Lavon went on, telling James what he had done. “So, James, that white boy be drivin' a new Lincoln, and like I said, Yolanda want that ride real bad. So, I stop to help--so maybe I take that fine automobile. That boy start givin’ me shit so I whack him in the face with the tire iron. Had to change that fuckin’ tire mysef. Had Yolanda drive my car and I takes off in my new wheels.” 

“A Lincoln? That be a sweet ride. Know what I’m sayin’?”

“Real nice ride.”

Barnett, although disgusted by the James' apathetic detachment from Lavon's vicious crime, remained intrigued. He intently listened, oblivious to the hard stare coming from Chico, still standing in the corner of the cell.

"Lavon, what happen to Yolanda?"

"Shit, I don't know. That bitch took my car and I ain't seen her since. She probably be down in Dayton with my homies."

James spoke. "So the man got you in the squeeze, Lavon. That charge you got be some serious shit." 

“Very serious shit. I be charged with assault with a deadly weapon and and grand theft auto. I be prayin’ to the Lord  that white boy be livin’ or I be in real deep—maybe manslaughter.” 

“Manslaughter my ass! You be lookin’ at homicide, James. You best be prayin’ he be okay, nigger!”

David was shocked by their frank conversation, which the other prisoners seemed to ignore. They’ve likely heard it all before--that or worse.

“James, I think I be okay. I spect that boy gonna be fine. Shit, I didn’t whack him hard.”

“Either way, Lavon, you lookin’ at five minimum.”

"Come on, James. You know me. Shit, I do a nickel standin’ on my head.”

“Yeah, I did three when I was fifteen. Low security. It weren’t bad.  Played hoops everyday; got work in the laundry. Food weren’t bad neither. But Lavon, doin’ five in the real joint, high security, ain’t gonna be no good, man.”

“I ain’t worried.”

"Why you not in the place in Dayton? Why you up here?"

"The man transfer me here. He say I got an outstandin' warrant in Toledo. I know nothin' 'bout that. But they send me back here."

Barnett couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Lavon is expecting five years in prison and talking like it would be a picnic. Unbelievable. 

The gate opened. Two guards, holding long lengths of steel chain, stood in the hall. “Come on out, gentlemen. Line up against the wall. You know the routine.”

Everyone put their back to the wall as the guards bound them. Each man received a chain around his waist, shackles on both wrists, and a short chain linking their ankles. Their wrists were pinned at their sides, locked to their manacled waist. A third guard separated the inmates into groups of six. A long chain was snaked through a steel ring at the front of each man’s waist, making two lines, six men each, joined in sequence.

David was astounded. I don’t get it. We’re bound together like a bunch of murdering psychopaths. This is ridiculous.

The prisoners were directed to a pair of vans parked outside. David had to take quick short steps to keep from tripping over the guy in front of him, while pulling on the one behind. The group looked like two orange caterpillars crawling out of jail.

Arranging six prisoners, chained together, in the back of a minivan was no easy task. Thankfully the ride to Sylvania Court was quick and quiet. Exiting the van was a another challenge. The leg restraints were too short to allow stepping to the pavement. Each man had to jump to the ground without dragging the one behind with him. The last in line lost his balance, falling into the arms of a guard.

The naer-do-wells shuffled across the parking lot and entered the court house. A guard led them into the court room. For convenience, they were seated in the empty jury box. David saw ten to fifteen people scattered around the court’s seating area. Thankfully, he recognized no one. Sylvania court was in his home community. Being seen by a friend or patient would have been disastrous.

He looked to the back of the room, hoping to see Jacobs. Allen was there. He gave a quick wave. David tried to wave back, forgetting his wrists were bound. He smiled.

The bailiff approached, removed the shackles and chain, and returned to his position next to the judge’s desk. Judge Scott appeared. It was a quarter past eight.

“All rise. The Municipal Court of Sylvania is now in session. His honor, Judge Patrick Scott, presiding.”

Jacobs had arranged for David to be called first. The bailiff escorted the doctor to a table in front of the judge’s bench. Jacobs walked forward and took a seat next to Barnett. He placed his hand on David’s shoulder and quietly spoke.

