Absolute Power (Southern Justice #1 (20 page)

Greyson began to smile, knowing I would need to see his naked backside in order to give the injection.

“This may sting a little,” I warned as I rubbed the alcohol pad on his skin to cleanse the area.

When I was in nursing school, one of my professors instructed us to find a dartboard and practice throwing. She said the quick action would be needed to help give a painless injection. As I stood in preparation to use the same quick wristed action I always did, Dr. Gillman grabbed my wrist and looked into my eyes. Together, we placed the tip of the needle against his skin. Dr. Gillman allowed my hand to push the needle in excruciatingly slow.

“You fucking, no good, cunt!” Greyson roared as the medication was plunged into the muscle.

“What did I tell you about your mouth?” Dr. Gillman shouted, his voice hissed between his clenched teeth.

“Fuck you and your fucking strikes!” He cursed back, trying to shove my hand away from his hip. I disposed of the needle and placed a bandage on the injection site.

Dr. Gillman pulled me from the room before I was finished, then disappeared down the hall; no doubt he was calling Dylan. One of the officers, who came in with Mr. Greyson, had a number of papers he needed to fill out. He would be discharged as soon as we were sure he wasn’t going to have a reaction to the medication we gave him. I completed as much as I could, but Dr. Gillman would need to sign the actual order. It had taken more than twenty minutes, so I knew he was fine to get ready to leave.

“Do you mind helping me get him back in his jumpsuit? I’m a little nervous to touch him with those ribs,” one of the officers asked.

“Of course, I’d be happy to help.”

The officer entered first, keys out to unlock the handcuffs which kept Greyson locked to the bed. He had a set around his ankles, as well.

“You keep that fucking bitch away from me!” Greyson cried as I reached for the orange clothing in the chair.

“Watch your mouth,” the officer warned. Greyson closed his mouth, not saying anything else as together we managed to get him ready to leave.

I was cleaning up the materials Dr. Gillman used to clean the wound; his pulling me out of the room earlier negated me of disposing of it properly. The guard stepped to the side when he received a call on his radio about another prisoner who was on their way in.

“I remember you.” Greyson’s cold voice spoke, his eyes boring into mine. “You took care of that bitch from the alley.”

I tried to ignore his taunting as my blood began to boil.

“Too bad I didn’t run into you instead. We could have had a
real
good time.” The tone of his voice told me he was serious. He was a pathetic excuse for a man, needing to find innocent girls to get any attention. He was a vile and worthless creature.

“You know, Mr. Greyson.” I turned on my heel, my limit reached. “You come in here, talk a big game, and spew the word ‘fuck’ a few times, trying to make everyone think you’re this big time ‘gangster’” I used air quotes for effect. “But, where I come from, real men don’t smack girls half their size around to get their way. Only a pussy would do that!” I spat, my confidence coming forward. “My little brother…” I stepped forward and leaned over his chest, pointing my index finger in his face. “Would have cut you from navel to nose just to see how yellow you really are on the inside, for the shit you’ve done.”

I wanted to spit in his face, punch him in his chest, but my words were enough. However, as I turned to walk away his voice rang from behind me.

“Easy for you to run your fucking mouth when I’m tied to this bed.” I turned back to him, not an ounce of fear in me, as he continued to speak. “Mark my words, you little bitch, I’m coming after you and when I find you, away from your pretty boyfriend out there…” He raised his eyebrows in seriousness. “I’m gonna fuck you up so bad, no one is gonna want you ever again.”

“Well, when you do come after me and find me alone without my friends, you know this,
Mr. Greyson
.” I tilted my head to the side, looking him up and down. “I’m gonna kick your tiny dick ass and let that mousy girl…”

Before I could finish, the door swung open revealing a pissed off Dylan, clad in a muscle shirt and blue jeans. Fire in his eyes, his muscles flexing in anger.

“Claire, hello beautiful.” He stopped as he took me in and leaned over to kiss my cheek. “This piece of shit giving you trouble tonight?” His strong fingers caressed my left cheek, the other hand rested on his hip.

“A little,” I admitted, still shocked from his entrance, and actions toward me.

He smiled, and shot me a wink. “Darlin’, I wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout his dick.” Dylan turned to Greyson. “Everybody knows he has the same size dick he was born with. Ain’t that right, douche bag?”

Before Greyson could defend his manhood, the door opened again, revealing the officer and Dr. Gillman as the other prisoner was being wheeled down the hall. Unsure how much of the conversation the other prisoner heard, I decided I needed to distance myself. I left the room and walked as fast as I could, needing to get as far away from the situation as possible.

The clock on the wall behind the desk indicated my shift was over nearly fifteen minutes ago, and I needed to finish my charting, so I could get the fuck out of there.

With my purse over my shoulder, my fingers were typing my code to clock out as fast as I could. “Nurse Stuart.” I heard from behind me. I closed my eyes, knowing whom the voice belonged to. Only one person called us by our last names, the nursing supervisor, Marilyn Cochran.

Mrs. Cochran was older than Jesus himself. And was a “by the book” nurse who hadn’t touched a patient in over thirty years. It was never a good thing to have her call your name.

“I’m glad I caught you this morning.” I turned slowly in her direction; just knowing she was called regarding my harsh words to a patient.

