Trial of the Century
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Trial Of The Century - Part II free porn video
H. Bart Darrow, II was the last to enter the crowded, wenge wood veneer paneled judge’s chambers. The tropical tree, rich in color & native to West Africa, was chosen by an interior designer hired by the State in consultation with Jeanne Albritton. He took a seat on a navy blue upholstered French-style chair beside Judge Albritton’s desk. On one side, Chancellor Griffiths and the paralegal were seated. The 28 year-old staff attorney had not taken the time to commit her name to memory. ‘Amisha, Anisha, or maybe Keisha. Something like that,’ he thought. Terrill Goode was a redwood tree standing behind them. Theresa West and her second chair, Jessica, were huddled together. And, the occupant of the office was leaning forward on a leather wingback chair.
Noticeably absent was the court reporter & the D.A. This pow-wow was off-the-record and teetering very close to a violation of judicial conduct & ethics. On Bart’s advice and recommendation, Judge Albritton was calling it a ‘round table’ to avoid any comparison or resemblance to a pretrial conference.
The officiant cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming! I called you here so we could just hash out a few items without the buzzing and humming of third parties. I’d like to have y’all submit some dates of earliest convenience to begin trial. Also, I just want to check if there’s any chance the People and the defense can reach a plea.”
“No way, Your Honor! The People have no legitimate case against my client,” protested Terrill. “Unless they decide to dismiss…”
“Whoa there, counselor. No need for the theatrics. There’s no one else here. I’m just asking. Ms. West?”
“As you’re aware, we offered a deal to the defense which they have rejected. We’re leaving it on the table until voir dire,” Theresa stated matter-of-factly. “The People have no desire for a long drawn out circus.”
“Neither does the Court,” the judge agreed.
“Nor do we,” the chancellor added. “But we are eager to prove the innocence of our client.”
“Right! Dismissed with prejudice is all we’ll take,” Terrill proffered leaning against the wall.
“Moving on,” the jude said. “Is counsel aware of any desire on the part of the defendant to waive the right to a jury.”
“No, Your Honor,” the criminal defense lawyer replied.
“That’s fine. He’s still got a little more than 30 days to make it known. I’d suggest getting a feel for his thoughts. Just so we can sorta plan out a timeline. You know?”
Bart cringed internally while maintaining a serene facial expression.
Theresa piped up. “Your Honor, should we really be encouraging that? The People would have to consent and research to determine our position may cause delays.”
“The People are not required to wait for the waiver request to begin research, right?”
“No,” she wanted to wring his neck. “The People will anticipate multiple scenarios. But, please remember we don’t have unlimited resources.”
“Noted, counselor. I promise I just want to make this go smoothly. Are there any other motions either side is looking to file?”
“Right now. No,” Terrill said.
“The People do not at this time,” Theresa concurred.
“Well, get me those potential dates and let’s get this thing teed up,” Judge Albritton wrapped it up.
The lawyers filed out of chambers.
Bart remained. “Good job, judge,” he brown-nosed.
“Thanks,” Henry was hesitant. “Do you think Goode and team will ask for a bench trial?”
“I kinda doubt it, Your Honor. I think he wants the theatre of it all.”
“Probably,” he sighed. “I’m not sure I even want to make the finding of fact.”
“However it plays out, you’ll be remembered for running this trial expertly.”
“Hopefully. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Bart took his cue to exit. He went to his desk and texted his wife a fortune cookie emoji with a question mark. She wrote back telling him to get her beef & vegetable lo mein. He called in the order for pick up. He headed out to his black 2014 Toyota Tacoma pickup truck.
Theresa West noshed on almonds and string cheese as she sat across the table from her associate. “Want some,” she asked.
“I’m good,” the white lady replied. “What’d you think of that meeting?”
“I mean I get where the judge is coming from, but he’s certainly taking a risk hoping none of us complains.”
“Maybe that’s what he wants.”
“How do you mean?”
“Like this is an unholy mess with Terrill Goode and the press conferences and the habeas corpus briefs. Maybe he wishes he had recused himself and this is a way out.”
“I never thought about that,” the senior considered. “I get the feeling he wants to retire in peace with no blemish to his record. So, I’m not sure why he did it.”
“Apply pressure to the defense. Trip them up. Get them eager to accept a plea.”
“Who knows.”
“Do you think the defense would prefer a bench trial?”
“I’ve known Terrill for a long time. He prefers the court of public opinion. A jury gives him a stage and the pageantry he needs to live.”
They laughed.
“Let’s get someone to start drafting our position just in case though,” Theresa directed.
“On it, chief!”
“None of that was Albritton. It has the pip squeak Darrow written all over it,” scowled Chancellor Griffiths.
“I tend to agree,” Terrill said.
