The Screw (Part 1)

A young gay man pleads guilty to a charge of manslaughter in the 
death of his lover, whose body was found with his cock missing.  
Adventures await him in a new correctional facility.

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The Screw
By ByrdMan
 
Part 1
"Prisoner will rise," the bailiff intoned. Gabe stood and faced the 
judge. His tall, court-appointed defense attorney, Rob Mellon, 
dressed nattily in his expensive gray suit, stood up next to Gabe 
and squeezed his right forearm as if to reassure him that things 
were going according to plan - that Gabe had made the right decision 
about his plea.
Judge Baxter spoke. "Gabriel Lamb, you have pleaded guilty to a 
charge of manslaughter and thrown yourself upon the mercy of this 
court after being charged with second degree murder. The court 
recognizes the plea-bargaining process for what it is: an attempt 
for those who are clearly without adequate defensive evidence to 
receive a lesser sentence than they would otherwise after a lengthy 
and costly trial. You save the taxpayers money by copping a plea, 
and we reward you for your thoughtfulness. Well, son, if you think 
you're going to get off with an admonition and a mere slap on the 
wrist, I've got news for you."
"Your honor, I must object!" Mr. Mellon said, growing slightly red 
in the face. His fair complexion and shifting jaw revealed almost 
every emotion and stressful thought. He would not have made a very 
good poker player. It was clear that the judge's remarks had 
affected him deeply, perhaps hurt his professional pride. 
"Excuse me, Counsel! I am not aware that Counsel has the right to 
interrupt sentencing with an objection. You should know better. Your 
defense motions ran out when this young entered a guilty plea. I'm 
amazed that you didn't know that."
"I did know that, your honor. It was just, ah, that I thought your 
vindictive tone was rather unnecessary." 
"My tone? Do you wish to be cited for contempt?" Judge Baxter asked.
"Oh, no, sir. I'm sorry, your honor. It won't happen again," Mr. 
Mellon said, visibly wounded.
Gabe looked at his attorney out of the corner of his right eye. The 
judge obviously did not like Rob Mellon, and the man did act awfully 
un-cool for a defense attorney who supposedly knew what he was 
doing. Was it possible that the judge was going to sentence Gabe to 
a jail sentence just to make an example of Mellon?  Could this 
really be happening after he had been assured that, at the very 
worst, he would get probation, a fine and several hours of community 
service? If Gabe had to serve any time at all for a killing he did 
not commit, then this man deserved his contempt as well as that of 
the court. From the beginning, and in spite of Mellon's assurances 
that they really had no case, Gabe had felt all along that there was 
a lot of physical evidence to prove his innocence and even a few 
witnesses who were willing to testify in his behalf. But it was 
abundantly clear now that Rob Mellon had not wanted to defend him at 
all. Gabe was beginning to feel that he had been railroaded into 
accepting a decision that would adversely affect his future, perhaps 
ruin his life forever, while Mellon would merely collect his 
generous fee from the state and go on to another case and another 
client. It was obvious that he had been badly advised, and that he 
had naively gone along with it. Gabe had somehow turned out not to 
be worth defending; was it because he was gay? Was this guy actually 
a homophobe despite his protests to the contrary? Gabe began kicking 
himself mentally for accepting Rob Mellon as his defense counsel. 
He'd have been better off to act as his own attorney.	
"Thank you, Mr. Mellon; I will continue. My news to you, young man, 
is that being a minor, aged seventeen, has no advantage in my court; 
not in this day and age when juveniles like you are responsible for 
nearly two-thirds of the crimes committed in this state. People of 
my generation, and even the majority of those your age, are sick of 
people like you, for you think you have a free hand in your 
promiscuous lifestyle and destructive ways because you will never be 
punished. Well, this isn't true in this court. I hereby find you 
guilty of manslaughter and sexual mutilation in the wrongful death 
of the young man named Zachary Kelly. He was a fine-looking, 
intelligent boy who had everything to live for but did not survive a 
so-called accident. When his car overturned, he was thrown from it, 
the very car you must have been driving on the night of May 26; the 
car you had modified for him. One of your modifications was the 
removal of the safety belts, an illegal act in itself. There is 
ample evidence from skid marks that the car was traveling 
dangerously fast around that mountain curve. There is also evidence 
that you were driving under the influence of alcohol; a blood test 
revealed that your blood contained over the legal limit, affecting 
your ability to drive. Most damnably, the young man had his penis 
cut off before he actually died, thereby contributing to his death. 
