Jack Daniels and Associates: Snake Wine by Bernard Schaffer Page B
Authors: Bernard Schaffer
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were advised to be in court today at eight AM. It is now eight oh two. Mr. Roth is hereby fined five hundred dollars for being in contempt, payable to the sheriffs immediately upon his arrival, or he will be taken into custody for−"
The doors burst open at the front of the court and Jack spun in her chair to see Joel Roth barging in, calling out, "I'm here! I'm here, your honor, sorry I'm late."
"You are in contempt, Mr. Roth," the judge said. He snapped his fingers at one of the deputies standing behind Keenan Marvin and said, "Extract the fine from him or take him into custody."
"Your honor," Roth gasped. "How much is the fine?"
"Five hundred dollars."
"I don't have five hundred dollars on me."
"Oh well, you should have thought of that before you came late to my court."
Roth turned to look at the deputy and said, "Do you guys take credit cards?"
"Nope," the deputy said.
Roth reached into his pocket and dug out his wallet. He started to count out his cash and said, "I've got eighty one, no, eighty two dollars on me right now. I will get the rest as soon as we break for lunch, sir, I promise, but I have a very good reason to be late!"
"You'd better come up with four hundred and eighteen good reasons to stay, Mr. Roth," Judge Ceparullo snapped.
Roth looked pleadingly at Jack, who stood and opened her purse to pull out her wallet. "Here, I think I've got some," she said. She pulled out two hundred dollar bills and said, "You're lucky I didn't go to the bank yet."
"You're still short," Ceparullo said. The deputy reached behind his gun belt to remove a set of handcuffs.
"Come on, your honor," Roth whined.
Jack turned in her seat to search the audience for friendly faces. She saw two uniformed cops and waved them over. They came up with a combined total of sixty-three dollars and seventy two cents.
It wasn't enough.
The deputy said, "Turn around and put your hands behind your back, sir."
Roth whimpered, doing as he did as he was told and the judge said, "Let this be a lesson to you and every other attorney in this county. When this court gives you an instruction, it expects it to be followed. You can be released when someone from your office brings you the rest of the money."
Judge Ceparullo reached for his gavel and Joel looked down at Alan Davidson. Davidson had been quietly smiling the entire time as the events unfolded, a happy spectator. Roth groaned and said, "Alan, can you please help me out?"
"You want me to help you out?" Davidson smirked.
"Yes. As a professional courtesy. Please."
"Will you let me win?" Davidson said.
"No. But I promise that when I beat you, I'll only humiliate you a little instead of a lot."
Their eyes met and Davidson sighed as he reached into his pocket and said, "Your honor, I've got the rest of it as a professional courtesy to the prosecutor here." He held up the money toward the deputy and said, "Anyway, I think the court has suffered enough shenanigans as a result of this trial already, don't you agree?"
"Quite," the judge said.
The deputy un cuffed Joel Roth, who rubbed his wrists and inspected the red marks ringed around them, wincing as he sat down in his seat.
Keenan Marvin leaned forward in his chair from across the aisle and said, "Hurts, don't it?"
Mr. Ford was back on the stand, in full view of the jury, as Alan Davidson finished questioning him about the particulars of the incident. "Just to summarize, Mr. Ford, for the benefit of the jury, can you please state for the record whether or not the bullet holes found in the walls and in the bodies of the deceased victims can accurately be attributed to a Glock nine millimeter model nineteen?"
Ford leaned forward in the podium, turned to face the jury, and said, "No, it cannot. Not with any degree of scientific accuracy or certainty."
"Is it fair then to say that the bullet holes could have been made by any nine millimeter?"
"Yes, that is correct."
Davidson turned to glance at Joel Roth, eyeing him
The doors burst open at the front of the court and Jack spun in her chair to see Joel Roth barging in, calling out, "I'm here! I'm here, your honor, sorry I'm late."
"You are in contempt, Mr. Roth," the judge said. He snapped his fingers at one of the deputies standing behind Keenan Marvin and said, "Extract the fine from him or take him into custody."
"Your honor," Roth gasped. "How much is the fine?"
"Five hundred dollars."
"I don't have five hundred dollars on me."
"Oh well, you should have thought of that before you came late to my court."
Roth turned to look at the deputy and said, "Do you guys take credit cards?"
"Nope," the deputy said.
Roth reached into his pocket and dug out his wallet. He started to count out his cash and said, "I've got eighty one, no, eighty two dollars on me right now. I will get the rest as soon as we break for lunch, sir, I promise, but I have a very good reason to be late!"
"You'd better come up with four hundred and eighteen good reasons to stay, Mr. Roth," Judge Ceparullo snapped.
Roth looked pleadingly at Jack, who stood and opened her purse to pull out her wallet. "Here, I think I've got some," she said. She pulled out two hundred dollar bills and said, "You're lucky I didn't go to the bank yet."
"You're still short," Ceparullo said. The deputy reached behind his gun belt to remove a set of handcuffs.
"Come on, your honor," Roth whined.
Jack turned in her seat to search the audience for friendly faces. She saw two uniformed cops and waved them over. They came up with a combined total of sixty-three dollars and seventy two cents.
It wasn't enough.
The deputy said, "Turn around and put your hands behind your back, sir."
Roth whimpered, doing as he did as he was told and the judge said, "Let this be a lesson to you and every other attorney in this county. When this court gives you an instruction, it expects it to be followed. You can be released when someone from your office brings you the rest of the money."
Judge Ceparullo reached for his gavel and Joel looked down at Alan Davidson. Davidson had been quietly smiling the entire time as the events unfolded, a happy spectator. Roth groaned and said, "Alan, can you please help me out?"
"You want me to help you out?" Davidson smirked.
"Yes. As a professional courtesy. Please."
"Will you let me win?" Davidson said.
"No. But I promise that when I beat you, I'll only humiliate you a little instead of a lot."
Their eyes met and Davidson sighed as he reached into his pocket and said, "Your honor, I've got the rest of it as a professional courtesy to the prosecutor here." He held up the money toward the deputy and said, "Anyway, I think the court has suffered enough shenanigans as a result of this trial already, don't you agree?"
"Quite," the judge said.
The deputy un cuffed Joel Roth, who rubbed his wrists and inspected the red marks ringed around them, wincing as he sat down in his seat.
Keenan Marvin leaned forward in his chair from across the aisle and said, "Hurts, don't it?"
Mr. Ford was back on the stand, in full view of the jury, as Alan Davidson finished questioning him about the particulars of the incident. "Just to summarize, Mr. Ford, for the benefit of the jury, can you please state for the record whether or not the bullet holes found in the walls and in the bodies of the deceased victims can accurately be attributed to a Glock nine millimeter model nineteen?"
Ford leaned forward in the podium, turned to face the jury, and said, "No, it cannot. Not with any degree of scientific accuracy or certainty."
"Is it fair then to say that the bullet holes could have been made by any nine millimeter?"
"Yes, that is correct."
Davidson turned to glance at Joel Roth, eyeing him
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