"Put your hand on me, and make sure you remember every word you just said."
It was not a threat; it was a promise. The words were delivered with such icy, unshakable conviction that a smarter man would have immediately recognized his fatal error. A smarter man would have realized that thugs and trespassers do not speak with the measured, lethal cadence of a seasoned jurist.
But the bailiff was blinded by his own prejudice and the perceived supremacy of his uniform. The midnight navy fabric and the metal star pinned to his chest had convinced him he was the only authority in the room. He scoffed, his face twisting into an ugly sneer. He lifted his left arm, aggressively tapping the face of his wristwatch.
"You've got five seconds before I put you in cuffs for trespassing," the bailiff snarled, his hand dropping to rest heavily on the cold steel of his handcuffs.
One second passed. The man in the off-white shirt did not blink. He merely watched the bailiff the way a predator watches a fly caught in a web, completely unfazed by the countdown.
Two seconds. The bailiff shifted his weight, preparing to physically assault the man sitting at the highest point of the courtroom. The muscles in his jaw locked as he mentally justified the violence he was about to unleash.