Hard Time by Anthony Papa Anne Mini Shaun Attwood Read Free Book Online

outside my Scottsdale apartment on the day of the raid. She had timid mousy features and curly brown hair.
    On the form, I put the Tucson address where I had lived with my ex-wife Amy, as I was using this for my green-card application. Sensing something underhand, I listed the Scottsdale apartment as a second home. I explained I had two addresses, and the lady insisted a note had been made on the computer. The woman behind her snickered, and walked away. I felt uneasy.
    ‘Finished? Go through that door into the courtroom!’ a guard yelled.
    Joining the fatigued captives on rows of plastic chairs in the large white courtroom, I gulped down the cool air. Over to my right, sitting at a desk by the bar, was the familiar woman from the raid. Her presence gave me a bad feeling. Everyone was waiting for the judge. I clung to the possibility of him reducing my bond.
    The clerk of the court was sat at a desk next to the judge’s bench. She stood up, cleared her throat and said, ‘When your name is called, line up at this desk, and the judge will call you one at a time. He will ask you some questions, and when he is finished with you, you will step to the desk at the other side of the judge’s bench where you will sign your court papers. You will then proceed back to your seat. Does everybody understand?’
    There were a few murmurs of assent. The judge entered.
    ‘All rise. Judge Powischer’s court is now in session.’
    Judge Powischer trundled to his bench like an overweight clergyman. His face was grotesquely impassive, as if he were under the influence of a dental anaesthetic heavy on cocaine.
    ‘Garcia! Watkins! Snyder! Vasquez! Castillo! Johnston! Lynch!’ the clerk yelled.
    The first group of defendants jumped up like a team of firefighters responding to an emergency call. In an apathetic voice, Judge Powischer chastised them, one after the other, for committing petty crimes.
    ‘Walker! Ramirez! Brooks! Wright! Lopez! Washington! Attwood!’
    Judge Powischer read my charges. When he quoted my bond, the crowd gasped.
    ‘Do you have anything to say on your own behalf?’ he asked, his slitty brown eyes radiating impatience.
    ‘Your Honour, I was arrested yesterday morning, told the raid would vindicate the charges, but no drugs were found. I trade stocks for a living and have an investment in a clothing store, but there’s no way I can pay this bond. I’m—’
    ‘Enough!’ Judge Powischer’s head swivelled towards the familiar woman.
    She rose, her face becoming animated around large glasses as she launched into her statement. ‘Judge, I’m Gloria Olivia Davis, prosecutor for the Organised Crime Division of the Attorney General’s Office. About six years ago, Tempe Police Department began receiving reports of an Englishman involved in throwing raves and distributing drugs in and around the Phoenix and Tempe area. Surveillance was set up, but the Englishman moved around a lot, eluding earlier investigations. He used numerous aliases: so many we couldn’t even list them all in his indictment. Detectives only discovered Mr Attwood’s real name this year and were finally able to capture him. It is the allegation of the state that Mr Attwood is the head of a drug organisation and that he has been operating a continuous criminal enterprise in Arizona for at least six years. The Attwood Organisation specialises in the distribution of club drugs, including the drug he is most well known for: Ecstasy. Mr Attwood is not a citizen of this country. He is a citizen of England. He thus poses a considerable flight risk if he were to be bonded out. Mr Attwood is also a liar, Judge. He lied to your own staff here today, stating that he lives in Tucson when he in fact lives in Scottsdale. He also put that he works at a store, in sales – maybe he meant drug sales? The state requests his bond remains the same.’
    ‘Bond remains the same. Next!’
    His words were like a kick to the testes. I wanted to throw up. I had to