When their name was called, people went up to the podium in front of the judge’s bench. The judge read out the offense, asked if the plaintiff had anything to state, then (after discussion) told the plaintiff what his fine was.

“Isn’t this more like traffic court, or something? This doesn’t seem serious enough,” I whispered to Phyllis. She’d been listening to the judge carefully, getting his measure.

“Those warrants were bullshit,” she said, just as quietly. “He’s just going up for the taillight. This is unbelievable.”

It took an hour for the judge to work down the list to Tolliver. Tolliver looked tired. Every now and then he’d look toward me, and he tried to smile, but I could tell it was an effort.

Finally, the clerk called, “Tolliver Lang.”

Tolliver wasn’t handcuffed or shackled, thank God. He went up to the podium, with one of the jail guards accompanying him.

“Mr. Lang, I see here that you were initially charged with outstanding warrants from Montana, and that you had a problem with a rear taillight.” The judge didn’t seem to expect Tolliver to answer. The judge had a frown on his narrow face. “But the officer who gave you the ticket for the taillight—Officer Bledsoe? Is he here?”

“No, your honor,” answered the clerk. “He’s on patrol today.”

“Amazing. He says now he made a mistake about the warrants?”

“Yes, your honor,” said the city attorney. “He apologizes for the mistake.”

“This is a very serious error,” said the judge. He frowned at the papers some more. “And very strange. What about the taillight?”

“He stands by the taillight, your honor,” said the attorney, with a straight face.

“How long was this man in jail?”

“Two nights.”

“In jail two nights for a broken taillight.”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“You didn’t resist arrest?” For the first time, the judge addressed Tolliver directly. I could see Tolliver’s back straighten.

“No, sir,” Tolliver said.

“Have you ever been arrested in Montana?”

“Yes, sir, but the charges were dismissed.”

“That’s a matter of public record.”

“Yes, sir. And it was over a year ago.”

“Mr. Lang, do you want to bring charges against Officer Bledsoe?”

“No, sir. I just want out of the jail.”

“And I can understand that. You’ll be released, no bail, just pay the fine for the taillight. You don’t contest that, I guess?”

Tolliver was silent. I was sure he was debating about telling the judge that Bledsoe had broken it with his nightstick.

“No, your honor.”

“Okay, broken taillight, one hundred fifty dollar fine,” the judge said, and that was that. The jailer led Tolliver back through the side door where he’d entered, I assumed to return him to the jail and start the release paperwork. “Someone here to pay the fine?”

I held up my hand.