Wednesday morning found the boy sitting on the courthouse steps in faded jeans and a button-down shirt that clung tightly to his slender body. His head turned this way and that, looking at the stream of people approaching the steps and forming a line to be admitted through the security checkpoint.

The boy was looking for someone he had never met before. They had spoken on the phone only once ... some guy named Bradshaw. But this guy had asked him to wait outside the courthouse. His whole situation was pretty fucked up, but this guy had promised to help.

Probably some old fart that had been assigned to his case, the boy thought. But his momma had insisted he get there and meet with the man, it was a freebie after all. Maybe the guy knew a decent public defender because he sure couldn't afford a lawyer.

Ben Bradshaw had parked his car behind the courthouse, finding a spot against the far wall to protect his car. He didn't need some crack head SOB getting angry at the judge and screwing up cars in the employee's lot just for a little revenge. He walked around the building in search of his nine o'clock appointment.

The client, one Eugene Michael Carr, was a little older than most of his first time offenders. The file in his hand said the boy was seventeen and that meant adult court. Good, maybe they would get Judge Malcolm and then the case would be a breeze.

Ben rounded the corner of the courthouse and saw the kid sitting on the steps. His first take was that the boy had never appeared before a judge and didn't know that looks mattered. Not that he was dirty, no ... in fact he looked well groomed ... but thin, damn the boy was skinny.

Ben would have much rather presented him in a coat and tie, but it was likely that the boy didn't own such apparel, or if he did it was likely too small for his growing body. Parents can hardly keep up with their children's everyday clothing needs much less any kind of formal attire. He had learned that by dealing with so many juvenile cases over the years.

"Gene?" Ben asked, as he approached the boy.

The kid smiled, looking like the Cheshire Cat with that grin. His long brown hair covered enough of his face that most of what Ben saw was that smile and pearly white teeth. But the boy stood up before Ben reached him, sticking out his hand by way of greeting.

"Mr. Bradshaw?"

"Yes I am. Good to meet you, Gene."

Rule number one is to use the client's name several times in opening conversation. That was Ben's rule anyway since he seemed to have a terrible memory for names. But this would be one client he could hardly forget. Gene was simply ... well, adorable was the only word that he could think of.

They shook hands and the boy used his left hand to brush back the strands of hair that hung in his eyes, his very blue eyes.

"Whoops, there you are," Ben joked. "Don't know how you can see where you are going?"

Gene's face was clean and fresh but there was a certain hesitation in his eyes and his body language spoke volumes about the situation. A nervous frown had followed that initial smile. Good, Ben needed to see that, didn't pay to be cocky. Lord, the boy was so skinny.

"Did you get some breakfast?" Ben asked.

"Um ... no, I don't usually eat this early," the boy replied.

"Well our appearance won't be for a while yet, probably a couple of hours before the court settles down. Let me go in and talk to the clerk just to let them know you're here for the appearance. I won't be but a few minutes, why don't you wait for me here."

"Um .... sure," Gene said.

The boy looked relieved, probably because he didn't have to enter the courtroom just yet. Ben knew that feeling. No one, plaintiff or defendant, ever seemed quite willing to step into the halls of justice.

Ben pushed through the doors and side-stepped the waiting line while clipping his court ID badge to the breast pocket of his suit coat. He avoided the scanners and received only a cursory nod from the security staffer standing there. Walking past the courtroom doors, still locked at this hour, Ben punched in a code and stepped through the employee's access door.

Here were the clerk's offices, break room and guard station. The hallway ran on into the distance, back to the judge's chambers and the clerical staff that supported their work. He saw several lawyers congregated by the coffee bar and a couple of them nodded his way. Not a prosecutor in sight just yet, they were probably upstairs in their offices gathering the day's paperwork.

Ben approached the Clerk of the Court's desk in the corner and smiled down at Tammy Walters.

"Mornin' Ben, have an appearance today?" Tammy asked.

"Yes, ma'am, another day in the trenches. Eugene Carr, he should be on the docket," he said.

Tammy scanned the list and nodded, scribbling her initials beside the name, she wrote "Bradshaw" there as well.

"Got you covered, Ben. By the looks of things it might be late morning for you."

"Thanks, Tammy, you're a dear."

"Aw, you always say that ... but it doesn't get me anywhere," she grinned.

"Probably because that husband of yours would shoot me for sure," Ben replied. "Going to take my little client across the street, want anything for breakfast?"

"No thanks, sweetie. I have my yogurt in the fridge already, but thanks for asking."

Ben and Tammy had been friends for years and she was continuously on a diet for some unknown reason. She couldn't weigh over a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, but then Ben felt he never would understand the women in his life.

