Ovid 4: The Bank Robbers free porn video

As usual, this contains adult material. Be 18 or begone. You're welcome to archive at any site. Please notify me, though. Ovid IV: The Bank Robbers By The Professor For the Captain The light breeze that blew up my skirt as I crossed Main Street on my way to Susan's office was almost warm. One pleasant surprise for me in Ovid had been that spring came much earlier to Oklahoma than it did to Indiana. Here it was, only the last week of February, and already the sun had gained strength and the air was warming. We all knew it could still snow again before spring truly came, but the days would continue to get warmer in spite of further snows. I had now been a woman for over four months, and I was starting to really think like a woman, I realized, as I contemplated a little expedition after lunch with Susan and Diana to March's Department Store to scope out the latest spring fashions. Maybe I could find something for Easter for both me and my daughter, Michelle. It was hard to imagine thinking this way just a few short months ago, but I had learned to be happy in Ovid. I had a wonderful loving husband and two great kids. So what if they had all once been my fraternity brothers at Notre Dame? They didn't know that; they remembered nothing of their past lives. Besides, I had a great job, too. Being Administrative Assistant to the Roman God, Jupiter, was one heck of a job. Of course, officially, I was secretary to the Judge, but the growing community of changees in Ovid who remembered their previous lives knew what that really meant. The Judge had cleared his calendar for the day, and since it was Friday, that meant an easy start to the weekend. Diana had called and asked me if I'd like to have a lunch of takeout Chinese in Susan's office. She had already cleared it with Susan, who had given her secretary, Dori, the day off. I had told her it sounded great to me, so we made the date. Now, here I was, hurrying up to Susan's office. The outer office was empty, but I heard Susan call, "In here, Cindy." Susan and I had gotten to be good friends, and our husbands were starting to get chummy as well, but until that day, I had never been in Susan's office. It looked very - well, lawyerly. The furniture was conservative and the walls were a nondescript tan, as was the carpet. One whole wall of her office was lined with law books. I was sure, as nice as it was, that it was nothing compared to the office she must have had in Dallas when she was a he and one of the top criminal lawyers in the country. "You look nice today," she said with a smile, motioning me to a small conference table she had obviously cleared for lunch. "Thanks," I said, taking the offered seat. After walking over from City Hall in heels, I was glad for the opportunity to sit down. I still forgot that high heels weren't made for long walks and my feet ached. "So do you." She did, too. She was wearing a very professional looking gray suit with a rose silk blouse. I, by contrast, was wearing a dark blue sweater dress, but then again, I didn't have the image of being a lawyer to maintain. "Am I late?" a voice called from the outer office. "No," Susan called. "Cindy just got here. Come on in, Diana." A tall, stunningly beautiful American Indian woman, coal black hair in braids and wearing a traditional deerskin dress and moccasins entered the room. Incongruously, she was carrying a sack with a couple of bottles in it under one arm and a brown sack with Chinese characters on it under the other arm. "Princess Diana Wintermoon at your service," she said with a grin. As we watched, the dress resolved itself into a smart tan suit and the moccasins became three inch heels. The braids unwrapped themselves and resolved into a mane of black, wavy hair. She asked, "So what do you think?" "Do Indians really have princesses?" I asked. She shrugged. "I think so. If they don't, they should. Now let's get this bottle of wine open. I really need a drink." "So what have you been up to this morning that you need a drink?" Susan asked. As a teetotaler, I suppose Susan couldn't really imagine why anyone, especially the Goddess Diana would "need" a drink. "Because I've spent the entire morning in a Council meeting." "But City Council doesn't meet until Monday," I pointed out. She frowned. "Who said anything about City Council? This was the Olympic Council." "You're on the Olympic Committee?" I asked without really thinking. There was still enough male in my mind to think of "Olympics" as only sports. Diana looked at me with a patronizing smile. "Was that a joke, or are you being uncharacteristically dense today?" "Oh," I said, abashed. "That Olympic Council." It certainly explained where the Judge had been all morning. He had mentioned the Olympic Council to me shortly after I went to work for him. It was like a corporate Board of Directors meeting where all the gods got together to discuss the affairs of Ovid and whatever else came to mind. "Yes, that Olympic Council," Diana agreed. "We met this morning in San Francisco at the Fairmont. Thankfully, the meeting got out in time for me to get over to Celadon in Chinatown and pick up the food." I had wondered where she had gotten it. There wasn't a Chinese restaurant in Ovid. I considered that a serious oversight on the part of the gods. "Anyhow," she continued with a tired smile, "the meeting was a particularly tedious one." Knowing Diana as I did, I realized any meeting which she was not in charge of was probably, to her, a tedious meeting. I think I would have found it very interesting. Apparently even many of the gods who had little to do with Ovid attended, so I imagined it would have been a very enlightening meeting for humans like me. Had I been there, I might even have learned why they were doing all of this. "What happened?" Susan asked, removing a bottle of chilled white wine and a plastic bottle of Diet Coke from the bag. She then produced three tumblers from her credenza and poured for each of us, reserving the Diet Coke for her own glass. Diana gratefully accepted her wine and took a satisfying sip. "Well, of course, some of it I can't talk about. You two are my best friends in Ovid, so I'd love to tell you everything that went on, but the Judge would have my head on a platter if I did." Given the Judge's background, that was more of a potentially real penalty than an outsider might have imagined. "I can tell you, though, that both of you are on Marty Bachman's enemies list," she confided. "Why?" I asked, taking a sip of my own wine. I hadn't read the label, but it was an excellent Chenin Blanc. Diana had excellent taste. "Because of Myra Smithwick," Diana explained. "You helped her out, and Marty had his sights on her. He thought she'd be a fine waitress in his little place." Marty Bachman ran a dive called Randy Andy's. Being recently cast in the role of a proper wife and mother, I had never been in the place. I had heard it was pretty tame by big city standards, but in Ovid, it had the reputation of being a den of iniquity. It was basically Hooters with even less class, if one could believe the stories. "All we did was help Myra get pointed in the right direction," Susan explained. Actually, I had done very little for Myra, but Susan was even considering having her work in her office over the summer. "That's the point," Diana said. "Marty was at the meeting, and - " "Wait a minute," I interrupted. "What was he doing at a meeting of the gods?" Diana frowned. "You mean you didn't know?" Both Susan and I shook our heads. "Oh, well, there's something you need to know," Diana continued. "Marty is one of us. He's a god." "You've got to be kidding," I blurted out. "There's a Roman god running a sleazy bar?" "It's really