The World According to Vince - Jane Harvey-Berrick Page 0,8

of my scariest college professor, and I automatically straightened my spine when her sweeping gaze paused on me and she gave a small frown over her glasses.

Was it the suit? The briefcase? Or the fact that she didn’t recognize me as one of the defense attorneys? I scanned my notes again although I could have repeated them verbatim by now.

She read through the docket, and I knew I could have a long wait because Vince was third on the list. In fact, the judge was pretty darn fast. Was that a good thing?

The first case was a repeat DUI who was seven times over the limit.

Fascinating factoid: the record for blood-alcohol-content is 32 times over the limit, which was achieved by a sheep rustler in South Africa. He was caught driving a Mercedes, and his passengers included a woman, five boys and 15 sheep.

Mr. Seven-times-over-the-limit frowned at the usher who was helping him cross the courtroom. I wasn’t even sure how he’d been able to stand with that much alcohol in him, let alone drive. He didn’t seem entirely sober now.

Bail was requested and refused.

The second case was a woman who’d been caught dealing meth—also a repeat offense.

Bail was requested and refused.

I shut down any expression on my face and glanced toward the door where Vince was being brought into the courtroom in handcuffs by the Deputy Sheriff.

He wore an orange jumpsuit and prison sandals, but his height and handsome face made him stand apart. The stubble on his face looked deliberate and just added to the raw glamor.

He saw Rick first and gave him a wide smile and a double-thumbs up, then noticed me and winked. The judge saw it too, and raised her eyebrows.

I wanted to slap the smile right off of Vince’s face.

“The State of New York versus Vincent Alexander Azzo on the charge of burglary and larceny,” said Judge Herschel.

“Yeah, but they was only little bugs,” Vince said seriously.

“Bugs?” the judge said, glancing up and frowning. “You stole bugs?”

“Ah, I’m Mr. Azzo’s attorney,” I interrupted, leaping to my feet.

“Then please restrain the defendant,” said Judge Herschel.

“I would if I had a muzzle,” I muttered to myself.

“Do you have something to say, Counselor?” the judge asked in a warning tone.

“No, your Honor. My apology.” My client makes me crazy.

Vince was asked to confirm his name, date of birth and address, agreeing that he’d only lived at his present residence a month. I knew this was a demerit in the judge’s eyes.

The judge then read the charge sheet, making the same astonished face that everyone had so far, while the prosecutor hunched in his chair, clearly uninterested.

“The defendant attempted to steal seventeen dogs? By himself? On foot?”

“An attempt to re-home dogs from an animal shelter that the defendant now recognizes was ill advised,” I said firmly.

“You see the thing is, M’Lud,” Vince interrupted. “Three of them was about to be murdered and I couldn’t walk past and not do nothing. I’ll look after them and…”

“Mr. Azzo,” the judge said sharply. “Do you wear spectacles?”

“Um, no, M’Lud,” Vince said earnestly. “Perfect 20/20 vision, me.”

“Then you may have noticed the woman standing in front of you who claims to be your attorney?”

“Yes!” Vince said happily. “That’s Gracie. She’s me mate!”

From the corner of my twitching eye I saw Rick drop his head into his hands. He looked like he had a headache. I know I did.

The judge threw Vince a frosty, unamused look.

“She’s paid to talk for you. I strongly suggest you let her.”

“Ah, gotcha! Shut up, Vin!” he laughed good-naturedly.

The prosecutor handling the whole docket had finally woken up and was gaping at the show going on in front of him.

“Counselor, please approach the bench,” Judge Herschel said to me.

Feeling trepidation to the soles of my stylish shoes, I walked up to stand in front of her so she could address me privately.

“Is the defendant mentally competent to understand the arraignment and plea process, Ms. Cooper?” she asked in a clipped tone.

Oh, so many ways to answer that question.

I sighed heavily. “Yes, your Honor—he’s just … different. And British.”

“Not another word from him or contempt of court will be added to his charge sheet. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your Honor.”

“Can you make the defendant understand?”

I nodded firmly, trying to look competent, confident and professional.

“Hmm,” she said, her gimlet gaze making me want to squirm like a bug under a microscope.

I approached Vince at the podium and leaned forwards. He smelled surprisingly good after a night in the cells. Maybe it