Buch lesen: «Lilly's Law»

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Friday morning, and what a way to end the week!

“OH, NO!”

Lilly moaned the words louder than she intended, and his speedy response to what she’d meant to keep under her breath was, “Oh, yes! And I want a change of venue, Your Honor.”

“Change of venue, Mr. Collier? You’re telling me you want a change of venue?” She was struggling to preserve what was left of her judgely comportment. “This is traffic court, sir. We don’t do change of venue here.” Even though she’d like to have changed his venue to an iceberg somewhere way up in the Arctic, and personally paid for his one-way ticket to ride.

“But don’t I have the right to be tried in an impartial court?”

Big iceberg, she decided. Huge, with lots of freezing-his-butt-off jagged edges. “And you’re suggesting, sir, that my court isn’t impartial?” An iceberg at least as cold as her voice.

Mike Collier stepped away from the rickety wooden podium, which was scarred by fifty years’ worth of fist-pounding, pencil-gouging defendants, but he didn’t cross the yellow tape on the floor—the tape designating the one thin line separating the Honorable Judge Lilly Malloy from the accumulation of humanity on trial in her courtroom. The warning sign, posted clearly on the wall directly above her head, read Stay Behind the Yellow Line at All Times. Those Who Cross over the Line My Be Subject to a Fine and/or Arrest. Someone had doodled a happy face with devil horns on it. “What I’m suggesting, Your Honor, is that under the circumstances, I don’t think you’re the right person to hear my case. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Your case, Mr. Collier, is nineteen unpaid parking tickets, pure and simple. And my impartial decision is that you’ll pay them to the tune of fifty dollars apiece, plus throw in an extra couple hundred dollars for the use of this courtroom and all of its fine amenities—you know, the paper we used for your subpoena, the expense of having our diligent sheriff hand-deliver it to your office. All according to the statute, by the way. It seems pretty simple to me, under the circumstances, since you’ve already admitted your guilt.” She scowled across at him. “You did admit your guilt, didn’t you? The statement to the effect that you willfully parked in a posted no-parking zone…that would be a straightforward guilty plea, wouldn’t it, Mr. Collier?”

“Straightforward? You call turning my parking space into a no-parking zone straightforward? I call it extenuating circumstances,” Mike grumbled. “And I don’t believe you’re going to set aside your personal feelings to listen to my version.”

“Your version,” Lilly muttered, shaking her head. She already knew that version—she’d been on the receiving end of one of Mike’s versions a time or two. “Well, I have a version, too, Mr. Collier. You’ve stated for the record that you don’t believe I’m able to be unbiased here—that I’d allow my personal feelings to interfere with the law.” She shot him a caustic smile across her desk—an old, gray, metal office desk hunkering down into the sixty-year-old grooves in the unpolished linoleum floor. Unlike the judges upstairs, who towered above their domains at fine, hand-carved mahogany desks designed for looking down—desks that belonged in a courtroom—Lilly sat level with everyone else. Her official judge desk was plainly a castoff appropriate for her castoff court that convened in a damp, dim corner room in the city hall basement. “So let me tack a little something onto my version for you. Your first insult to the court is a freebie. My gift to you.” Leaning back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest, she continued, “But the next one will cost you, I’m thinking about a hundred bucks an insult, by the book, by the way. Sounds fair, doesn’t it?” She glanced over at her court clerk, Tisha Freeman, an early twenty-something who spent more time in the courtroom making eyes at the men than observing the proceedings. Tisha nodded her approval, not that she knew what she was nodding at, then smiled at the biker type seated in the second row who, with ripped-out shirt-sleeves, was flexing his muscles and tattoos for her.

Give me strength, Lilly thought, looking back at Mike. “And as far as your version, Mr. Collier? Other than the fact that you’ve admitted to parking in the same no-parking zone nineteen times in the past two months, what else is there to say but ‘I’m guilty, Your Honor, and I’ll be happy to pay the fine’?”

“Do I get to speak candidly here or are my rights forfeited the minute I step into your courtroom?” Mike Collier glanced around, shook his head in distinct disdain, then added, “Such as it is.”

“By all means, be candid, Mr. Collier. I certainly wouldn’t want you leaving my courtroom—such as it is—feeling like you didn’t receive every opportunity to tell your side of the story before I make my judgment and tack on an extra hundred bucks for that little insult.” She dropped her gaze to the file containing copies of all nineteen tickets, not to peruse what was in it so much as to stop herself from glaring at him. Of course, she already knew what he looked like—in every vivid detail, right down to the lips tattooed on his derriere. Right side, midcheek. A drunken college escapade—he’d passed out at a frat party and his frat brothers had hauled him to the nearest tattoo parlor. Then voilà! Big red lips, half the size of her fist. And of course, she could conjure up that eye candy in minute detail—along with every other Collier detail—even when she wasn’t looking at him, which she was trying not to do, especially in court. Geez, where’s an iceberg when you need one? And if she could have found a judge pro tem for the morning session, she would have gladly relinquished the helm.

