Anger Management 3

Chapter 3


When the oven timer buzzed in the kitchen, Vegeta looked up from the bundle of papers he'd been reading and rose from the front room sofa. He'd been home for roughly eight hours by that point, after Mrs. Briefs had posted her son-in-law's bail and was instructed to directly bring him home. It was coming up on half past six, and for most of the afternoon Vegeta had read and re-read all the information he'd been given upon leaving jail.

Spending a night in a holding cell had been bad enough, but having to do it while wearing an orange jumpsuit and white sandals had been especially humiliating for the Saiyan. He'd been photographed and fingerprinted before finally being left alone in a white-walled cell for the night. Furious as he was, Vegeta felt completely drained of the crackling energy he'd grown to associate with rage, and spent almost the entire night laying on his side. The jail provided him with a hideous-looking sandwich and a lukewarm container of milk at dinner, which he refused to eat, and for breakfast he'd been given a tray of rubbery eggs and orange juice, and that brought back memories of reconstituted foods aboard Frieza's ships.

He had a brief hearing with a judge early in the morning, responding to basic questions about his name, age, and occupation (or lack thereof) and the events of the day prior. His bail had been posted at two and a half million Zeni and his next court date scheduled three weeks later.

The bundle of papers outlined what Vegeta could and could not do in the time before his next court date. His official charge was listed as "Assault, Degree 1", which he learned meant that he'd deliberately planned to inflict harm on the woman he'd punched, although the charges could change as the case progressed. Vegeta was required to remain on the Capsule compound at all times, was banned from consuming alcohol or any substance that was not prescribed, and was forbidden to communicate with the victim or her family. He was also required to provide both urine and hair samples the next morning.

"You must be hungry," Mrs. Briefs set a large plate of baked fish and vegetables at Vegeta's place, "did you eat anything when you were, uhm, in jail?"

Vegeta shook his head and was quick to start eating. For the first time in weeks, he felt like he had a proper appetite. "I am hungry," he finally responded, "so make second portions if you haven't."

Mrs. Briefs gave Vegeta a very familiar, reassuring smile and took a seat beside him. "Ahead of you, Vegeta. Eat as much as you like, sweetheart."

Bulma finally came down with Trunks and glared at Vegeta as she took her place, looking away as he made eye contact with her. "We're meeting with a lawyer tonight," she focused on her plate, "to try and get this sorted out."

"Dad, are you gonna go to jail?" Trunks questioned through a mouthful of flaky fish.

"Maybe," Vegeta was pleased to see Swiss chard on his plate, "how are we gonna meet with a lawyer if I can't leave the property?"

Bulma lit a cigarette. She was not hungry at all. "He's coming here, you dolt!"

Vegeta shrugged and reached for the serving dish of vegetables. "What time?"

A long exhalation of smoke directed at his face. Vegeta hated it when Bulma did that. "Around nine o'clock. So Trunks will be in bed, and you and I can get some things settled between us. Vegeta, do you understand just how serious this is?"

The Saiyan shrugged in response. Trunks ate quietly for several more minutes before looking up at his father again. "Dad, if you go to jail, how long will you be there?"

"Daddy isn't going to jail," interrupted Bulma, "your daddy and a lady had a disagreement, so the police officer said that daddy can't talk to the lady any more because they can't get along. Both the lady and daddy have special people to help them get the problem solved."

"Well, that's sugarcoating it," Vegeta finished his fish and eyed the oven for another portion, "Trunks, your mother is hiring a lawyer. If we're lucky, the lawyer will help me stay out of jail. If not I'm not lucky, then I'm going to jail for a little while. Does that answer your question?"

"For how long?"

Vegeta unfolded his papers and converted the months into years as Bulma silently seethed with anger. He could feel her stare practically boring through his head. "Up to five years."

Trunks finished his latest mouthful of dinner and looked between his parents. Both of them were upset and seemed to hold the gaze of the other by force. "Oh. Can I go watch cartoons now?"

