"Well, Mr. Cornell?"
I blinked. "Yes, your honor?"
"Which will it be? I am granting you the leniency of selecting which penalty you prefer."
I could probably rake up a thousand by selling some stock, personal possessions, and draining my already-weakened bank account. The most valuable of my possessions was parked in a ditch with a blowout and probably a bent frame and even so, I only owned about six monthly payments worth of it.
"Your Honor, I will prefer to pay the fine—if you'll grant me time in which to go and collect—"
He rapped his desk with his gavel. "Mr. Cornell," he boomed angrily. "A thief cannot be trusted. Within a matter of minutes you could remove yourself from the jurisdiction of this court unless a binding penalty is placed against your person. You may go on your search for money, but only after posting bond—to the same amount as your fine!"
Lenient—?
"However, unless you are able to pay, I have no recourse but to exact the prison sentence of ninety days. Bailiff—!"
I gave up. It even felt sort of good to give up, especially when the turn is called by someone too big to be argued with. No matter what, I was going to take ninety days off, during which I could sit and think and plan and wonder and chew my fingernails.
The itch in my finger burned again, deep this time, and not at all easy to satisfy by rubbing it against my trousers. I picked at it with the thumbnail and the nail caught something hard.