“Everything looks good, Dave. Don’t worry.”

The judge announced the charge. “David Barnett, domestic violence.”

The attorney asked to approach the bench. He and the Judge Scott spoke briefly in private. He returned to the defendant’s table just as the judge addressed Barnett. David stood up.
“Dr. Barnett, I hope your weekend stay has given you time for reflection and cause for restraint.”

A shout came from across the room. “Nail his sorry ass, Judge!” Chico was standing in the jury box.

The judge slammed his gavel down. “Bailiff, have the guards remove that man from this court room!” 

Jacobs leaned to David's ear. "Make a new friend in jail, David?" 

Barnett smiled and whispered. "I'll tell you about it later. "

Scott looked back to the defendant. “As I was saying, Doctor, I trust you’ve learned something during your time in jail.”

“Yes, your honor, I have.”

 

“Mr. Jacobs has explained your circumstances. Fortunately for you, I intend to be lenient. The charge of domestic violence is hereby suspended for one year. However, you will be placed on a one year probation with parole requirements. Any further violations, even being near Mrs. Barnett's residence, will result in your arrest and reinstatement of the domestic violence charge. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“I sympathetize with your predicament and appreciate the emotional strain you’re under. However, as you may be aware, domestic violence has become a national issue. This court will not be tolerant of repeat DV offenders.”

“I understand, your honor. Thank you.”

The next case was called. As David was escorted back to the jury box, it dawned on him that he wouldn’t be released until all twelve cases were heard. Furthermore, he’d have to be taken back to the jail house to retrieve his belongings. This is gonna take hours. He asked the bailiff for permission to speak with his attorney and turned to  Jacobs. "Allen, can we talk for a second?”

“Sure.” Jacob's  had the bailiff accompany Barnett to the rear of the room.

“Allen, I’ve got a full schedule in the office today. I’m supposed to be there at nine o’clock.”

Allen glanced at his watch. “It’s ten till nine now. By the time you’re discharged from downtown it will be noon or later.”

“That’s what I figured. Could you make a call for me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Please call my office manager, Peggy, at 555-3543.” Allen wrote the number on his legal pad.

“Do you want me to tell her where you are?” 

"You’ll have to. My car’s been impounded. I want her to pick me up at the jail. I’ve known Peggy for years. She’ll keep it in confidence. Please tell her I’ll try to get there by one o’clock or soon after. She’ll have to ask this morning’s patients to wait, come back in the afternoon, or reschedule for later this week.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Tell her I’ll call when I need a ride.” 

“I will. David, I’m concerned about you. I’m afraid your drinking is gonna get you in trouble again.”

The remark embarrassed Barnett. He blushed. “Yeah, I understand. I know I have to quit.”

Jacobs looked dubious. “What do you think of going to a rehab center for a few weeks? Actually, a month—a twenty-eight day program.”

David was stunned. Rehabilitation, he thought. Am I that bad? He thinks I’m an alcoholic. “Allen, are you serious?”

“Very serious. I think you’ve got a problem.”

Barnett was silent.

“It’s only four weeks, Dave."

“A month! I’d have to take a month off work. It’s impossible. I’ve got hundreds of patients scheduled and my partners would have to pick up the slack. I’d have to explain it to my entire office staff. I can’t do it, Allen.”

The attroney backed off. “Okay. But please keep it in mind. Give it some consideration. It would be great if you quit drinking. I think it would make a tremendous change in your life. But, if you can’t . . . .”

Barnett interjected. “I know, I know. I’ll consider it. I’ll even leave work for awhile if I have to. But I’d rather do it on my own.”

“Alright. Just remember, I’m on your side. I’m here to help any way I can. I want you to call if you need to talk. Anytime, twenty-four hours a day!”

“I’ll call if it's necessary, Allen. I mean it."

“Good luck, David. Stay away from the booze, buddy. Also, stay away from your wife.”

“Definitely.”

“Call me in a few days with a progress report.”

“Okay, Allen. Thanks for your help.”