Plastic Gods, A Rich Coleman Novel Vol 2

by William Manchee

  ***

  Several weeks later Matt was taken to the Federal Building to announce his plea. The courtroom was packed with the press and curious spectators. Matt came up to the U.S. Marshall's office to confer one last time with him before hearing. He briefed him on the details of the agreement and advised him that the judge didn't have to accept it. Finally, the time came to go to the courtroom. Russell Lewis was seated at the prosecution table when they entered. Matt and Pierson took their seats and waited.

  The bailiff stood up and said, "All rise. The United States District Court for the Northern District of Texas is now in session, the Honorable Houston T. Cotton presiding."

  The judge came in and took the bench. He smiled, rummaged around the bench for a moment and then said, "All right, I'll take announcements."

  Russell Lewis stood up and said, "The prosecution is ready, Your Honor."

  Bruce Pierson stood up and said, "The defense is ready, Your Honor."

  "All right then," the Judge said. "Will the bailiff read the charges?"

  As the bailiff read the charges, Matt scanned the room to see who had come to gloat over his demise. He didn't recognize most of those who were present but he did see several familiar faces, Wallace Green, Agent Radcliff, Peter Robertson, Tom, his mother, and a tough-looking baldheaded man that gave him a chill. He stared at him a moment trying to place him. He had seen him before.

  He gave up and turned his eyes back to the judge. He felt angry and frustrated at what was happening to him, but was relieved that it was about over. All he cared about now was serving his time and starting over with Lynn. He felt that, by the grace of God, he hadn't been killed and would still have a long life with her. It was just a matter of time before his ordeal would be over.

  "How do you plead?" the judge demanded.

  Matt hesitated. He didn't realize how hard it would be to say the words that would send him to prison and subject him to the public ridicule. Suddenly the anger that he had so far kept in check, swelled up inside him. He gave a scathing look to his adversaries who were gloating in the gallery. He wanted to spit in their face but they were too far away. How could he confess to a crime he would never have dreamed of committing? His face turned red. Tears began to well in his eyes.

  "How do you plead?" the Judge demanded.

  Matt took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and replied, "Guilty."

  "Mr. Coleman, has your attorney fully briefed you on the effect of this plea?"

  "Yes, Your Honor."

  "Do you realize you cannot change it after it has been entered by the court?"

  "Yes, Your Honor."

  "Are you making this plea without coercion and of your own free will and volition?"

  Matt couldn't speak. He searched the room for Lynn. He wanted to run to her, to tell her he was doing this for her. He wanted to scream out that he was innocent—that he was being coerced into making this ridiculous plea. Then he spotted the baldheaded man again. Now he remembered. He had seen him around, following Lynn and he. He realized for the first time that he was working for MidSouth Bank—an enforcer, a hit man perhaps. He promised himself that someday he would hold a gun to this asshole's head and make him experience the fear and pain that he and Lynn had been feeling these past few months.

  "Are you making this plea without coercion and of your own free will and volition?" the Judge repeated with a hint of irritation.

  No, Your Honor, that baldheaded asshole over there made it known to me if I didn’t plead guilty here today he’d kill my wife. Is that coercion enough for you?

  Matt looked at the judge, took a deep breath and replied, "Yes, Your Honor."

  "Very well, I've looked at the recommendation of the prosecution and the probation report and I'm prepared to accept the recommendation. Mr. Coleman, it is the judgment of this court that you be remanded into the custody of the United States Department of Corrections for a term of eighteen months, with probation for an additional forty-two months and that you should be fined the sum of $200,000."

  The courtroom erupted in excited chatter. Matt hung his head, too humiliated to look at anyone. Much to his relief, the bailiff came over and escorted him away. As he was leaving, he looked at Lynn and gave her a faint smile. She broke into tears as he disappeared from sight.

