Painless (The Story of Samantha Smith #3)

by Devon Hartford

  The door behind the immense judge’s bench opened and Geraldine Moody floated out like a black robed phantom.

  “The Court will now come to order,” the uniformed bailiff said. “All rise for the Honorable Geraldine Moody, presiding.”

  Judge Moody was as harshly beautiful as she was the last time I’d seen her at my arraignment. Her hair was perhaps a bit longer and blonder than before. Her makeup was subtle but effective. A queen taking her throne. Her leather executive chair was flanked by two flags, the U.S. on the left and the State of California on the right. The California State Seal, a large brass bas relief disc, hung behind her on the wood paneled wall.

  “Please be seated,” she said formally from her executive chair. Then she glanced at me briefly. “We meet again, Mr. Manos,” Geraldine Moody said from behind the ramparts of her immense bench. I couldn’t decide whether it was good news or bad that she remembered me. Considering she had been kind enough to set my bail at $150,000, even though the D.A. had only asked for $25,000, I was guessing bad. I couldn’t escape the nagging feeling she was holding something personal against me.

  At my arraignment, I’d been wearing an orange prison jumpsuit with my tats on display. Maybe she thought I looked like any other criminal that passed through her court room on a daily basis. At least now I was in a conservative suit, my ink hidden. But my shiner was incriminatingly obvious, even at a distance. I was starting to wish I’d put on that concealer. The smallest detail could sway her opinion for me or against me. If worse came to worse, and the jury found me guilty, her opinion would influence the sentencing, which could mean the difference between two years in prison or four. No small thing.

  The only thing I could do was look as innocent as possible. I’d buy some concealer the second I stepped out of this courtroom. No more bullshitting around. From here on out, I was Mr. Clean, I was a Boy Scout. I helped old ladies across the street. Maybe I could squeeze some charity work in between now and Friday. Maybe Mrs. Elders at the library could arrange for a last minute Crayons with Christos session in front of Judge Moody during my trial. Fuck, who was I fooling? The time to be a Goody Two Shoed Samaritan had passed.

  Russell whispered, “I think Geraldine might be sweet on you, young man. Perhaps you can slip her your phone number and make dinner plans. Sweeten her up before your trial.”

  I rolled my eyes and suppressed a chuckle. “Yeah, right.”

  “We are now on record for the State vs. Manos,” the judge intoned gravely, “case number SD-2013-K-071183A. Counsel, please announce your appearances for the record.”

  “George Schlosser, on behalf of the state of California.”

  “Stanley Whitehead, on behalf of the state,” Schlosser’s assistant said. Stanley flung me a scoffing glance like I’d stolen his milk money one too many times in grade school. I’d like to pop his whitehead with a pin and shove a gallon of benzoyl peroxide down his throat.

  “Natalia Valenzuela, on behalf of the state,” Schlosser’s other assistant said with a fluid hispanic accent. I hoped Natalia was as kind hearted as she looked. For all I knew, it was just an act to make people forget to take her seriously. She worked for the D.A.’s office after all, not as a nun or a nurse.

  “Russell Merriweather, on behalf of Mr. Manos.”

  The judge shuffled papers and files on the desk in front of her, setting everything in order. When she was finished, she folded her hands on the desk in front of her. “Thank you, counselors. We have a number of motions to work through. I suggest we begin with the State. Mr. Schlosser?”

  George Schlosser stepped up to the podium between the prosecution table and the defense table and said, “Mr. Manos is identified through witness statements and descriptions as the perpetrator in the assault and battery in question.”

  Schlosser then proceeded to dive into a litany of evidentiary motions. In other words, Schlosser told the judge all the things he was going to do at my trial to prove I was the bad guy, that I had swung first at poor old Horst Grossman for no good reason.

  It was all uncomfortably familiar.

  How many times had I sat behind the defense table for similar reasons? I’d lost count. In the past, I’d never cared. But I hadn’t had much to care about. Now things were different.

  Now I had Samantha to worry about. Seeing her flourish and find success in life was my number one priority.

  I grit my teeth. I couldn’t wait for this shit to be over.

  When Schlosser finished sketching out what the State would argue on Friday at my trial, he returned to his seat and Russell took over the podium.

