As Tommy Black stood at the order of the judge, he knew what was coming. His attorney had broken the news to him right after the jury reached their guilty verdict. He felt a sting in his eyes and realized he was about to lose his shit right in front of everybody in the courtroom. He bit his lower lip hard, willing himself not to cry like some little snot-nosed kid, and looked up at the windows high in the wall of courtroom. He'd overheard the guards at the jail talking about a big storm on the way. The sky was gray and getting darker by the minute. Based on the way it looked, it wouldn't be long before the first snowflakes started to fall.
When Tommy was a kid, he had always liked winter better than any other season. No school in the mountains, no copperheads to watch out for, no ticks—just white powder hiding the old tires and other junk that took the place of grass in his family's front yard and air that felt clean enough to wash all the bad shit in life away. Winter and snow had always given him hope. In the winter he'd always felt that anything was possible, that his life might amount to something.
Well, that hope was gone for good now.
He'd come close, though. If that damn cop hadn't pulled him and Eddie over just after they came out of Jellico, he'd have been sitting pretty on a pile of money, enough to buy himself a nice cabin in the Rockies or Canada or some other place where Old Man Winter was king. It was all Eddie's fault. He should have been driving—it was his turn. Tommy had driven most of the way from Texas and he'd been tired. It wasn't his fault that he'd drifted over the line and it wasn't his fault that he'd lost his cool. He was just tired, that's all. He'd hit the cop and he just couldn't stop hitting him, he was so tired and so pissed off. Eddie had seemed pretty pissed off, too, and had gotten in a few kicks of his own.
Bright side…the cop hadn't died. If he had, he and Eddie would probably be facing the needle instead of life behind bars.
"Mr. Creech and Mr. Black." The judge paused, glaring over the top of his wire-rimmed reading glasses like he thought he was some kind of god or something. Tommy's jaw clenched. That pompous prick had been glaring at them like that through the whole trial. Fair trial, my ass! The honorable Judge Akers had probably paid the jury off to find them guilty. "The jury has found you both guilty of possession of over one kilogram of heroin with intent to distribute, an offense in the commission of which you caused serious bodily injury to another. If Officer James Richter had died as a result of the beating you gave him, I'd have no qualms about sentencing you to death."
The judge paused again, and Tommy could have sworn he saw the hint of a smile on the judge's lips. Probably imagining jamming the needle home himself. Maybe he and the judge were more alike than he thought, since he felt like smiling a little himself when he imagined slamming his fist into the judge's windpipe and watching as he gurgled himself to death.
"As it is, the best I can do is lock you up and throw away the key. As this is the second trafficking offense for both of you and since you harmed someone this time, you are hereby sentenced to life in prison with no possibility of parole. You will be remanded into the custody of the United States Marshals Service to be transported to the Big Sandy Federal Prison."
Tommy heard a woman begin to wail behind them. That was Becky Jean, Eddie's woman. She'd come to court every day. Said it was her "duty" to offer Eddie support, but Tommy knew she just liked the attention. The first day a reporter had asked her how she felt seeing her boyfriend on trial and Becky Jean had babbled a bunch of nonsense about how hard it had been for her. Lucy had stayed away, and for that, Tommy was grateful. She wasn't making a spectacle of herself wailing over him.
He glanced back and saw Richter being smacked on the back by his buddies, his wife dabbing at her eyes with a tissue as she held his hand. Richter stood, carefully slipped the crutches under his arms, and took a step out into the aisle. Their eyes met and Richter paused for a second, just enough time for Tommy to mouth "fuck you" at him. Richter's eyes widened, then he shook his head and began to laugh, and Tommy wished they had killed him after all. A hand touched his arm and he shook it off angrily, but it didn't stay off. Instead, it was joined by more as two hard-faced deputies forced him from behind the table and through the door at the side of the judge's bench and into the holding area at the back of the court where he and Eddie were ushered into a cell, their hands still cuffed.
"Your shit'll be brought over," the older deputy said, "and the marshals'll take over from there."
He turned to the other deputy, a pimply-faced kid who didn't look like he was old enough to have graduated high school.
"I'll send Keith back, Billy," he said. "But keep a close watch on 'em and don't let 'em talk you into anything. Lifers figure they got nothing to lose."
"Don't worry, Lieutenant," the kid said. "I got these scrotes." He looked at Tommy and smiled one of the meanest smiles Tommy had ever seen. Looked like he and the kid had a lot in common, too.
