Beautiful Bounty(8)

As Ronnie walked into the crowded Courtroom and turned right, she immediately saw the galley was packed with paparazzi. Her public defender nodded at the seat next to him. She approached, but the quiet in the large room really surprised her considering the crowd. She saw a few flashes and pictures were quickly snapped as she made her way to her seat. When the barrage of flashes stilled, it took a moment for her to make out her mom and Jay sitting behind her attorney. Ana and Monica, her mom’s closest friends, were sitting next to her for moral support. She loved those women, Ana like a second mom and Monica like an older sister. She gave them a tentative smile, and waved with her hands clasped together as best she could, the handcuffs jangling from her wrists.

Lou smiled and nodded, Jay winked, and both the woman gave her supportive looks.

She turned to the front of the room as the bailiff asked for all the attendees to rise for the Honorable James A. Hitchcock. A tall distinguished black man, probably in his mid-sixties emerged from his chambers by a door in the paneled wall that opened right behind the raised bench before her. He stood for a moment gazing out at the crowd and a hush fell as he silenced those who were still murmuring with a fierce look of consternation. There was a soft click from the paneled door as it shut. Then he sat. Order was called, they were told they could all sit except for the defendant and the attorneys. The judge was introduced again to be recorded by the stenographer, and the case number read. The attorney for the state and public defender were named and then called to the bench.

Ronnie remained standing, nervous, and unable to hear what the judge was saying to the lawyers or their responses despite the quiet in the room. The judge looked to her, when her public defender finished speaking, eyes narrowing.

His eyes remained fastened on hers, while her attorney returned to her side. When he and the prosecutor were once again facing the court, the judge began to speak.

“The case of The State of Florida vs. Veronica Louise Sears, case number 4733640, is now in session for the initial hearing. The accused is present?” Ronnie heard the court reporter, keys tapping softly below the judge’s bench, and then saw her suddenly look at her.

Her attorney told her in a whisper to say yes.

“Yes,” she whispered. It came out a croak, her throat being as dry as the desert. Stoic, and polite, she recalled, and added a “Sir,” despite the sandpaper sound of her raspy voice. The judge’s eyes narrowed further not leaving her face. He nodded, and looked down at the papers before him.

Ronnie remained standing, her eyes never straying far from the judge.

He glanced away from his papers, looked towards the windows facing the street, and then suddenly his eyes were piercing her own, brown and glittering hard like chocolate diamonds. While his eyes never wavered from hers, he asked the prosecutor to name the charges. He watched her for any possible reaction as charge after charge was read to the full court room.

The young attorney sitting across the aisle from her read the charges forcefully, punctuating each charge from felonies down to misdemeanors. He listed the drugs, their quantities, the method of transportation, the intents behind the amount according to state statutes, and Ronnie’s brain swam with all the charges being filed against her. Her eyes became glazed as tears threatened to spill. She squeezed them closed tightly to stop them from rolling down her face, but one lone tear escaped, streaking down her cheek as it rolled quickly down to her chin. She swiped it away, her handcuffs rattling in the now quiet.

“How do you plead to these charges?” the judge asked, sounding bored.

She cleared her throat, licked her dry lips. Stoic, Polite. “Not guilty, Your Honor.” Her voice came out clear, and firm, stronger than she felt. She was glad for the note of confidence that seemed to come through this time, but couldn’t help but hear the sniffling behind her, her mom, and Jay shushing her. She turned and gave her mom a confidant smile.

“Eyes up here, young lady,” the judge chastised, and she turned quickly back to the bench. “This is only a hearing, but I want you to realize the seriousness of those charges, and the possible outcomes if found guilty.”

She nodded, and he continued in his firm tone, with a slightly pronounced southern accent. “You are looking at a minimum of ten years, and possibly up to twenty-five. You understand the seriousness of these charges?”

“I do, Sir.” He nodded, and looked to the public defender.

“You are asking for bail?”

“Yes,” her attorney replied. When the judge waited for him to say more and he said nothing, the Judge gave him an odd look, shook his head, and then his grey head swiveled to the prosecution’s side.