Welcome to the Marines (Corporate Marines Book 2) Read online

  Susie straightened up and addressed the sensors again with a serious look. “As much as we would like to show you some of the pictures that were released previously regarding the bloodshed and carnage that Sammie allegedly did to those four young innocents, we cannot, as this is prime time and the images are too horrifying for the young or those people viewing that are sensitive to that level of violence or cannot stand the sight of blood. However, if you want to review those pictures, just follow the link below and they are all located on the site. Thankfully our viewers are all careful enough to put their parental firewalls up so only those who are of an appropriate age can access that site!

  “Now, to be fair to the defendant, there are unfounded rumours that he was bullied by the victims in the past. It has been said that with his family dying just recently, the bullying along with the stress of the death of his father and sibling may have pushed Sammie over the edge and there may be a temporary insanity plea. I don’t know about you, but I think that after the horrible things that were done to those kids, any insanity plea should be denied! Could you picture the criminal responsible for those atrocities simply being sent to a hospital where it costs over four times as much for a criminal to be housed versus a prison? If he is mind-wiped and they reset his personality, it is true that ‘he’ won’t be there anymore, but everyone else will know who he is and what he did.”

  Susie puts her right hand over her heart and continues. “In all good conscience, the only thing that I could see a criminal like that doing is getting the ultimate penalty. Putting this mad, crazed killer down once and for all is the best choice for both society and for the taxpayers’ wallet.”

  Her hand drops. “Well, as long as he is found guilty. I mean, maybe he is innocent after all. That is up to the court and those twelve good jurors to decide on for sure.”

  Susie’s chair pops back upright as she relaxes and smiles her trademark sunshine grin. The snapping motion presents her cleavage to the sensor in a well-practiced motion that has earned Susie several awards and kept her ratings up even though she is over twenty-five.

  “We will be tracking this story and others as they go on over the next few days and weeks, so make sure that you stay turned on and tuned in!” She even says that with a straight face and a big wink.

  “Next up is going to be an in-depth interview with Ms. Smirko the prosecutor, as we were lucky enough to get her right after her Muay Thai class for just a minute — and I must say that she looks as amazing in person as she does on the net. She will be discussing the case and her new workout videos and training sim coming out next month!”

  SAM’S DAY IN COURT

  I am being made to stand while the judge talks to me. This is not a courtroom right out of the shows I used to watch. I guess that the “touch-up work” using CGI that everyone hears about is a lot more extreme than I would have thought. This building is fifty years old now and I guess that they have not changed it at all except to do patch-up work, as every one of these boxes in this building is the exact same: small and fake. These are small poured concrete boxes with two small tables split on either side of the centre aisle. The judge sits on an elevated dais behind a plastic pedestal desk. The justice symbol is a plastic attachment on the front that is cracked; it looks like someone hammered on it. The flooring is a cheap tile that is easy to clean. There are three benches behind where we sit that are also cheap extruded plastic. There is no need for them, as anyone who wants to view the trial can watch on one of the channels. The three cameras record all the factual stuff and then let the general public view it after it has been cleaned up. The witness box is just a chair that is raised up on a small platform. If the witnesses are afraid to come in, then they can be in another room and the screen behind the witness platform can be used for two-way communications. I guess it has been practice for the last few years for the witnesses to be elsewhere, as no one even made a comment when all the witnesses were interviewed through the screen. The jury box is just like the rest of the room: cheap plastic with a shield in case the defendant gets aggressive. The jury dutifully walked in on the first day and witnessed me and heard the charges, then left again. One of my earlier attorneys was good enough to point out that they were paid workers by the city now and had been an “official” jury for the last three years. I asked if it made sense to have the same twelve people always on jury duty, and he explained that there were over a hundred jurors in the city working like this and they kept rotating them. They all lived segregated from the rest of the world, and if they had them, they did not use their plants to watch the media. I asked if that was a fair system. He told me that this is how the system works now and it works well. The next day I had a new defence attorney as he had been moved to a “higher-priority case.”

  I get to stand at the defendant’s desk next to my court-appointed attorney. The prosecutor for the state is dressed for the kill in a low-cut dress that shows all her body mods as this is the last meeting before they sentence me.

  The media is sitting behind me and has been for the entire trial. The first attorney I had told me that this is a high-priority case and the media is there to get a clear and unsullied view of everything that happens for posterity, and this three-ring circus just keeps going on. I asked him what media outlet they worked for. He smiled and let me know that they worked for city, state and federal.

  I am pretty sure that the prosecutor is looking to get promoted. Heck, I can’t even keep my eyes off her, she looks that good. I heard the guards talking about how everything here is touched up electronically except for her. She is actually made to appear a bit less perfect so that she better meshes with the three female demographics that watch the most. The company that she works for has contractual agreements with the city for that and more.