Lawyers don't have to be likeable, they just have to win, Vegeta reminded himself as he half-listened to Bulma and the lawyer plan a settlement with the woman Vegeta had assaulted. The lawyer Bulma hired was allegedly one of the best in the city; his last name was Kaur and Vegeta was immediately put off by his expensive dark suit and immaculate, fox-like appearance. The longer Vegeta sat there, the more embarrassed he felt by his dishevelled appearance. He hadn't combed his hair through since his shower the day prior, and hadn't bothered to change out of the rumpled t-shirt and black sweatpants he'd put on when he'd first come back home.

"So, Mrs. Henry is still hospitalized at the moment. The injuries were, ah, not pretty, and considering Mrs. Henry's appearance factors into her profession, we might have t-"

"How the hell does appearance factor into selling a house?" Vegeta snarled.

"Her face is on billboards, Vegeta! She is a very recognizable person, and you may have wrecked that for her!" Bulma was almost at her limit with Vegeta; he didn't seem in the least bit concerned with the case and gave the lawyer terse, disinterested answers.

"The good news, ah," the lawyer cleared his throat, "is that she already went for surgery on the broken jaw. It was a clean break and she had the best surgeon for her case. She'll have her jaw wired shut for three months..."

So something good will come out of all this, thought Bulma, as she heard Vegeta's ugly laugh (the one reserved for fights and taunting) drift through her head, I heard that, the disembodied voice said, you think it's funny!

"I do n- I mean," Bulma cleared her throat, "do you know anything else about her condition or treatment plan? Do you think she'd be open to a settlement?"

"Hard to say right now," the lawyer leaned back in his chair and pushed a thick palm across his silver hair, "a settlement could help us avoid a civil trial, but Vegeta, you are definitely going to criminal trial. We ought to plan a settlement right away and make our case to keep you out of jail," the lawyer stared right at Vegeta and a cold smile spread across his face, "your cooperation was noted by the arresting officer, which is a good thing."

"Alright," Vegeta shrugged, "I'm going to plead guilty."

"What?! Vegeta!" Bulma shrieked, "why aren't you fighting this?"

"Because I punched her in the face and everybody saw it, Bulma! Seriously?!"

"Hang on," the lawyer slowly raised a hand to bring the conversation to a pause, "we could use a guilty plea to help keep Vegeta out of jail. Vegeta, are you familiar with the case of the heiress, Violet Primez?"

"No," Vegeta took a sip of cola and glanced at the clock. It was coming on ten o'clock and Vegeta wanted to go to bed.

"You must not follow tabloid news. Although, when it happened, it was everywhere! Violet Primez is an heiress to a beer brand, and she's also famous for, well, existing. Anyway, this heiress lives your typical rich kid lifestyle, with plenty of nights out and the substance use associated with her preferred type of nightlife. Not exactly a scholar, and yet inexplicably popular with college-aged girls. One night, our heiress gets pulled over by the police for speeding, but instead of actually pulling over and coming to a complete stop, she instead pretends to pull over and then speeds off as the police approach the vehicle, leading them, along with around twenty other units, on a high speed chase down a busy stretch of coastal highway for a good thirty miles. Along the way she hits four other cars, injuring six people in total. Incredibly, nobody was critically injured or killed."

I'm impressed, thought Vegeta, she must be one hell of a good driver!

"And what happened to her?" He finally asked.

"She settled out of court with the people she injured, pled guilty to the criminal charges, and after her lawyer successfully argued that her quote-unquote abnormal behaviour stemmed from repressed trauma and drug abuse, she went to rehab for six months as a part of an overall sentence that included community service and a public speaking tour on college campuses. The woman landed three magazine covers in two months upon leaving rehab, for godssake!"

"Hey, that's right! I forgot all about her," Bulma perked up and started to see where the lawyer was going, "she did avoid jail, didn't she?"

"This woman's story is interesting, I guess," Vegeta lingered on the last word, "but I'm not a young dumbass kid with money and a drug addiction."

"No, but you are a member of the Briefs family," Bulma glanced at Vegeta watched his lips purse slightly, "so you do have at least one thing in common with little miss heiress."

Vegeta huffed and folded his arms over his chest. "I'm not going to a rehab facility."

