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?

Eventually, the right turners turned and I made it through the light. I was on the 5 heading south a few minutes later.

Nothing could stop me now.

Except a traffic jam.

As I crested the hill at Del Mar Heights Road, I nearly crashed into a blanket of brake lights. The cars had all slowed from 65 to 35 in less than a quarter mile. A few minutes later, my VW crept along at 10 mph.

Had I jinxed myself by hoping things would turn out for the best?

* * *

CHRISTOS


Russell led Brianna and me to the defense table inside the courtroom.

The judge’s bench was still empty. Only a few random heads populated the seating in the spectator gallery.

I noticed that George Schlosser and his assistant hangmen, Stanley Whitehead and Natalia Valenzuela, were already set up at the prosecutor’s table with three laptops open and humming, and file folders neatly arranged between them.

George Schlosser looked calm and sure of himself. Whitehead looked like a smug fuck who I’d very much like to bump into in some dark alley when no one was looking. Natalia was a bright eyed and bushy tailed vampire jackrabbit.

Whatever.

I knew that me, Russell, and Brianna looked like three gladiators stepping into the Coliseum in Ancient Rome as we walked up to the defense table. We were going to slice some heads off. I could feel it.

I sat down while Russell and Brianna arranged their laptops and files on the defense table. It was a quiet moment for me to settle into my seat. I was going to be doing a lot of sitting for the next few hours. At least it was peaceful in the courtroom prior to trial. Almost like enforced meditation. I could roll with that. Then my stomach dropped through a hole in the floor and plummeted to the center of the earth.

“Paidi mou,” my father said from somewhere behind me.

I recognized his voice instantly.

Holy fuck. How the hell did he get here?

My stomach bounced back from the earth’s core and flew through the ceiling to shoot into the stratosphere. This was not going to be my day, was it?

I hadn’t told my dad about the trial. I’d considered it after discussing the topic with my grandfather, but at the last minute decided not to. Maybe if my dad actually came by my grandfather’s place now and then or showed some interest in something other than drinking, I would’ve told him.

I glanced back as he squeezed my shoulder.

He was leaning over the thigh high partition between the court floor and the gallery, wearing a sharp dark suit. He looked like a slightly older version of me, but with a hint of gray at the temples. To my surprise, he looked healthier than when I’d last seen him almost a year ago.

Ever since my mom had run out on us, my dad had stayed locked up in his house where he drank away his days. His split with my mom had turned him into an absentee human being. I couldn’t stand watching him throw away his life and tremendous talent, so I rarely visited him, and we never talked on the phone. He was always too damn drunk to hold a conversation.

Russell and Brianna both turned to look at my dad. Russell knew him on sight. He’d met my dad many times in my youth, but I don’t think Brianna knew him.

“Mr. Manos,” Russell nodded, standing to shake my father’s hand.

Brianna stood as well and introduced herself. “Brianna Johnson.”

“Nikolos Manos,” my father said.

Reluctantly, I stood and turned to face him. My grandfather, wearing a light gray suit, walked up behind my dad, looking nervous and apologetic. Yeah, he knew why I might possibly be irritated that he’d brought my dad. Fuck.

“Pappoús,” I said as I leaned over to hug my grandfather.

He whispered in my ear, “I thought your father should be here. For you. For his son.”

That explained where my grandfather had been last night. Probably sobering up my dad so he wouldn’t be sloppy drunk in court. I ground my teeth together.

Still whispering, my grandfather continued, “Your father was worried you wouldn’t want him to be here but I told him it would be all right with you.”

Yeah, right.

I pulled away from my grandfather but dropped my eyes to my hands. My hands were already clenched into fists. My fucking dad was the last person I wanted sitting behind me during my trial.

“I can see where Christos gets his good looks,” Brianna said warmly. “You three could be brothers.”

My grandad smiled proudly and nodded. “That’s my boys.”

“Say hello to your father,” Russell said softly, nudging my elbow.

I glared at Russell but saw compassion in his eyes. He’d been encouraging me to forgive my dad for years.

Without looking at my dad, I leaned toward him. He threw his arms around me and squeezed, stifling me. I expected to smell booze, but I did not. That was a surprise.

I pulled away and glanced at him briefly. “Hey,” I mumbled.

“Paidi mou, it’s so good to see you,” he said earnestly.

As I was about to take a step back, my dad threw his arms around me again and crushed me to his chest. He’d let his body go to shit years ago. But now, he was much stronger than I remembered. Had he been working out again? That seemed impossible. I sighed as he patted my back repeatedly. “Okay, dad. That’s enough.”