Julie's ID card was quickly found and returned to her, but the usher reported some difficulty in finding Stan's card. He was asked to step aside, please, and let the line go through. He protested at the inconvenience, then sullenly joined a few other people waiting for their cards in the rear of the court.
Julie stood impatiently in the doorway. She watched Stan strike up a grumbling conversation with another detained person. It was the moon-faced man who had been sitting in front of them. For a fleeting moment she thought of the old adage about "birds of a feather".
She waited. People filed past her in a steady stream, from the courtroom, across the lobby, out through the street door. Watching them—smiles and pleasant conversation, civilized small talk and serious debate of the merit of the evening's fare, as if it were a dramatic work of art. She clenched her teeth and prayed that Stan would hurry up.
Soon the flow of people stopped. Still no Stan. Julie waited.
Some twenty minutes later, an attendant came out of the courtroom. He went past Julie, then paused at the door, turned and came over to her. "Waiting for someone, miss?"
"Yes. My friend. They seem to have misplaced his ID card."
The attendant smiled and shook his head. "You might as well go on home, miss. If he's still in there, he won't be coming out for some time."
"I'll wait," Julie said.
"You don't understand, miss. He won't be out tonight."
"What are you talking about? He's just waiting till they find his ID, and it couldn't have gotten up and...."