The Honorable Nicholas S. Hatley adjusted uneasily in his chair. Usually, it was the folks that stood before him that squirmed, but today the Watauga County Judge was suffering a terrible bout of hemorrhoids, and the damnable wooden chair behind his bench was playing hell on his ass. Hatley was no wuss, just in case anyone was to wonder, he had taken a German bullet to the stomach just outside of a small town named St. Vith, Belgium, during the war and he didn’t remember the gunshot hurting quite as much as his backside did right now. Rarely was there a day that passed when the good judge wasn’t happy to sit on the bench and do his part to issue fair judgement on the souls that stood before him, but today had been difficult. Still, the good judge was doing his best to not let his discomfort affect the consideration that he gave the folk who had the misfortune to stand before him. As a matter of fact, Judge Hatley had learned that valuable lessons of his life back in the war - to treat people fairly no matter what the circumstances were. Everyone deserved fair and honest judgement. This morning, as the good judge’s rear end sent tendrils of pain straight up his spinal cord, a young man was brought in to stand before him. Judge Hatley had reviewed the young man’s file prior to the hearing and knew nearly all that he needed to know about the case. The prosecuting attorney, representing the County and the Boshart family, was accusing the young man of attempted murder, maiming, and fleeing the scene of a crime. Judge Hatley glanced across the courtroom to the prosecuting attorney’s table. Sitting next to his parents at the table was the victim. Hatley couldn’t help but to notice a purple scar extending from the victim’s temple, across his cheek, and only stopping once it neared the corner of his mouth. The victim, his attorney, and all of the folks that gathered in the seating area of the courtroom listened as testimony was being given by James Ramsey, the owner of a local business, where a separate altercation between the two boys had taken place, before the actual assault that left the Boshart boy scarred for life.
“...and you say that you witnessed Mr. Stone push Mr. Boshart to the ground in the parking lot of your establishment…” the prosecuting attorney paused with his question, as he reviewed his notes, “…the Colonel Jim’s Tasty Thrill?”
“Yes, Sir…that is correct.” Jim Ramsey sat erect with his head up. He was a good witness for the prosecution due to his military background. He spoke clearly and confidently, and everyone knew that Judge Hatley held the words of another military man in high regard.
“And then what transpired on your property, Mr. Ramsey?” The attorney asked.
“I rushed out there to stop the fight. I got between the two of them and warned them that kind of behavior wouldn’t be tolerated.” James Ramsey sat and waited for the next question. It had all been scripted between him and the attorney, and suddenly he realized that he had left out a detail. “Then I asked the Stone boy and his group to leave.”
“And did they comply?”
Ramsey nodded his head, “They chirped a little…but they eventually went on about their business.”
“I have no further questions your honor.”
Judge Hatley adjusted in his seat with a wince and asked, “Does the defense have any questions for this witness?”
“Just a couple your honor.” Sonny’s court appointed attorney; Christopher Tate stood. Sonny knew very little of the judicial system, or one lawyer from another, and although he was appreciative that the County had provided him a lawyer when he, nor his father, could afford one, he never felt like Chris Tate was trying very hard to build his defense. Sonny had spent the past five weeks in jail due to lack of money, or collateral for bail. The old truck was apparently only worth two hundred dollars – the bail was six hundred. He had missed school the entire time and had most likely failed out for this year. During the five weeks in jail, Chris Tate had only visited him twice, and only for about twenty minutes total. There was no way that Sonny had conveyed all the facts to Mr. Tate in those two short visits. None-the-less, here they were. Trying to win back Sonny’s freedom.
“Mr. Ramsey, did you see the entire confrontation between the two boys?” Mr. Tate asked.
“Yes, I did.”
“Then isn’t it true that Mr. Stone was just defending his friend when he pushed Mr. Boshart to the ground?”
“I didn’t see it that way at all, sir. I didn’t see any of the other kids put their hands on one another.” Jim Ramsey looked like he was considering on stopping there, and then he added, “Look, everyone knows that the group of kids that Mr. Stone hangs around is nothing but trouble. His and that girlfriend’s family life should tell you all that you need to know about the two of them.”
“I object your honor,” Christopher Tate said, “I move to have that last statement stricken from the record.”
“Granted,” Judge Hatley said, and then added, Colonel Ramsey, please just stick to answering the questions you are asked.”
“Yes, sir, your honor.”
“Carry on, Mr. Tate,” Judge Hatley said.
“No further questions your honor.” Christopher Tate sat back down at the table with Sonny, who was dressed in his best pair of blue jeans and a new white polo shirt that had been bought for him by Curtis Dryden’s parents for the trial. It was their way of saying thank you for standing up for Curtis in the first place…