There is no evidence that you, in fact, performed the mutilation or 
gave him alcohol to drink, but there was also no proof either that 
anyone else could have done it. I would go on, but I'm almost sick 
to my stomach. Do you have anything to say in your behalf before I 
pronounce sentence?"
"Yes, sir. I do. You can ask anybody who knew Zack - he didn't ever 
drink alcohol before he drove, and neither one of us had taken 
drugs. Zack and I had been to a wedding reception of a friend of 
ours up in the mountains. Zack had the non-alcoholic punch and some 
cake. I drank maybe two or three glasses of champagne, but I wasn't 
planning to drive. If there was alcohol in Zack's blood, somebody 
must have slipped some into the punch. I didn't give him any while 
we were in the car. When we left, Zack said he was feeling 
light-headed, so he asked me to drive.  I wasn't drunk.  I felt fine 
and said I could drive. When we got to Zack's car, we found that all 
the seat belts had been taken out. It's true that I had installed 
some leather seats for him, but I put the belts back in after I 
finished. As for driving too fast - some guy was chasing us in a 
black SUV and tried to run us off the road.  I let him come around 
us once, and he was yelling stuff like 'fags' and 'queers' at us. 
When the guy slowed down to let us pass, he sped up again and 
deliberately hit the side of our car. This was what made me lose 
control and roll it. 
"That guy made me miss the curve in the road, and  Zack's death was 
his fault. I think it was some kind of hate crime. I was knocked out 
for a while because I was thrown out of the car, too. But I remember 
when I woke up, I was  in a lot of pain, and I was able to see the 
guy standing over Zack, but I couldn't get up. There was a bright 
enough moon for me to see him open a switchblade knife and bend down 
next to Zack.  His back was turned to me, but I saw his elbow moving 
back and forth, like he was sawing at something with the knife.  
Then he got up, put something in his jacket pocket - I figured it 
was the knife - and he went back to his car. Zack was still alive 
and groaning. I had a broken ankle and some broken ribs, so I 
couldn't help him.  It wasn't until later that I found out that the 
guy had cut off Zack's dick."
At this point Gabe choked up. Tears ran down his cheeks.
"Are you finished, Mr. Lamb?" asked the judge.
"There's more," said Gabe, struggling to continue. "I'll never 
forget what the guy looked like. He was tall, over six feet, and he 
was built like a swimmer with a big chest. He also had a high voice, 
which I thought was weird coming from such a tall dude. He had 
really short, dark hair, very small ears and a big classic Greek 
nose."
"Your remarks will be noted in the record.  The court orders that 
you shall be taken from here and remanded to the Scarborough Fair 
Juvenile Correction Facility, where you will serve an open-ended 
sentence.  When the warden decides that you are ready, you will be 
released and placed on probation.  I am recommending that you 
undergo the complete rehabilitation program. You will be released 
from probation early if you can demonstrate a change of heart and 
ways. Your age and previous clean record have been taken into 
account - which is why you will be sent to this brand new, 
minimum-security establishment. It is my hope that your stay there 
will have a beneficial effect on you. Bailiff will take the prisoner 
into custody. Court adjourned!" the judge said as he struck the 
wooden pallet with his gavel. He rose and started toward the door to 
his chambers.
"Your honor, could I ask you just one question before you go?" asked 
Gabe.
The judge stopped and turned around for a moment. "I suppose so, if 
it's relevant."