“It was rather strange,” Eleasha added.
Jimmy went on, “You’re damn right it was. What’s he up to? He knows there’s no proof beyond a reasonable doubt. We’ve got the cop who we’ve confirmed had a known relationship with the victim and was at her residence hours before the time of death. Albritton must not want a jury trial. It doesn’t want a hung jury and retrial. I wouldn’t. I just don’t see him wanting to decide guilt or innocence on his own.”
“I’m baffled too,” Terrill shared.
“I’m telling you. It’s that eager beaver using this case to make a name for himself. He’s been a staff attorney for going on two years. He’s near the end of his appointment. He’s going to parlay this into a more lucrative position. Appellate level staff attorney, state or federal. I’d bet my life on it,” Griffith opined.
“Easy for you to say, old timer,” chuckled Terrill.
“I know,” he coughed as he belly laughed.
Bart had the food in hand and hopped back in his vehicle. The 4th graders his wife, Sarah, taught took their recess at 11:00 for 20 minutes then ate lunch from 11:25 to 11:55. The son of migrant workers was on target to arrive slightly before meal period commenced. People generally didn’t realize the American citizen had Mexican heritage.
Though his parents both had a warm tawny skin tone, dark eyes, and dark hair, his observable characteristics were much more European in appearance. Bart’s hair was a chestnut brown, but his eyes were hazel with flecks of green & gold, and his skin was medium cool in complexion with rose undertones. But, he did tan easily & evenly. Lots of folks assumed Italian or Iberian ancestry.
He was born, Hector Bartolo Robles, in south central Arkansas to Hector Robles and Noemi Garcia. Around the age of eight, he caught the attention of a retired teacher who occasionally employed his mother. She noticed his high aptitude and wished to encourage his academic development. The woman named Virginia Boland never married and had been forced to put up her biracial c***d for adoption by her parents.
In the house where she was raised, Ms. Boland lived with and took care of her father, a retired lawyer & judge. He too took a shining to young Bart. The Bolands offered to take in Bart as guardians when Hector and Noemi made their next move. They paid the tuition and sent him to a private academy - a holdover from early-era integration when whites founded the schools to keep their c***dren away from Blacks effectively creating de facto segregation.
Bart’s siblings continued traveling with their parents during the harvest and planting seasons. His identify became more and more closely aligned with the Bolands.
Bart graduated from high school and went to a prestigious liberal arts college in this state. He was active in the Interfraternity world and the Young Republicans. He’d always pronounced his surname as “ROH-buhls” as opposed to “Roh-BLAIZ”. In his junior year of undergrad he legally changed his name. He replaced ‘Hector’ with ‘H’, shortened ‘Bartolo’, and selected a new last name of Scottish origin that meant the same his one from birth - oak tree.
The new name gave him the obligatory initial and post-nominal suffix every law school applicant needed for success. He went to one of the private law schools, spent two years as a law clerk for Judge John T. Link, IV of the State Appeals Court, then took this position in the rural area because it was an opportunity to stay employed and close to the judicial system.
He arrived at the school and went to the office to get a visitor pass.
A paraprofessional staff member escorted him to the cafeteria. “How’s the case going,” the nosy woman pried.
“All I can say is it’s interesting.”
D.A. Toro was in the conference room leading a staff meeting. He looked down at his vibrating phone and saw an incoming call from his brother. He tapped the screen to send a message indicating he would call back later. One of his most junior subordinates was discussing a domestic v******e case he wasn’t sure how to handle. The D.A. spoke up, “I hear everything you’re saying. Don’t you think offering a plea to a lesser charge could work?”
“Miles,” the office manager barged into the room. “The sheriff needs you at the jail right now.”
The district attorney scurried away.
Miles drove the county-issued gold Chevy Tahoe. He placed a quick call to his brother, Marq.
“What’s up,” the man who was remarkably similar to Miles in physical appearance answered.
“You called. I’m calling you back.”
“Yeah, man! I was talking to Melody. She wants to throw Pops a surprise birthday party. Since you’re local we were wondering if you could take point.”
“I’d love to. I’ve got a lot going on with this trial.”
“I’ve heard. Mama’s been keeping me posted.”
“Uggghhhh,” Miles groaned.
“There’s not much you gotta do. Just tell Mel a good place to book and maybe recommend a caterer.”
“I’ll ask Kendra tonight.”
“Thanks, bro! I gotta run!”
Marq turned his attention back to the long-haired little Latin pussyboy underneath his desk. “Suck it, fag! Damn,” the small business owner moaned. “You gonna make me buy you those titties!”
“Oh pretty please, Daddy,” purred the sissy with the heart-shaped mouth. “You wanna fuck me before everybody gets back?”
“Hell yeah,” the former Airman grinned. “Sit on it!”
