The remnants of my Washington D.C. wardrobe were perfect for putting together court-appropriate attire. I selected a black blazer and a gray pencil skirt, plus a cute white blouse, black hose and conservative pumps to go with.

I dashed into the bathroom and slathered on antiperspirant. Too bad I was out of industrial strength. I would have to go with Extra Dry. I pulled my hair back in a harsh pony tail, then applied minimal makeup.

I was out of the house seven minutes later.

Who said women had to take forever to get dressed?

I was on a mission.

I was going to save Christos.

I tried calling him as I hopped into my VW, but he didn’t answer his phone.

It didn’t matter. I had proof of his innocence in the palm of my hand.

CHRISTOS

Footsteps echoed throughout the crowded marble hallway inside the courthouse as I snailed through security in slow motion. I had to remove my belt and shoes when I went through the metal detector. It was almost like going on a plane trip vacation, except there was a fifty-fifty chance my flight would crash into the side of Mt. Guilty.

I paused to glance back at the sunlight shining through the tall windows of the courthouse’s main entrance. I took a good look, in case it was the last time I saw freedom for four years.

No, fuck that.

I was going to fight this shit until I won.

I found Russell waiting outside our courtroom.

“Eye of the Tiger?” Russell said as I strutted up to him.

“What?” I asked.

“You got that Rocky Balboa look on your face when he fought Clubber Lang the second time at the end of Rocky three.”

I chuckled. “Fucking eye of the tiger, man.”

As always, Russell was sharply dressed from top to bottom. His suit was freshly pressed, his cufflinks glittered, and the white of his collar and cuffs contrasted brilliantly against his ebony skin. “Speaking of eyes, I see your concealer did the trick. You look like Joe Citizen now.”

“Yeah.” I’d borrowed some from Samantha’s makeup bag this morning.

“We win this,” Russell said, “I’ll have to take you out for a fancy dinner, considering we’re both dressed up.”

“Yeah,” I smiled. “I’m shooting for lunch. I plan on being in and out of here by noon.”

Russell chuckled and slapped my shoulder firmly. “Eye of the tiger.”

A tall, beautiful dark-skinned woman in a tight navy blue suit stood next to Russell, holding the handle of her briefcase in front of her hips with both hands. She smiled at me.

“Christos,” Russell said, “you remember Ms. Johnson? She will be assisting today at trial.”

“Of course.” I smiled down at her, “Brianna.” At 5’11” in her heels, she still seemed short to me. We shook hands. She had the same firm grip I remembered. I’d met her at Russell’s offices numerous times.

“Christos,” she smiled and nodded.

I knew Brianna was still on the lookout for quality husband material. Before Samantha had taken me off the market, I’d offered to fill the bill for Brianna several times. She was a good woman, smart and hellaciously funny the second she was off the clock and hung up her lawyer’s costume. But she’d said I was too young. I think I was eighteen at the time and she was thirty. I couldn’t blame her. I was still a mess back then. “Any good men been able to catch you yet, Brianna?”

“Not yet,” she grinned. “None of them are fast enough.” Brianna had trophies and photos of her running college track in her office.

“When are we going to head down to the SDU track to see who runs the fastest hundred?” I chided.

“Your muscle bound ass wouldn’t stand a chance,” she chuckled. “Too damn top heavy.”

“Keep dreaming,” I smiled. I was damn quick, but I knew Brianna would give me a run for my money once she put her track spikes on.

Russell said to me. “We get you off today, I’ll drive you both out to the track myself. But my money’s on Brianna.”

“I hope you like losing,” I grinned.

“I never lose,” Russell said shrewdly. “We ready?” He nodded toward the courtroom.

“Let’s do it,” I said.

Russell opened one of the heavy wooden doors and his game face slid into place like Sir Lancelot’s visor.

I followed Brianna and Russell into the belly of the beast.

The big door latched shut firmly behind me.

SAMANTHA

I was excited and anxious as I drove out of my new home, the one I shared with Christos!

I was sure fate was with me and good things were going to happen once I got to the court house downtown. Everything was going to work out for me and Christos in the end

The only problem?

At that moment, everything started going wrong.

Halfway to the freeway, the needle on my gas gauge decided to lay down on the job. It pointed right at the E like a lazy bastard. No problem. I was all about solving problems today. I would not be deterred. Luckily, there was a gas station right before the on ramp. Yay! There was also a long line. Lame! But there were no other convenient gas stations.

Waiting in line wouldn’t take that long, would it? There were four lines of cars, so I picked the shortest one, hoping it was the quickest one.

I waited.

Why was it so crowded? Were they out of gas? I hadn’t heard about any looming gas shortages or oil embargoes.

I pretended to be patient while I waited. The sedan two cars ahead finished and pulled away from the pump. The guy in front of me drove forward and climbed out of his huge truck to gas up. I was next.

Too bad truck guy had a gas tank the size of an oil field. It took forever for him to fill it up. Then he had to go inside to pay. Didn’t he have a credit card or a debit card? Who used cash anymore? Maybe he was going to pay with gold doubloons?

I tapped my foot impatiently. “Any time, cowboy!” I shouted. He had been wearing boots. All men who wore boots and drove trucks were cowboys. I’m sure he had a gun rack in his truck somewhere. I grew up in Washington D.C. Sue me.

Were had he gone? Was he using the bathroom? Did he fall into the toilet, or was it just diarrhea? Geez, how long did it take to wipe your butt?

I drummed my fingers on my steering wheel. If I tried to drive around the island to another pump, I might lose my spot. Truck guy’s truck was too big for me to push out of the way with my tiny VW, otherwise I would have. And the gas hose was too short to reach my car because the bed of his truck was about a mile long, and it had forced me to stop way far from the pump.

When I noticed moss starting to grow on the tip of my nose, Cowboy finally walked outside. Molasses slow. Slow motion scene in a movie slow. The shifting of continents slow. “Move it!” I shouted inside my car. He hadn’t heard me so I rolled down my window to shout again.

Before I could make a peep, he turned on his cowboy boot heel and walked back into the store. No! Where was my lasso! I need to wrangle his ass and throw him behind his steering wheel.

I scanned around me. Unfortunately, the lines for the other pumps were wall to wall cars. It was really smartest for me to wait.

Two minutes later, Cowboy came back outside with a big pepperoni flavored Slim Jim and a bottle of Mountain Dew. He climbed into his truck. Did he immediately drive off? No. Did he even start his engine? No. Did he do anything other than play with the meat stick in his hand while in the comfort of his cab?

I had no idea what he did with his meat stick, nor did I want to.

Days, weeks, even months later, he started his truck. A gust of exhaust billowed through my window as he drove off. I should’ve rolled it up. I coughed out a portion of my left lung before the air cleared.

I gassed up my car then sped to the onramp for the 5 freeway. I swear, every light I hit on the way there was red. At one intersection, I got stuck behind a line of cars waiting to turn right because a woman with a stroller out for a Sunday stroll had decided to use the cross walk. Didn’t anyone tell her it was Friday? No Sunday strolling on Fridays! I swear, I saw three snails racing past her. Why was she walking? Who walked anywhere anymore? Didn’t she know it was rush hour and people had places to go?