"What chance does our country have in stopping hate crimes against 
gays if the judges in our courts hate gays, too?"
Judge Baxter frowned, turned abruptly without answering, entered his 
chamber and slammed the door behind him. Gabe had apparently aroused 
an emotional response, at least. He sat down heavily in his chair, 
and Rob Mellon grasped his left shoulder for a moment. Seeing from 
Gabe's look that his touch was not welcome, he lowered his hand. 
Gabe remained stunned and disoriented for a minute without moving.  
His gray-haired mother, tears in her eyes, walked up and hugged him 
briefly, then fled the courtroom. She had given him little enough 
support since Zack was killed; he had sensed long ago that she could 
not really deal with his being gay. Now she probably blamed him for 
the boy's death, too.
"I'm really sorry, Gabe. I thought we did the right thing under the 
circumstances. I tried. I guess Judge Baxter has a quota or 
something," Rob said.
"You mean, like a bounty on gay teens?"
"Of course not. A quota for SFJCF; it's an experimental prison - 
been open only about six months - and people like Baxter think it 
may be the best place to put guys like you."
"You mean for gays like me.  He thinks we're all bad, doesn't he?  
Do you think the judge really believes I cut off Zack's cock?" asked 
Gabe angrily. 
"How should I know what the judge thinks? All I know is that this 
mysterious guy with the swimmer's build and the Greek nose could 
never be found. Believe me, we tried to find him. The police also 
combed the whole side of the mountain looking for that cock. They 
figured a coyote must have beat them to it."
"Can't you guys get it through your heads that the mystery man must 
have taken it with him, and he also knew Zack. He knew that he was 
gay, and he was a psycho who wanted to take off Zack's big cock. The 
whole time we were trying to get away from him, Zack kept yelling, 
'Oh, my God, it's Chester, it's Chester! He'll cut my dick off if he 
catches us!'"
"You still don't have any proof, Gabe. We couldn't find anyone named 
Chester at your high school or at Zack's  collegel. What's more, you 
couldn't even give a make or license number of that black SUV," said 
Rob.
"And because of that you figured we had no case. Fuck! All right. I 
guess it's not all your fault. Tell me about this Scarborough Fair 
place. Looks like it'll be my new home for a while.  I just hope 
they don't play old Simon and Garfunkel songs on a loud speaker to 
torture me," said Gabe, using a bit of gallows humor.
"I don't know much about it, but  it's located just outside the town 
of Scarborough, which is about a hundred miles from here.  I hear it 
is state-of-the-art and even kind of comfortable.  I'm sure they 
don't torture the inmates.  The rumors of cruel and unusual 
punishment there aren't true, I'm sure, even though strict 
discipline is used on boys who need it. I'm sorry I couldn't keep 
you out of serving time there, though. I did the best I could. Good 
luck." Rob Mellon closed his briefcase and left the room.
Gabe heard the words, but they were of little comfort. The bailiff 
finally came over, took him by the arm, caused him to stand, 
handcuffed him and led him away though the door. As he was led down 
a long hallway he kept thinking that Rob's words probably meant that 
this new prison was going to be a very cruel place. He would soon 
find out.
Gabe was transferred to Scarborough Fair Juvenile Correction 
Facility during the dark hours before dawn the next day. Apparently 
his sentencing had taken place just the day before a new batch of 
young offenders was to be transported. He considered himself lucky 
that he hadn't had to spend several days and nights at the juvenile 
center in the city jail; sharing a small cell with some street punk 
and bathing in a large community shower.  As it turned out, he was 
never assigned to a cell or even allowed to take a shower. After he 
changed out of his suit into prison garb, he spent only the first 
half of the night in his old holding cell at the courthouse.
He felt defeated and morose as he was ushered onto a full-size 
school bus equipped with bars on the windows. There were other young 
men already sitting in the seats toward the rear: it was an 
instinctive habit of teenage boys to select the rear seats of 
busses, classrooms and churches.  Gabe sat down on a front seat.  He 
didn't know any of the boys, and he didn't feel like socializing, so 
he made no effort even to look at them.  He figured that they 
wouldn't be talkative or friendly.  
