Free Nasty Girls by Erick S. Gray Page A

female court officer. She stood off to the side, rigid and observing her territory with a taut look on her olive skin.
    â€œQuiet!” the court officer said in her loudest tone.
    The chitchat eased up a little.
    One by one, docket numbers were being called for the judge to review, and the judge, a silver-haired white man who looked to be in his early fifties, would say a few words to the attorneys and briefly acknowledge the accused.
    Cases from robbery, crack possession, and even felonies were being called. It was a tedious process. About an hour passed until Roscoe’s case was finally called.
    â€œDocket number 448524745, Roscoe Richardson,” the court officer announced.
    Shy and Jade perked up, hearing Roscoe’s name being called out. All eyes were up front.
    Roscoe came into the courtroom, ushered out in handcuffs and looking mad at the world. He stood in front the judge and waited to hear his fate.
    I noticed that his attorney, the one that came to represent him, looked different than the other cheap lawyers in the court. He had smooth white skin and sleek black hair, and he had on a gray pin-striped Italian suit, polished wing-tip shoes, and a Rolex around his wrist. I knew that Roscoe’s lawyer wasn’t one of these cheap CA (court-appointed) lawyers. He was the real thing.
    He carried a real leather briefcase and had style to him, while these CA’s wore cotton and polyester, sported bad scuffed shoes, and had busy head tops and five-o’clock shadows; they all looked like they’ve seen one too many cases.
    The prosecutor spoke first. He opened up a manila envelope, peered up at the judge, and gave his deposition. “Your Honor, the people request that the defendant be held without bail, pending a grand jury investigation. He’s the prime suspect in a murder five days ago. Also, he was found with a loaded nine-millimeter in his truck—” The male prosecutor went on putting Roscoe on blast, and his chances of freedom looked bleak.
    Roscoe didn’t flinch as he was being indicted on charges of murder, probably in the first degree, and criminal possession of a weapon.
    A few more words were said by the prosecutor, including that Roscoe had a previous rap sheet which included drug arrests and other convictions.
    Roscoe’s attorney finally spoke. Standing next to his client, he stared up at the judge and stated, “Your Honor, my client claims that the shooting was done in self-defense. He feared for his life, and he also claims that the search of his truck was done illegally. . . .”
    After all the bullshit was said and done from the defense and the prosecutor, the judge reviewed the case and said, “The defendant is remanded without bail. Next case.” He sounded arrogant and shit.
    I swear Shy was about to bust out crying. But she held strong, and only a few tears trickled down her face.
    The court officers ushered Roscoe away back into lockup. He didn’t even look in our direction. I knew he knew we were seated in the courtroom. But I guess he felt ashamed and shit.
    After Roscoe was led away, the three of us quickly got up out of our seats and exited the courtroom. We followed Roscoe’sattorney outside. Shy and the rest of us wanted to talk to the lawyer and get his insight and opinion on the case.
    â€œExcuse me . . . excuse me,” Shy said, trying to catch his attention.
    He turned around and looked at us.
    He spoke, looking like he was in a rush. “Can I help you?”
    â€œI’m Shy, Roscoe’s girlfriend. I wanna know what’s goin’ on.”
    â€œWell, your boyfriend is being charged with murder. He’s looking at fifteen to twenty for murder in the first degree, which is an A-One felony; criminal possession of a weapon in the first degree; criminal use of a firearm in the first degree; and resisting arrest.”
    â€œOhmygod!”
    â€œWhat’s going to happen?” I