He sat on the bench flipping through the case file with aggressive impatience. He had a golf tee time at 3:00 p.m. and he intended to make it. Call the case, Judge Halloway barked. The clerk stood up. Civil action number 24 CV908, Apex Horizon Development versus Lucille Banks.
Richard stood up, buttoning his jacket with a practiced grace. Richard Sterling for the plaintiff, your honor. We are ready to proceed with our motion for summary judgment. Very good, Mr. Sterling. The judge smiled. It was the smile of a conspirator.
And for the defendant? The courtroom was silent. The defendant’s table was empty. Richard chuckled softly. It appears, your honor, that Ms. Banks has finally seen the light and decided not to waste the court’s time. Typical, Halloway muttered. If the defendant is not present, I am inclined to rule in favor of the plaintiff.
The double doors at the back of the courtroom swung open. Every head turned. Walking down the center aisle was not an 80-year-old woman. It was a young Black man, perhaps in his mid-20s. He was wearing faded jeans, scuffed Timberland boots, and a charcoal gray hoodie with the hood pulled partially up, obscuring his peripheral vision. He walked with a loose, rhythmic gait, his hands buried deep in his pockets.
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The tension spiked. Richard Sterling’s lip curled in distaste. The bailiff, a burly man named Officer Miller, who had been working this courtroom for 20 years, stepped into the aisle, his hand instinctively dropping to his belt. Hey, son, Officer Miller barked.
Wrong room. Arrangements are downstairs in 2B. This is civil court. The young man didn’t stop. He didn’t even look at the bailiff. He kept walking, his eyes fixed straight ahead on the empty defense table. I said, hold it. Miller stepped in front of him. The young man stopped. He slowly pulled his hands out of his pockets. He wasn’t holding a weapon. He was holding a stack of files held together by a rubber band and a beaten-up leather satchel.
I’m not looking for arrangements, the young man said. His voice was quiet, raspy, but clear. Judge Halloway slammed his gavel. Young man, remove that hood in my courtroom immediately, and explain why you are interrupting these proceedings before I have you thrown in a holding cell for contempt. The young man reached up and pulled the hood back. He had short-cropped hair and weary eyes, dark circles underneath them, as if he hadn’t slept in a week.