  When the trial started, I was briefed on the judge and the prosecutor. The judge is distinguished; he has written several popular books and is getting ready to retire to a business venture. The prosecutor has been in the business for a few years and is one of the best. Her tell-all books are popular, as are her workout books and videos. She also has several healthy eating books. Her workout show on the syndicated network is rated in the top three of the state and I was allowed to watch one episode. She does not wear much and I thought I was watching some soft-core porn, given what she was wearing and how she was working out with her assistants. She also has the most popular yoga and Muay Thai classes. She is single and one of the three most eligible bachelorettes in the state.

  She met with me before the trial; she has a dazzling smile.

  Her one-piece sheath dress is low-cut and body hugging. It’s black and there is a part over her stomach that has been cut away, showing off her abs. I wonder if she even eats and how she puts the outfit on. I mean, the front wraps around and is formed to her boobs, and she is a C-cup. No bra or padding, either, as I can see her nipples through the fabric. She has been flirting and poses like a model for the judge and almost all-male jury. Whenever she looks at me she gets a sad face that looks like she wants to tell me it’s all okay.

  Of course, she has been trying for the death penalty from the very beginning. That hasn’t happened for a while and it would really bump up the ratings.

  Even the women on the jury like her as she is sympathetic to them being “stuck there forced to listen to these horrors that occurred because of this young man’s inability to control himself after the upbringing that that he had.” She let them know she empathizes with them, lamenting the fact that they had “to be exposed to someone like this, that could not even work up the courage to go seek help. Instead, he worked out his hatred on those poor, innocent children.” It was all just stupid double talk and made no sense, but they ate it up.

  I hate Ms. Smirko with a passion, as she tells everyone half-truths and outright lies.

  Everything she does and says is geared to make everyone drool over her and agree for a chance of a smile. Heck, I’m having fan
tasies of sex with her while I’m standing here listening to her bury me.

  No one cares what the truth is. They only care what the goddess says.

  “Mr. Slate. If I could have your attention here for now, please, and not on Ms. Smirko?”

  I jump and cut my eyes back to the judge. I realize that I am blushing as I was caught out staring at a rack that stands right out there on its own. Of course, no one is laughing. No one will ever laugh when I am around now, after what I did.

  I nod, and then at a poke from my attorney, say, “Yes, Your Honour. Sorry, Your Honour.”

  He continues. “I understand you come from a troubled family. But nothing in your past could possibly begin to grant you the permission, even in your own mind, for what you have done. I also understand from the psychological evidence that you may not fully understand what is going on and what you did. Such a disconnect from reality is disturbing to everyone and may cause some to fear how you would react.” He pauses while considering Ms. Smirko with a professional smile. “Women have the right to dress for business and work in a manner that shows them as the enlightened people that they are.” He paused for effect, and I’m pretty sure he planned that out in advance. “It would be inappropriate for you to be treating a professional such as Ms. Smirko as an objectified symbol of male regression. It could also, given the charges that have been brought against you, be viewed as threatening.”

  The judge continues and is addressing not me as much as the cameras. “Please do not ogle the women in the room as sex objects, Mr. Slate.”

  I want to kill him. I don’t come from a troubled family. I came from a single-parent working-class family and they were everything to me. This asshole is telling the world through the cameras that they were “troubled.” Everyone thinks that I was molested by my dad now. I can feel the heat in my face and I want to throw up. This bastard is saying this about my family because he is scoring points with the prosecuting attorney, who is probably in his office after hours “getting consulted” in every way I can imagine while I rot in a cell. I have never seen a professional dressed like that, ever. The term “business attire” is still real for a lot of people, including people from the Projects. I can’t do this. I take a breath; I can talk. “Yes, Your Honour, I understand.”

  For the first time I have something to be proud of. I didn’t finish my sentence with “that she is dressed like a prostitute to get better ratings and she probably fucked your brains out last night, you bastard.” I know Dad would be proud of me.

  Who am I kidding? I let them all down. But I can still picture him smiling sadly and shaking his head while he tries to hold a yawn back after a night shift. “Sammie, you have to control that temper and think through your actions. You always have to act honourably and do the right thing. You are a great boy and I want you to do better in life than I did. Promise me you’ll try?”

  I would always get that talk when I screwed up something small and I knew how important it was to him that I do better for myself. He so needed that help. He needed to see me succeed. That would have made all that work with the late hours and overtime with missed family holidays and no celebrations worthwhile. To know his kids were on a better path. Then I messed it all up.

  I flash back to the first few weeks after my arrest.

  This is absolute crap. I was arrested and then turned eighteen while in custody. I celebrated my birthday eating bologna steak. I know I deserve that, but it is still crap.