She was the judge pro tem in traffic court, though. A perpetual temporary, because she hadn’t lived in Whittier long enough to qualify for the permanent job. But she would be crowned the regular queen of traffic court after a year there. And she wanted that to happen. Nobody liked the job, nobody wanted it and hardly anybody outside the janitor and a few assorted court employees ever wandered down into the judicial netherworld she called her work space, even though her department brought in a big chunk of the city budget, or so she’d been told when she’d dotted her i’s and crossed her t’s on the contract.

So unless she had two broken legs and amnesia, nobody, but nobody would be sitting in for her, not even for a few minutes. But that was okay because she actually liked her job.

Speeding tickets, parking tickets—everyone had an excuse for doing something wrong.

“Didn’t see the sign, Your Honor.”

“I had to go to the bathroom, Your Honor.”

“Thirty? I thought that was eighty, Your Honor.”

“I only left my car there for two minutes, Your Honor.”

“I wasn’t parked that far up on the sidewalk, Your Honor.”

Which was why Lilly got the traffic court job in the first place—nobody else wanted to hear the same ol’, same ol’ excuses. Low status, low regard, low pay. And literally the lowest room in the courthouse. But it was her low status, her low regard, her low pay and her lowest room in the courthouse. All hers!

So when she’d found out that the Mike Collier on her docket for the day was her Mike Collier—the one man in the whole wide world she never, ever wanted to see again—she’d elected to tough it out instead of going upstairs and panhandling in the halls for another judge since, short of judicial hijacking, no one would do it anyway. Meaning, it was up to her to try Mike, convict him if he was guilty—she hoped he was, boy, did she hope he was—and then sentence him, the fun part! Too bad iceberg exile wasn’t an option. But on the bright side, the law book she was going to throw at him was a big one.

“Like I said, the city put a no-parking zone almost directly in front of my office, Your Honor, and the next closest place for me to park is a block away—in the paid public parking. I’m always coming and going, chasing down stories and whatever, and parking so far away is damn inconvenient. Wastes a lot of my time. Then in any bad weather, rain, snow…No way I’m going to walk that. Plus sixty bucks a month for a parking permit is ridiculous, especially when I had free parking right outside my door until two months ago, when the mayor’s cousin set up a flower shop right next to me and complained, apparently to the right people—or person—as it turned out, that my parking spot obstructed a clear view of her shop. In my opinion, we’re talking conspiracy here, especially since I ran an editorial against the mayor just a couple of weeks before that and I’m sure this no-parking thing is his way of repaying me, since my paper isn’t backing him in the next election. Good old-fashioned political harassment for choosing to exercise my right of free speech, that’s what it is.” Mike took a deep breath and grinned at Lilly. “I rest my case, Your Honor.” Then he winked.

Or did he? She wasn’t sure. She looked up at the ceiling tile, noting the pattern of yellow staining on it, then silently begged, Please don’t let that start again. But it already had—little voices, little gestures, more little voices—all things that happened, or didn’t happen, only when she was around Mike.

Twelve yellowed ceiling tiles later, without a solution to the thing she grudgingly called the thing, Lilly wrenched her attention back to Mike’s case. He was sooo cool…sooo calculated…sooo relaxed about it. Working her. That’s what he was doing. Working her, and she had to give credit where it was due. He did it brilliantly. The way he shoved his hands into his khakis—as though this was a casual meeting between two friends, not a court of law…her court of law. Smiling, grinning, winking…or not. It irritated her. He irritated her, and the only transient panacea was an effigy of Mike swinging a pickax on a rock pile. Good image; she liked it a lot. Suddenly he was shirtless and glistening with sweat—like she needed that distraction. So she made a hasty retreat back to Mike’s iceberg, since in a parka he wasn’t nearly so dangerous. Then…oh, no, not that! The parka was slipping off. Zipper sliding down, sleeve slithering off, and underneath…

Mike cleared his throat. “I said I rest my case, Your Honor.”

He didn’t have anything on under that parka, but thank the gods of the Northern ice cap that his voice dragged her back into the courtroom. “Good old-fashioned political harassment, is that what you said, Mr. Collier? A parking conspiracy? Are you sure you want that particular accusation to go down on the record with your name attached to it? I mean, I know you’ve spent your career chasing down so-called conspiracies, but this seems rather melodramatic even for you, don’t you think?”

