He's a tough guy. You're going to have to bargain.

As you step into the judges office he's hung his robe up and is sitting behind his desk. He nods at you, gesturing to a chair beside the prosecuting attorney. Judge Melman is in his late fifties if not early sixties. A stocky man with the heavy face of a drinker and a full head of white hair, he has a lecherous glint in his eye which befits his reputation.

"I wanted to talk to you both in chambers and get this bail business worked out," the judge says. "The prosecutor here wants the defendant held without bail, and I suppose you want released on recognisance or some other such nonsense."

"Your honour..." you begin, but the judge holds up his hand to stop you.

"You'll get your chance to speak. Now, as I was saying, the prosecutor wants him held without bail, and frankly, given the charges I'm inclined to agree. Now you can talk," he finishes looking at you.

"Your honour, my client poses no flight risk. He's the son of a prominent..."

"Wealthy man," the judge interrupts. "Who is well known for finding ways around the finer points of the law. He's got the money to have that little bastard on a flight out of the country an hour after bail was granted. No, I'm afraid that horse won't run counsellor. What else you got?"

"A low bail set, with provisions for daily reporting," you answer.

"I wouldn't trust that little bastard or his father," The judge shakes his head.

"Low bail and he wears a bracelet monitor. With a curfew."

The judge and the prosecutor share a glance, and you feel a flutter of relief that the judge will agree. It isn't ideal, and you know that Jeff Ryan isn't going to be happy, but when you explain the alternatives to him you're sure he'll understand.

"Tell you what counsellor," Judge Melman says, getting up and leaning on the front of his desk. "I'm prepared to grant your client be released on his own recognisance, with a daily reporting requirement and a curfew, providing you make personal assurances to both the prosecutor and me."

"Personal assurances? From me?" you answer, puzzled. "I can instruct him, but I can't guarantee..."

"I don't want a guarantee counsellor. I want you to show the prosecutor and I just how far you're prepared to go to get what you want." He gives you a predatory grin, and the prosecutor stands up with a smirk, both of them stepping closer to you, the bulges of their erections suddenly evident.