The bus took them through dark city streets on their forlorn 
journey. Like Gabe, the other passengers were probably apprehensive 
about what lay before them and were sad about what they had left 
behind.  Gabe finally glanced back, straining his eyes in the dim 
light of street lamps and headlights to see how less-than-tough the 
other prisoners looked.  He counted eight of them.  Dressed 
uniformly in their short sleeve, bright orange, one-piece regulation 
jumper suits, some shivered from the cold because warm air from the 
heater was not reaching more than halfway aft. Could it be that 
suffering from the cold was only the first of many instances of the 
"cruel and unusual punishment" Rob Mellon had said not to expect? A 
few boys were already asleep, and they were boldly snuggling next to 
their seat partners for warmth. Gabe felt a bit left out of the fun, 
but since he was the last to board the bus, he was the odd man out, 
and he was not about sit uninvited next to someone he didn't know.  
He did at least have the advantage of having two seats to himself 
just behind the locked cage door that served to protect the bus 
driver from his passengers. 
It occurred to him that it would be easy to create a disturbance 
that would make the driver open the cage door to investigate. There 
were eight other youths on the bus with their hands and feet 
unshackled; the driver carried a pistol, one pair of handcuffs, a 
baton, a cell phone and a pepper spray cartridge. What could he do 
to keep nine determined youths from knocking him out and escaping? 
Perhaps the boys knew that an escape attempt would finally result in 
their being caught and getting a longer jail sentence; or, perhaps 
there just wasn't have anyone around smart enough or bold enough to 
organize them, give orders and lead them to freedom.
As they drove into open country, Gabe took advantage of the 
relatively warm air at the front of the bus; he took off his shoes 
and sat sideways on the double seat with his head down on knees next 
to his chest. He dozed off and slept soundly for an hour until they 
stopped.  It was apparently a rest stop to let six boys off who 
desperately needed to piss.  The driver turned on the interior light 
while the boys lined up in the aisle behind the locked gate and took 
their turns leaving the bus, one at a time, accompanied by the 
driver.  Each disembarked, unzipped his jump suit, pulled out his 
penis and irrigated the short grass just beyond the road's shoulder. 
 Gabe stood up to stretch and noticed that his own cock was erect 
and looking like tent pole inside his loose coveralls.  It was his 
usual morning piss hard, letting him know that he needed to empty 
his bladder.  Deciding to take advantage of the stop, he walked up 
behind boy number six, the last guy who had asked permission to take 
a leak.  The handsome blond boy turned and looked at Gabe, glancing 
 down at the huge bulge in Gabe's crotch.  He smiled.
"Looks like you could use a little time to yourself out there in the 
woods, but I don't think the driver would wait for you," the young 
man said with a laugh.
"I know.  It's embarrassing," Gabe said, returning the smile.  He 
shyly looked down at his feet and realized he was wearing only his 
white socks, and he didn't want to stain them.  He quickly sat down 
and removed them, stuffing them into his front left pocket to make 
his erection look less obvious.  He stood up again.
"It's kind of a nice problem to have.  Wish I had a cock like 
yours," said the good-looking youth.
Gabe thought of at least ten things to say, but before he could, the 
bus driver returned with boy number five and opened the gate to let 
him back inside the cage.  He frowned when he saw two boys standing 
there instead of the one he expected.
"Where'd you come from?  I said last call after I counted six.  Sit 
back down, son: you missed your chance," said the man.
"I guess I was asleep when you made the announcement.  Please, I've 
gotta piss.  If you don't let me off, I'll have to piss all over 
your nice clean bus."
"Oh, all right.  Both of you can go together - we're already running 
late.  Come on!"