He might be the only bachelor left standing at the Marsh County courthouse these days, but he wore that mantel with pride. Ben knew he could have become a lawyer like his father, and his father before him, but he didn't. The law was still a big part of his life, but he had chosen psychology and social work instead.

Rather than finding his name on a brass plate beside twenty other unknowns in a law firm, Ben had taken what he considered to be the high road. Graduating at twenty-four and still unsure of what he wanted to do with his talents, Ben had started his own business.

There was a need for someone like him. Kids seemed to be getting in trouble at a higher rate and the courts were desperate for relief. Alternative sentencing programs became the solution to locking kids away where they could only learn more bad habits. And there he was, just in the nick of time, with something the courts could use.

There was resistance from the law and order types who thought that bad kids ought to be taken off the street. But all too soon these children were back where they started from and the system discovers that it was the parents who should have been locked up in the first place. And that's when Ben stepped up to the plate, at least here in this small corner of the state.

With the backing of several overworked judges, his company soon had enough money in hand to get rolling, and roll they did. Sixty clients the first year snowballed into two hundred the second. And here he was six years later with a staff of five and two full time partners. Business was brisk; there was always a kid out there in trouble.

And those thoughts brought him back around to Gene. His was a case Ben knew would be handled personally from the moment his saw the case file. The boy's crime? Gene had called his social studies teacher a 'faggot,' and Ben took that personally.

Gene was suspended from school for a week, not the best option, but from the principal's point of view it eliminated the problem, albeit temporarily. The matter became legal when the teacher filed a complaint with the school board. But by then Gene had returned to school and three days later did it again to the same guy. Something was up.

Now either this teacher was a royal screaming asshole and hated straight young white boys or Gene was reacting to some other influence. Ben didn't think the teacher was at fault, although he believed the guy had started the whole mess.

From what he read in the file, the teacher, one Mr. Simon Hanover, had decided to show the class a picture of his long time partner. Ok, that shocked even Ben. What was the reasoning behind this approach? But it seems the kids knew the man was gay and as questions were asked Hanover decided to tell them about himself, all with the principal's approval of course.

Sure, Ben thought, we live in a time of outrageous behavior and every parent sees a gay teacher as a potential child molester. But if the truth be known, it was the straight guys out there doing all that molesting. Gay teachers weren't even on the radar and Ben thought Hanover was just trying to alleviate any fears regarding his orientation.

And then along comes Gene. It seems he took one look at the photo and asked Hanover if this was the guy he was 'butt fucking.' Hanover screamed at the boy in front of the whole class, the students were probably all either in shock or laughing so hard they didn't hear much of the ensuing conversation. But Gene called Hanover a 'faggot' as he was escorted down to the principal's office.

Ok, that was taking it a bit far. But Ben was a gay man and could understand Hanover's motivation. He didn't have a partner like Hanover, that hadn't happened. In his thirty years of life Ben had never formed what might be called a lasting relationship with anyone. His parents and sister, cousins and friends, none of them knew of his sexual preference.

It seemed like a delicate matter, one that he could never bring himself to discuss openly. Like many gay men in these southern states, his bedroom preferences would never be exposed if he could help it. Not that he had anything going on in that room at the moment, far from it.

But there had been lovers, a couple here and there over the years. Ben didn't fully realize his chosen preference until college, and probably because that was the first time he had ever lived away from home. Yes, he had looked at guys earlier than that, but growing up in the same county his whole life, and still working there to this day, it seemed like a bad idea to come out.

College life opened the closet doors for a while and Ben learned what it meant to be a gay man. But psychology students underwent extreme scrutiny as they advanced through the years of education towards a career. They all had to undergo testing before a license to practice, and Ben kept his habits in check with that day in mind.

So six years into this business and he still slunk away to the beach to cruise, or took a commuter flight to the big city for a weekend of looking. This was the south; Ben wouldn't be welcome to hang out a rainbow flag even if he had wanted to.

So to his mind Hanover was a bit of a hero, even if he had started the riot so to speak. And Gene, well waiting outside the courthouse was a troubled kid, one that Ben needed to figure out before the boy dug that personal hole of his any deeper.

Ben wasn't kidding himself; Gene was an attractive human being. Beauty was something he always noticed in daily life. But Gene was still a boy in his eyes, a young man who would grow up properly with guidance, or slip and fall into the pits of hell administered by the justice system.

Gene Carr, seventeen, mother and step-father. This is what Ben knew of him from the case file. Now he was going to have to dig. There was always something deeper in cases like this. In any case, Ben wasn't immune to the sadness associated with child abuse; he just hoped it wasn't the case here.


On to Chapter Two

Chapter Index

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"Gene" Copyright © 27 September 2008 Chris James. All rights reserved.
    This work may not be duplicated in any form (physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise) without the author's written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply. All individuals depicted are fictional with any resemblance to real persons being purely coincidental.

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