  The entire time Russell spoke, Schlosser watched him closely, taking notes and periodically whispering to his assistants. I knew Schlosser was strategizing, looking for any weakness in Russell’s case that he could exploit during my trial. For the most part, nothing was whetting Schlosser’s carnivorous appetite. He almost looked bored. Russell Merriweather ran a tight ship, and I knew he’d worked up a solid case for my claim of self defense. The real action wouldn’t really start until Friday.

  “Will you be calling any other witnesses at trial, Mr. Merriweather?” Judge Moody asked, her eyes on her desk while she jotted down a note on some paperwork.

  Before Your Love by Kelly Clarkson began playing from my suit jacket. It wasn’t very loud, but in the crypt quiet courtroom, it sounded like a primo sound system at full blast. Shit. I thought I’d turned the ringer off before coming into court. I must’ve done it wrong. I fumbled with my jacket, trying to shut the phone off through the material. No good. I had to pull it out.

  The judge cannoned a hard glare at me. “Do we have a problem, Mr. Manos?”

  “No, I, uh,” I mumbled as I fished my phone out of my suit.

  “Perhaps we can reconvene when it’s more convenient for you, Mr. Manos?” the judge asked sarcastically. I wasn’t scoring any points with her today.

  Schlosser and his team shared a chuckle at my expense.

  Finally, I dug the phone out and shut it off, but not before noticing who had called. Samantha. Why the fuck would she be calling me now? Whatever it was, it could wait. I made sure the ringer was off and stuffed the phone back in my suit.

  “Are you finished?” Judge Moody asked.

  “Yeah, sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “I should hope not, Mr. Manos. For your sake.”

  Fucking great. Nothing like a bad first impression. In this case, it was more like a bad first, second, and third impression.

  “As I was saying,” the judge fired a final glare at me, “before we were so rudely interrupted,” then she turned to Russell, “Mr. Merriweather, do you intend to call any other witnesses at trial?”

  Russell flicked me a pointed glance. Just loud enough for me to hear, he said, “We gonna do this?”

  My phone jumped in my pocket and vibrated once. I almost flinched, but managed to hold my shit together. I could tell from the vibration pattern that it was a text coming in. I ignored it.

  I nodded at Russell.

  He turned to the judge, and in a confident voice said, “Yes, your honor. I will also be calling Mr. Manos to testify on his own behalf.”

  A hush fell over the courtroom.

  The three D.A.s looked like a pack of hyenas whose ears had pricked up and noses had twitched the moment they’d caught scent of a wounded wildebeest limping by. Schlosser dug his fingers into the armrests of his chair. He was practically climbing out of it. The greedy smile on Stanley Whitehead’s face had curled into a twist. I was just waiting for his tongue to snake out and hungrily lick his lips. Kind hearted Natalia Valenzuela’s cheeks had reddened as if she was suddenly turned on. Yeah, her earlier demeanor had been nothing but a front. She got off on desperation. I could feel it. These three had smelled my blood and were thirsty for a drink.

  So what? Fuck ‘em. I wasn’t a wounded wildebeest. I was always ready for a fight. Because you knew the second the badass male lion came bounding out of the bush with his big mane on di
splay, those hyenas scattered like ants in a sandstorm.

  Too bad I wasn’t allowed to throw punches and elbows in court. Not by law, anyway. But Russell could. In the courtroom, he was a bigger lion than I was.

  He was going to eat those D.A. fuckers for lunch.

  Somebody hand me a knife and fork.

  Chapter 5

  SAMANTHA

  After lunch, I went to the Main Library to study. No matter how many times I called or texted Christos, he never answered. I tried to concentrate on my Sociology and History reading, but it was tough going. I was too worried about Christos.

  Eventually I gave up on homework and packed up my books and laptop. On my way to the north parking lot where I’d parked, I texted Christos one final time.

  Meet me at ur place 4 dinner?

  When I reached my VW, I was pleasantly surprised to see that it was right where I’d left it, seemingly intact. I’d sort of expected to find it either gone, somehow towed away by Tiffany Shitstain-Hateface, or perhaps a mangled heap. I wouldn’t put it past Tiffany to hire some guy to drive a bulldozer over it.