The youth ahead walked through the gate, and Gabe followed.  Both 
boys got off the bus followed by the driver, who led them out onto 
the grassy shoulder.  The dewy grass was cold and wet under Gabe's 
bare feet, and he hoped he was not standing in some other boy's 
piss.  He quickly unzipped his pants and took out his cock, which 
was beginning to lose its erection in the cold air.  He began to 
piss a high-pressure stream but was suddenly distracted by the other 
boy on his left.  The guy was taking off his coveralls!  Gabe 
twisted to his left abruptly and pissed on his bare left foot.
"Shit," Gabe said, correcting his aim yet wondering why the guy was 
undressing.  
"What the hell are you doing, kid?  Just take your cock out and 
piss," said the driver.
"I would if I had one.  I have to squat to piss," said the youth, 
dropping his jump suit and boxer shorts to the ground.  He stepped 
out of them and squatted. A trickle of urine began to flow off his 
balls.   
Gabe turned away so fast he pissed on his right foot.  "Fuck!" he 
said, more astounded at what he had seen than disgusted at his bad 
aim.
"Would you believe it? A kid without a cock! Why do I get all the 
freaks and weirdos?" asked the bus driver, waiting impatiently for 
the boys to finish their business.  Gabe wondered why the man didn't 
ask the other boy how he had lost his cock. Perhaps he decided it 
was better not to know. Gabe zipped up his jump suit, turned and 
watched the other boy put his back on.  It was too dark to see very 
much, but he could vaguely see a big pair of balls with no cock 
above them, not even a stump! What had happened to the kid's 
plumbing?  He had no time to ask the boy because the driver 
unceremoniously ushered them back onto the bus.
Back in his seat Gabe remained awake for the drive through the small 
town of Scarborough, while the sky in the east got brighter. 
Apparently the prison was in a very isolated area on a vast acreage 
of state land, for they now drove out of the town and down a 
deserted, narrow road through miles of heavy forest. Just as he 
closed his eyes and began to nod off once again, he was suddenly 
aware that someone had moved from the back of the bus and sat down 
in the seat directly across the aisle.  Gabe opened his eyes fully 
and looked at the same young man he had taken the piss with. Now 
that he could see him better in daylight, he noted that he was a 
handsome hunk, a blue-eyed blond .  His preppy good looks were 
completely out of place on this bus.
"Hi, my name's Cal Foster," he said, with a smile, reaching across 
the aisle with his right hand.  
"Gabe Lamb.  Glad to meet you," said Gabe, taking his hand.  It was 
a hard, callused hand, and it gripped his warmly.
"May I join you?"
"Sure," said Gabe, swinging his legs over and putting his feet on 
the floor.  Cal moved across the aisle and sat down next to him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Gabe inspected him in the growing 
sunlight.  He was tanned and tough-looking, and he seemed to have a 
rather mature look about his eyes and expression. This wasn't your 
ordinary pale, skinny street punk who had grown up on nachos and 
Pepsi. Gabe cheered up considerably at the prospect of warm, human 
contact, but he was puzzled and a bit suspicious. Something just 
seemed peculiar about this dude besides the missing penis. He was 
just too clean-looking or something; what's more, he was much too 
polite and cheerful. A rebellious punk wouldn't be friendly and 
introduce himself like this guy just had. 
"Kind of cold for this late in the spring," Cal said.
"Yeah.  You must have really felt it when we were outside."
"Oh, you mean because I undressed?  Yeah, my butt still has goose 
bumps on it," Cal said with a laugh.
Gabe couldn't resist asking, "Have you always been that way?  I 
mean, have you ever had a cock?"
"Man, you sure ask personal questions.  If you really need to know, 
I had a cock until recently," said Cal, turning his head away.
"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to be nosy.  It's just that it was kind 
of funny to see the bus driver's reaction," said Cal.
"Do you really think this is funny, too?" asked Cal as he unzipped 
his jump suit, spread it open and pulled down his shorts.  
"God! I'm sorry.  I didn't mean����."
"Keep your voice down.  It's okay.  I see that it worked.  You think 
I don't have a cock, don't you?"