The boi maneuvered around and lowered himself onto the 8-inch pole. “Oh my god! It’s so big, papi!”
“Damn right, faggit! RIde this big Black Puerto RIcan cock!”
“I love it! I love how you fuck me!”
“Do you, boi? You wanna become my tranny girlfriend?”
“Yes, sir! Make me into a girl!”
“Oh I’m gonna!”
Marq was unworried about being caught. He was the president and founder of the company that provided commissary & cafeteria services to several city and county jails in the region along with a proprietary software program that other food service providers used to manage inventory and inmate accounts. There were just six employees working out of this office space. Everyone was at lunch except for him and the bottom.
Marq stood so that the slut was bent over the desk. He slammed into the sissy hard.
“Fuck me, papi,” whined the petite sassy dude.
“Oh yeah! You’re my fag bitch!”
“Si, papi! Fuck me! I love that big Black cock!”
“Unnnnnnnhhhhhh,” Marq grunted releasing his nut.
Theresa West was alerted via text. She was needed at the jail right away. She tore her second chair away from her research. The ladies headed out.
When they arrived, Terrill had just pulled up in his flashy Cadillac Escalade. Out poured Eleasha and Judge Griffiths.
“What in the holy,” Theresa started
Jessica, the assisting attorney interrupted her giggling. “You wanna put another buck in the swear jar?”.
“I just might have to hand you a blank check,” she fumed.
Terrill and his squad rushed inside.
Theresa took a deep breath and said, “Let’s go.”
All of this commotion was due to an ‘anonymous’ concerned citizen having placed a call to a parole officer. The person on the phone swore that one Billy Gray Johnston had been using and selling meth at a party the night before. This prompted the parole office to pop Billy Gray with a ‘random’ piss test. It came back positive.
Billy Gray knew exactly what this meant. A parole violation and being shipped back off the penitentiary to serve five more years. The 28 year-old had no desire to do that. He thought quickly and blurted out something that would change the trajectory of case of ‘People v. D’Clinton Lewis’.
“It coulda been my cousin Coy that killed that sissy boy,” Billy Gray offered in a hail mary attempt.
“What,” the obvious lezbo woman grunted.
“Coy Reynolds. I think he killed Rosie.”
“Are you serious? The cop?”
“Yeah!”
“Hang on!”
The criminal justice worker called the sheriff and had them pick up Billy Gray.
The deputies placed the offender under arrest and took him to the jail. Upon being put in the interrogation room, he said nothing. Except one statement. “Get me that nigger lawyer representin’ D’Clinton.”
“Is he your attorney,” asked the detective,
“Yeah! Call him and let me talk to him.”
Now, Terrill, Jimmy & Eleasha were piled into the cramped room with the quintessential redneck.
Billy Gray looked a mess. He was still in a stained faded black T-shirt, tattered Wrangler jeans. His shoulder-length ash-blond hair pulled back at the nape of his neck.
Despite his scruffy appearance, Eleasha could see that the blue-eyed man had nice features and probably talked the panties off women often. Not her of course. She wouldn’t sleep with him, but she had crossed the color line on a few occasions with preppier white guys.
Billy Gray said, “I’d like to hire you.”
“My fee is…”
“Name your price and get me a good deal. I’ve some information you’re gonna want.”
“Sign this,” Terrill pulled out a contract. “We’ll set the retainer at $500 retainer for now. Hourly rate is $150. Can you afford that?”
“Fine. Yeah! You get me outta here today and I’ll pay cash.”
The room was quiet for a moment.
Judge Jimmy Griffiths looked intently at Billy Gray. “Boy, I been knowing your family since your granddaddy was a boy. He was in school with my younger sister. You mean to tell us you got something that’ll change our case.”
“Yes, sir,” the detainee without making eye contact.
“Let us hear it,” Terrill boomed. “Don’t leave anything out.”
“Alright. Well, a few days ago, me and my cousin were grilling some steaks out at my place. We’d had a couple beers and he tells me that some P.I. came asking him about Rosie. Said some chick had seen his police cruiser at the trailer that night.”
“You mean Coy Reynolds, the cop, correct,” checked the lead attorney.
“Yep! His momma and my daddy is brother & sister. Anyway, he tells me the P.I. won’t let up. He admitted to hanging out with Rosie only in group settings. But he’d been scared Rosie might tell his fiancee what we’d done.”
“What had you done, son,” inquired the semi-retired lawyer.
“Late one night, Coy was ending his shift. He met me at Coop’s store. I wanted to go mud ridin’ in that truck I just got. He got in and Rosie was coming out of the store. We called her over and asked if she wanted to come along. She acted nervous, but she knew we were cool. We headed out. Then we parked. Smoked some weed. Drank some beer. And we did it.”
