A Father's Wrath by Phil Nova Page B

solitary
confinement cell. It felt like a punishment, but he knew that he’d
get shanked or worse if they put him into population and someone
found out he was a cop.
    He’d already heard what Richie did to Ko Sin
Lu. Because Lu had bled to death on the bathroom floor, Richie was
being charged with murder, and Joe was being charged with
conspiracy to commit murder.
    On Wednesday morning, a corrections officer
took Joe out of his cell, shackled his feet, and cuffed his hands
in front of him. “Time to go to court.”
    Joe waited with one guard as another guard
shackled and cuffed another inmate from solitary—a scarred,
tattooed, big, ugly Neanderthal with a beard and a mess of
hair.
    As soon as he saw Joe, the man asked, “What the
fuck you lookin’ at, faggot?”
    He was already going up for conspiracy to
commit murder, so he didn’t see any harm in adding an assault
charge. Without a word, Joe head-butted the big ugly
man.
    The man stepped back, holding his face as blood
dripped onto the hard tile floor.
    The first guard smacked Joe in the lower back
with his baton.
    Joe gasped, almost losing his
balance.
    “You wanna miss your court
appearance?”
    The pain was so bad Joe couldn’t
speak.
    The second guard moved the ugly man away from
Joe. “We better keep these two animals separated.”
    After going through a series of locked doors
and long hallways, they ended up in the building that housed the
courts. Joe knew this place well from when he was a cop and also
from when he was a lawyer working for the district
attorney.
    After about fifteen minutes of waiting in a
cage, Joe noticed everyone stand.
    A morbidly obese woman with red dyed hair and
caked-on make-up approached the bench and sat down. This was only
an arraignment, but Joe had a bad feeling already.
    The judge typed on her phone for about fifteen
minutes while the people from the district attorney’s office
shuffled through files and whispered back and forth to each other.
It was this type of nonsense that had made Joe believe he could do
more good as a cop than as a prosecutor.
    Finally, after checking her manicure, the judge
called the first case.
    Joe was happy to be going first. He knew what
it was like to spend all day in court. He wondered if this was a
one-time miracle or if his luck was changing for the
better.
    Joe approached the bench alone. He couldn’t
afford a high-powered genius attorney, and he knew he could do a
better job than some public defender, so he decided to represent
himself.
    The judge had a high-pitched, nasally, annoying
voice. “Joseph Martello.” She looked away from the file and read
something on her phone.
    Joe waited as she texted.
    She placed her phone down on the bench, looked
at the file, and said, “Joseph Martello. Charges are: conspiracy to
commit murder. How do you plead?” She glanced at her phone
again.
    Joe chuckled, “You can’t be
serious.”
    The woman adjusted herself in her seat. “Excuse
me?”
    “Nothing. Not guilty . . . your
honor.”
    “No, no, wait a minute. You have something else
to say, officer . . . counselor . . . or should I say,
inmate?”
    “Yeah. I have something to say. You and your
corrupt system are a disgrace to this country and our constitution.
You sit up there on your pedestal with your hair, your make-up, and
your expensive jewelry. You’re nothing but a fat fucking slob and
this judicial system is a farce. A disgrace!”
    “Bailiff!”
    Two court officers grabbed Joe and began to
escort him back to the cage.
    Joe didn’t fight. He knew there would be plenty
of time for that later.
    Another bailiff entered and handed the judge a
document.
    After reading it, the judge asked, “Is this a
joke?”
    “No your honor.”
    “Take him.”
    The bailiff escorted Joe out of the cage and
said, “You are to appear in another court.”
    “Why?”
    “I’m just the messenger.”
    The bailiff led Joe down the hall and into an
elevator. While they went up two floors, Joe wondered