not as unusual as you might think. On the whole, we're a pretty earthy bunch. Besides, Marty is known as Bacchus in mythology. Do you know who he was?" Diana asked. "Sure," I replied. "Wasn't he that fat little drunk god in Fantasia who kept falling off his donkey?" Diana leaned forward. "If you ever talk to him, never under any circumstances should you mention that movie to him. He hated that movie so much that he completely destroyed all traces of the Disney movie, Hansel and Gretel." "But there is no such Disney movie," Susan protested. "Exactly," Diana said with a sly smile. "Not anymore." Susan was still thinking about that when I asked, "Okay, so tell us about Bacchus." "Well," Diana began, settling into her chair. She was really enjoying this. "Marty Bachman is the Judge's illegitimate son, so he indulges the little idiot. Marty wanted a bar and strip joint, but the Judge wouldn't go that far. Instead, he offered Marty a bar and, as long as it stays discrete, permission to do what little prostitution Ovid has." "He's the Judge's illegitimate son?" Susan echoed. "Our Judge? He has a bastard?" "You sound surprised," Diana observed with a wicked grin. "You must not have read much mythology when you were a kid." "I didn't." "Then you wouldn't realize," she went on, "that the Judge and all the other gods around here were not exactly paragons of virtue. There was more philandering and incest on Mount Olympus than in a Mississippi trailer park. The reason the Judge went along as far as he did with Marty is just to keep the little shit where he can see him. He's been nothing but trouble for centuries. Susan, you've been doing more reading about us lately. What's your impression of Bacchus?" "Well," she offered, "if half the stories I've read about him are true, he's someone to steer clear of." "Not only are half the stories true, but the stories don't even tell the half of it," Diana said darkly. "He's the flim-flam man of the gods. He can talk someone into doing almost anything, appearing to be a friend, only to lead them to destruction. If you think about it, that's what happens to a lot of heavy drinkers. They do things under the influence of alcohol - or Bacchus - that they would never do if they were sober." "He sounds like a pimp," Susan commented. "He's been that," Diana agreed, "and worse." "Well," I said hoisting my wine glass, "here's to the God of Wine. May he stay on his side of town." Two other glasses clicked mine in agreement. "Now, to other things," Diana said primly. "Yes," I agreed. "You want a story, and I'll bet I know which one you want." Diana smiled. "I'll bet I know, too," Susan added. "Things were a little slow around here before the bank robbery." "So let's get to it!" Diana exclaimed. "Uh, will Susan be able to watch, too?" "She just needs to position herself looking over my shoulder," Diana told me. I relaxed in preparation for falling into the trance which would allow them to see the story. It started on a damp Saturday almost two weeks ago... *** "So what do ya think of the family business, Little Brother?" The brown landscape of an Oklahoma winter shot past us at eighty miles an hour as the nondescript ten year old white Dodge strained to keep at speed. It was hot in the car. Jimmy Ray liked it that way, so the searing heat from the engine pumped raw hot air into the car causing me to sweat. Or maybe it wasn't the only thing causing me to sweat. "Waddaya say, Bobby Joe?" he said cheerfully though tobacco- stained teeth. "Keep your eyes on the road," I suggested with a quaver in my voice. "Don't you worry none about that, Little Brother. Old Snow here practically drives hisself. He's gotten me out of a scrape or two. It's really Enos's car, and he keeps her purring." Enos, half asleep in the back seat, grunted at the sound of his name. I didn't want to think about what he called a scrape or anything else my brother had been up to for the last fifteen years. I didn't even want to know what he was up to now. I just wanted to go home, but I knew deep down that home was probably not an option. I could never go home again. The last time I had seen my big brother had been when I was only seven. Mom always said he took after my dad, and I knew now it was true. That last time, when Dad had left for good, taking Jimmy Ray with him, my last thoughts of them had been how much he really was like dad. He was tall and lanky, with a mean look in his eyes and a devilish grin stamped permanently on his face. If he hadn't been my big brother by five years, I would have hated to see him coming down the street toward me. I would have run the other way. But for all of his faults, Jimmy Ray looked after me when we were boys. None of the other kids dared bother me, because they knew Jimmy Ray would have them for breakfast. When Jimmy Ray got a little bigger, even Dad thought twice about beating on me when Jimmy Ray stepped in the way. Of course, he never stepped into the way to help Mom. No surprise there. I knew even then that Jimmy Ray would most likely grow up to be a wife beater like our father. Gus Malone, my Dad, was about the roughest of the rough on the near South side of San Antonio. In an area populated mostly by Hispanics and troubled by gang activity, most folks gave Gus Malone a wide berth. Sure, he was slim, but he was quick and deadly. One move in his direction could get you cut in a hurry. I think he actually delighted in seeing the fear in a man's eyes when he went at them with a knife. He made his living doing mostly odd jobs, including being muscle for some of San Antonio's most notorious underworld figures. He never talked about his work, for which I was later grateful. If I had known what he was capable of when I was a small child, I would probably have died from fright. Jimmy Ray was probably the only thing that saved my mother and me from some awful fate at the hands of my father. If there was anything in the world that Gus Malone could be said to have loved, it was Jimmy Ray. They were just too much alike, and even as a small boy, I could see that my father wanted Jimmy Ray to be just like him. Dad split on a rainy night fifteen years ago. He came home that night, his shirt covered in blood, and a look of disgust on his face. "Goddamned piece of shit up and died on me," he muttered to my mother. "Now every fuckin' piece of shit cop in the state'll be looking for me. I'm out of here." "But, Gus, where are you going?" my mother pleaded. "What are the boys and I going to do?" "I don't much care," he said without any emotion. I was actually pleased and frightened at the same moment. I was pleased Dad was going to be out of my life. That meant no more beatings. But I was frightened because Mom was frightened. I was too young to know why. Mom was frightened because as poor a provider as Dad had been, he was better than nothing. Mom had gotten pregnant when she was sixteen, so she had dropped out of school to get married and raise a family. Dad was the old-fashioned kind. No wife of his was about to work, so Mom had no education and no work experience. The sole support of her life, as poor as it was, was walking out the door, leaving her destitute with two boys to raise. Then Jimmy Ray did something which probably saved Mom's life, although he didn't do it for that reason. At twelve, he was already man- sized, and he was proving himself to be, if not smart, at least sly. "Dad, take me with you," he said. In most twelve year olds, it would have been a plea. With Jimmy Ray, though, it was a business proposal. "You're too young, boy," Dad said with a note of regret in his voice. "I ain't that young," Jimmy Ray argued. "'Sides, I can watch your backside. Ain't no cop gonna be lookin' for two. They'll think you lit out by