“Did what,” pressed Terrill.
“It,” stressed Billy Gray. “You know. IT,” he held up his hands and widened his eyes.
“Can you be more specific,” Eleasha asked. “No one is going to think any less of you. You may not know it, but the victim appears to have an active social life with many male companions.”
“Yeah! I know,” Billy Gray sat back and unfolded his arms. “She was kinda like a jailhouse whore, but prettier and cleaner. She liked it wild and she liked it often.”
“Liked what exactly,” Judge Griffiths inquired.
“We need you to be specific,” Eleasha pleaded with all of her feminine wiles. She puffed out her ample bosom.
“Sex. She liked suckin’ cock and gettin’ fucked,” the convicted felon exhaled. “We fucked her that night out in the field.”
“You and Coy,” quizzed Terrill.
“Both of us,” Billy Gray confirmed with a nod. “We spit roasted her.”
“Spit roasted,” the judge wondered.
“One of you at each end, right,” Eleasha clairied.
“Yeah,” Billy Ray sat up. He looked at them and lowered his voice. “Ever since then, Coy was all nervous that Rosie might when she was high. He was worried that his fiancee Paige would find out. He would say it’d be great if Rosie disappeared or left town for good. He even asked how much the going rate was in prison for a hit these days. He said it like a joke, but I think he was for real.”
Jimmy Griffiths shook his head slowly and willed himself to scribble on his legal pad.
Terrill asked, “Are you willing to testify to this in court? On the record?”
“If I ain’t gotta go back to prison, hell yeah!”
“Let me confer with my team. You wait here and don’t talk to anyone. We’ll see what kind of a deal we can get.”
“I’ll do some time in county or work release, but no more than a year. I ain’t goin’ back to the pen.”
“Give us a few minutes.”
Billy Gray waited patiently as his legal advisors discussed his future. While he had admitted the truth about that night, he hadn’t shared all the gory details.
The night had been muggy and overcast. The moon occasionally peeked from behind the dark clouds. ‘Singles You Up’ by Jordan Davis blasted out of the speakers of the dark blue 1990 Chevy K1500 pickup truck.
The 4WD was Billy Gray’s pride and joy. It sat atop a six-inch lift suspension kit with 20-inch gloss black finished rims and 33-inch Toyo MT tires.
The area around the truck was spotted with discarded beer cans from their drinking. Billy Gray was smoking a cigarette in between pulling on the joint with his cousin and Rosie.
“You know sumthin’,” he said.
“What,” Coy asked.
“I want my cock sucked.”
“By who?”
“Rosie,” he declared.
“You for real,” Coy checked in disbelief.
“Why not,” he reasoned. “If I was locked up I’d do it. And you’re hotter than most prison bitches.”
“Uhhh,..Thanks,” Rosie stuttered.
“I’ve never done nothing like that,” Coy admitted.
“Don’t knock it till you try it, brother,” Billy Ray pulled out his tool.
Rosie got on her knees and sucked it.
Something moved in Coy. Soon, he was stroking his 6½-inch prick. “Ummmmm,” he hesitated.
“C’mon bitch. Let my cuz get a taste,” Billy Gray had ordered.
The trap shuffled over and put Coy’s member in her mouth. She stroked Billy Gray’s 7-inch erection with her soft hands.
“How’s the head, bro?”
“Uhhhh! Damn,” Coy groaned.
“I know! She’s good li’l cocksucker. Got some good cunt too.”
“I can’t believe…”
“Just go with it, brother,” Billy Gray prodded.
The parolee walked behind Rosie and lifted her off the ground. He hiked up her skirt and ripped her cotton panties. He spat on his dick and entered her. “Yeah, faggit! Open that cunt up!” He pounded furiously. “Hey, Coy! Give it a go. Trade with me.”
Coy felt as if he were on auto-pilot. He swapped with his relative and went inside the warm open booty hole.
“Fuck me, sexy,” whined Rosie.
Billy Gray face fucked her. Slobber ran all down his cock and her chin. “This is how do y’all fags in the pen, bitch! You like it, don’t you!” He nutted down her throat.
Coy took out his meat and shot his load on the ground.
Billy Gray had dropped Coy off at home since the cop was inebriated. He drove to Rosie’s single wide where they did a bit of meth. He fucked her cute, taut, little bubble all night long. He sucked on her puffy nipples and spanked her for being a bad girl.
Rosie had screamed, “Fuck me! Fuck my faggot ass, Billy Gray!”
“Just like we in prison, bitch!”
“Yes, sir!”
“You like this big White cock, pussyboy?”
“Oh my god! Yes! Fuck!”
“Dammit! I love fuckin’ this hot li’l boi cunt!”
“Your dick feels so good.”
