Cocky Bastard
Page 27
The Judge directed the next part to me. “Mr. Bateman, you can either refer to the victim as the victim, the alleged drug dealer or by his name. Anything else will not be tolerated. Do you understand?”
My jaw clenched so tight I thought I might crack a pearly white, but I nodded. There was no fucking way I was calling that piece of shit a victim. Adele was the only victim in this whole tragedy.
“Go on.”
“As I was saying. I went to the home of the alleged drug dealer, Darius Marshall, and threatened him. The alleged drug dealer was the boyfriend of my sister. It’s my understanding that he had a dispute with another alleged drug dealer. I threatened Darius to tell me where the other drug dealer was. The police had been looking for the other alleged dealer for two weeks and weren’t making any progress. I wanted to help. Darius refused to tell me where the guy was.”
“And why were the police looking for this other alleged drug dealer?”
I looked at the bench and then back at my sister. She looked broken. Taking a deep breath, I continued, “He raped my sister. To get even with Darius. And before he left her beaten and scarred, he told her he’d be back again.”
It was the first time the Judge’s face softened. “And what did you do when Darius Marshall refused to give you the information you wanted?”
It was a small victory, but the Judge finally stopped calling Darius the victim, too. “I attacked him.”
“Were any weapons involved in the attack?”
I looked to my attorney and back to the judge. “I don’t believe so, Your Honor?”
“You don’t believe so? Meaning you aren’t sure?”
“Well…no weapons were recovered at the scene, and I don’t recall having one with me. But, no, I can’t be sure.”
“And why is that Mr. Bateman?”
“Because I don’t remember most of the attack.”
“I see. What is the last thing that you are able to recall?”
I knew. But I damn sure didn’t want to repeat it out loud. She was so fragile already.
My lawyer whispered to me, “You need to do this, Chance.”
I cleared my throat. “Darius said something to me. And that’s the last thing I can recall.”
“And what is it that he said, Mr. Bateman?”
My attorney had warned me not to show anger. It took every ounce of willpower that I had to unclench my fists and speak. “He said…my sister was a crack whore, and she might as well have gotten the first one under her belt because she would be taking cock down her throat in exchange for a dime bag by next week.”
The judge looked sympathetic momentarily. “And do you know the nature of the injuries that Darius Marshall sustained?”
“As far as I’ve been told, he had a broken nose, a fractured eye socket, a concussion and a few broken ribs.”
“And you recall none of the actions that lead to these injuries?”
“No, Your Honor. I don’t. I remember what I already told you, and the next thing I can recall is him saying 1925 Harmon Street.”
“Alright then, Mr. Bateman. We’re almost done here. I have a few additional questions before we will break and then come back this afternoon for sentencing.”
I nodded.
“Do you regret your actions, Mr. Bateman?”
The last question was a bone of contention between my lawyer and me. While he didn’t outright tell me to lie, I could read between the lines. But I’d come this far. I was going to stand tall. Not three hours after Darius was carted away in an ambulance, the dealer that attacked Adele was arrested. I looked straight into the eyes of the Judge and told the honest to God’s truth. “No. I don’t regret my actions.”
It was nearly four by the time the Judge called us back into the Courtroom. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes before speaking. “Mr. Bateman. Do you understand that as a result of your guilty plea, you may lose certain valuable civil rights such as the right to vote, the right to hold public office, the right to serve on a jury and the right to possess a firearm?”
Even after having two months to think about the consequences of my actions, I didn’t care about what I lost. Only that Adele could sleep at night again. “I understand, Your Honor.”
“Okay, then. Mr. Bateman, your plea deal with the District Attorney to serve two years is found to be an adequate punishment and is therefore accepted by this Court. While the Court sympathizes with what your family has gone through, our legal system must be trusted to serve its intended purposes. We cannot have vigilantes running all over the city avenging crimes as they see fit. Your request for time to get your affairs in order is granted with the condition that you turn in your passport and do not leave the state of California. You are hereby ordered to surrender to the Los Angeles County correctional facility in fourteen days.” The judge slammed his gavel and just like that, I was a convicted felon.