“A summons for you to appear in court was delivered to the president of the hospital.” A folded white piece of paper was clenched in her left hand. Her uniform was starched white and her salt and pepper hair was tied back in a tight bun. She was the only nurse I’d ever met who still wore the white cap with black stripes.

“Mr. Phillips wanted me to remind you that during the trial you are paid your hourly wages.” She handed me the paper, then wrote something on the clipboard she always carried with her. “We will need you to phone the hospital and keep us abreast of when you will return to the floor.”

“Yes, Ma’am. When is the trial?” I asked aloud as I opened the folded summons.

“Monday” she responded immediately. “Have a good day.” She sprinted off, her stockings swishing between her chunky thighs as she retreated down the hall.

I read the form for myself, not believing the trial was happening so soon. Did Lainie receive a notice? Surely they sent her something, as well. I needed to go by her apartment and make sure she was all right. Just as I was about to duck out the door, Shayla came humming around the corner. I knew Dylan hadn’t left yet as I could see his car in the ambulance lot, but before I could warn her, Dylan came out of the room.

“Talk your trash now, motherfucker. Come this time next week, you’ll be shitting in your shorts after Bubba makes you his bitch over in the big house.”

As if I were watching an accident in slow motion, Shayla and Dylan’s eyes met. Long gone was the courage and self-assurance I possessed moments prior. Instead, I felt like an unwelcome voyeur, witnessing a moment too raw and far too personal. I followed my gut instincts and backed away, foregoing the customary pleasantries, and escaped out the side door, like a frightened animal.

Laws are spider webs through which the big flies pass and the little ones get caught.

~Honoré de Balzac

“A
ll rise.”

The Bailiff, Officer Linder, called the courtroom to order. Miles Linder was a twenty year veteran of the city of Charleston. Five years ago, his wife suffered a stroke, causing her to need round the clock care. Miles switched from working in my department, to acting as security for Judge Randolph.

“The Honorable Coleman Randolph presiding.”

Judge Randolph, a stately man of moderate height and slender build. He and my dad had gone to law school together, practicing in the same sector for many years. His father was a man of little means, unlike my granddaddy. When Mr. Randolph decided to run for Second Judicial Court Judge, my dad and granddaddy endorsed him. He and his wife had one son, Parker. When our families would get together, Parker would go off into a quiet corner and play video games or read a book. He had no interest in playing ball or sneaking booze from the liquor cabinet with the rest of us. So when he announced he was going off to West Point, none of us believed him. Imagine everyone’s shock when he was selected as the starting quarterback during the Army/Navy game that fall.

Judge Randolph took his seat behind the bench, picked up his reading glasses, and placed them on his nose as he perused the docket. Once he was done, he folded his hands and looked over the spectators in attendance, his gaze finally landing on my dad.

Another thing about Judge Randolph, he was a firm believer in checking your attitude and friendships at the door. My dad’s presence in the courtroom would make no difference in Randolph’s eyes. He was simply another man sitting before him.

When I told him what Celia had called about, he said he would make sure he was in the courtroom, as moral support for both Claire and myself. Nearly every person I knew who was acquainted with Claire liked her, even Shayla had a change of heart where she was concerned.

“Bailiff, you can show in the accused. Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated.”

I watched as Claire took her seat, her eyes honed in on the door in the far corner.

Linder opened the antique wooden door; its age could be documented around the end of the civil war. Two uniformed officers escorted a handcuffed and shackled Greyson into the courtroom, the clink of his ankle chains keeping time with his steps. Lainie, sitting ramrod straight and stiff in her posture avoided looking in his direction.

Sitting behind the prosecution’s desk is the District Attorney, Marc Jessup. He was a little older than me and lived three blocks over with his girlfriend of several years. Born and raised right here in Charleston, he’d lived with his granny since he was little; no one was sure where his momma made off. He worked his fingers to the bone to put himself through college and then law school. A careless driver killed his uncle Cecil, a state trooper, when he stood outside a vehicle he had pulled over for speeding. The driver responsible was never found. Uncle Cecil had been his Granny Mae’s only son. Marc turned his uncle’s death into motivation to find the truth and convict the guilty.

Sucking up air and killing the ozone with the outrageous amount of hair crap he used, was the Defense Attorney, Corbin Anderson. My dad had already made his distaste for the man known, when he spoke under his breath, calling him “a fucking snake.”

Greyson’s cuffs and shackles were removed, as there was little chance he would be able escape this room; considering the amount of law enforcement present. His bright orange jump suit would hinder things just a bit, as well.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Calling the case of the People of the County of Charleston versus Frances Greyson. Are both sides ready?”

“The Prosecution is ready, your Honor.” Jessup stood in reverence, buttoning his jacket for the thirty seconds he had to answer the question.

Judge Randolph was a fair man, but a stickler for the old school ways. When I dressed this morning, I knew better than to show up in jeans and boots. He would have stopped the trial and made an example of me.

“The Defense is also ready, your Honor.” Anderson leaned forward, rising up slightly, but not completely. As he sat back down, Randolph struck.

“Councilor, something ailing you today?”

Anderson stood, completely this time. “Thank you for your concern, your Honor, but I am perfectly fine.” His arrogance was astounding, even for a bottom feeder.

“Then I expect you to show this court the respect it deserves.” Anderson wasn’t stupid enough to verbally respond and it wasn’t what Randolph wanted. Again, he was a man of actions and not empty words.