Yeah. Lucky should be there. “I’ll go.”
Bo lowered his voice. “Are you sure?”
No need to think twice. “Yes.”
“Good. We’ll need to leave within the next ten minutes. It’s Monday, so they’ll likely have a packed courtroom.”
The better for Lucky to fade into the woodwork.
He sat in the back of Walter’s Suburban, sipping from a Starbucks cup, with Bo at the wheel. Reminded Lucky of the day he’d met a wet-behind-the-ears rookie who’d gotten on his last nerve.
Then, they’d all worn suits to meet with a pharma company’s executives. Today, they’d witness justice for betrayal.
Maybe. A whole lot could still go wrong.
Crowds forced them to park away from the courthouse and walk. Nice day, though. Of course, even a stormy day would have been a nice day to see O’Donoghue get his comeuppance.
At least two dozen people gathered on the courthouse steps. Out of habit, Lucky trailed Walter. With his towering height and the determined look on his face, folks cleared a path. Lucky rode along in the man’s wake, followed by Bo.
They found seats near the back. Nothing happening yet. Still a few more minutes until start time, though the judge had already taken position at the front.
One by one, defendants stood before the judge to hear the charges against them and enter their plea. About two hours in, the bailiff called Jameson Paul O’Donoghue.
No court-appointed attorney for him. The lawyer with O’Donoghue wore a suit worth more than Lucky made in a month.
Murder. Murder for hire. Obstruction of justice. Attempted murder. Extortion. On and on. Hell, and Lucky thought he’d been bad with trafficking.
He held his breath, waiting for the plea.
“Not guilty, Your Honor.”
Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck. The case would go to trial. Cost taxpayer’s money. In the end, O’Donoghue only borrowed time.
The judge might as well have been a choir of angels when he said, “Bail denied.”
So, no chance for the rat to run.
Lucky’d seen what he came for. “I’m heading out. What about y’all?”
“I’ve got another two cases first,” Bo said.
“There’s a coffee shop down the road, text when you’re ready.” Coffee, and the knowledge O’Donoghue wouldn’t go anywhere, somewhat made up for Monday.
Lucky exited the courtroom and lingered near the door.
Soon O’Donoghue emerged with his high-powered attorney, escorted by two officers from Atlanta PD. Prison orange suited the asshole.
Lucky wove his way through the somewhat thinner crowd. He’d never admit to Bo how much being in a courtroom unnerved him. Memories came back: him standing before a judge with his court-appointed attorney, looking around and finding no one in his corner since Charlotte wasn’t there yet.
She’d sat in the courtroom every day of his trial.
He’d ordered her away. She’d probably have visited him every weekend in prison, putting her own life on hold, dragging her sons with her, selling her house to be closer.
No kind of life for them. He’d hurt her. She’d wanted to be there. Deserved to be there, if she really wanted to be.
He’d made one hell of a lot of mistakes in his life. Yet Charlotte stood by him. Walter. Bo.
A crowd of people milled around him, waiting to cross the street. The light turned green. He’d made his way halfway across the crosswalk when he heard the shot.