Eventually they collapsed.
He remembered Rosie calling out of work the next day to sober up. She had sucked his cock once more before he left,
The door opened.
Terrill smiled. “We have an offer from the People. Let’s walk through it,”
Billy Gray leaned forward. “Let’s make a deal,” he smirked.
Noticeably absent was the court reporter & the D.A. This pow-wow was off-the-record and teetering very close to a violation of judicial conduct & ethics. On Bart’s advice and recommendation, Judge Albritton was calling it a ‘round table’ to avoid any comparison or resemblance to a pretrial conference.
The officiant cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming! I called you here so we could just hash out a few items without the buzzing and humming of third parties. I’d like to have y’all submit some dates of earliest convenience to begin trial. Also, I just want to check if there’s any chance the People and the defense can reach a plea.”
“No way, Your Honor! The People have no legitimate case against my client,” protested Terrill. “Unless they decide to dismiss…”
“Whoa there, counselor. No need for the theatrics. There’s no one else here. I’m just asking. Ms. West?”
“As you’re aware, we offered a deal to the defense which they have rejected. We’re leaving it on the table until voir dire,” Theresa stated matter-of-factly. “The People have no desire for a long drawn out circus.”
“Neither does the Court,” the judge agreed.
“Nor do we,” the chancellor added. “But we are eager to prove the innocence of our client.”
“Right! Dismissed with prejudice is all we’ll take,” Terrill proffered leaning against the wall.
“Moving on,” the jude said. “Is counsel aware of any desire on the part of the defendant to waive the right to a jury.”
“No, Your Honor,” the criminal defense lawyer replied.
“That’s fine. He’s still got a little more than 30 days to make it known. I’d suggest getting a feel for his thoughts. Just so we can sorta plan out a timeline. You know?”
Bart cringed internally while maintaining a serene facial expression.
Theresa piped up. “Your Honor, should we really be encouraging that? The People would have to consent and research to determine our position may cause delays.”
“The People are not required to wait for the waiver request to begin research, right?”
“No,” she wanted to wring his neck. “The People will anticipate multiple scenarios. But, please remember we don’t have unlimited resources.”
“Noted, counselor. I promise I just want to make this go smoothly. Are there any other motions either side is looking to file?”
“Right now. No,” Terrill said.
“The People do not at this time,” Theresa concurred.
“Well, get me those potential dates and let’s get this thing teed up,” Judge Albritton wrapped it up.
The lawyers filed out of chambers.
Bart remained. “Good job, judge,” he brown-nosed.
“Thanks,” Henry was hesitant. “Do you think Goode and team will ask for a bench trial?”
“I kinda doubt it, Your Honor. I think he wants the theatre of it all.”
“Probably,” he sighed. “I’m not sure I even want to make the finding of fact.”
“However it plays out, you’ll be remembered for running this trial expertly.”
“Hopefully. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Bart took his cue to exit. He went to his desk and texted his wife a fortune cookie emoji with a question mark. She wrote back telling him to get her beef & vegetable lo mein. He called in the order for pick up. He headed out to his black 2014 Toyota Tacoma pickup truck.
Theresa West noshed on almonds and string cheese as she sat across the table from her associate. “Want some,” she asked.
“I’m good,” the white lady replied. “What’d you think of that meeting?”
“I mean I get where the judge is coming from, but he’s certainly taking a risk hoping none of us complains.”
“Maybe that’s what he wants.”
“How do you mean?”
“Like this is an unholy mess with Terrill Goode and the press conferences and the habeas corpus briefs. Maybe he wishes he had recused himself and this is a way out.”
“I never thought about that,” the senior considered. “I get the feeling he wants to retire in peace with no blemish to his record. So, I’m not sure why he did it.”
“Apply pressure to the defense. Trip them up. Get them eager to accept a plea.”
“Who knows.”
“Do you think the defense would prefer a bench trial?”
“I’ve known Terrill for a long time. He prefers the court of public opinion. A jury gives him a stage and the pageantry he needs to live.”
They laughed.
“Let’s get someone to start drafting our position just in case though,” Theresa directed.
“On it, chief!”
“None of that was Albritton. It has the pip squeak Darrow written all over it,” scowled Chancellor Griffiths.
“I tend to agree,” Terrill said.
“It was rather strange,” Eleasha added.
Jimmy went on, “You’re damn right it was. What’s he up to? He knows there’s no proof beyond a reasonable doubt. We’ve got the cop who we’ve confirmed had a known relationship with the victim and was at her residence hours before the time of death. Albritton must not want a jury trial. It doesn’t want a hung jury and retrial. I wouldn’t. I just don’t see him wanting to decide guilt or innocence on his own.”
“I’m baffled too,” Terrill shared.
