Afternoon Delight - By Mia Zachary Page 0,1

pushed away from the desk and stood up, brushing a hand over her chignon, and reached for the black robe hanging on her coat rack. Squaring her shoulders, she mentally prepared herself to tilt at some windmills and try to turn a few tides.

“VISITATION IS HEREBY revoked pending the Defendant’s completion of both anger management and substance abuse programs. Mrs. Landis will continue to have full custody of the children.”

“You can’t do this! You can’t take my kids away from me!”

“I just did, Mr. Landis.” Rei spoke sharply and frowned at the alcoholic who thought it was okay to strike his sons with a beer bottle. “We’ll reexamine this matter in three months. But for now, we’re done here.”

“I’m their father and I can damn well discipline my boys when they need it. You’re not taking my kids!”

Gathering the case files off the bench, Rei briefly glanced at Landis while a bailiff forcibly removed him from the courtroom. He didn’t deserve those kids. Or more to the point, those kids didn’t deserve him. Ignoring the empty threats echoing from the hall, she called the next case, Cannon v. Ogilvy.

“Mr. Willette, am I reading this file correctly?” Rei shot a baleful look at the young attorney standing before her. “You’re bringing charges of stalking and harassment?”

“That’s right, Your Honor. My client, Cindy Cannon, told her parents that James Ogilvy has been following her around and won’t leave her alone.”

“Your client is six years old, Mr. Willette, and so is the Defendant.” She scowled at the child’s mother. “I can’t believe you’re wasting the Court’s time with this.”

Mrs. Cannon, a prissy brunette with rigid features, stood up and wrung her hands. “Cindy talks about this boy all the time. She says he trails after her on the playground, tries to sit next to her at lunch and hides notes in her book bag.”

“That would be exhibits one through five, Your Honor.”

Rei held up the multi-colored sheets of construction paper. “You mean these crayon drawings of hearts and smiley faces, Mr. Willette?”

Defense counsel stood as well, but Rei held up one palm before she could speak. “Don’t bother, Ms. Schaefer. I’m on it.

She slid the “love letters” back into the file and shut it with a snap. “What we have here, people, is a case of very innocent, very normal, puppy love between elementary school children. Nothing more. Mrs. Cannon, I’m sure there are plenty of women at St. Francis Hospital who could clue you in about what stalking really is. I suggest you get a grip on reality. Case dismissed. What’s next?”

“Good afternoon, Commissioner Davis. Frank Dowd, Assistant State’s Attorney.” He smoothed his tie. “Bruce Grayson is accused of viciously beating an elderly storeowner during the course of an attempted robbery.”

Rei glanced over at the child slouched in a chair beside his lawyer. Bruce still had the chubby-faced appearance of a young boy, but his sullen expression and ancient eyes told another, too familiar story. Did happy childhoods only exist in movies and wishful thinking anymore?

“Jeffrey Bates for the Defense, Your Honor. Bruce is only twelve years old. He comes from a broken home, has been in and out of foster care—”

Dowd interrupted. “Yeah, yeah, we all know the heart-breaking story.”

Rei tapped her gavel. “Watch it, counselor.”

“Sorry, Your Honor. But due to the severity of Mr. Patterson’s injuries, as well as Mr. Grayson’s priors, the State feels he should be tried as an adult.”

“Incarceration in an adult facility will only turn Bruce into a hardened criminal.” Bates held up a file. “Our psych eval—”

This time Rei interrupted him. “Hold it, gentlemen. This is going to take longer than we have.” Thursday was one of the two days reserved for short cause matters—the cases had to be heard in less than twenty minutes—and Fridays were reserved for adoptions. She looked over at her clerk. “We’ll reconvene…”

“Monday at nine thirty,” Mary Alice interjected.

“Monday at nine thirty. Thank you, until then.”

Rei felt a tug in her gut as she watched the boy swagger out of the courtroom, shoulders squared and expression unrepentant. The postponement meant a few more nights in juvenile hall, but she had to have time to study his record and evaluations and hear all the facts surrounding the case.

At best he’d spend the next six years in a California Youth Authority camp. At worst he would only be in CYA until he turned sixteen then be sent to the Department of Corrections. She hoped she could find a spark of redemption in