Uncertain Justice

Departure

A few steps before Miles and Trenton reached a set of large, windowless double doors blocking their path, the left door opened abruptly and two Sheriff's deputies shouldered their way inside. They halted, as surprised by the crowd in the corridor as the crowd was by them; both dropped a hand to a holstered pistol. The representatives of the media shrank back and quieted.

"Alright," announced the leading deputy, lifting his hand from his weapon and waving it in the general direction of the mob in the hallway.

"Let's back up there. Make way." He watched for a few seconds as the reporters began to stumble aside. Satisfied the mob of news personalities and camera operators were beginning to move, he made a half-turn and gestured through the open doorway to a double line of prisoners.

Clad in bright orange jumpsuits, the first one on the right pushed open the other door and they began to troop inside. The detainees, arriving for their first day in the legal system, were handcuffed and secured with leg restraints that were, in turn, fastened to a long chain. They began moving through the double doors as the suddenly passive herd of reporters parted to give them room.

"Make a hole ... coming through," the deputy chanted as he advanced. He led the line of prisoners toward the holding cell down the hall. "That's it. We need a little room, folks. Let us through ... thank you, ladies and gents," he called out, chivying the crowd into giving the inmates enough space to pass.

Watching the line of accused men and women, Miles' eyes fastened on the huge black man bringing up the rear. Several inches taller than Miles' own six feet, the man's upper body was so overdeveloped the zipper had been left half undone for extra room across the chest but the seams still threatened to give way. The wholly inadequate sleeves had been cut off at the shoulder. Garish tattoos on the side of his head made the man's face a terrifying spectacle even without his ferocious glare.

The heavily muscled prisoner appraised Miles in return, his face expressionless and uncaring. His eyes took in the attorney at Miles' side. With his expensive suit and barely manageable armful of briefcase, cell phone, and palm pilot, it was clear what service Trenton provided. Cynical amusement flickered in the convict's eyes as he swaggered by.

"Fresh meat!" he chortled mockingly. "See ya soon ... Dawg." His rasping voice drifted back to Miles as the chained prisoner swaggered across the lobby and disappeared beyond the crowd. Miles shuddered, his eyes locked on the man's back. His knees threatened to give way.

"Come on, Miles," the attorney whispered in Miles' ear. He was pulling on Miles' arm and had been since he'd seen the approaching end of the line of prisoners. He hadn't been able to get his client to budge or even acknowledge the tugs until now.

"Let's get out of here while we've got the chance." Miles let Trenton lead him through the set of double doors. They slammed shut with a boom, locking automatically behind the two men. The reporters were left to themselves in the vacant hallway, frustrated at the loss of their prey.

Trenton made a sharp turn into a stairwell. Using one hand for balance, he trotted quickly down the steep stairs from the fourth floor, turning rapidly at each landing and stepping off with a confidence built from long familiarity with the courthouse and its avenues of escape. Without slowing, the lawyer pulled a pair of sunglasses from an inside pocket and hooked them over his ears.

Miles followed as quickly as he could. His feet were dead and unresponsive; he stumbled often and twice nearly fell headlong down the steps. He caught himself only at the last second by grabbing at the handrail. Trenton looked back at his client, irritated at the disturbance Underwood was making.

On the ground floor, Trenton pushed through the stairwell door into the foyer and nodded to the two constables providing building security at the exit. The bright sun streaming through the glass doors finally roused Miles from his stupor. He blinked and sneezed explosively into a handkerchief snatched from a pants pocket.

The men made their way without speaking through the parking lot behind the building and came to a stop next to Trenton's black Lexus. Unlocking it with the remote built into his key, the lawyer opened the rear driver's side door and tossed his briefcase and Palm Pilot into the back seat. Closing the door, he glanced at Miles before beginning to dial a number on his cell phone. Pausing before he entered the last digit, he looked up to meet Miles' eyes for the first time in a long while.

"Miles, I don't know why he's being so damned hard-nosed on this, but Brady says he wants to set a new trial date for the first week of April ... maybe earlier," he grumbled. "I have to check with the office to see if there's anything else I'm doing then, but it I expect we'll be back about then for another go at this.

"Hell, the clerk says there were four jurors voting for acquittal," he continued after a moment. He'd thought Miles would want to comment at that point and was mildly put off by Miles' silence. He pointed the phone at Miles to give weight to the points he was about to make.

"I'll be damned if I can see where Brady expects to do any better the second time around. What did you ever do to him, Miles? He's bound and determined you're going to do hard time in Huntsville." Miles didn't answer at first. He was trying to assimilate what Trenton had said. An uncomfortable silence built between them. Looking down, the attorney frowned and decided to clear the entry on the cell phone's keypad. He started over.

"Four?" Miles finally rasped. He pushed the question through a parched throat made worse by sudden emotion.

"Four? What happened to the others? You mean eight of those people think I really r***d that ... that girl? What the...? Weren't they listening when those people from the party told them it wasn't me she was talking about?"

Moving slowly, Miles' body straightened until he was staring down into Trenton's eyes. The muscles in his shoulders flexed and his weight came up on his toes. At first scratchy and faltering, his voice strengthened until he was roaring his questions into Trenton's face. Two city cops making their way into the Justice Center changed their path through the parking lot and drew closer to the commotion.