Chapter Fifteen
Even though my place was blocks from the beach, the smell of the ocean permeated the air. I took a deep breath and filled my lungs with freedom. Damn it smelled good.
The last thing I did before turning myself in for two years of hell, was check my sister into rehab. I knew she did well; I saw it on her face every other Saturday when she came to visit. Yet for some reason, I was suddenly nervous to show up unannounced and surprise her.
When I unlocked the heavy metal door to my place, pop music blasted through the open-air loft I called home. I smiled hearing it, even though her shit taste in music drove me up a wall growing up. “Adele?”
I lived in a renovated warehouse—sound was normally muted from the high ceilings, but it was completely lost to the howlish sound of Taylor Swift blaring through the indoor speakers. “Adele?” I called slightly louder. After everything she’d been through, I didn’t want to startle her. I had no idea if she was still skittish. After the attack, she jumped if anyone walked into a room, even when she knew they were there. I dropped my key in the bowl on the table near the door and headed to the kitchen.
A man wearing a dress shirt and boxers was ironing on my granite counter. We spotted each other at the same moment. He held up the iron like a weapon; I held up my hands in surrender. “Is Adele here?”
“Who are you?”
“Relax, Mate.” I spoke calmly, keeping my hands in the air where he could see them the entire time. If there was one good thing about spending two years in prison, I’d definitely learned how to defuse a violent situation. “I’m Adele’s brother—I live here.”
Boxer boy’s eyes flared. “Chance?”
Well one of us was filled in. “That’s me.”
“Shit. Sorry. I thought you were getting out next week.”
“Overcrowding.” I narrowed my eyes on the iron he was still holding. “You want to put that thing down now, yeah?”
“Yeah. Of course. Sorry.” He set the iron on the counter and took two steps toward me, extending his hand. “Harry. Harry Beecham. I’ve heard so much about you.”
You’ve got to be shitting me? Harry? “Wish I could say the same.”
“Do you think we could stop at the—” My sister’s voice abruptly halted as she turned the corner into the kitchen. “Oh my God!” She almost knocked me over when she flew into my arms. “You’re here! You’re home!”
My jaw clenched so tight I thought I might crack a pearly white, but I nodded. There was no fucking way I was calling that piece of shit a victim. Adele was the only victim in this whole tragedy.
“Go on.”
“As I was saying. I went to the home of the alleged drug dealer, Darius Marshall, and threatened him. The alleged drug dealer was the boyfriend of my sister. It’s my understanding that he had a dispute with another alleged drug dealer. I threatened Darius to tell me where the other drug dealer was. The police had been looking for the other alleged dealer for two weeks and weren’t making any progress. I wanted to help. Darius refused to tell me where the guy was.”
“And why were the police looking for this other alleged drug dealer?”
I looked at the bench and then back at my sister. She looked broken. Taking a deep breath, I continued, “He raped my sister. To get even with Darius. And before he left her beaten and scarred, he told her he’d be back again.”
It was the first time the Judge’s face softened. “And what did you do when Darius Marshall refused to give you the information you wanted?”
It was a small victory, but the Judge finally stopped calling Darius the victim, too. “I attacked him.”
“Were any weapons involved in the attack?”
I looked to my attorney and back to the judge. “I don’t believe so, Your Honor?”
“You don’t believe so? Meaning you aren’t sure?”
“Well…no weapons were recovered at the scene, and I don’t recall having one with me. But, no, I can’t be sure.”
“And why is that Mr. Bateman?”
“Because I don’t remember most of the attack.”
“I see. What is the last thing that you are able to recall?”
I knew. But I damn sure didn’t want to repeat it out loud. She was so fragile already.
My lawyer whispered to me, “You need to do this, Chance.”
I cleared my throat. “Darius said something to me. And that’s the last thing I can recall.”
“And what is it that he said, Mr. Bateman?”
My attorney had warned me not to show anger. It took every ounce of willpower that I had to unclench my fists and speak. “He said…my sister was a crack whore, and she might as well have gotten the first one under her belt because she would be taking cock down her throat in exchange for a dime bag by next week.”