He stretched out on the metal shelf that served as a seat. The holding area had high windows just like the courtroom, and as Tommy lay there looking at the sky, he saw the first flakes begin to fall.
When Tommy was a kid, he had always liked winter better than any other season. No school in the mountains, no copperheads to watch out for, no ticks—just white powder hiding the old tires and other junk that took the place of grass in his family's front yard and air that felt clean enough to wash all the bad shit in life away. Winter and snow had always given him hope. In the winter he'd always felt that anything was possible, that his life might amount to something.
Well, that hope was gone for good now.
He'd come close, though. If that damn cop hadn't pulled him and Eddie over just after they came out of Jellico, he'd have been sitting pretty on a pile of money, enough to buy himself a nice cabin in the Rockies or Canada or some other place where Old Man Winter was king. It was all Eddie's fault. He should have been driving—it was his turn. Tommy had driven most of the way from Texas and he'd been tired. It wasn't his fault that he'd drifted over the line and it wasn't his fault that he'd lost his cool. He was just tired, that's all. He'd hit the cop and he just couldn't stop hitting him, he was so tired and so pissed off. Eddie had seemed pretty pissed off, too, and had gotten in a few kicks of his own.
Bright side…the cop hadn't died. If he had, he and Eddie would probably be facing the needle instead of life behind bars.
"Mr. Creech and Mr. Black." The judge paused, glaring over the top of his wire-rimmed reading glasses like he thought he was some kind of god or something. Tommy's jaw clenched. That pompous prick had been glaring at them like that through the whole trial. Fair trial, my ass! The honorable Judge Akers had probably paid the jury off to find them guilty. "The jury has found you both guilty of possession of over one kilogram of heroin with intent to distribute, an offense in the commission of which you caused serious bodily injury to another. If Officer James Richter had died as a result of the beating you gave him, I'd have no qualms about sentencing you to death."
The judge paused again, and Tommy could have sworn he saw the hint of a smile on the judge's lips. Probably imagining jamming the needle home himself. Maybe he and the judge were more alike than he thought, since he felt like smiling a little himself when he imagined slamming his fist into the judge's windpipe and watching as he gurgled himself to death.
"As it is, the best I can do is lock you up and throw away the key. As this is the second trafficking offense for both of you and since you harmed someone this time, you are hereby sentenced to life in prison with no possibility of parole. You will be remanded into the custody of the United States Marshals Service to be transported to the Big Sandy Federal Prison."
Tommy heard a woman begin to wail behind them. That was Becky Jean, Eddie's woman. She'd come to court every day. Said it was her "duty" to offer Eddie support, but Tommy knew she just liked the attention. The first day a reporter had asked her how she felt seeing her boyfriend on trial and Becky Jean had babbled a bunch of nonsense about how hard it had been for her. Lucy had stayed away, and for that, Tommy was grateful. She wasn't making a spectacle of herself wailing over him.
He glanced back and saw Richter being smacked on the back by his buddies, his wife dabbing at her eyes with a tissue as she held his hand. Richter stood, carefully slipped the crutches under his arms, and took a step out into the aisle. Their eyes met and Richter paused for a second, just enough time for Tommy to mouth "fuck you" at him. Richter's eyes widened, then he shook his head and began to laugh, and Tommy wished they had killed him after all. A hand touched his arm and he shook it off angrily, but it didn't stay off. Instead, it was joined by more as two hard-faced deputies forced him from behind the table and through the door at the side of the judge's bench and into the holding area at the back of the court where he and Eddie were ushered into a cell, their hands still cuffed.
"Your shit'll be brought over," the older deputy said, "and the marshals'll take over from there."
He turned to the other deputy, a pimply-faced kid who didn't look like he was old enough to have graduated high school.
"I'll send Keith back, Billy," he said. "But keep a close watch on 'em and don't let 'em talk you into anything. Lifers figure they got nothing to lose."
"Don't worry, Lieutenant," the kid said. "I got these scrotes." He looked at Tommy and smiled one of the meanest smiles Tommy had ever seen. Looked like he and the kid had a lot in common, too.
He stretched out on the metal shelf that served as a seat. The holding area had high windows just like the courtroom, and as Tommy lay there looking at the sky, he saw the first flakes begin to fall.
