“Did you push, shove, or kick him?” I asked as I raised my right hand to my cheek.
“No ma’am, none of those things,” he responded.
“Well, Mr. Ripton, what exactly, did you do? The deceased is reported to have expired from a broken neck,” I stated.
“I reacted,” he responded, nodding his head slowly.
“You reacted?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Have you experience at disarming gun wielding homeowners, Mr. Ripton?” I asked.
Here we go. Eat this, Triston.
Michael looked down, removed his glasses and looked up toward the jurors as he held his glasses in his hand.
“A few months ago, I was preparing to eat at a Japanese restaurant. A man attempted to hijack me. To car jack me. He approached my car with a loaded weapon. He threatened me, the woman with me, and said he was going to take my car. I was scared, and I did as he asked. I got out of the car, and asked the woman to call the police,” he hesitated and stared at the jurors.
“Did she call the police?” I asked as I raised my eyebrows, my voice full of suspicion.
“Yes ma’am. She did. In the time it took the police to arrive, he made it clear he intended to kill us if he had to. She was scared, and remained in the car. He continued to make demands, and as he focused on the car, I hit his right hand with my left fist, and disarmed him. The police arrived at the exact instance of the incident, and witnessed the criminal being disarmed,” he said.
“So, to recite your testimony in summary, a man attempted to carjack you. He threatened your life, and the life of your female companion. You reacted by hitting the hand that held the pistol, and disarmed the attacker. This incident was witnessed by police?” I asked.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Was there a police report filed, Mr. Ripton?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Were there any shots fired?” I asked.
“Yes ma’am, one at the time I disarmed him.”
“Was anyone injured?” I asked as I turned to face the jury.
“No ma’am. By the grace of God, he missed.” he responded.
“And this time, Mr. Ripton. The event in question, was a shot fired?” I asked.
“No ma’am. I’m not so sure this time, the shot would have missed. I was scared, and I reacted in a manner I felt was necessary to save my life,” he sighed.
“To save your life from an armed intoxicated attacker. I have no further questions your honor,” I stated as I turned to face the defense desk.
“Counsel, have you anything for redirect?” the judge asked.
“Just a few, your honor. I’ll be brief,” the prosecutor stated.
Be careful Triston, you’re going to get bit.
“Mr. Ripton. You said you were attacked a month ago or so. Oddly enough, I believe I read that report. Sorry for your string of bad luck. Now, in the first attack, the criminal was disarmed, and if memory serves me correctly, later in an attempt to flee, fell in the parking lot, and received contusions. Other than you striking his hand, and disarming him, he was not injured by you, is that correct?” the prosecutor asked.
“That is correct sir,” Michael responded after a brief pause.
“Mr. Ripton, if you were able to disarm him without killing or injuring him, what was different about his attack, as defense counsel likes to call it. What was different? What caused you to choke the attacker?” the prosecutor asked.
You asked, asshole.
After a long pause, Michael sat up in his seat. A quick glance toward the jurors confirmed all eyes were on Michael.
“Sir, after the first attack, I suffered from what I believed to be PTSD. I have not been diagnosed. I found sleeping difficult. Immediately following the attack, I met a decorated United States Marine, who suffers from PTSD. The Marine began teaching hand-to-hand combat at a local gym that I frequent, and I accepted his invitation to the classes. The classes included disarming attackers and some chokeholds, one of which I attempted to use on the deceased,” Michael paused and pushed his glasses firmly against his face.
“So, you chose upon seeing the pistol raised at your face, as you testified, to use a Marine choke hold to save your life. Or let’s say to prevent a further attack?” the prosecutor asked.
“No sir. I didn’t choose. From the extensive training by the Marine mentioned, it was instinct. I did not think. I did not make a decision, I reacted. It was a reaction without thought,” Michael said flatly.
Triston placed his hands on his hips, inhaled, and audibly exhaled.
“That is all for this witness, your honor,” he sighed.
“Counsel?” the judge asked.
“Nothing further,” I stated.
“You’re dismissed, son,” the judge said.
Michael got up and walked slowly to the desk where I stood. The prosecution team talked briefly and turned to face the judge.
“Your honor, we’d like to call one additional witness,” the prosecutor said.
“Your honor, there are no witnesses listed that haven’t been called,” I stated as Michael sat down.
“Your honor, we just learned of this witness. The state would like to call Joshua Jackson. This is significant to show a pattern of behavior on Mr. Ripton’s part, your honor,” he stated.
What the fuck?
“Your honor, by my watch, it’s three o’ five. To allow direct, cross, and redirect may take hours. As a matter of respect to the court, to the jurors, and considering the fact that I am unaware of this mystery witness, I respectfully request that the court consider adjourning until tomorrow morning,” I stated.
Fuck.
The judge looked at his watch and looked at the jurors. Another quick glance at his watch, and he looked up and into the courtroom.
“I’ll allow the witness. Considering the timeframe and Mrs. Simon’s request, I will consider this day over. We will reconvene in the morning, at zero nine hundred,” he stated.
Thank God.
“Who the fuck is the witness, Michael?” I whispered as I sat down.