yourself." Dad was seriously considering it, I knew, even at seven. At last he nodded his head. "All right, boy, you get to the car. We gotta go now." Jimmy Ray winked at me and bolted out the door, Dad right behind him, leaving me and Mom behind. It was the last time I ever saw my father. Mom and I managed to get by after they left. The police did, indeed, visit us not an hour later. According to them, Dad had beaten a man to death over gambling debts. Mom told them truthfully that she didn't know where he had gone. When they left, life settled into something almost normal. In fact, it actually improved a little. Jimmy Ray had become quite a handful for Mom, so when he left, she seemed to actually have more energy than before. She did her best, getting a job as a waitress at a local coffee shop. It wasn't much, but it kept a roof over our heads. For awhile, life got better. Mom was a lot stronger inside than she looked. She took care of herself and me. She got neighbors to look after me while she worked as many hours as she could. The, when she came home, she only had time for me. It was a hard life, but a happy one. We were a family, just Mom and me. After a few years, though, the hours and the standing took their toll on her. She got more and more tired. By the time I was in high school, I could see the toll of the years in her face. It was lined with age, framed by prematurely gray hair, and by the time I had graduated from high school, she was a thirty-seven year old elderly woman. I know how that must sound, but anyone who had known her would have known what I meant. Her shoulders were stooped by the weight of the world, and her feet were so crippled from long hours standing and inadequate medical care that she hobbled rather than walked. She died the summer after I got out of high school, just before her thirty-eighth birthday. The doctor said it was a weak heart, but I think she just got tired of living. She had forced herself to go on until she saw me safely graduate from high school, and I think that then, she decided she had done all she could in this life and gave it up gladly. I had grown up to be more like my mother than my father. I don't mean that I was effeminate or anything. I was a normal boy with a healthy sex life. Of average looks and just six feet in height, I was slender with nondescript brown hair, and I got my share of girls, but not more than that. I ran a little track and played a little basketball, mostly sitting on the bench, but wasn't big enough or strong enough for the rigors of high school football in Texas, where it's more of a religion than a sport. I exhibited none of my father's dubious qualities, as I was neither strong or cruel, and I had made the decision early in my life to get a decent education and make something of myself. That proved hard to do for many reasons. College is expensive, and although I was a good student, I wasn't scholarship material. When Mom died, she left nothing behind but debts, so there was not even a modest inheritance to further my goals. I moved north after being accepted at Wichita State University in Kansas. There, I found a job as a bellhop at a local hotel and began to slowly further my education. I had decided to try to get by on as few student loans as possible, so my job was my primary source of funds. By the time I was twenty-two, I had managed to make it to the equivalent of my Junior year. I figured I would be able to work and go to school with the goal of graduating by the time I was twenty-five. My life came crashing down on a rainy February Friday night, but I didn't know it at the time. I had decided to stay home that night. I didn't have to work, I was between girls, and the weather was lousy. It was one of those storms that strikes the central plains in the late winter that begins as a cold rain which changes at nightfall into freezing drizzle, making the roads into a skating rink. I ordered a pizza in and decided to get ahead in my schoolwork. I was a business major, and business statistics was killing me, so it was a good time to buckle down. About ten minutes after I ordered the pizza, there was a knock on my door. They were fast with the delivery, I thought, swinging the door open. To my surprise, there was no pizza man at the door. Instead, there was a man, just a few years older than me, who looked very familiar. He was tall and lanky, but at a glance, I could see strong arms and powerful hands. His hair was fairly short and the same color as mine. The man grinned at me, hands in his pocket and freezing rain dripping from his hair. I could see he had a two day growth of beard and a gold earring in his right ear. "Bobby Joe?" he asked suddenly. I hadn't heard that name in years. I had gone by the name of Rob ever since junior high. Suddenly, I knew who he looked like. He looked like my father, only younger. There was only one person in the world he could be. "Jimmy Ray?" "In the flesh, Little Brother," he laughed, pulling his hands out of his pockets and throwing them around me. I had thought I would never see my brother again. As a child, I had fantasies about him coming back to see me. Then, the fantasy always turned into a nightmare as Dad would be with him. Remembering that, I looked over his shoulder, but the hallway was empty. He was alone. I invited him in, of course. We had been close in spite of the difference in our ages. I had no illusions about being close again. I was sure we had grown well apart, but he was my only brother. In the words of our South Texas forebearers, kin is kin. In looking back on the events of that night and the day to follow, I can't say I was really happy to see Jimmy Ray. Time had healed the wounds of life with my father and Jimmy Ray, and his return had reopened those wounds. I had no illusions about what kind of a man Jimmy Ray had grown up to be, and I wanted him out of my life before whatever troubles surrounded him became my troubles as well. But to repeat myself, kin is kin. The pizza came minutes later, and over pizza and beer, we got down to catching up at the kitchen table. "So where's Dad?" I ventured. I might as well get that one out on the table, I thought. Jimmy Ray shrugged. "We parted company a long time ago, Little Brother. Last I heard, he headed west. Denver is what I heard. Somebody told me he's doing time in Canon City." "Canon City?" "State pen, Bobby Joe. Armed robbery." There was more to the story than Jimmy Ray was willing to tell me. Of that, I was certain. Had he been in on the robbery with Dad? Probably, I thought. I decided I didn't want to know any more. I would enjoy my evening with Jimmy Ray and send him on his way in the morning. I remembered that evening long ago when Dad had left with him, and how the police had come to the door hours after he left. Would they come to my door after Jimmy Ray left? It was possible. No, it was more than possible. It was probable. I wanted him out of my life quickly. I brought him up to date on my life and on Mom's death. He was interested in my life, but Mom's death meant nothing to him. It rated only a disinterested shrug. He told me about his life as well, but I suspected little of it was true. He bragged of places he had been and things that he had done, but none made any sense nor was there any pattern to them. I was sure in my own mind that he had spent most of those years with Dad, involved in one illegal activity after another. "So where are you off to next?" I asked him, hoping that he would take the hint and be gone quickly. He grinned. He knew what I meant, I was sure. "Don't worry, Little Brother. I'm just passing through. I'm heading south - maybe even back to San Antonio. First, I've got to hook up with a business associate down in Ark