“I’m telling you. It’s that eager beaver using this case to make a name for himself. He’s been a staff attorney for going on two years. He’s near the end of his appointment. He’s going to parlay this into a more lucrative position. Appellate level staff attorney, state or federal. I’d bet my life on it,” Griffith opined.
“Easy for you to say, old timer,” chuckled Terrill.
“I know,” he coughed as he belly laughed.
Bart had the food in hand and hopped back in his vehicle. The 4th graders his wife, Sarah, taught took their recess at 11:00 for 20 minutes then ate lunch from 11:25 to 11:55. The son of migrant workers was on target to arrive slightly before meal period commenced. People generally didn’t realize the American citizen had Mexican heritage.
Though his parents both had a warm tawny skin tone, dark eyes, and dark hair, his observable characteristics were much more European in appearance. Bart’s hair was a chestnut brown, but his eyes were hazel with flecks of green & gold, and his skin was medium cool in complexion with rose undertones. But, he did tan easily & evenly. Lots of folks assumed Italian or Iberian ancestry.
He was born, Hector Bartolo Robles, in south central Arkansas to Hector Robles and Noemi Garcia. Around the age of eight, he caught the attention of a retired teacher who occasionally employed his mother. She noticed his high aptitude and wished to encourage his academic development. The woman named Virginia Boland never married and had been forced to put up her biracial c***d for adoption by her parents.
In the house where she was raised, Ms. Boland lived with and took care of her father, a retired lawyer & judge. He too took a shining to young Bart. The Bolands offered to take in Bart as guardians when Hector and Noemi made their next move. They paid the tuition and sent him to a private academy - a holdover from early-era integration when whites founded the schools to keep their c***dren away from Blacks effectively creating de facto segregation.
Bart’s siblings continued traveling with their parents during the harvest and planting seasons. His identify became more and more closely aligned with the Bolands.
Bart graduated from high school and went to a prestigious liberal arts college in this state. He was active in the Interfraternity world and the Young Republicans. He’d always pronounced his surname as “ROH-buhls” as opposed to “Roh-BLAIZ”. In his junior year of undergrad he legally changed his name. He replaced ‘Hector’ with ‘H’, shortened ‘Bartolo’, and selected a new last name of Scottish origin that meant the same his one from birth - oak tree.
The new name gave him the obligatory initial and post-nominal suffix every law school applicant needed for success. He went to one of the private law schools, spent two years as a law clerk for Judge John T. Link, IV of the State Appeals Court, then took this position in the rural area because it was an opportunity to stay employed and close to the judicial system.
He arrived at the school and went to the office to get a visitor pass.
A paraprofessional staff member escorted him to the cafeteria. “How’s the case going,” the nosy woman pried.
“All I can say is it’s interesting.”
D.A. Toro was in the conference room leading a staff meeting. He looked down at his vibrating phone and saw an incoming call from his brother. He tapped the screen to send a message indicating he would call back later. One of his most junior subordinates was discussing a domestic v******e case he wasn’t sure how to handle. The D.A. spoke up, “I hear everything you’re saying. Don’t you think offering a plea to a lesser charge could work?”
“Miles,” the office manager barged into the room. “The sheriff needs you at the jail right now.”
The district attorney scurried away.
Miles drove the county-issued gold Chevy Tahoe. He placed a quick call to his brother, Marq.
“What’s up,” the man who was remarkably similar to Miles in physical appearance answered.
“You called. I’m calling you back.”
“Yeah, man! I was talking to Melody. She wants to throw Pops a surprise birthday party. Since you’re local we were wondering if you could take point.”
“I’d love to. I’ve got a lot going on with this trial.”
“I’ve heard. Mama’s been keeping me posted.”
“Uggghhhh,” Miles groaned.
“There’s not much you gotta do. Just tell Mel a good place to book and maybe recommend a caterer.”
“I’ll ask Kendra tonight.”
“Thanks, bro! I gotta run!”
Marq turned his attention back to the long-haired little Latin pussyboy underneath his desk. “Suck it, fag! Damn,” the small business owner moaned. “You gonna make me buy you those titties!”
“Oh pretty please, Daddy,” purred the sissy with the heart-shaped mouth. “You wanna fuck me before everybody gets back?”
“Hell yeah,” the former Airman grinned. “Sit on it!”
The boi maneuvered around and lowered himself onto the 8-inch pole. “Oh my god! It’s so big, papi!”
“Damn right, faggit! RIde this big Black Puerto RIcan cock!”
“I love it! I love how you fuck me!”
“Do you, boi? You wanna become my tranny girlfriend?”
“Yes, sir! Make me into a girl!”
“Oh I’m gonna!”
