“No, just the video.”
“So you can’t tell the court who started it.”
“Mr. Halligan swung on him. The video shows that. Only then did Salem defend himself.”
He clears his throat. “No further questions.”
The prosecutor has nothing for me, so I sit back down.
Halligan takes the stand like he wants attention, smiling at everyone, all friendly. His lawyer runs him through a story about being provoked, about concern for a friend, about how fame changes a person.
Then our counsel steps up. “You gave an interview yesterday morning to the site that ran the clip, correct?”
“As is my right,” Halligan says.
“In that interview you said, quote, ‘I took a swing at him and he slapped me like a bitch.’ Is that accurate?”
Halligan blinks. “I mean, I said it, but?—”
“You didn’t say ‘he hit me first.’ You said you took a swing, and then he slapped you.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“And you were recorded, correct?” counsel asks.
Halligan glances at his lawyer. “Yeah.”
“So when you said you took a swing, you were describing your own action.”
“I mean—” Halligan starts. Then he gets mad at the trap and snaps. “I swung, okay? He slapped me. So what. He’s still a piece of shit for that.”
The judge raises a hand. “That’s enough.” She calls counsel to the bench. Quiet voices. A nod. Everyone sits. She rules.
“Mr. Turner, you’re not charged with assault. You are in my courtroom for a disorderly conduct matter that affects public safety. You are a public figure in a public venue. You do not get to respond to stupid with stupid. You will complete forty hours of community service in the city where this occurred. You have one year to complete it. I am not imposing a fine.”
She turns to Halligan. “Mr. Halligan, you initiated. You escalated. You showed up in a place where you were not working and tried to drag someone else into your past. Be glad we did not find you with the drugs you spoke of in that video. Your fineis ten thousand dollars. If I see you again on a matter related to this case, I’ll consider additional sanctions.”
She taps her gavel. “No-contact orders are in place for thirty days. Counsel can work out the civil piece. We’re done.”
It’s not victory music, but it’s fair. Quincy exhales like he’s been underwater. The prosecutor thanks the judge and moves on. Halligan leaves in a loud flap of jacket and hair. In the hall a stringer tries to ask a question. Quincy shuts it down with a hand and a line: “The court spoke. We’re getting back to work.”
We step into the sun. It’s bright and too clear. Cameras wait across the street, not a swarm, just a handful with hungry eyes. Quincy points us to a side exit. He mutters “no comments” like a mantra. Counsel shakes Salem’s hand and mine and says, “Good job,” in a tone that meansdon’t blow it after this.
On the sidewalk, Salem looks at me like he’s ashamed and grateful in the same breath. He tugs the bill of his cap down. “I don’t deserve you believing in me.”
“That’s not how belief works.”
He shakes his head. “You saw me hit him in the video. I hate that.”
“I saw younotpunch him when you wanted to. I saw you make rules and keep them. I saw you ask for help.”
He swallows. “Still.”
I step closer so he has to look at me. “I love you, Salem. Of course I believe in you.”
He doesn’t say it back. He squeezes my hand like he’s drowning and I’m the lifesaver. He gulps loud enough to hear it. “Thank you for that.”
I kiss his cheek. “Let’s go home.”