City." Ark City was Arkansas City, a small town an hour south of Wichita. Kansans pronounced it as if it were "Ark Kansas" instead of like the state. "So when do you have to go?" I asked as casually as I could. "Going tomorrow if you can take me," he replied. "I took the bus to Wichita and a cab to your place. I'd sure appreciate the ride." Why not? I didn't have to work until Saturday evening, so I had the time. Besides, it guaranteed that he'd be out of my life again. I agreed to take him in the morning in time for a ten o'clock meeting with his partner who had gone on ahead of him to visit his own relatives in Tulsa. I didn't ask what he and his partner did for a living. Whatever it was had to be illegal. The less I knew, the less I had to forget. We got up early the next morning, stopped off for a big breakfast, which Jimmy Ray paid for, expansively leaving a nice tip for the waitress. He could be charming when he wanted to be. I thought he was going to charm the waitress right out of her uniform, and given the tip, maybe that's what he had in mind. That was the last thing I wanted, though. I didn't want him hanging around Wichita. I wanted him back on the road again. The drive to Ark City was pleasant enough, taking us through several small towns along the way. Traffic was light since the weather was cold and gray. At least the ice on the roads had melted, but the clouds were threatening. A difference of only a few degrees might turn the roads into ribbons of ice. It was the perfect kind of Saturday morning to stay home in front of a warm fire with a cup of coffee and a good book. I thought when I got back home, I would do just that. "Here we are, Little Brother," Jimmy Ray said, indicating for me to pull into the parking lot of a small bank. "There's the car over there, so Enos is here." He had indicated an old white Dodge, maybe ten years old. "Come on in before you go, Bobby Joe. I'll introduce you to Enos." "That's okay," I replied, anxious to get away. "I'll meet him some other time. I - " I looked down to see that Jimmy Ray was holding a pistol. It was aimed at me. "I want you to meet him now," he said with a malicious grin. Never in my life had someone held a gun on me. I felt my knees go weak. I didn't really know this man. The Jimmy Ray I knew left home when he was twelve and I would never know him again. The man holding the gun on me was someone else. Jimmy Ray had become just like my father, I realized. "Why are you doing this to me?" I asked him, a quaver in my voice. "Don't be such a pussy, Bobby Joe. You're my brother, and I want to show you what you're missing." "I'm not missing anything," I said. "You're missing everything," he retorted. "You're wasting your time going to school and waiting tables when you could be with me. I always looked out for you when we were kids. I'm gonna look out for you now. I'm giving you a chance to take Dad's place in the family business. Shit, boy, I make more on a good afternoon than you'll make in a year with that fuckin' degree. Come on." The gun hidden in his jacket, we walked across the parking lot to the old Dodge. "I didn't cab it to your place. I had Enos drop me off at your place last night," Jimmy Ray told me as we walked. "We need three to make a team. Two of us can hit the bank while Enos stays in the car with the engine running. That old Dodge of his may not look like much - " But she's the fastest ship in the galaxy, I thought. Sorry, Jimmy Ray, but you aren't Han Solo. "- but she's a hell of a fast car. Enos has had her for years, he tells me. He even gave it a name. He calls it 'Old Snow.' Now ain't that a kick in the ass? He loves that car like it as a woman, and he keeps Old Snow in prime condition." "So you've been working with him for a long time?" I asked. As we walked across the parking lot, Jimmy Ray laughed. "Naw. We just been workin' together for the last couple of months. Ain't too many long term partnerships in this business." I imagined that would apply to me as well. Enos got out of the car. He was a tall heavy black man with a dark complexion and a scar across his face. When Jimmy Ray had introduced us, he said, "I don't like for Enos to go in the bank. With his size and that scar, there's just too much of a chance someone will ID him. 'Sides, he don't like guns. Now I ask you, Little Brother, what good is a big ol' boy like Enos here without a gun? Well, I'm gonna tell you, old Enos here can drive like the wind, so he's gonna stay with the car while you and me knock over a bank. Now put on this mask." He handed me a black ski mask. "Jimmy Ray, I don't want any part of this." "You put on that mask or I'll put a slug in you right now!" Jimmy Ray growled, sticking the gun in my ribs for emphasis. "You got raised too long by our mama. You're nothin' but a mama's boy. Today, Little Brother, were gonna get you a set of balls. Now put on the fuckin' mask!" I obeyed. He seemed just crazy enough to shoot me. I knew this was a turning point in my life. I don't know what would have happened if I had told him no. If he had shot me then and there, he would have had to make a run for it without robbing the bank. But I didn't want to take the chance. If I was wrong, I would be dead. "That's better, Bobby Joe. Now here!" He thrust two large cloth sacks into my hands. "I'll do all the fancy work. You just keep your mouth shut, go over to the tellers and fill these bags with money. Now you understand?" I nodded nervously. "And don't get any ideas about being a hero. I'll shoot you down where you stand, Little Brother." Enos stood by the car while Jimmy Ray and I, masks in place, walked into the bank. My life was going to change in that moment, I knew. Eventually, we would be caught, and no one would ever believe that I was as frightened of being shot by my brother as any of the innocent people in the bank. The charge would be armed robbery, and I would spend the next twenty or thirty years in jail, being rehabilitated for a crime I never planned to commit. In that moment, I almost bolted. So what if my brother shot me? It might be merciful compared to the fate that awaited me when we were caught. Or maybe we would be gunned down by the police. Then, I would go to my grave as a criminal. No tears would be shed for me. I was still feeling sorry for myself, trying to think of some course of action that would save me from the fate that eventually awaits most if not all bank robbers, when Jimmy Ray yelled, "All right, you mother fuckers! Get down on the floor and do it now!" A guard wheeled around, fumbling to get his pistol out of its holster, but to no avail. Jimmy Ray shot him on the spot. The guard dropped in pain, holding his side as the gun slid from his hand. I was thankful it didn't appear to be a mortal wound, but I don't think it mattered to Jimmy Ray. He was shooting to kill and just aimed a little wide. I could see a look of malicious glee in his eyes. He lived for moments like these, I realized. I was afraid he would finish off the guard just watch him die, but he didn't. I think he just didn't want to waste another bullet. No one else crossed us. Everyone got to the floor as quickly as possible, many making loud plops as they threw themselves down before Jimmy Ray could fire at them. I could hear soft crying from a couple of the women, and a baby was crying out in fear. Jimmy Ray vaulted over the teller line and grabbed a young teller up by her hair. She screamed in pain and fear, nearly crumbling to the floor again in sheer panic. "Listen, bitch!" Jimmy Ray growled in her ear. "You help him fill these bags with money." He pushed her head around so she could see me standing there with the bags. I tried to convey through my eyes a feeling of sympathy, but I think she was too