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already one-sided beliefs provided all the reassurance necessary for us to continue believing our way of thinking was just what it needed to be.
    As I walked to the bike I realized although I didn’t believe the death of Sam’s mother was necessary, I was able to accept it as being out of my control, and part of a plan I did not understand today , but one day may.
     
     
     
     
     
    OTIS
    The courtroom smelled like money. The judge was seated on an elevated platform in front of where we were seated, but on the far side of the courtroom. In the center of the floor was an ornate lectern used by the attorney as he presented his case. On the immediate left was the jury, seated in comfortable leather seats as they studied the witness. Directly in front of us were two tables, one occupied by the defense attorney, and one by the prosecution and defendant. As they presented their cases to the judge, the attorneys faced away from us, making their facial expressions impossible to read.
    Sitting in the courtroom amidst the ATF agents made me feel uneasy. Seeing roughly sixty Selected Sinners supporting Sydney’s brother was enough to allow me to believe Jackson had all the backing necessary to ensure he at least felt he had sufficient support. The fact none of his club, Hell’s Fury , attended the trial caused me to lose what little respect I had for the MC he represented when he was arrested.
    Jury selection began, and took very little time. After each attorney throwing a few potential jurors out for cause or peremptory challenges , the jury was selected. Much to my surprise, the twelve men and women of the jury included three men who rode motorcycles. Hopefully, even if they weren’t in a club, they’d have a better understanding of what was being discussed.
    After several hours of questioning several ATF agents and Sydney’s brother Jackson, the prosecutor seemed to run out of gas. His tone of voice changed, and he became far less aggressive. Not sure if it was a tactic or a dose of reality, I sat back in my seat and watched the show continue.
    “During your time as a member of Hell’s Fury MC, were you known by any other names than your God given name?” the prosecutor asked.
    Kurt, Jackson’s attorney and Avery’s employer, immediately stood from his seat.
    “Your honor, I object,” he barked in a very matter of fact tone.
    The judge raised his finger in the air, attempting to silence the witness before he responded.
    “Grounds?” the judge asked.
    Still standing behind the table, Kurt spread his arms apart and tilted his head slightly to the side. He was a very large man, standing almost 6’-5” and weighing probably 250 pounds. His military style haircut, well-defined features, and the tone of his voice made him rather intimidating in the courtroom. 
    “Your honor, it asks the jury to prejudice the evidence. You, your honor, me, the prosecutor, and the witness know what the defendant’s club name was during his tenure with the club in question. Other than using the name to prejudice the jury, I see no value in providing it in testimony,” Kurt argued.
    The judge raised his hand to his chin and clenched his fist as he considered ruling on the objection.
    “Your honor, the former President of the United States, Lyndon Johnson, was nicknamed Bullshit Johnson . The boxer, Thomas Hearns, was nicknamed The Hitman . Richard Hill, the English Rugby player, was nicknamed The Silent Assassin . And Pete Sampras, the tennis player, was nicknamed Pistol Pete . I doubt any of the nicknames provided an accurate depiction of who the people were or what they represented,” Kurt explained as he continued to stand behind the large ornate table where Jackson was seated.
    “ Granted . I’ll instruct you not to answer the question,” the judge said as he gazed toward Jackson.
    Wow, Kurt came prepared. Hell, he even had a list of names mentally prepared.
    The prosecuting attorney turned away from the lectern, stared at the