Michael raised his hand to his face, and stared straight ahead.
“Remember the story about me cutting the finger off that guy? And hitting him in the face with a hammer? It’s him.” he whispered.
I looked down at the desk and covered my mouth.
“When we’re dismissed, you and I are going to talk. I am not going to lose this fucking case. I am not. Underfuckingstand that Michael,” I whispered between my clenched teeth.
Underfuckinstand it.
CHAPTER XI - THE PROTECTOR
A-TRAIN. This entire earth is filled with three types of people. There are those that need protected. These are the people that are incapable or unwilling to stand up and protect themselves. They lack whatever it is that is required mentally or physically to stand up and take a stand against a potential attacker or foe. There is nothing inherently wrong with the people in need of protection. Personally, I’m glad they exist. Solely, they give me reason to live. They live their lives deaf and dumb of what is required to maintain a level of protection for them to live an otherwise peaceful life.
Then, there are the people that the protected need protection from. The criminals, outlaws, and members of society that aren’t willing to abide by the rules and regulations set forth as a guideline to allow the protected to live a risk free life. These people typically will continue to prey upon the protected until someone or something challenges them.
Lastly, we have the people that protect. The police, military, some vigilantes, and an occasional member of society with broad shoulders and a big heart. Naturally, they will never allow the people that need protected to go without peace of mind of being protected. They will, if required, sacrifice their life to save the lives of a person or persons in need of protection.
I am a protector.
“Listen, I’m going to make this simple,” I said as I placed my pistol on the kitchen counter.
“I won’t testify,” Josh stuttered.
“Yes you will,” I paused and shook my head.
“Unless I ask you to speak, don’t speak again, or I will cut off one of your ears. That sir is not an idle threat. It is a promise. I’ll add it to the collection I already have. Make note that I do not like you or those like you. People like you make me feel sick,” I sighed as I pulled my knife from the sheath.
“Nod your head,” I said.
He nodded as I placed the knife on the counter beside the pistol.
“I’m sure you still have nightmares about our mutual friend visiting you and relieving you of a finger and a few teeth. Smile and hold up your hand,” I said as I lifted my chin slightly.
He smiled, revealing snow white teeth and held up his right hand, which was missing seventy five percent of an index finger. A small, almost unnoticeable stub remained.
“That cleaned up quite nicely. And those teeth look remarkable. They’re nice, really nice. Well, for what it may be worth Josh, I’m not at all a pleasant person. Not like Ripp. Right now I really want to cut your tongue out. You were given an opportunity by our mutual friend to keep your mouth shut. You made a poor decision, and chose to speak. I do not know, nor do I fucking care to know the circumstances surrounding your involvement with the authorities. I will say this. I hate most cops about as much as I hate you,” I paused and pressed my hands onto the edge of the counter.
“Now, your testimony. You spoke to police, and I suspect you told them of the removal of your finger, the ass whipping, and the fact your teeth were knocked out. They now expect you to testify tomorrow regarding what happened and why. That sir, will not happen. It will not. I will not allow it. Do you understand me?” I asked.
He remained silent.
“Speak,” I said as I shook my head.
“Yes, I understand,” he responded.
“Did you ever file a police report on your loss of teeth or finger?” I asked.
“Speak,” I said after a few seconds of silence.
“No, I did not.”
“Until this particular case, did you or have you ever discussed with authorities your loss of teeth or the finger?” I asked as I ran my finger down the edge of the knife.
“Speak.”
“No, I have not. Not until now.”
“Alright. You will testify tomorrow. I will make clear what you will say. Phrase it how you prefer, but you will say this,” I paused and thought as I picked up my knife.
“You will state, when asked, that your association with Mr. Ripton is through your former girlfriend. You will further state that you chose to concoct an utter lie regarding the loss of your finger to attempt to get back at her, because she is friends with him. That, in effect, is all you will say. Is that understood?” I asked as I rotated my wrist and twisted the blade of the knife back and forth.
He nodded.
“I need to hear it. Speak,” I sighed.
“Yes. Understood.”
“You see. It’s disappointing - this entire process. You being smacked with a hammer and having a finger cut off has nothing to do with this case. Not one damned thing. One has nothing to do with the other. But, if the jury hears what you have to say, they’ll assume Ripp is a violent man and they’ll certainly side with the state. They’ll find him guilty. If you don’t testify, they may find him innocent. In all honesty, they should give him a good Samaritan medal for doing what he’s done. It irritates me to have to be here. People like you disgust me. Understand that,” I paused and shook my head lightly
“Now. I will close with this. I like killing people. I really do. It’s the only fucking way I can make that God forsaken war make sense in my head. If I stop killing people, it means all the killing I did for years over there was wrong. And, killing people that wreak havoc on others must be God’s will for me, because the government paid me for over a decade to do it. I like to think it was justified, killing all of those people,” I hesitated and thought of what I was saying.