frightened to realize it. I was just one murderous robber wearing a ski mask. Trembling, she went from cash drawer to cash drawer, emptying the money and dropping it into the bag I held. I wasn't able to see how much cash she had collected, but I knew it had to be substantial. "Get the Drive-up window too, bitch!" Jimmy Ray yelled as he glanced furtively around the room to make sure no one tried to be a hero. "And if I find a paint bomb in that sack, I'm gonna waste you right now!" The bag was getting very heavy by the time we were done. I glanced at the clock. We had been in the building for less than ten minutes - minutes which would spell ruin for the rest of my life. I stood there stupidly, the bag drooping from my hands like the Halloween bag of some tired child. "Let's get out of here!" Jimmy Ray whispered to me with a sharp punch on my shoulder. Together, we bolted out the door and piled into the waiting car. Enos slammed the car into gear and we screeched away from the curb at a speed greater than I would have thought possible from the old car. "Head south!" Jimmy Ray ordered as he pulled himself up off me. We had both jumped into the back seat at almost the same moment, landing in a pile in the center of the seat. Enos kept his eyes on the road while Jimmy Ray looked out the back window. "First farm road south of town, head east," he ordered. Enos grunted in reply. At the first opportunity, he skidded into a left turn and we disappeared from the view of the main highway, shooting down a dusty gravel road at seventy. "You see, Little Brother," Jimmy Ray told me, "they'll have seen us heading south. They'll figure were on our way straight down toward Oklahoma City, so they'll cover all the roads in that direction. They'll never figure us to go east until it's too late." "Jimmy Ray, you're a worthless bastard," I murmured, practically in tears of fear and hatred. Jimmy Ray laughed to my surprise. He held up the bag. "Worthless, Little Brother? Why, I ain't worthless at all. I'd say there's about a sixty to seventy grand in this here bag. That makes me worth a bunch!" Enos chuckled, too. "Where we goin' Jimmy Ray?" "Bartlesville," Jimmy Ray said. "We can hit another bank before noon. Then, we make it look like we're goin' on east, but we'll head south. We'll be in Texas in time for supper." And so I was introduced to a life of crime. I thought it couldn't get any worse, but when we got to Bartlesville, I found out how wrong I could be. Bartlesville was maybe three times the size of Ark City. I figured it was maybe thirty thousand people or so. We got there by a quarter after eleven, and like most small Midwestern cities, it was doing a brisk Saturday business. The bank Jimmy Ray wanted to hit was right on the main street. He had Enos discretely park the car around the corner and wait. Then, he and I strolled casually to the main door of the bank where we put on our masks. "Same rules, Bobby Joe," my brother warned. "You fuck this up and I'll blow you all over the lobby. You understand?" I nodded that I did. I was convinced now that he meant it. He was one sadistic bastard. There was no way I would cross him and live. "Then let's go." The robbery was a replay of the one in Ark City, except this time, the guard had the good sense to drop to the floor with everyone else. In less than ten minutes, we were on our way, speeding out of town. Once safely away from Bartlesville, Jimmy Ray took over the driving chores while Enos napped in the back seat. I could see no pattern to where he was going. It was as if he were compelled to go the directions he was going. He drove the old Dodge hard, heading first east and then south into the part of the state dotted with lakes, rolling hills, and small towns that all looked alike. It was nearly one thirty when Enos roused himself in the back seat and mumbled, "Hey, Jimmy Ray, you gonna ever stop for lunch?" "That's all you ever think about is that big gut of your, Enos." "Well, when we gonna stop?" "It looks like there's a little town up ahead there," Jimmy Ray said. "We can stop and get gas there. Then we'll get you some lunch, Enos." I wondered if this small town would be my opportunity to get away. Maybe if I could run out on them while they were eating or getting gas, I could make my way to the police. It was the only way I could think of that they might believe me. Otherwise, it was only a matter of time before I got caught with them. Then, no one would believe me. The sign on the highway said "Ovid - 2 Miles." "I ain't never heard of Ovid," Enos muttered, "and I was born and raised in Tulsa." "Well, we can't expect a man of your culture and breeding to know the name of every little pissant town in the state, can we?" Jimmy Ray laughed. "How 'bout you, Little Brother? You ever hear of Ovid?" "Only the poet; not the town," I replied. "Poet?" "Yeah," I told him. "He was a Roman poet. He lived about the time of Christ. He's the one who said 'the gods have their own rules.'" "So ain't you the educated boy? Tell me, Bobby Joe, what does that shit mean about the gods having their own rules? We're the ones that have our own rules. Fuck the gods." Jimmy Ray laughed again. The rolling farmlands of Oklahoma gave way to the town of Ovid. The highway widened into four lanes as we came upon a strip of gas stations and fast food restaurants. "Not a fuckin' McDonalds in sight," Enos mumbled. "Well, that's okay, Enos," Jimmy Ray laughed. "Since we got us a college boy for a partner, maybe we should be a little more high class and sample the local cuisine." His idea of local cuisine turned out to be a modest place with a neon sign out front that proclaimed "Rusty's Best Burgers." We locked up the car. I kept thinking about the money in the trunk. There had to be over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars of stolen money in there, and here we were, loping into a burger joint as if we didn't have a care in the world. I realized that beyond being a basically honest person, I could never rob banks for a living. I'd always be frightened and insecure, looking over my shoulder at every opportunity. The place was clean, at least, and somebody had actually fed the jukebox, so we were to be serenaded with the sounds of Waylon Jennings while we ate. If this place couldn't be a poster for Small Town America, I didn't know what could. Jimmy Ray had me sit on the inside of a booth - I guess so I couldn't make a run for it - and slid in beside me. Enos plopped down nonchalantly across from us. The waitress was a chipper-looking blonde, the kind you would expect to have saunter up to the table, chewing gum, and say "Wat'cha guys havin' today?" She broke the bimbo stereotype when she smiled a friendly smile and said brightly, "Hi! Welcome to Rusty's. I'm Myra. Can I get you something to drink?" On second appraisal, Myra looked far too bright to be a bimbo. She wore a white blouse with the name "Myra" sewed on it, a short black skirt which showed off sensational legs, and black flats that had a lot of miles on them, and her hair was as blonde as any bimbo I had ever seen. But there was intelligence in her eyes. Behind the friendly smile, there was a calculating mind. She had sized us up as trash. I wanted desperately to tell her that I wasn't like them, but I knew she'd never believe me. No one would. "Yeah, honey," Jimmy Ray said with a glance at the menu. "These Rusty Burgers real good?" "The best," she replied. "Okay, bring us a round of those - no onions on mine - and coffee all around." Apparently, I was not to be allowed even a choice of what I would eat when I was with Jimmy Ray. My brother hunched over the table and said in a loud voice, "What I'd really like is the sheepherder's special. You know what that