, his body flanked by measuring lines on the wall. They reduced him in all those ways to a prisoner, a man in captivity for more than just the few hours he’d spent earlier that day.
The judge had not even spared him a glance during the ruling. “You have decided to return to us, Mr. Westcott. Even though I expected this, I am surprised at how quickly you managed it.”
“If only you could just take into account my wife’s illness…” he pled.
“There’s no excuse I will accept for attacking another person, sir. I order you to be detained for 30 days, Mr. Westcott.”
“It’s not fair. Mr. Magotti got a fine and an anger management referral.”
Now the judge fixed Sydney with a direct gaze and said, “Mr. Magotti is a first timer in my court, sir. And, with all due respect, you should have known better as an attorney yourself.”
“What is this? You sound like my mother. Next you’re going to tell me I’ve lost my television privileges.”
The judge returned to sorting and scanning the sheaf of papers on the desk and told him, “Don’t try my patience Mr. Westcott. Go behave yourself for a while and perhaps if you come back with a better lawyer I’ll bargain you down. Shoo.” The bailiff hustled Sydney away before he could offer another defense.
“A better lawyer,” Sydney muttered.
His cellmate laughed through his nose. “Home-boys like us don’t get no justice. No lawyer with any talent pays any attention. We get the burn-outs and losers and the do-gooder jerks who get chewed up by the city’s bulldogs every time.”
“I’m not anybody’s ‘home-boy.’”
“So you say. You might have been some other thing when they arrested you but you’re one of us now. Welcome to Hades.”
“No. It’s not going to be like that. I’m calling my old law school roomie and he’ll get me someone. He’ll get me a bull dog of my own. Then I’ll show my wife what that self-involved steroid junkie she calls a boyfriend is really all about.”
The cellmate cackled. “I bet you all the money in your fat uptown wallet that no one’s coming to your rescue.”
“Shut up. What kind of bet is that? You’re broke.”
“The best kind. You get humiliated either way.”