  I strolled around my car, looking for any fresh key gouges or slashed tires. Nothing. Somehow, I imagined Tiffany was simply biding her time. Waiting for the most opportune moment to strike.

  I climbed in my car and turned the ignition, wincing in anticipation of a car bomb going off. Nope, the engine started smoothly.

  A moment later, I heard my phone jingle. A text from Christos.

  Dinner is waiting for you at your new home, agapi mou.

  Yay! I heaved a sigh of relief. I really needed to talk to him about his trial. I just hoped it wasn’t too late to make a difference.

  I backed out of my space and drove down the aisle. Maybe Tiffany had cut my brake lines? How did one check brake lines anyway? I had no idea. Oh wait, I know!

  I glanced in my rearview mirror. When I saw no one was behind me, I braked hard. My car stopped abruptly. The brakes seemed to be working. For now. Maybe it took awhile?

  Screw it. I didn’t have time to worry about whatever that vengeful bitch Tiffany might be planning. I had more important things to worry about than her petty jealousy. I had to get home to my man.

  Traffic was light and I made it to Christos’ house in record time. I parked in the driveway next to his Camaro. I pulled out my key to let myself in. I really needed to pack up all my stuff and move in ASAP. I’d already given my apartment manager my 30 day notice to vacate.

  Sadly, I doubted there was time for me to move everything before Friday. I hadn’t even started packing. Then what? Would I be sharing this huge house with Spiridon while we waited who knew how long for Christos to be released from jail?

  I didn’t want to think about it.

  I jammed my key in the lock and walked inside.

  For now, I was going to enjoy our time together as best I could.

  “Samoula!” Spiridon smiled as I walked into the kitchen. “Dinner is almost ready.” He wrapped me up in a huge hug.

  Christos walked in with a huge platter of lamb kebab skewers. “I just pulled these off the grill outside. I hope you’re hungry, agápi mou,” he smiled.

  “You bet,” I grinned and tip-toed up to circle an arm around his neck and kiss his cheek.

  Christos was so tall, he had to lean over for me to reach him. He twisted at the last second, holding the kebabs in one hand while he wrapped an arm around my waist and smooched me on the lips. “That’s more like it,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for that all day.”

  “Your Spanakopita is almost ready,” Spiridon said to Christos. “It smells delicious.”

  “Awesome,” Christos said as he set the platter of skewers on the counter top. I noticed chunks of grilled onions wedged on the skewers between the lamb. He grabbed an oven mitt and used it to pull a baking pan out of the oven.

  “Wow, that looks uber yum!” I said. “What is it?”

  “Spanakopita. Spinach pie.”

  The crust was a perfect golden brown and looked flaky. I couldn’t wait to dig in.

  “Sit down, you two,” Christos said while he cut up slices of Spanakopita and dished them up with the lamb skewers and cucumber salad.

  “Mmm, Tzatziki! I can’t wait,” I smiled as Christos set plates in front of me and Spiridon.

  Christos joined us at the table and we dug in.

  As usual, conversation with Christos and his grandfather was fun and full of laughs. I relished these simple moments. Dinner with my parents was never like this. I was starting to believe my parents had no idea how to enjoy themselves, as if they consciously avoided laughter and joy. Groan. Maybe Spiridon and Christos could give them lessons. Not.

  I continued to enjoy the good dinner vibes, but Christos’ trial kept nagging at the back of my mind. I couldn’t decide if Christos was avoiding the topic. He’d probably talked with Spiridon about it at length when I wasn’t around. It had been five months since Christos’ arrest, so they were probably sick of it. I wasn’t going to spoil dinner by bringing it up for the billionth time. I’d wait until afterward.

  When we finished eating, I got up to clear the plates and do the dishes.

  “Let me get those, koritsáki mou,” Spiridon said. “You go spend some time with my grandson.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he smiled, a faint sadness swirling in his eyes.

  “All right,” I said uncertainly.

  “Go,” he said, “enjoy yourselves.”

