The Gentlemen's Hour

163

Corey Blasingame goes before the judge that afternoon and pleads guilty to voluntary manslaughter.

The judge accepts the plea and sets sentencing for two months down the road, but as preagreed he’s going to give Corey the medium-range sentence of seventy-two months, with credit for time served.

In the normal course of things, Corey will be out in fewer than three years.

The judge gives him a few minutes to say good-bye to people before the sheriffs take him away, but there really isn’t anyone to say good-bye to. Both parents are dead, he has no siblings, and no real friends. Boone notes that none of the surfers from Rockpile or the fighters from Team Domination bothered to show up.

Banzai is there, almost as if he wants to take responsibility for blowing the murder case.

A lot of surfers show up, too, as many as the gallery can hold, more outside the courthouse, a bunch of “human rights” groups holding signs reading “Justice for Kelly,” “Stop Hate Now,” and “Racism” with that diagonal line through it. Their disgust at the plea arrangement is palpable, and, inside the courtroom, Boone can feel their eyes burning through the back of his head.

So it’s just the defense team—Alan, Petra, and Boone—who’s there for Corey. If any of them was expecting gratitude, they’d have been disappointed. Corey just looks at them with his stupid, conflicted “I just got away with something” smile.

Alan feels that he has to say something. “You’ll probably be out in three years, maybe less. You’ll have your whole life in front of you.”

Sort of, Boone thinks. Corey probably hasn’t figured out yet that his father’s estate will be tied up in litigation and then sold off to pay lawsuits. So Corey will get out of the hole without a home or a dime in the bank, with a felony sheet, in a city that hates him, and not a friend in the world. Boone doesn’t bother to enlighten him to that, nor to the fact that he saved the kid from a jailhouse shanking or worse.

Corey looks at Alan, then at Petra, then Boone, and mutters, “I have nothing to say.”

Me neither, Boone thinks.

Nothing at all.

5.