  Lori held Lynn up as they left the courtroom. Rich and Erica wanted Lynn to come home with them, but she declined. Lori assured them she would be okay. As they were leaving, they passed Hans, who had been listening to their conversation. Hans followed them at a distance. Lynn had parked her car across the street on the south side of the building. They jaywalked to the parking lot and found it. As they drove off Hans held up his hand. Suddenly a black Mercedes came barreling around the corner. Just as this was happening, the transport vehicle taking Matt back to the Dallas County Jail rolled out of the underground parking garage under the Federal Building.

  Matt saw Hans being picked up by the Mercedes. He squinted, wondering what he was doing. Then he saw Lynn's car a block down the road. Fear shot through him like a lightning bolt. He turned around and watched Hans chase after Lynn's car. "No, stop!” he screamed. “You've got to stop him! He's going to kill my wife."

  "What?" the deputy said.

  "That guy. The baldheaded one in the courtroom. I know he's going to kill my wife! You've got to do something. Turn around! We've got to go after them!"

  Matt was frantic. He began pounding on the window.

  "Are you crazy? The only place you're going is a nice comfy jail cell."

  "Call the police, tell them my wife is in danger! That guy is going to kill my wife. He got into a black Mercedes. Turn around. They’re following her right now.”

  “Get a grip, Coleman. You’re getting paranoid. Nobody is going to hurt your wife.”

  “Please! I beg of you! Stop!"

  "Just sit down. I'll call the police station. Keep your pants on,” the deputy said, looking at Matt through his rear view mirror. “What kind of car does she drive?"

  “A red Mazda Miata convertible, license number L-U-V-M-A-T.”

  The deputy got on his radio and said, "Dispatch. This is Unit 29 transporting prisoner Matt Coleman to the county jail, copy?"

  "Yes, Unit 29, go ahead."

  "Our prisoner has some concern for his wife's safety. He seems to think someone is following her home with malicious intentions. She’s traveling east on Commerce in a red Mazda Miata, license number L-U-V-M-A-T. That’s Lincoln-Uncle-Viper-Mary-Alpha-Terry. The possible suspect is driving a black Mercedes, unknown license number. Could you check it out?"

  "Copy, Unit 29. I'll report it to the Dallas Police Department."

  "Thank you. Unit twenty-nine out."

  Matt said, “You’ve got to follow-up on this. I’m serious. These people have threatened to kill Lynn.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll check up on it.”

  Matt sat back in his seat wondering if anyone would actually check on Lynn. Somehow he didn't think the police would give much credence to his concerns, and even if they did what was the likelihood they’d be able to do anything to stop the bank’s enforcer? He regretted having pled guilty. He was helpless now to protect Lynn.

  "What an idiot!" he screamed.

  The deputy turned and looked at Matt. "You calling me an idiot?"

  "No, damn it. I'm the idiot. I trusted those bastards. . . . Oh, God! What have I done?"

  The deputy shook his head and turned back around.

  "Can I make a quick phone call?" Matt asked.

  "Sure, after we get you back to the jail."

  "No, right now. I need to call Lynn on her mobile phone and warn her."

  "Who do you think you are, the president or something? Let me clue you in. You're nothing but a two-bit con man who finally got what was coming to him. We're not stopping so you can make a damn phone call! Jesus! You're a real piece of work."

  "If my wife is harmed, I'm going to hold you responsible!"

  "Don't you threaten
me, you son of a bitch!" the deputy screamed. "One more word out of you and I'm going to stop this car and personally beat the shit out of you!"

  “Fine. Beat the shit out of me, but first let me make a damn phone call—now!”

  The deputy made a sharp turn into a gas station and slammed on the brakes. He opened the door and pulled Matt out. He was about to hit him when his partner said, “Let him make the phone call. It can’t hurt anything.”

  The deputy glared at his partner. “All right. Make your damn call.”

  He pushed Matt toward a telephone booth. Matt was handcuffed so the deputy made the call and held the phone up to his ear. The phone rang and rang, but there was no answer.

  “Damn it!” Matt screamed. “She must have shut off her cell phone.”

  “Okay, back in the car,” the deputy said. “You got your phone call.”

  Matt reluctantly got back into the car. Tears began to stream from his eyes as he feared the worst. A dark, ominous feeling plunged him into the deepest depression he had ever known.