We are raised to understand killing is wrong. It’s one of the Ten Commandments, if you are a religious person and a Christian. It’s one of the ten things not to do. The government, in times of trouble, takes every adult male that is willing and capable and teaches them how to kill. They don’t teach you how to obtain a home loan, or balance a checkbook. They don’t assist you or encourage you to make any changes to your mental process regarding killing when they’re done with you. They merely expect you to flip a switch and become human again. It is difficult for me to believe that I am anything but human. I am human.
I am a protector.
“You know, the only way I can convince myself it was justified, all of the killing…is to continue killing people that take from society. You’re a taker. And I administer justice by attempting to balance the scales. I do, however, believe people can change. I hope you’re one of them. I’m assuming Ripp’s previous visit left a little doubt in your mind. I want to remove that doubt. I want clarity. Are we clear?” I asked as I looked up from the blade of the knife.
“Jesus fucking Christ. Speak,” I breathed.
“Yes sir. I understand.”
“Now, I will not be in court tomorrow. Would you like to know where I’ll be?” I asked as I picked up the pistol.
He shook his head.
“Humor me. Say you want to know,” I laughed.
He swallowed and stared.
“I want to know where you’ll be tomorrow,” he said, his voice quaking as he spoke.
“Josh, I’ll be where ever you go. But you won’t see me. You’ll never see me. If you testify as to any other facts than what we discussed here, I will find you. And, I can assure you of two things after I find you. One, I will torture you. And two, when I get bored with torturing you I will kill you. I will promise you those two things,” I placed the pistol into the holster and nodded my head sharply.
“Oh, and one more thing,” I said as I slid the knife into the sheath.
He raised his eyebrows and swallowed.
“Never, regardless of the circumstances, come in contact in any way with Kace again. Clear?” I asked as I stepped in his direction.
He nodded.
I tilted my head to the side and rolled my eyes.
“Say it,” I sighed.
“I, uhhm. Yeah. It’s crystal clear. Never again,” he responded.
I turned and walked to the door.
“I’ll let myself out,” I laughed as I walked to the door.
As I reached for the door handle, I looked over my shoulder toward the kitchen. Josh remained standing by the countertop, staring down at his feet with his hands at his sides.
“You see Josh, the entire world can be separated into two groups; those that give, and those that take. Those that give provide something to the rest of the people on the earth. Something useful,” I turned the door handle and opened the door partially.
“The takers? Well, they’re only concern is themselves. They take from society, providing little, if anything, to others. In the future, start asking yourself what you’ve done lately for society. For others. If the answer is nothing, you’re doing something wrong.”
I turned the handle and stepped through the door. Today I did something for my brother Ripp. He didn’t ask for assistance, and I didn’t tell him what I intended to do. To me, a friend should always be able to rely on me to be there for him or her. Always.
The Marines have a motto.
Semper Fidelis.
Always faithful.
Always.
CHAPTER XII - A MOMENT OF CLARITY
VEE. “Your honor, the state calls Josh Jackson,” the prosecutor stated.
The court deputy opened the door, and allowed Mr. Jackson to enter the courtroom. As he walked in, dressed in khaki pants and a pressed shirt, he held his head high and walked directly to the witness stand with the deputy.
“Raise your right hand,” the judge said over his left shoulder.
“Do you solemnly swe
ar to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” the judge asked.
“Yes sir, I do,” he responded.
“You may be seated,” the judge said.
“Mr. Jackson, we haven’t met. I am the prosecutor for the state of Texas, Matthew Triston. I am going to have a few questions for you, alright?” the prosecutor said
“Yes sir,” the witness responded.
“Are you familiar with the defendant seated on your left, Michael Ripton?” the prosecutor asked as me motioned toward Michael.
“Yes sir, I am,” he responded.
“Now Mr. Jackson, how did you come to know Mr. Ripton?” the prosecutor asked.
The witness leaned toward the microphone and cleared his throat.
“He is friends with my ex-wife’s, well no…my ex-girlfriend’s fiancé. I know him in that regard,” he said into the microphone.
“Very well. Has the defendant, on any occasion, taken an opportunity to pay you a visit at your home?” the prosecutor asked.
“Yes sir, he has,” he responded.
I took a shallow breath, pursed my lips and looked at the witness.
“Please explain the nature of that visit to the best of your ability,” the prosecutor stated as he turned slightly toward the jurors.
“Well. I was in a relationship with Kace Meadows for ten years. I was very abusive to her - mentally, physically, and emotionally. One day, in a drunken rage, I beat her,” the witness paused and looked down.
I glanced up at the jurors. Several covered their mouths with their hands. I glanced toward the witness stand as Josh took another slow breath.
“In fact, I beat her unconscious. When she. When she uhhm. When she woke up, she left. She uhhm left me. Mr. Ripton, on that evening, came to my home to speak to me,” he looked up at the prosecutor and stopped speaking.
“Please, explain to the court the nature of that visit,” the prosecutor said as he gripped the edges of the lectern.
I glanced at Michael, who stared, without emotion, straight ahead.
“Well. He uhhm. He came to my house and introduced himself. He said he was friends of the man that she uhhm, the man that she eventually became engaged to. He said he wanted to make me aware that mistreating women was wrong, that abusing women was wrong, and that being violent to a woman wasn’t acceptable,” he paused and poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the stand.
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