  “What the man said,” Christos grinned. “Wanna help me clean up the grill?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  We walked onto the back deck and Christos grabbed a steel brush to scrub down the grill. His muscles flexed and popped as he worked the brush, hypnotizing me instantly. I couldn’t concentrate. What did I need to talk to Christos about that was so important? Was it the fact his tattooed arms made me dizzy and my thighs were now quivering? No. Something else. Was it the way my stomach was somersaulting and my cheeks glowed red when his sexy lips curled into a smile as he glanced over at me like my mere presence had made his day? No, couldn’t be that either.

  “Admit it,” he said, “once again, seeing me cleaning something is turning you on.”

  Guilty. I rolled my eyes. “Totally not turned on.”

  He flashed me a dimple grin. “Uh huh. I see the way your eyes are spinning in circles. You can barely stand up.”

  So what if he was right? I wouldn’t admit it, not even in front of a jury after swearing on a stack of Bibles. Crap. That broke the spell. We needed to discuss his trial. I sighed sadly. “Did you get my call today?”

  Christos chuckled as he scrubbed. “Yeah. Right in the middle of court. The judge gave me a ton of shit because my phone rang.”

  “Oh no! I’m so sorry, I’m such an idiot. I should’ve waited to call.”

  “It’s not your fault, agápi mou,” Christos reassured. “Don’t worry about it.”

  No matter how anxious I was, Christos’ even demeanor could always calm me down. I took a deep, cleansing breath. “Did you get my text or have a chance to listen to my message?”

  He set down the wire brush. “I did.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “And,” I said, “I can testify for you. It’s not too late, is it?”

  Christos ran a heavy hand across his stubbled cheeks. His always sexy cheeks. Why did he have to be so damn handsome? I could never get enough of my magazine cover model boyfriend. He was eye crack. I’m surprised my eyes didn’t go into withdrawal when he was out of my sight. At least I could get a fix right now. Wait, he was doing it again! Trying to distract me with his sexiness!

  “Please, Christos, can you stop being sexy for one second so we can discuss this?”

  “I’d rather be sexy,” he smirked. “It amuses me to watch your eyes cross like that.”

  “My eyes aren’t crossing!”

  “They were a second ago,” he winked.

 
“You’re such a man,” I groused.

  “Yup.”

  Wow. Cocky as ever. If it was me who was two days away from going to court, I’d be freaking out. Maybe Christos could give confidence lessons to packed stadiums and make a mint in the self help industry. Or maybe we could just bottle his ego and put heroin out of business. Either way, we’d retire young and rich.

  I remembered thinking of him as Good Time Christos at the Halloween party at Jake’s house last year. It turned out that had been an accurate title for him.

  Christos lowered the lid on the grill and hung the brush on the side. “Shall we go inside? All this exercise has got me all worked up. I need to relax.”

  “Okay,” I fawned dreamily. Then I shook my head. “Wait! Stop! Quit charming me with your hotness powers. We need to talk about your trial.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Must we? I wanted to enjoy this evening with you. And I’ve got a present for you.” He smoothed a loose lock of hair behind my ear and kissed my forehead.

  Swoon.

  “You do?” I sighed. Who didn’t like presents? Wait a second, he was doing it again! I squinted at him and jammed my hands on my hips. “Is this another distraction tactic, Christos?”

  “No, I really have a present.”

  “Fine. Do we discuss the trial before or after the present?”

  He considered. “Before. That way, my present will get you back in the mood.”

  “Mood?” I said skeptically. “Are you trying to get me into bed, Christos Manos?”

  He nodded confidently and slid an arm around my waist.

  I rolled my eyes and smiled. “Fine. But not until after we talk.”

  “Works for me.” He leaned forward and kissed me passionately.

  After a minute, I could barely stand up. My legs had officially melted because of the forest fire deep in my…forest.

  I shook my head and pushed away. “Stop! We need to talk,” I pleaded. Who needed talking when the hottest man on the planet had his arms around my waist? I’m pretty sure that was the devil voice on my shoulder talking. Devil voice liked to have a good time. But Angel voice reminded her that there would be no more parties in my panties if Christos was in jail. Sigh. “Christos, you know I want you, but I don’t want you just for tonight. I’d also like to have you tomorrow night, and the night after that, and the night after that, and—”