Marq was unworried about being caught. He was the president and founder of the company that provided commissary & cafeteria services to several city and county jails in the region along with a proprietary software program that other food service providers used to manage inventory and inmate accounts. There were just six employees working out of this office space. Everyone was at lunch except for him and the bottom.
Marq stood so that the slut was bent over the desk. He slammed into the sissy hard.
“Fuck me, papi,” whined the petite sassy dude.
“Oh yeah! You’re my fag bitch!”
“Si, papi! Fuck me! I love that big Black cock!”
“Unnnnnnnhhhhhh,” Marq grunted releasing his nut.
Theresa West was alerted via text. She was needed at the jail right away. She tore her second chair away from her research. The ladies headed out.
When they arrived, Terrill had just pulled up in his flashy Cadillac Escalade. Out poured Eleasha and Judge Griffiths.
“What in the holy,” Theresa started
Jessica, the assisting attorney interrupted her giggling. “You wanna put another buck in the swear jar?”.
“I just might have to hand you a blank check,” she fumed.
Terrill and his squad rushed inside.
Theresa took a deep breath and said, “Let’s go.”
All of this commotion was due to an ‘anonymous’ concerned citizen having placed a call to a parole officer. The person on the phone swore that one Billy Gray Johnston had been using and selling meth at a party the night before. This prompted the parole office to pop Billy Gray with a ‘random’ piss test. It came back positive.
Billy Gray knew exactly what this meant. A parole violation and being shipped back off the penitentiary to serve five more years. The 28 year-old had no desire to do that. He thought quickly and blurted out something that would change the trajectory of case of ‘People v. D’Clinton Lewis’.
“It coulda been my cousin Coy that killed that sissy boy,” Billy Gray offered in a hail mary attempt.
“What,” the obvious lezbo woman grunted.
“Coy Reynolds. I think he killed Rosie.”
“Are you serious? The cop?”
“Yeah!”
“Hang on!”
The criminal justice worker called the sheriff and had them pick up Billy Gray.
The deputies placed the offender under arrest and took him to the jail. Upon being put in the interrogation room, he said nothing. Except one statement. “Get me that nigger lawyer representin’ D’Clinton.”
“Is he your attorney,” asked the detective,
“Yeah! Call him and let me talk to him.”
Now, Terrill, Jimmy & Eleasha were piled into the cramped room with the quintessential redneck.
Billy Gray looked a mess. He was still in a stained faded black T-shirt, tattered Wrangler jeans. His shoulder-length ash-blond hair pulled back at the nape of his neck.
Despite his scruffy appearance, Eleasha could see that the blue-eyed man had nice features and probably talked the panties off women often. Not her of course. She wouldn’t sleep with him, but she had crossed the color line on a few occasions with preppier white guys.
Billy Gray said, “I’d like to hire you.”
“My fee is…”
“Name your price and get me a good deal. I’ve some information you’re gonna want.”
“Sign this,” Terrill pulled out a contract. “We’ll set the retainer at $500 retainer for now. Hourly rate is $150. Can you afford that?”
“Fine. Yeah! You get me outta here today and I’ll pay cash.”
The room was quiet for a moment.
Judge Jimmy Griffiths looked intently at Billy Gray. “Boy, I been knowing your family since your granddaddy was a boy. He was in school with my younger sister. You mean to tell us you got something that’ll change our case.”
“Yes, sir,” the detainee without making eye contact.
“Let us hear it,” Terrill boomed. “Don’t leave anything out.”
“Alright. Well, a few days ago, me and my cousin were grilling some steaks out at my place. We’d had a couple beers and he tells me that some P.I. came asking him about Rosie. Said some chick had seen his police cruiser at the trailer that night.”
“You mean Coy Reynolds, the cop, correct,” checked the lead attorney.
“Yep! His momma and my daddy is brother & sister. Anyway, he tells me the P.I. won’t let up. He admitted to hanging out with Rosie only in group settings. But he’d been scared Rosie might tell his fiancee what we’d done.”
“What had you done, son,” inquired the semi-retired lawyer.
“Late one night, Coy was ending his shift. He met me at Coop’s store. I wanted to go mud ridin’ in that truck I just got. He got in and Rosie was coming out of the store. We called her over and asked if she wanted to come along. She acted nervous, but she knew we were cool. We headed out. Then we parked. Smoked some weed. Drank some beer. And we did it.”
“Did what,” pressed Terrill.
“It,” stressed Billy Gray. “You know. IT,” he held up his hands and widened his eyes.
“Can you be more specific,” Eleasha asked. “No one is going to think any less of you. You may not know it, but the victim appears to have an active social life with many male companions.”
“Yeah! I know,” Billy Gray sat back and unfolded his arms. “She was kinda like a jailhouse whore, but prettier and cleaner. She liked it wild and she liked it often.”
