Page 48 of Giovanni
The victim’s father, his face red with rage and revenge, vaults over the low courtroom barrier. His movements are swift and desperate as he attacks the defendant. The ensuing scuffle is a blur of bodies, blood, and yelling while two bailiffs work to break it up.
Chairs are askew, and papers are scattered over the floor as the gallery breaks out in chaos with more fighting between the victims and defendants’ families. My co-counsel runs toward me, standing before the judge’s bench, trying to project calm coolness as I grip the hardwood.
More officers pour into the courtroom to restore order to the gallery as the bailiff hauls the two men to their feet with blood-soaked clothes, a broken nose on the defendant, and a black eye on the father. Both are placed in handcuffs and dragged away.
As order is slowly restored, I feel a gradual unclenching of my muscles, and my breath becomes deeper, more deliberate. With a hurried assurance of future contact, the defendant’s attorney rushes out in the wake of his client. With a brush to my shoulder, my co-counsel draws my attention to the victim returning to the courtroom. The judge and the officer accompany her.
Her posture, arms wrapped around her body, and the tears flowing down her face speak to the scariness of the incident. I gave her a quick embrace, replaced by her mother and family surrounding her and whispering words of support. The judge ceremoniously adjourns the court, even though the officers have cleared the court and the jurors are still gone.
“That was . . .” my co-counselor starts but then tapers off.
“Yeah, let’s get started filing the necessary motions.”
We collect our belongings, leaving behind the disarray. As I pick up my belongings, I pull out my phone to text Giovanni. Regretfully, I inform him that our plans for the evening must be canceled due to the unexpected workload that has arisen from the attack on my client and the subsequent altercation involving her father.
I linger for a few moments, anticipating his typically prompt reply. When it doesn’t arrive, I head toward the elevator, resigning myself to a night of work in the office. I’m already mentally preparing to order takeout, a fallback to old habits I had hoped to avoid. As I press the elevator button, I silently promise myself that this will be an exception, determined not to let this one hectic day draw me back into a routine I’m striving to change.
??
With the morning light long gone and the afternoon sun streaming through the gym, I feel better after sleeping in and taking it slowly after the late night at the office. Giovanni is already here, working with his usual clients, which gives me plenty of time to saunter in here and get warmed up. I choose a treadmill at the far end of the gym with sightlines to where he works in the free weights with a muscular man named Marco.
I’m busy tapping the machine’s buttons when I feel a presence on the treadmill beside me. As I start my incline walk, I glimpse a woman whose appearance stands out amidst the sea of gym attire. She embodies the punk rock spirit. Her hair is a vivid shade of pink, her arms are adorned with a tapestry of tattoos, and her face and ears are accented with piercings. She exudes a sense of bold confidence.
Just as I’m about to focus on my routine, she turns my way with a friendly smile.
“Don’t ya hate how all these machines seem to be set on Fox News? Are they trying to condition us or what?”
A cynical snort escapes her as she points to various treadmill screens with the same programming. I never really thought about it, as I always chose machines with the television screens off so I can listen to podcasts instead. Never one to discuss politics with anyone, especially with my position at the DA’s office, I remain neutral in my response.
“Oh, I’m not much of a television watcher.”
My eyes move from her to Giovanni and his client as they leave the free weights area to cross the gym toward his desk at the front.
“Ah, more of a trainer watcher.”
Her teasing draws my gaze away from him and back to her, trying to my obvious embarrassment at being caught.
“I don’t blame you. He’s popular around here.”
“Oh, you know him?”
“Yeah, I see him around a lot. Hard to miss, right? I’m Bex, by the way. Well, my given name is Rebecca, but don’t ever call me that.”
She extends her hand in a friendly shake before changing the television station on her treadmill. I crack a smile at the gruffness that comes out when explaining her name.
“Hi, I’m Kacie Yacob, you can call me Kacie.”
Her grip is firm when I take it. The callouses speak to the hours of gym time, as do her defined muscles bulging out everywhere.
“Like the Sunshine Band.”
Her reply catches me off guard. I have no idea what she is referencing.
“Excuse me?” I ask when her hand moves out of mine to adjust the speed of her machine.
“Band stuff. Anyway, it’s nice to meet ya. I’ve seen you around here with him. You’re a lawyer, right?”
Her tone casual yet genuinely interested. I’m slightly taken aback by her directness and knowing my profession.