is, Little Brother?" I shook my head, not really caring about the answer. "It's a glass of goat's milk and a piece of the waitress." He roared with laughter while Enos chuckled. I made no outward display, instead watching our waitress draw the coffee. From the red on her face, I was sure she had heard the joke. Surprisingly, the red looked to be more from anger than embarrassment. This Myra seemed pretty sharp. "She too young for you, Jimmy Ray," Enos mumbled. Yeah, I thought, and way too good for him, too. "If they're old enough to bleed, they're old enough to butcher, Enos," he laughed evilly. "You need to always remember that." Myra delivered the burgers and coffee quickly, agilely swerving to avoid Jimmy Ray's lecherous butt pat. The burgers were as advertised. I couldn't remember the last time I had enjoyed a burger so much. So far, it was the only positive thing to happen to me on that day. And I don't usually drink coffee in the afternoon, but the coffee was hot and flavorful - so much so that I gladly took a second cup. Myra poured us each an extra cup, again deftly gliding past Jimmy Ray before he could pinch her ass. We were just finishing our coffee when Enos, facing the door, got very quiet. "Cop," he muttered under his breath. Jimmy Ray casually reach up under his coat, ready to pull out his gun if the cop recognized us. I was determined that I wouldn't let him shoot the cop, even if my brother shot me. Fortunately, that didn't become necessary. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the cop saunter over to the counter and take a stool. Myra smiled at him and poured him a cup of coffee. We tried to be as casual as possible, leaving a nice tip for the girl. Jimmy Ray stood up at the counter and calmly paid the bill, but I noticed his hand never got very far away from his concealed weapon. I actually got a good look at the cop. He looked professional, in his blue-gray shirt and blue trousers. I couldn't see his eyes, as he never removed his sunglasses, but just as I was getting ready to turn away, he turned toward me and, to my surprise, actually smiled. It wasn't just a friendly "Hi, how are you?" kind of smile. It was more of an ironic smile, as if to say "Next time." I smiled back, but inwardly, I shuddered. "Why, this certainly is a friendly little town," Jimmy Ray said as we walked to the car. The sun was actually trying to come out, and the temperature was, if not warm, at least not terribly cold. "Let's go check this town out." I had a bad feeling about this. "Come on, Jimmy Ray," I begged. "We've done enough damage for one day. Besides, it's Saturday afternoon. The banks are probably closed." "Why, Little Brother, this is the nineties. Banks stay open longer. I wouldn't mind finding just one more before we head south. Sides, you worry too much. You're gonna like the family business just as soon as your balls grow a little bigger." It wasn't hard to find the main business district. Like most small towns, all we had to do was follow the street we were on until we came to a traffic light. There was even a sign pointing to the business district. Main Street of Ovid (yes, the main business street was really called Main Street) was bustling with activity, but as I looked around, I could see there was something not quite right. Jimmy Ray didn't seem to notice, but Enos did. "Spooks," he said. "Why, Enos," Jimmy Ray laughed. "You ain't callin' yourself a spook, are you?" Enos's face clouded. For the first time, I began to realize that Enos didn't really like Jimmy Ray. I had a feeling not too many people did. I knew I didn't. "No," Enos said, "I mean look at some of those folks. They're like ghosts." He was right. Some of the people looked perfectly normal, but the majority looked almost transparent. It wasn't like in the movies, where you can see things on the other side of a ghost. Rather, it was as if you could almost see through them, but not quite. "You need more coffee," Jimmy Ray said. "You're seein' things. Keep your eye on us, though, 'cause I think I just spotted us a target." He nodded at a gray stucco building on the corner with a simple sign over the large brass and glass doors declaring it to be the Farmer's and Merchant's Bank. "Saturday afternoon and the bank's still open," Jimmy Ray sighed. "Ain't the nineties wonderful, boys?" Enos pulled up near the front of the building, but not right in front. A casual observer would have thought that he was waiting for someone to come out of the Radio shack next door, or out of the offices over the bank. He parked directly across next to a glass office door on which black letters had been freshly painted proclaiming it to house the Law Offices of Susan Jager. Jimmy Ray handed me my mask and smiled. "It's gonna be just like the last two times," he told me. "I'll get their attention and you fill the bags. Then, we're off for Texas, Little Brother." The bank lobby was a carbon copy of the last two we had visited that day. It was conservative and tasteful, but not as extravagant as city banks. Farmers and small town merchants never felt comfortable putting all their money in a bank that ostentatiously proclaimed wealth. They expected the bank and the bankers to be as goldarned Midwestern conservative as they were. Being Saturday, many of the desks were empty, but the teller lines were doing a brisk business. Three were busily accepting transactions while a fortyish, distinguished man in a suit chatted with a fourth teller. I didn't blame him. She looked to be early twenties and very attractive, although I noticed she had that almost-transparent look about her. She was certainly coming on to him. Several people in the bank were too busy watching the little soap opera to worry about us. My appreciation of the teller was interrupted when Jimmy Ray yelled out, "All right! Everybody down on the floor now!" Again, there was momentary confusion, but in seconds, all of the customer and employees of the bank had dived for the floor. Again, the earlier scene was repeated. Jimmy Ray strode over to the attractive teller, yanked her to her feet, and ordered her to fill the sacks I was carrying. Up until then, everything had been working right for my brother, but as the last of the money was stuffed in my bags, we heard a shot outside and the squeal of tires. Jimmy Ray looked out the main window of the bank in time to see his old white Dodge fishtailing away from the curb and down the street. "What the fuck?" he yelled. "Drop the gun!" a voice demanded. Jimmy Ray and I looked in the direction of the voice, near the main door of the bank. Standing there, gun at the ready, was the same cop I had seen at the burger joint. Had he followed us? He must have, or he would never have zeroed in on us so quickly. It looked as if my life of crime was going to be much shorter than even I had suspected. I could see from his eyes that Jimmy Ray didn't plan to give up. Even with his car gone and a presumably trained law officer holding a gun on him, he still thought he had a chance. I didn't think so, though. I dropped the bags and raised my hands. When I yelled, "Jimmy Ray no!" my words were cut off by three quick gunshots. He fired point blank at the officer, but somehow, he missed. I thought for a moment that I could see the officer actually move out of the way of the bullets. It was like one of those subliminal studies you participate in during a psychology lab where a single frame is placed in the middle of a scene. In that single frame, the officer seemed to dodge out of the way of the oncoming bullets. Jimmy Ray couldn't believe it either, but as he prepared to fire again, one well-placed bullet fired from the officer's gun struck Jimmy Ray's gun, sending it flying in a wide arc across the