“Liked what exactly,” Judge Griffiths inquired.
“We need you to be specific,” Eleasha pleaded with all of her feminine wiles. She puffed out her ample bosom.
“Sex. She liked suckin’ cock and gettin’ fucked,” the convicted felon exhaled. “We fucked her that night out in the field.”
“You and Coy,” quizzed Terrill.
“Both of us,” Billy Gray confirmed with a nod. “We spit roasted her.”
“Spit roasted,” the judge wondered.
“One of you at each end, right,” Eleasha clairied.
“Yeah,” Billy Ray sat up. He looked at them and lowered his voice. “Ever since then, Coy was all nervous that Rosie might when she was high. He was worried that his fiancee Paige would find out. He would say it’d be great if Rosie disappeared or left town for good. He even asked how much the going rate was in prison for a hit these days. He said it like a joke, but I think he was for real.”
Jimmy Griffiths shook his head slowly and willed himself to scribble on his legal pad.
Terrill asked, “Are you willing to testify to this in court? On the record?”
“If I ain’t gotta go back to prison, hell yeah!”
“Let me confer with my team. You wait here and don’t talk to anyone. We’ll see what kind of a deal we can get.”
“I’ll do some time in county or work release, but no more than a year. I ain’t goin’ back to the pen.”
“Give us a few minutes.”
Billy Gray waited patiently as his legal advisors discussed his future. While he had admitted the truth about that night, he hadn’t shared all the gory details.
The night had been muggy and overcast. The moon occasionally peeked from behind the dark clouds. ‘Singles You Up’ by Jordan Davis blasted out of the speakers of the dark blue 1990 Chevy K1500 pickup truck.
The 4WD was Billy Gray’s pride and joy. It sat atop a six-inch lift suspension kit with 20-inch gloss black finished rims and 33-inch Toyo MT tires.
The area around the truck was spotted with discarded beer cans from their drinking. Billy Gray was smoking a cigarette in between pulling on the joint with his cousin and Rosie.
“You know sumthin’,” he said.
“What,” Coy asked.
“I want my cock sucked.”
“By who?”
“Rosie,” he declared.
“You for real,” Coy checked in disbelief.
“Why not,” he reasoned. “If I was locked up I’d do it. And you’re hotter than most prison bitches.”
“Uhhh,..Thanks,” Rosie stuttered.
“I’ve never done nothing like that,” Coy admitted.
“Don’t knock it till you try it, brother,” Billy Ray pulled out his tool.
Rosie got on her knees and sucked it.
Something moved in Coy. Soon, he was stroking his 6½-inch prick. “Ummmmm,” he hesitated.
“C’mon bitch. Let my cuz get a taste,” Billy Gray had ordered.
The trap shuffled over and put Coy’s member in her mouth. She stroked Billy Gray’s 7-inch erection with her soft hands.
“How’s the head, bro?”
“Uhhhh! Damn,” Coy groaned.
“I know! She’s good li’l cocksucker. Got some good cunt too.”
“I can’t believe…”
“Just go with it, brother,” Billy Gray prodded.
The parolee walked behind Rosie and lifted her off the ground. He hiked up her skirt and ripped her cotton panties. He spat on his dick and entered her. “Yeah, faggit! Open that cunt up!” He pounded furiously. “Hey, Coy! Give it a go. Trade with me.”
Coy felt as if he were on auto-pilot. He swapped with his relative and went inside the warm open booty hole.
“Fuck me, sexy,” whined Rosie.
Billy Gray face fucked her. Slobber ran all down his cock and her chin. “This is how do y’all fags in the pen, bitch! You like it, don’t you!” He nutted down her throat.
Coy took out his meat and shot his load on the ground.
Billy Gray had dropped Coy off at home since the cop was inebriated. He drove to Rosie’s single wide where they did a bit of meth. He fucked her cute, taut, little bubble all night long. He sucked on her puffy nipples and spanked her for being a bad girl.
Rosie had screamed, “Fuck me! Fuck my faggot ass, Billy Gray!”
“Just like we in prison, bitch!”
“Yes, sir!”
“You like this big White cock, pussyboy?”
“Oh my god! Yes! Fuck!”
“Dammit! I love fuckin’ this hot li’l boi cunt!”
“Your dick feels so good.”
Eventually they collapsed.
He remembered Rosie calling out of work the next day to sober up. She had sucked his cock once more before he left,
The door opened.
Terrill smiled. “We have an offer from the People. Let’s walk through it,”
Billy Gray leaned forward. “Let’s make a deal,” he smirked.
Aeryn
- 14.08.2021
- 45
- 0
Trial of the Century Part I
- 2 years ago
- 33
- 0
Trial of the Century Part III
- 4 years ago
- 33
- 0