  My attorneys are all younger guys that got the short end of the stick. They don’t want to be here, as it seems like there is a good excuse for them to leave after a week. So after a month here, I’ve gone through five. I wonder how many work for the public defence pool and if I will eventually get stuck with the company idiot who is in shit for banging a secretary on the boss’s desk and getting caught. My dad used to say every company keeps one idiot on as management who ends up taking the blame when things go wrong. “It’s the way the world works.”

  The prosecutor is a walking fantasy with biosculpt and a professional trainer that makes her look that good. When she came to the meeting room to introduce herself, she had four large beefy guards and three cameras there to record the visit. I thought it was for the court and as a record in case I went nuts. But no, it was for the local, regional and national media. She was wearing a two-piece suit and tube top with two-inch heels. I couldn’t think after she smiled at me, as my brain had exploded. I mean, come on — I was seventeen and full of hormones. She never said she was the prosecutor, just that she was Ms. Smirko, lawyer, and more. I told her I recognized her from her workout videos and she giggled and gave me a smirk, asking if I watched them late at night.

  I had told her that, no, I worked after school and I had caught one of her episodes because I was trying to stay fit as the school gym had been closed for renovations.

  She looked concerned. “Well, why didn’t you and your dad buy a home gym or get a membership to one of the local gyms?”

  I answered, “Well, Dad works two different jobs a day to put healthy food on the table and keep us sheltered and is trying to get enough for my sister and I to go to college. Everything that I earn goes to a bank account for college next year.” I looked down at the scratched plastic tabletop and I was shaking when I whispered, “I guess that doesn’t matter now.”

  I heard a clicking sound and saw that the guards were looking a lot more threatening, like they were posing. Then I saw that the camera drones were recording now and she spoke very clearly and slowly like she was in a presentation. “I understand that your family has a lot of pride, but at any time your father could have applied for the in-school assistance package that is open to everyone attending the school. All a parent has to do is submit a request and get interviewed at school and at home.”

  I just looked at her. “I had brought the paperwork home, but the food provided is almost all junk food. It’s processed food that’s full of sugar and the drinks are from a local cola company. There is no fruit or healthy stuff provided.”

  I had thought that she must not know what was going on there as all that food was provided by larger companies and the schools are pretty much covered with their advertising. I understand that schools in other areas are not like that, but it seems like anything near the Projects is cheap and bad for you.

  Then she smiled at me again like she was sad, but she really didn’t sound like it when she talked. “Well, maybe he was afraid of what the interviewer would find in the home. Most people who need the help ask for it and are glad that they can get it. I personally have talked to the local providers and arranged for good-quality product, including the latest energy drinks, to be in our schools so that the young can get the nutrition that they need to learn. I also donate and arrange for sizeable donations every year. Sometimes people are too proud to ask for help, or they have something to hide from the trained interviewer.”

  I was shaking my head no. “Dad had no time to go to school for the first interview and the food is all junk food. Half the kids who are eating it are all messed up on sugar and labelled as developmentally challenged!” My voice was rising; I kept seeing my little sister eating the processed food and getting fidgety in class and then being judged developmentally challenged and being drugged every day and sitting there in a class of kids that just play at stations designed to prepare them for menial jobs when they graduate at sixteen. Some kids get out of there, but we all knew it was a judgement that set what you did for life. Didn’t the woman know this? I was thrashing around a little in the chains that kept me tied into the chair.

  The guards leaned forward and then there was another click and the cameras were no longer recording while they floated there.

  The lady got up, smiled, and left with the guards surrounding her. I just sat there shaking while I thought about all the kids that were sitting there in a classroom learning physical skills like moving toy pallet jacks and stacki
ng shelves. Later they would move to a special school where they’d be tested and labelled for what job they should have and would learn specific skills. All the while they’d be kept drugged to help them deal with the real world.

  I paid for that later. Everything I said was edited and modified so that there was lots of ammunition against me. In the weeks to come along with, some minor things had happened that were pointed at as my admitting that something had been kept secret in the home. That my dad was a bad man who at best thought we were better than everyone else but likely was just afraid of what would be found.

  I would shake in my cell at night. We just wanted to eat fruit and vegetables instead of cookies and power energy drinks. No one would help and this was just a sideshow to get bonus points on the ratings.

  That big boost in the ratings never happened for the city, lawyers, or the rest of the people involved in the circus. Anything I said or did could be edited to make me look bad. But they had to have something to work with, and I was in a grey dull world and I just never acted out. I never attacked anyone or had raving fits.

  I was told by one of the guards who talked to me a little sometimes that I looked apathetic and hopeless. Everyone wanted me to rage and scream but by just standing there mumbling I was actually hurting the ratings of the programs. I was as interesting to watch as a little old lady on trial for having too many cats — not interesting at all.

  I know that I was goaded regularly and in different ways, but none of it mattered and I did not eat much of the bonus junk food that was always there. Basic meals are NEVER tampered with. That is a rule that cannot be broken or the city would face federal levels of investigation. But junk food? That was not protected under the prisoners’ rights.