“For the record, Your Honor, I shouldn’t have to suffer the unfair, and I might add unjust, consequences of the mayor’s cousin’s inability to attract customers. Nor should I be forced to pay the penalty you’re imposing on me for using one lousy parking space that’s rightfully mine to begin with.”

“Then I’d suggest you take it up with the city, Mr. Collier. My only job is to hear your case—the one about nineteen unpaid parking tickets—and render a guilty verdict…if you’re guilty,” she added hastily. “Which apparently you are, since you’ve admitted to your crime.”

“Crime?” Forgetting the yellow line, Mike crossed over it and started to amble toward her desk. One step, two steps. Taunting…taunting. “Come on, Lilly. Give me a break here.” Three steps, four. Taunting…taunting. “Don’t let a couple of tickets…” Five steps, six steps. Taunting…tempting, er, taunting.

Lilly banged the gavel so hard on its wooden block it woke the old man snoozing in the back corner of the room, who jolted up out of his seat bug-eyed and sputtering, “I didn’t do it!” Then, seeing that it wasn’t his turn in front of the judge, he sank back into his chair and shut his eyes to try and catch the remains of his nap.

“Get back, Mr. Collier,” Lilly ordered, pointing to the line. She watched him take a good, hard look at his thirty-six-inch encroachment into the wrong side of “authorized” turf, then dig his heels in, so to speak. That little act of Michael Collier defiance made her want to dig a little something into him—maybe her heels, maybe a nice sharp jail sentence. “And add another two hundred dollars to the court’s tab while you’re at it,” she stated, raising her eyebrows in distinct nonchalance even though they didn’t show above the black rims of her oversize glasses.

But Mike didn’t budge. Didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. None of that. He simply reached deep into his bag of play-acting pretexts, the ones she’d seen him use so many times before, and came up with a colorful palette of supplication and woe. “Fair’s fair, Your Honor, and what the city’s doing to me isn’t fair. I’m just a hardworking businessman trying to run my business. I’m not asking for special favors or unjustified consideration here—just what’s mine…my right to park in my parking spot. That’s all.” He twisted around, playing to the crowd. “How would these good folk like to go to work one day and find a No Parking sign at their place of employment? Or better yet, in their driveway when they get home? It’s the same thing, Your Honor. I work there, I live there. I just can’t park there.”

As if on cue, a low rumble of agreement ran through the crowd. Solidarity with the masses. He’d claimed the public support, something he was so good at, Lilly recalled. Then he turned back to her, still supplicating and woeful, but with a smidge of martyred-for-the-cause now plastered on his face, and continued, “I’m a busy man, Judge. Making me run half way through town to get my car is a travesty of justice.” Then the cool, calculated grin sneaked back as a nod of agreement rippled through the crowd like the wave at a football game. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

Was he baiting her? she wondered. If anyone knew how to bait, it was Mike Collier. Or maybe he thought she’d simply throw this case out on account of their sleeping together a time or two or ten had earned him the special privileges he claimed he didn’t want. But boy, was he wrong about that one. If anything, her big ol’ blunder in judgment way back when earned him the judge’s fullest contempt. “I said get back, Mr. Collier,” she repeated, still trying to sound professional, not reactionary—which she was, right down to her phalanges, when it came to all matters with Mike Collier. Had been for years, and nothing, not even having him in her courtroom, was going to change that. But he wasn’t going to see it. Neither was the crowd. Amazing what the black robe hid. And didn’t hide, she thought, glaring at him.

“You know it isn’t fair, Your Honor,” Mike continued, unfazed by her warning. “And I’m betting you’d be pretty angry if they took away your parking spot and you had to walk a block to get to work.”

Actually, she did walk a block to work because there were no parking spots left in the municipal lot. The janitors had spots, the cafeteria attendants had spots, but not the traffic court judge, and she was obliged to pay that sixty bucks a month Mike didn’t want to pay, and park in the very same public parking lot Mike was complaining about. “Get back,” she exclaimed, banging her gavel again. “This is the last time I’m warning you, sir. Stand back or face the consequences.” Well, maybe not a cold, hard iceberg, but a big chunk of cold, hard cash.