Gabe was bewildered.  Also, memories came flooding back of what had 
happened to his lover Zack.  Was this guy playing on his fears or 
emotions? Did he have a cock or not?
"Shit.  It sure looks like you don't," said Gabe, recovering 
somewhat and looking more closely now as Cal parted his pubic hair 
with his fingers where his cock should have been.  He could now see 
the tip of a penis head above the kid's balls.  There was a slit or 
meatus showing but little else.  Surrounding it was a lot of white 
paste of some kind.  If he had a cock, it had been pushed up inside 
his pelvic bone.  
"Looks can be deceiving.  What you see is a glue job.  It was my 
idea.  The guys at headquarters were convinced that it wouldn't 
work, but it seemed to fool you, didn't it?" asked Cal, smiling.
"It sure did."

"Just wait till I tell the guys at headquarters," Cal said with a 
laugh.
Gabe looked his new companion in the eye. "Headquarters? You're a 
cop, aren't you? I won't blow your cover or anything, officer, but 
what are you doing on a prison bus? And how'd this new punk prison 
rate an undercover commando?"
In a very swift move, Cal put his left foot squarely on top of 
Gabe's  bare right foot and began to press down hard. Gabe could 
feel the hard leather sole beginning to crush his instep, and he 
wanted to cry out in pain, but he held back. It was the same foot 
that had suffered the broken ankle, and it was still tender.
"All right, pretty boy, if you make any noise or try to give me 
away, I'll break all the bones in your pretty foot and then break 
your pretty neck," said Cal in a menacing, quiet voice.
"Yes, sir," rasped Gabe in a shrill whisper, feeling the pressure of 
the shoe sole grow even greater on top of his instep. His eyes were 
wide with pain and fear. "I'm on your side, whoever you are. I won't 
give you away. I'll do anything you say," Gabe said, sweat breaking 
out on his forehead. 
"Of course you won't give me away," Cal retorted. 
"Just tell me what I have to do, and I'll do it," said Gabe, 
inwardly cursing his shaking voice and the tears beginning to fill 
his eyes. He hadn't been this scared since he watched Chester 
standing over Zack's body. Chester had spoken a grim warning too: 
"As far as you're concerned, you haven't seen me. What I just did 
was between me and Zack. I've got no quarrel with you, but if you 
tell the cops about me, I'll find you and do to you what I did to 
him." 
"Okay.  Just look and act normal. The driver can see us through his 
mirror, and he's not so dumb that he couldn't figure out that 
something is wrong if you make any sudden moves or get loud," Cal 
said, lifting his foot from Gabe's.
Gabe breathed an audible sigh of relief. There was a lengthy pause 
before either of them spoke again.
"I'm not a policeman," Cal finally volunteered.	
"Just what are you then?" asked Gabe, thinking that he might as well 
be bold since he had little to lose.
"I'm a private investigator working out of the district attorney's 
office in the city. The warden knows about my visit, of course. 
Everyone else at the prison is supposed to think I'm just an 
ordinary inmate, an inmate with no cock," Cal said. 
"I guess you can't be called a private dick, then, can you?" asked 
Gabe.
"I guess not," said Cal with a broad smile.
"You'll sure stand out in a crowd in the shower room," said Gabe.
"That's part of the deal.  Everybody has to think I'm dickless.  
Only you and I and the warden will know that I have a three-inch 
cock  glued up inside me."
"Why?  I mean, what's the purpose?   For one thing, it must hurt."
"You're right.  It was very uncomfortable at first, but you get used 
to it.  I have to take a prescription drug to keep from having 
erections.  If I didn't, it would bust the glue loose.  I miss 
jacking off, but when I think about it, it's probably easier on my 
male ego to make other guys think I'm dickless instead of being the 
guy with the smallest cock in the shower room.  But enough of my 
problems.  I'm here because of you," said Cal.
This would have come as another shock to Gabe if he weren't already 
getting used to them.  Cal must be pulling his chain now, for sure.