"And if your drug screen tomorrow comes up clean, going to rehab won't be a potential end result of your case. Be patient, Vegeta! Give me two days to get things in motion, and we will meet again to discuss this case in greater detail."

Empty paper cup of coffee between his feet, Vegeta waited with growing impatience for the nurse to enter the room so he could give the urine sample. His bladder was full, and it was full at that very moment. He wasn't sure he could hold on much longer.

"Come on come on come on," he growled, "I have to pee."

Five more agonizing minutes passed before a tall nurse with a thick neck entered. "Mr. Vegeta Briefs? Ah yes, you're here for samples."

"Gotta piss, let's do this," Vegeta rose from his seat, legs squeezing together to alleviate the pressure in his bladder. He'd taken drinks of orange juice, water, and coffee all morning but he swore that it had all passed through his system at once.

"Hair samples first, then urine," the nurse coolly replied, "please have a seat and look down so I can see the back of your neck."

The nurse combed through Vegeta's hair, twice remarking on how thick it was, and plucked strands from near his temples, the crown of his head, and down the back of his neck. When the Saiyan was asked to provide samples of his pubic hair as well, he could feel his face going bright red as he pulled down his pants, and audibly winced when several hairs were plucked.

Finally, Vegeta was able to provide the urine samples, although he was quite unimpressed when the nurse stood beside him during collection.

"So what's the difference between the hair and urine samples, exactly?"

"Oh, the urine tells us if you've consumed drugs in the past few days, while the hair gives us a picture of what you've been up to over the last several months."

Mr. Kaur finished his cup of coffee before he fetched the growing file he had for Vegeta's case. "Well, we can take rehab off the table. Vegeta, all your samples came back negative for illicit drugs or alcohol."

"Well, obviously," Vegeta refilled his own cup and ignored Kaur's cup, "I'm the one who said rehab wasn't an option."

"Don't you see, Vegeta? Because of your cooperation, your guilty plea, and now with your clean drug screen, we can further refine our defence. What we're going to do is argue that you punching Mrs. Henry arose from a long-term struggle with depression and emotional regulation. You aren't a malicious criminal, Vegeta, what you are is a sick man who needs help, and this terrible incident is that opportunity to turn your life around... should the judge agree with our argument."

Vegeta eyed the lawyer with a deepening scowl. "You have to be kidding me, Kaur. That's the dumbest fucking thing I've heard in ages."

"It's the best thing I've heard in ages," Bulma stormed past the living room, "unless you can come up with something better!"

The front door opened and then slammed shut. Vegeta rubbed his temples and growled. "It's either that or jail, hmm?"

On the morning of Vegeta's trial, the Saiyan woke early, showered, and spent several minutes checking himself over in the mirror; plucking a stray eyebrow hair, filing down a jagged thumbnail and scraping underneath his nails, and adjusting his clothing until it felt right.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd worn such formal earthling clothing; a tailored black suit with a crisp white button up shirt, and an eggplant tie that Bulma had tied for him the night before. His formal black shoes, stiff from rarely being worn, gleamed in the light.

As he left the bedroom, he spotted the portrait he and Bulma had posed for on their wedding day. So that's the last time I wore a suit, he thought, how pathetic, I can't recall something that happened eighteen months ago.

"Good luck, sweetie," Mrs. Briefs set a light breakfast at Vegeta's place, "I know you're going to be just fine!"

"Hey Daddy," Trunks pushed himself up to his seat at the breakfast table, "you look funny in that suit."

Vegeta grunted and ate the corners of his toast before pushing his plate away.

The ride to the courthouse was tense and silent. Vegeta motioned to Bulma for a cigarette when she lit one for herself, which the Saiyan smoked in several long drags. The nicotine seemed to hit him all at once, and when they pulled into a spot in the parking garage, Vegeta pressed the back of his head against the top of the car seat and held his hands over his face.

"Okay," a minute passed before he spoke, "let's do this."

The gavel banged against the judge's desk and Vegeta had to grip the edge of the table as he remained standing. He felt like his stomach had dropped past his knees, while his larynx had come to a rest against his tonsils. His fate was now sealed, the judge's monotonous voice still ringing in his ears.