The judge looked sympathetic momentarily. “And do you know the nature of the injuries that Darius Marshall sustained?”
“As far as I’ve been told, he had a broken nose, a fractured eye socket, a concussion and a few broken ribs.”
“And you recall none of the actions that lead to these injuries?”
“No, Your Honor. I don’t. I remember what I already told you, and the next thing I can recall is him saying 1925 Harmon Street.”
“Alright then, Mr. Bateman. We’re almost done here. I have a few additional questions before we will break and then come back this afternoon for sentencing.”
I nodded.
“Do you regret your actions, Mr. Bateman?”
The last question was a bone of contention between my lawyer and me. While he didn’t outright tell me to lie, I could read between the lines. But I’d come this far. I was going to stand tall. Not three hours after Darius was carted away in an ambulance, the dealer that attacked Adele was arrested. I looked straight into the eyes of the Judge and told the honest to God’s truth. “No. I don’t regret my actions.”
It was nearly four by the time the Judge called us back into the Courtroom. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes before speaking. “Mr. Bateman. Do you understand that as a result of your guilty plea, you may lose certain valuable civil rights such as the right to vote, the right to hold public office, the right to serve on a jury and the right to possess a firearm?”
Even after having two months to think about the consequences of my actions, I didn’t care about what I lost. Only that Adele could sleep at night again. “I understand, Your Honor.”
“Okay, then. Mr. Bateman, your plea deal with the District Attorney to serve two years is found to be an adequate punishment and is therefore accepted by this Court. While the Court sympathizes with what your family has gone through, our legal system must be trusted to serve its intended purposes. We cannot have vigilantes running all over the city avenging crimes as they see fit. Your request for time to get your affairs in order is granted with the condition that you turn in your passport and do not leave the state of California. You are hereby ordered to surrender to the Los Angeles County correctional facility in fourteen days.” The judge slammed his gavel and just like that, I was a convicted felon.
Chapter Fifteen
Even though my place was blocks from the beach, the smell of the ocean permeated the air. I took a deep breath and filled my lungs with freedom. Damn it smelled good.
The last thing I did before turning myself in for two years of hell, was check my sister into rehab. I knew she did well; I saw it on her face every other Saturday when she came to visit. Yet for some reason, I was suddenly nervous to show up unannounced and surprise her.
When I unlocked the heavy metal door to my place, pop music blasted through the open-air loft I called home. I smiled hearing it, even though her shit taste in music drove me up a wall growing up. “Adele?”
I lived in a renovated warehouse—sound was normally muted from the high ceilings, but it was completely lost to the howlish sound of Taylor Swift blaring through the indoor speakers. “Adele?” I called slightly louder. After everything she’d been through, I didn’t want to startle her. I had no idea if she was still skittish. After the attack, she jumped if anyone walked into a room, even when she knew they were there. I dropped my key in the bowl on the table near the door and headed to the kitchen.
A man wearing a dress shirt and boxers was ironing on my granite counter. We spotted each other at the same moment. He held up the iron like a weapon; I held up my hands in surrender. “Is Adele here?”
“Who are you?”
“Relax, Mate.” I spoke calmly, keeping my hands in the air where he could see them the entire time. If there was one good thing about spending two years in prison, I’d definitely learned how to defuse a violent situation. “I’m Adele’s brother—I live here.”
Boxer boy’s eyes flared. “Chance?”
Well one of us was filled in. “That’s me.”
“Shit. Sorry. I thought you were getting out next week.”
“Overcrowding.” I narrowed my eyes on the iron he was still holding. “You want to put that thing down now, yeah?”
“Yeah. Of course. Sorry.” He set the iron on the counter and took two steps toward me, extending his hand. “Harry. Harry Beecham. I’ve heard so much about you.”
You’ve got to be shitting me? Harry? “Wish I could say the same.”
“Do you think we could stop at the—” My sister’s voice abruptly halted as she turned the corner into the kitchen. “Oh my God!” She almost knocked me over when she flew into my arms. “You’re here! You’re home!”