"I don't believe you. You just threatened to kill me, now you tell 
me this. You've got to be kidding!"
"I'm not.  It was your court case that put me here.  If I'm lucky, I 
may catch a murderer because of you."
"Who?"
"Chester.   He's a screw - a prison guard at this place.  In spite 
of what your attorney told you, I found him," said Cal.
"Chester?  Oh, my God.  You must know all about my case then, and 
why I'm here?"
"I know more about your case than you probably know yourself."
"If that's true, then the judge must know about this too."
"He does, and the good news is, he's fully prepared to grant you a 
full pardon after this is over," said Cal.
"After what is over?"
"That's the bad news.  After we catch Chester in a criminal act and 
see that he is prosecuted for it." 
"Why is that bad news?"
"The act is when he cuts off your beautiful eight-inch cock," said 
Cal in a matter-of-fact tone.
Gabe was dumbfounded.  He struggled to say something but found it 
useless.  He had clearly been railroaded and sent to prison by a 
judge who must have known he was innocent.  Now he was to be used as 
bait to catch a bigger fish.  He was angry and completely 
frustrated.  It didn't help matters that he had a raging hard on.  
Hearing a sexy and beautiful guy tell him that he was about to get 
his penis cut off was erotic as hell.
It was too late to do anything about it.  The bus was being waved 
through the main gate of Scarborough Fair Juvenile Correction 
Facility.


To be continued
The Screw
By ByrdMan
 
Part 1
"Prisoner will rise," the bailiff intoned. Gabe stood and faced the 
judge. His tall, court-appointed defense attorney, Rob Mellon, 
dressed nattily in his expensive gray suit, stood up next to Gabe 
and squeezed his right forearm as if to reassure him that things 
were going according to plan - that Gabe had made the right decision 
about his plea.
Judge Baxter spoke. "Gabriel Lamb, you have pleaded guilty to a 
charge of manslaughter and thrown yourself upon the mercy of this 
court after being charged with second degree murder. The court 
recognizes the plea-bargaining process for what it is: an attempt 
for those who are clearly without adequate defensive evidence to 
receive a lesser sentence than they would otherwise after a lengthy 
and costly trial. You save the taxpayers money by copping a plea, 
and we reward you for your thoughtfulness. Well, son, if you think 
you're going to get off with an admonition and a mere slap on the 
wrist, I've got news for you."
"Your honor, I must object!" Mr. Mellon said, growing slightly red 
in the face. His fair complexion and shifting jaw revealed almost 
every emotion and stressful thought. He would not have made a very 
good poker player. It was clear that the judge's remarks had 
affected him deeply, perhaps hurt his professional pride. 
"Excuse me, Counsel! I am not aware that Counsel has the right to 
interrupt sentencing with an objection. You should know better. Your 
defense motions ran out when this young entered a guilty plea. I'm 
amazed that you didn't know that."
"I did know that, your honor. It was just, ah, that I thought your 
vindictive tone was rather unnecessary." 
"My tone? Do you wish to be cited for contempt?" Judge Baxter asked.
"Oh, no, sir. I'm sorry, your honor. It won't happen again," Mr. 
Mellon said, visibly wounded.
Gabe looked at his attorney out of the corner of his right eye. The 
judge obviously did not like Rob Mellon, and the man did act awfully 
un-cool for a defense attorney who supposedly knew what he was 
doing. Was it possible that the judge was going to sentence Gabe to 
a jail sentence just to make an example of Mellon?  Could this 
really be happening after he had been assured that, at the very 
worst, he would get probation, a fine and several hours of community 
service? If Gabe had to serve any time at all for a killing he did 
not commit, then this man deserved his contempt as well as that of 
the court. From the beginning, and in spite of Mellon's assurances 
that they really had no case, Gabe had felt all along that there was 
a lot of physical evidence to prove his innocence and even a few 
witnesses who were willing to testify in his behalf. But it was 
abundantly clear now that Rob Mellon had not wanted to defend him