Seeing as this is your first offence, along with your continued cooperation and negative drug screen, Mr. Briefs, I am not determined to see you behind bars as part of your sentencing. I will, however, see to it that you seek long-term mental health care. Mr. Briefs, I hereby sentence you to weekly psychotherapy sessions for a period of no less than fifty two weeks, one year of probation, and five hundred hours of community service. You are to remain at home between the hours of midnight and six o'clock, barred from contacting the victim or her family, and you are to remain no less than five hundred feet from your son's place of education at all times. Should I see you back here again, Mr. Briefs, I will not be so lenient...

Bulma rubbed Vegeta's back and heaved a sigh of relief. "See, Vegeta? No jail time!"

"Oh, my God," Vegeta slowly fell back into his seat, "what a nightmare."

"This is good, Vegeta," Kaur packed up his briefcase, "I'll be in touch soon regarding the settlement. Looks like the Henrys plan to accept."

"Good," Bulma shook the lawyer's hand, "looking forward to speaking with you soon. If you'll excuse us," Bulma motioned at her husband, who had started to slowly tug at his hair, "we ought to be heading home. Clearly, things are still sinking in."

Both Vegeta and Bulma had another cigarette on their way home from court. Vegeta pulled his tie loose and leaned back in his seat. He'd learned that the judge would direct his case to a psychotherapist, who he would meet the following week, and a probation officer would be stopping by that evening.

A short, very stocky man with dark tattoos covering both thick arms made his way into the main entrance of the Capsule Compound's main residence, awed by the sight of the impressive house. It was just after six in the evening, and his newest client, Vegeta Briefs, was the newest client of Salvatore Ramirez.

"Wow, this sure is a beautiful house. So, where's Vegeta?"

Vegeta overheard his name and came from the living room, where he had been occupying his usual spot on the couch since the early afternoon. "Hello."

"Hello," stocky man returned the cold greeting in a borderline mocking tone, "I'm Ramirez. The court has assigned me to conduct interviews with you on a weekly basis. Can we take a seat somewhere, Vegeta?"

"Mmh," Vegeta motioned to the living room, "in here, Mr. Ramirez."

"You can just call me Ramirez," the probation officer took a seat across from Vegeta, "no need to get super formal with me. Basically, I'm here tonight to get a bit of information on you and your home life..."

Reading over the business card Ramirez had left one final time, Vegeta thought about his first meeting with the probation officer and felt a smirk growing on his face. Ramirez was sharp and funny, and Vegeta had to respect a man who clearly was not intimidated by him.

Their next meeting would take place at Ramirez' office downtown; a part of the city Vegeta rarely ventured to and had little interest in visiting. When Vegeta did leave the compound, he usually stuck to the upscale neighbourhood north of the compound because it was the neighbourhood Mrs. Briefs frequented the most.

"So, one week down, fifty one to go, hm?" Bulma emerged from the steamy bathroom, hair wrapped in a towel piled atop her head, and sat down on the bed next to Vegeta.

Vegeta scoffed and dropped the card into his mostly-empty nightstand drawer. "How the hell do I even get downtown?"

"Please, my mom is already planning a little afternoon around the whole thing," Bulma laughed, "she's been lamenting how you never explore the city. You've lived in West City for almost half a decade and don't know about anything outside the compound walls, I swear."

"Bullshit," Vegeta sat up in bed and caught the smell of Bulma's lotion, "I do go out."

"Yeah, to the same two places! You go to that convenience store and to that little theatre whenever they have one of their science fiction movie marathon!"

"Broke my damn sandal with their sticky floor," Vegeta muttered, internally horrified that Bulma knew about his attending the science fiction marathons, "but that's not the point! I don't need a chaperone or somebody to play tourist guide. I'll damn well figure it out on my own!"

Bulma merely shrugged and began rubbing lotion into her right thigh. "Just a heads up, my mom wants to teach you how to winterize rose bushes tomorrow. She bought you new gardening gloves. They're blue, and she's so eager to see your reaction to them. Please, Vegeta, be gracious, even if you have to fake it."

Vegeta slid down onto his back again and groaned.