room. It was the first time since I had hooked up with my brother that I found him at a loss for words. He slowly raised his hands, completely dumbstruck. The officer led us out to his cruiser, parked almost directly behind the spot where our car had been parked. Enos must have seen the cruiser come up behind him and hauled ass before the officer could get the drop on him. No, that didn't sound quite right. If the cop had wanted Enos, he was fast enough to stop him. It was us that he wanted. Enos could wait. "Dumb jig," Jimmy Ray muttered under his breath as we were pushed into the caged back seat. "Wait 'til I get my hands on that nigger." "Yeah," I returned. "In about twenty years." "Jails can't hold me," Jimmy Ray told me as we pulled away from the curb. "That's the difference between me and Daddy. He let hisself get caught. Me? I got away." Not this time, I thought to myself. It would be a couple of days, though, before I realized how prophetic I had been. We were ushered into adjoining cells in what had to be the strangest jail I could ever imagine. The only police officer I saw was the one who had captured us. There was no one at the front desk, and no one in the halls or offices. I knew this Ovid was a small town, but surely it had more than one officer working at any given time. "I'm Officer Mercer," the policeman said when we had been safely locked in our cells. "The Judge will see you both first thing Monday morning. Until then, if you need anything, you can talk to me." "I want a lawyer!" Jimmy Ray snapped. "You'll have appropriate legal counsel when the Judge thinks it's necessary," Officer Mercer said crisply. "What the hell are you talkin' about?" Jimmy Ray exploded. "That's un-American. You gotta read us our rights and get us a lawyer if we demand it. I'm demanding it!" Officer Mercer merely smiled and walked away. "I'll be outta this two-bit jail so fast it'll make your fuckin' head spin!" Jimmy Ray yelled at the departing officer, who appeared not to notice. Jimmy Ray chuckled, "These local yokels don't have no idea what they're doin'. They didn't read us our rights or nothin'. I'll tell you, Bobby Joe, this Officer Mercer is gonna look plumb stupid when this judge has to let us go on procedure." I was sure Jimmy Ray knew what the proper procedure would be, but as I sank back onto the clean bunk in my dimly-lit cell, I thought to myself that procedure in Ovid might be very different. I was soon to find out how right I was. Jimmy Ray finally stopped his ranting and raving, so the rest of the day went quietly. Officer Mercer even provided me with a few magazines to pass the time. I wasn't happy to be in a jail cell, but anything was better than being an unwilling participant in a crime spree with my psychopathic brother. I was just thankful no one had been killed in our little crime spree, including me. I had had visions of the last scenes in Bonnie and Clyde where their bullet-ridden bodies jumped in slow motion as round after round was poured into them. I wasn't looking forward to jail time, though. This had been my only experience in a cell, and although the room was clean and the bed actually more comfortable than I expected, I still lived with the knowledge that if I went to the steel-barred door and pushed with all my might, nothing would happen. I was going nowhere, except to another cell. Midwestern states are the home office of law and order. I could expect no mercy from the courts. Jimmy Ray and I would probably serve the same long sentence, in spite of the fact that I was a neophyte at the armed robbery business and Jimmy Ray had been doing it for his entire adult life. I had had a decent life to look forward to, but now, I had nothing. No one would believe me when I told them I had nothing to do with the robberies. How could I make them understand that I was as much a victim as the people lying on the floor in the banks we had robbed? I would just have to do what I could. I would tell the truth and hope for a miracle. After a surprisingly good dinner of roast beef and potatoes and a little more reading on my bunk, I fell asleep. I dreamed of the past; I dreamed of my mother. She had been a wonderful woman, deserving of more than the hard life she had. How had she linked up with my father? I had never really known, and the dream did nothing to tell me. In the dream, my mother was back at her old job at the coffee shop. She was wearing that terrible pink waitress dress seen in half the coffee shops in the country. I was there, too, on one of the stools, drinking coffee and watching her work. She looked tired, almost worn out. Then, I looked down at my coffee cup as she poured me another cup. I watched as the dark brown liquid cascaded down into my cup, swirling as it hit. It seemed to be moving in slow motion, as if the cup would never fill. Then, I realized suddenly that I was the one pouring the coffee. I was pouring it for someone else who was sitting at the stool where I had been. I had seen him before, but I couldn't remember where. He was about forty or so, balding slightly along the front, his hair a mixture of brown and gray. He was wearing a dark gray suit. Where had I seen him before? Then I remembered. He was at the bank. He was the one talking with the attractive teller. He looked up and smiled. "Thanks," he said, then looked back at his coffee. I turned and looked in the mirror, but all I could see was my mother's reflection looking back at me in shock, and - "Seven o'clock. Time to get up." "What?" I mumbled, stirring in my bunk. Where was I? I wondered. Then I remembered. I was in jail. "What do you hafta do to get a cup of coffee around this shithole?" Jimmy Ray yelled from the next cell. "Watching your mouth would be a good start," the cop said. I realized it was the same officer who had arrested us. Didn't he ever sleep? Individually, we were led to take a shower and given fresh clothes, if orange prison coveralls could be called clothes. When we got back to our cells, breakfast was waiting for us. Again, the food was surprisingly good, consisting of orange juice, steak and eggs, and coffee. I really hadn't eaten this well as a student. The Ovid Police department must have an incredible budget, I thought. It was nearly noon when I was interrupted again. I had thought my lunch was about to be delivered, but Officer Mercer was empty handed. "Your lawyer is here to see you," he told me. I was puzzled. I hadn't called a lawyer. I wouldn't even know who to call. "Where's my lawyer?" Jimmy Ray demanded from the next cell. Had I detected a note of concern from him? It did seem odd that the lawyer had come only to see me. What did that mean? "It's been taken care of," Officer Mercer told him. I was led to a small, Spartan conference room where a very attractive woman was waiting for me. She had long brown hair and wore a beige silk blouse and a camel skirt which, as she rose to meet me, I could see was quite short, displaying a fantastic pair of legs. I was in love. She straightened her glasses and offered her hand. "Susan Hen - er, Jager." She wore, I could see, a sparkling new wedding ring. That explained her confusion over her own name, I was sure. I offered my own hand, surprised to find her grip was strong like a man's. Most women I had known offered only a limp hand, as if I was supposed to take it to my lips and kiss it gently. I found myself liking Susan Jager at once. "Now," she began once we were seated, "what's your side of the story?" "The story?" She sighed, "Mr. Malone, you and your brother have been charged with three counts of armed robbery. If we're lucky, I might be able to get you less than twenty years, but I don't know. Your brother tried to use an Ovid police officer for target practice, so