Page 26 of Dirty Judge

“Yeah, totally.” I feigned a smile, wishing I’d learned that lesson years ago.

“Do you have any specialized certifications?”

“No.”

“Have you ever committed a crime?”

“Um…” I looked over at the cops who were now taking a seat directly across from us. “Can you repeat that question?”

“Have you ever committed a crime?” She enunciated every syllable.

“Committed or been convicted?” I asked. “You have to be specific.”

She arched a brow. “Been convicted.”

“Not yet.” I lowered my voice. “Time will tell, though...”

She served me a blank stare.

“Just kidding, just kidding.” I let out a nervous laugh. “No crimes, unless you want to count a few traffic violations?”

“I don’t.” She eyed me warily before scribbling on her clipboard. “Those don’t count at all. Is there anything else special you want me to take into consideration, Miss Spencer?”

“No, but I’m willing to work extremely hard and be the best employee you’ve ever seen.”

“In that case, I hope we can make this work.” She extended her hand. “I have a few more interviews today, and I’ll let you know by Saturday if you’ve been chosen to be our new Patty Queen!”

I shook her hand and realized thatthiswas my life’s rock bottom.

After sliding out of the booth, I walked to my apartment’s parking lot—looking over my shoulder to make sure the police weren’t following.

When I made it to my car, I slid behind the wheel and spotted a small white device with a straw attached right next to my ignition.

Sighing, I turned the key, but the engine didn’t crank.

Instead, the new box sounded with a series of ugly beeps.

“Please blow into the interlock device,” it warned. “Until the light turns red or green.”

You’ve got to be kidding me…

I leaned forward and blew into the straw, waiting for the light.

“Your blood alcohol level is 0.00!” The box exclaimed. “Driving permission is granted!”

The car cranked, and I grabbed the gearshift, but it didn’t allow me to move into “drive.”

A second device, a small cell phone that was now attached to one of my vents, flashed and I was now face to face with a pre-recorded video.

“Driving is a privilege, not a right.”

Those words faded away, revealing Judge Ashton in his robe.

Smiling, he was sitting behind a desk, staring right at me.

“Hello, Defendant.” He smiled. “It’s me, the honorable Judge Ashton,again.”

“To keep you in compliance with my ruling, and to force you to slow down and think about your decisions, this video will play every time you start your car for the next twenty-one days—as that’s exactly how long it takes to form a new habit.”