Mike did quit speaking in that instant, but he held his ground. Folding his arms resolutely across his chest, he stayed on Lilly’s side of the yellow line, still smiling at her. And she knew that smile. Oh, how she knew that smile. It was a cross between something downright pigheaded and a testy I double-dare you. And she’d been on the receiving end of it more than once—never emerging a victor from the war, though. Of course, that was then, and this was today. And today was beginning to feel so good all of a sudden. In fact, this might just turn out to be the best day she’d had in any Mike Collier dealings outside the bedroom…the garage…that one time on the roof.…

Suddenly, the smile was all Lilly’s. “And as of right now, your tally comes to $1,350, Mr. Collier. Payable by cash, check or money order to the court clerk on your way out the door.”

Mike leveled his sparkling blue eyes on Lilly’s jade-greens and shook his head. “Like I said before, it’s a matter of principle, Your Honor. I’m the one who’s been wronged here. Besides, I’m broke. Couldn’t pay the fine even if I wanted to, which I don’t.” To prove his point, he turned his front pants pockets inside out, then shrugged. “See? Nothing there. Not even enough money to plug the meter outside, which means you’ll probably be adding another parking ticket to the official complaint, and I can’t afford to pay that one, either.”

And you think this is a game. Well, Mike, Lilly’s not the same old Lilly you used to know and she’s not backing down. “I’m only the judge here, Mr. Collier. Sworn to do my duty and uphold the law. And I find that you’re guilty of breaking the no-parking law—nineteen times. If you want to challenge that law, then be my guest. Challenge away. But this isn’t the time or place, and you don’t get a free pass out of my court because you think your matter of principle exempts you from anything. It doesn’t, sir. Neither does being broke. The fact remains that the area in front of your office is designated as a no-parking zone and you have continued to park there regardless. You chose to take the risk and you got caught, so you pay. That’s the law as it stands, and my verdict, accordingly. Now, step back or the bailiff will assist you over to the defendant’s podium. Then, as I said before, see the clerk about settling your account with the court. And we do accept weekly payments because—” she cast him a victorious smile “—we aim to please.”

For an instant Mike looked stricken—well, almost. For him it was stricken, and that was the biggest victory. Overall, Lilly was satisfied with the patience she was exercising in his case. God knows, he didn’t deserve it, but she wasn’t about to let him see how much she wanted to just hurl the gavel at him and do some good old cathartic screaming. But that’s what he expected from her, wanted from her, was trying to goad her into. And actually, that’s what she’d done on account of him a time or two, pretty much without reaction from him. But now, that little flinch of chagrin she evoked, the one she saw for just that split second…it was all the reaction she needed. Lilly—one. Mike—zero.

Mike hadn’t changed, she thought, waiting for him to actually step back, which he wasn’t doing with any great haste. Hadn’t changed in attitude, or in physical appearance, either. Tall, nice muscles, over-the-collar sandy-brown hair, a little shaggy and mussed…Her mind drifted to the tattoo and she shook her head to clear away the image. How long had it been? A year since the last time they’d met? Five years since the first time? And look at him now. Just standing there, holding his ground as if he owns the court, as if there hasn’t been a lot of water under our bridge. A positive deluge! Stifling an impatient sigh, Lilly toughened her stare. She didn’t need another go-round with Mike Collier. The first time should have been enough to teach her to stay away, and the second time absolutely did. And now, today—right here—she wasn’t going to be affected by him, not in the least. Cold, leery, impervious…she was counting the ways she’d promised herself she’d greet Mike should they ever cross paths again. In addition, every single one of those resolutions bottom lined at no way, no how, and the sooner she got him out of her courtroom, the sooner no way, no how could get back on track, because it sure as hell was fighting to slip.

So keeping with her own personal decree, Lilly lowered her glasses, then frowned over the top of them at him. No mistaking her frown, she thought. Even Mike wouldn’t misconstrue the meaning. “Get out of here now, Mr. Collier. Last warning. You’re wasting the court’s time.” Her time, too. But it was so good to hide behind the power of the court.

“Like I said, I won’t pay it,” he said, shrugging indifferently. “And I want to appeal your decision.”

“Appeal a parking ticket? Nobody appeals parking tickets, especially after they’ve already admitted guilt,” she remarked, tilting her head down just a little farther so her stare over the top of her glasses was even more pronounced. She didn’t need them, not even for reading. Clear glass all the way. She sure liked their effect, though. Thought they gave her a bit of an austere look—black glasses, black robe, black gavel…red hair. And that was the problem. Hair red and wild—barely tameable even when pulled into a knot at the back of her neck—plus that splash of freckles across her nose…Definitely not the image of a judge, at least not the image she had of one, so she did what she could to achieve the stern judicial look, including the monster-size glasses.