it won't be easy." "Is that why you're not representing him?" I asked. "Is he being brought up on additional charges?" She looked at me very seriously. "Your brother robbed a bank in Fremont, Nebraska, three months ago, killing a teller who tried to press the alarm. A week later, he was involved in a robbery in Pueblo, Colorado, where he murdered a bank customer. It appears that he told everybody to get down on the floor, but a customer who was deaf didn't understand. Your brother shot him in the back." I was sick. I knew my brother was a bad apple, but I had no idea he was the man he was. Man? No, he didn't even deserve to be called a man. He was a monster. I had seen it in his eyes. He wanted someone to challenge him, just so he could watch them die. He even wanted me to challenge him, and I had no doubt that if I had, he would have shot me where I stood. "Are you all right?" she asked. "Not really," I replied. "I just... didn't realize... I mean, he's my brother." She patted my hand. "Look, Mr. Malone, the Judge knows you didn't have anything to do with the murders. If you had, we wouldn't be talking now. You'd be... Well, let's just say you'd be facing a different fate." "So what happens now?" I asked. "You'll be taken into court tomorrow," she told me. "For arraignment?" "Yes, and trial." She noticed the shocked expression on my face. "Justice is swift in Ovid. You'll be tried and sentenced tomorrow. That's what makes this meeting so important. I have to see the Judge first thing in the morning if we're going to have any chance." I told her everything I could think of. I knew I was fighting for my freedom. Who would believe a bank robber? I had been caught red-handed, and now I was going to be the recipient of justice that seemed to come out of an old western movie. "Come on, boys, let's take him down to the judge for a fair trial and then hang him! Drinks are on me!" I shuddered at the thought. "What do you think?" I asked my attorney after I had told her the entire story. "I think we have a case, but I'm not sure what the results will be. Justice is a little different in Ovid. Sometimes, it isn't what you've done that gets you in trouble, but rather what you haven't done." I scowled. "I don't think I understand." She gave a slight smile. "You will." I was taken back to my cell after that. Jimmy Ray was leaning into the bars, obviously anxious to talk to me. "So you saw the lawyer, Little Brother. What did he say?" "First of all, he was a she," I told him, "and she told me you're a murderer." Jimmy Ray actually laughed. "You don't really believe that, do you Bobby Joe?" "Yes, I do." He was silent for a moment. Then, he said, "Bobby Joe, robbin' banks is a dangerous business. Sometimes, people get in your way." "Like a deaf man who didn't know he was even in danger?" "So? It happens, Little Brother. I started robbin' banks when I was fourteen. Then, it was Daddy and me. In all that time, I only had to shoot three people. Now, that ain't bad." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My own brother was justifying murder, and he actually believed he could make me understand. I couldn't. I never would. He had taken the lives of two innocent people, and now he was taking my life, just in a different way. Yet he still thought I would understand what he had done. There were actually tears in my eyes, but they were tears of anger. "So what did the lawyer say, Little Brother?" "Go to hell, Jimmy Ray." To my relief, he said nothing. Me? I just slumped down on my bunk, feeling sorry for myself. I was too upset to eat lunch, and I just picked at my dinner. I went to bed early but didn't sleep well, worrying about my trial. Finally, I fell asleep and dreamed of my mother again, only this time, I was at her funeral. The service was apparently over, and I was standing before her casket, the only mourner. Given my dream of the night before, I wouldn't have been surprised to suddenly find myself in the casket looking up. But that didn't happen. Instead, as I watched my mother at the start of her eternal sleep, her eyes suddenly opened wide. They searched the room, falling upon me. I wanted to run, but my feet refused to move. My mother was looking at me with tears in her eyes. Her lips formed words, but I couldn't quite hear them. Then, as I leaned down to hear her, a cold arm rested on my shoulder, and I heard my mother's voice saying, "Don't let it happen to you." I was suddenly awake. It was morning - the morning of our trial. Today, I might be sentenced to many years behind bars. I was the accomplice of a hardened criminal - a murderer, no less. I hoped for some mercy, but I expected little. We were given new clothes for our court appearance, consisting of white shirts, gray trousers, and black loafers. At least it felt good to be out of the jail coveralls, but I suspected it would be my last time in street clothes for many years. The courtroom was at the opposite end of the long hall leading from the jail. Handcuffed and shackled, Officer Mercer led us past the city employees, bustling through their Monday morning. There was the smell of coffee in the air, and the sounds of conversation and even laughter. I longed to be one of them, living a boring life in a small town. I would have even been one of the transparent people, whoever or whatever they were. I would have been anyone right then, except myself and my brother. Jimmy Ray affected a casual swagger, as if he didn't have a care in the world. There was even a grin on his face. I wondered if he had managed to "beat the rap" before, and how he planned to do so having been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, as it were. The courtroom was far nicer than I would have expected in a small town. It looked very much like the pictures I had seen of larger courtrooms in the big cities. Expensive wood paneling was in evidence, and everything from the carpet to the paint on the walls looked fresh and new. Susan Jager was waiting for me. She looked to be the picture of the professional attorney in her navy blue suit, white silk blouse, and two inch black patent heels. I fell in love with her all over again. She put on her glasses and motioned me to sit next to her. Jimmy Ray started to slide in on the other side of her, but Officer Mercer grabbed him and pulled him before the bench. 'Hey! Where's my lawyer?" Jimmy Ray whined. "Quiet!" Officer Mercer snapped. Jimmy Ray looked frightened, probably for one of the few times in his life. He slouched down and said nothing. Officer Mercer than called for all to rise. That didn't take long. The only spectator in the gallery was a very attractive blonde woman in a lavender suit. I had no idea what she was doing there. Maybe she was a reporter for the local newspaper, or maybe she just had nothing better to do. The Judge was an impressive figure. He was, perhaps, fifty with hair that was mostly dark with just a hint of gray. Even from where I stood, I could see his gold rimmed glasses were expensive. He was tall, certainly over six feet, and walked with the confidence of a man who knows what he is doing. "First case is the people of Ovid versus James Ray Malone." "Very well," the Judge said in a deep voice. "How do you plead?" Jimmy Ray's look of nonchalant confidence changed to one of confusion. "How do I plead? Ain't you supposed to read all the charges? And where's my lawyer?" The Judge sighed. "In the first place, reading all of the charges would be a waste of time. There are simply too many to mention, starting with killing that little girl's cat back when you were thirteen." "Hey, wait a minute," Jimmy Ray ordered defiantly. "How did you know - I mean, you don't have any proof about that." "You want proof?" the Judge thundered