THE VERDICT

She held on to her husband like the world depended on it. She held on like the continuity of the world needed it. None of the numerous numbers of people amassed for the proceeding had been as supportive as she. She was basically like the reason he had the will to power through this an unprecedented proceeding.

She held on to his hand.

He looked forth at her.

She smiled, he smiled back.

He gently squeezed her delicate hand against his as if to reassure her that all was going to be ok soon.

She smiled again and squeezed his hand too in return. These were two people terribly in love, and this little rendezvous is what was actually keeping them apart God forbid.

He stole another glance at her as he thought of this trial affair that was keeping them at bay. It had to be clear that it was starting to have a toll on him, and the minor entails of the case were all still an open secret even before his deliberating mind.

Caught unawares, she turned to him and winked. She then brushed her manicured hand across his lean arm.

She had made a formidable transition from being his whore to his wife in a hocus pocus of an instant, just like in a magical show three years ago. And here she was now, standing by the very man who had plucked him out of the jaws of poverty, and right into the heart of a blissful life. It was out of logical essence that she stands by him no matter what, an act she was already executing.

The night had been a regular criminal burst by the police acting on a tip off, that is, until a corpse and thirty kilos of a white substance were also unearthed at the crime scene. A very drunk man wielding a gun that had shot the dead man had also blacked out nearby.

She had said that she had heard her husband and someone who seemed to be his business associate enter the house, at the earlier hours of the evening. She knew better than to disturb the negotiating duo retiring to watch a movie with her three year old boy by her side, only to be roused by gunshots sounding down stairs. She fled with her son through the fire escape and called the police when in safety.

It was reported that he had allegedly shot a man in cold blood, and a neat stash of just less than thirty kilos of a white power found under his belt.

The husband was later to be found blacked out due to excessive intake of an abused substance, and a gun which was positively identified to have shot the stranger by his side, with his finger prints splashed all over it.

He on the other hand cried that he knew not the man that was being alleged was his acquaintance and business associate, only meeting him through his demise at his house, and with a handful worth of drugs to his credit too.

He further proclaimed that he never remembered being anywhere around his home town that weekend, and consuming the said liquor, raising eye brows in the courtroom about the validity of his outburst. If he was in the next town for a business trip as he was speculating, how did he just magically appear in his home?

And if indeed he was telling the truth, how can he not account for that day's activities, while his wife's testimony clearly puts him to be at home minus not knowing the alcohol consumption part? This was clearly absurd.

The wife's testimony further exposed that he had been at home that weekend and seemed a little bit distraught, opting to go have a little work done back at the office. This is when he returned hours later with the slain man in tow. A packing ticket for his car and the packing bay attendant clearly put him to have been firmly in town.

Known to the husband and many others, one of his business associates, Michael, was a suspected drug trafficker, and the slain man was rumored to be his wingman. Michael had always wanted Tim to join him in business, an offer he had declined for ages though still forging an alliance in the legitimate business. This is one of the theories Tim was trying to base his defense on, though in the mind of course.

His doctor testified that Tim was an ill tempered man and a recovering alcoholic as recent as only a month ago. He stipulated that he was still heavily in rehabilitation and the possibility of ruling out his "back sliding", needed not to be admissible in the court of law.

Peter his good company lawyer stated before the jury that Tim was having a few legal problems of his own, and was very ill tempered in the days leading up to the atrocity he committed. He further testified that Tim had monetary problems and allegedly sought after a deal which was still illusive but had contacted him about the legal logistics. Maybe the dynamic duo had failed to reach a consensus, and owing to Tim's desperation and ill temper, he decided to shot the life out of him. Could it have been all about the drug deal gone sour?

His son was conspicuously absent from the courtroom today.

Peter the lawyer was present today, the packing bay attendant was elatedly sited by the door, his doctor cautiously gazed back and forth across the courtroom, and even Michael was present too. He had priory stated to Tim that somebody was playing God in this case, and was firmly putting the two of them at collisions, easing the tension slightly between the two associates.

Then came Samantha elegantly dressed in white. She was quite a spectacle, and when she walked the buckle of her purse swayed to the music of her walk. She sat a few paces from him and splashed on the dark glasses to her eyes, as the judge walked into the courtroom.

The judge pulled out the ruling and started to read the happenings of the trial. The detailed account of the witnesses could be audibly heard fill out the room, and as they read out her testimony, Samantha whined.

Tim looked up to his wife. She had been utterly supportive to start losing it at this last minute.

The judge shouted for the court to be in order and posted a risk for someone to be held in contempt if they continued to violate his heed. The courtroom fell silent.

Everyone in the court waited in earnest as the foreman got the judgment from the bailiff over the panel of the jury, to the judge amid theatrics of tears and smeared make-up from Samantha.

When the jury was asked their verdict, they stated he was guilty on all the charges, the murder reduced to manslaughter and drug possession with intent to distribute. The sentence was life.

He cried. Tim did cry. For long moments after the verdict and sentence had been read out. It wasn't him as far as his conscious mind could remember, and here he was already condemned. He was even more confused now than when he was trying to figure out how he had wind up at one place, when he was firmly somewhere else.

He shifted his gaze back to his wife. She was shaken looking like she was hit the hardest. Then she smiled, wind up her face and started laughing.

Samantha then stood up and walked over to Michael for an embrace.

That is when the prosecution realized what had just happened. A spin artist, she had succeeded in duping the poor man and the jury in what was a purely, and an expertly orchestrated deceit.

Tim watched in disbelief at the unfolding drama in the courtroom. It had to be crystal clear that his wife's testimony, which seemed to want to protect him from the sway of the case, is what was actually incriminating him deeper into the scum.

She knew all his problems and all his itineraries, and all his plans of the financial bailout he was seeking. She was most resourceful and helpful at that time; she even suggested that he transfer his assets to her name. That is, so that when the auctioneers came knocking, his liabilities would be limited to particular assets only.

He banged his head violently on the courtroom table. Surely, you can take the artist out the con, but you can never take the con out of the artist, just as in the streets, an act Tim had just realized. And would you believe it? He had signed off his assets to her three days before his predicament started to ensue!

And with that, she walked gracefully out of the courtroom hand in hand with her co-conspirer in this little affair, leaving the dejected man poor, and a life sentence slapped on his life for his hard work and efforts.

 

Can't turn a whore into a housewife.

                    TUPAC SHAKUR, hip-hop artist