Some cases come heavy. Others come absurd. This one came with a sword.
My client—a convicted felon—was charged with deadly conduct. The facts? A man was in his backyard. My client didn’t know why. He couldn’t legally carry a gun, so he grabbed the only thing he had: a sword. He didn’t raise it. Didn’t threaten. Just stood there, sword in hand, trying to protect his space without breaking the law.
Turns out, the man was there at his wife’s request—to give a quote for something she wanted done. My client didn’t know. The man got scared. My client got arrested.
When the case landed in court, the then-chief prosecutor laughed when I approached her to talk about it. Not mockingly—just at the irony. “He followed the law,” she said. “Class and dismiss.” It was her way of saying, this shouldn’t have been filed, but let’s wrap it with dignity.
The offer came in October 2023. My client accepted the offer, but never followed through. Not because he was defiant—but because he’s not tech savvy. The class was online. The process was confusing. And he disappeared for a while, ended up missing court and getting his bond revoked.
Fast forward to August 2025: he’s rearrested, the offer still open, and I’m trying to walk him through the process to get this dismissal. At 1:45 p.m. the day before court, he sends me the email he received after he registered for the class thinking that’s all he had to do. Bless his heart. I explain the full process. He says it might take him all night, but he’ll get it done. I braced myself to see the email on the day of court because my client and technology just didn’t get along.
At 5:00 pm, I get an email letting me know that a dismissal has been filed in the case.
At 7:50 pm, I receive a docket change email showing the case had been dismissed. That’s different than the submission email because docket change emails mean that final orders/dismissals have been signed.
I contemplated whether or not to let me client know and called a colleague to discuss. She asked all the right questions: Was he respectful? Did he stay in contact? Did he try? My answer: yes, in his own way. And the truth is, the dismissal was coming either way. He just didn’t have to suffer through the agony of a class he wasn’t equipped to complete if I let him know.
A little after 8:00p, I called my client and apologized for the late call. He said that I caught him at a good time because he was taking a break from the class to have dinner. I let him know that the prosecutor went ahead and dismissed the case and the judge had signed the dismissal. No class. No court. Just grace.
Justice was done. Mercy was honored. And somewhere tonight, a man who once stood in his backyard with a sword is eating dinner in peace—unburdened, unshackled, and finally dismissed.
On (In)justice 