“So let’s get this straight, Your Honor. You’re denying me my legal rights?” Mike raised his head and looked down his nose at her. “Is that what you’re doing? Taking away my inalienable rights?”

“Inalienable rights, Mr. Collier, have nothing to do with your parking tickets.” Lilly took her eyes off Mike long enough to nod at her bailiff, Pete Walker, a small, near-retirement-age man who was simply serving out his last year of employment in an easy, low-profile job. Leaning on the wall under the exit sign, Pete moved his hand immediately to his gun holster, unsnapping it. Seeing that he was ready, Lilly continued her ocular duel with Mike, her over-the-rim glare meeting his down-the-nose stare. “There are other people here, waiting their turn to be heard, you know. Plus, you’re getting on my nerves. So I’m giving you thirty seconds to comply.” She raised her arm, looked at her wristwatch and started counting down the seconds. “Which I believe is generous, under the circumstances.” Better than you deserve.

“Thirty seconds, then what, Your Honor?”

She smiled at him—a practiced, patient smile that gave away nothing. Then she glanced at her watch again. “Twenty seconds.”

Mike merely stared back.

“Ten seconds, Mr. Collier.”

And he kept on staring.

“Five.”

Then he started to tap his right foot…a slow, meticulous rhythm that didn’t break its meter by a fraction.

Finally, bingo! “Pete…” Lilly said, waving him over.

Lilly’s call to her bailiff hushed the crowd, and Pete Walker snapped to attention, pulling the handcuffs from his belt. He studied them for a second since, in his nine months as bailiff, this was the first time they’d ever been off his belt. When he was satisfied that he remembered how to use them, he marched straight to Mike, each and every one of his footsteps clicking in sharp military precision on the floor. “You have the right to remain silent,” he said on approach.

“Lilly, you’ve got to be kidding,” Mike exclaimed, seeming genuinely surprised. “You’re not really going to do this to me, are you?”

“This is Friday, Mr. Collier. Consider yourself a guest of the city jail until Monday morning at nine, at which time we’ll resume this conversation. And maybe by then you’ll be persuaded to see it my way. Not that you really have a choice, because it is my way in my courtroom—such as it is. And that fine…let’s say we make it an even two thousand just on account of—” Lilly removed her glasses and looked directly at him “—I can.” Then she put them back on.

“Honest to God, I really think you’d do it, wouldn’t you?” Mike exclaimed. “You’d really throw me in jail. Over parking tickets. Come on, Lilly, give me a break here.”

“Please turn around and hold your hands behind your back, Mr. Collier,” Pete instructed, his voice on the verge of quivering, since this was, after all, the first time he’d ever arrested anyone. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and if you can’t afford one…” Mike, at six foot three inches, towered over Pete by a head and a half as he submitted to the man’s cuffs. And Pete, whose hands were shaking, fumbled with the latch until the cuffs slipped from his grip and hit the floor. A congenial-looking seventyish woman, decked in floral capri pants and a white straw hat, picked up the cuffs and winked when she handed them back to Pete.

“You do know that I own the newspaper, don’t you?” Mike asked, spinning back around to face Lilly. His hands still behind him, he inched forward to allow Pete sufficient room to continue the protracted cuffing ordeal.

“Boy, do I know,” she snapped. “And I certainly hope that’s not intended as a threat, because if it is…if you intend to use the power of the press to—”

“A news item, Your Honor,” Mike interrupted, a thin edge of anger finally sounding in his voice. “Not a threat.”

It never was a threat, she recalled. Her last year of law school, she had been at the top of her class with some great career prospects lining up for her future. Mike was working on his postgraduate degree at the time, teaching at the university and overseeing the campus paper. And she’d made that ominous mistake of kicking their relationship up a few notches. A whopper, in retrospect, and she really had liked him back then. Maybe even a little more than like…and after one great week of their relationship kicking into even newer and better notches every single day, he’d gone and written an article proclaiming a campus plagiarism epidemic. Names were named. Hers was at the top of the list—Mike’s list.

Sure, she had purchased a plagiarized paper, but she was writing a thesis on how easy the process was, with an emphasis on the legal implications. But Mike Collier, superjournalist in his own bent estimation, hadn’t asked her any questions about it. He’d simply snooped for his scoop in her research notes because, of all the dumb things, she’d trusted him! Meaning she didn’t bother hiding her research from him before they adjourned to the boudoir, silly Lilly. And that on the day they’d achieved the most unbelievable notch ever. Of course, Mike’s discovery netted him a front page splash, not only in the school paper, but the real newspaper as well. The result—she was expelled from law school. One tidy, speedy, out the door and don’t come back.