The opening salvos in case 19-6039, United States v Roger Jason Stone Junior, were decidedly brief. The 66-year-old longtime friend, confidant and ally of Donald Trump shambled into courtroom 203D of the Fort Lauderdale federal court for a 10-minute indictment hearing.

His brief appearance, casually dressed, may have fooled the uninitiated into imagining this was some minor case, not one of the biggest developments in the Trump-Russia investigation.

Shackled at the waist and hands, his hair still dishevelled from his 6am FBI wake-up call in the dark, and wearing a blue polo shirt and saggy jeans, Stone cut a sorry figure far removed from his usual presentation in sharp business suits and designer sunglasses.

There was no sign that Stone was accompanied by any family members.

He listened intently as federal magistrate Judge Lurana Snow read out the seven counts of the indictment , and turned to study the rows of seated reporters behind him, perhaps looking for a familiar face.

“I understand, thank you, your honor,” Stone replied clearly when Snow told him he was going to be released on $250,000 bond to await his next court appearance.

And when she told him he was to surrender his travel documents and that his movements would be curtailed, limited to any future court appearances in Florida, New York, Washington DC and Virginia, Stone replied: “I do not currently own a passport, it’s expired.”

Almost certainly, however, Florida has seen the last court appearance of Roger Stone. He waived his right to a removal hearing, a procedural step, and will probably next face a judge in Washington on a date yet to be set.

As the hearing drew to a close, Stone struggled with his shackled hands to sign his name on the form confirming his release from custody.

But if Stone was subdued and said little of interest inside the courtroom, he more than made up for it outside, where he ran a gauntlet of dozens of protesters hurling accusations of “traitor” and “lock him up” to talk to the media. (To be fair, there were also some supporters shouting: “We’ve got your back, Roger.”)

Stone had sprung back to life. Back was the wide smile, jovial nature and confident air he is known for.

“Well, as I’ve always said, the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about,” he joked, as his opening gambit.

Speaking to the throng and yet seemingly addressing an audience of precisely one, Trump himself, Stone continued: “As I have said previously, there is no circumstance whatsoever under which I will bear false witness against the president, nor will I make up lies to ease the pressure on myself. I look forward to being fully and completely vindicated … I am a fervent supporter of the president, I think he’s doing a great job to make America great again.”

It would not have escaped his notice that the president is the one with the power to pardon.

He was, however, less complimentary about his abrupt early morning awakening, conducted by an FBI team who were not being paid for their endeavors thanks to the partial federal government shutdown.

“Twenty-nine FBI agents arrived at my home with 17 vehicles with their lights flashing, when they could have just made a call to my lawyer,” he said. “They terrorized my wife, my dogs,” he complained, although he did note that the agents had been “extraordinarily courteous”.

And with a few more words about there being no collusion, no partnership with WikiLeaks and absolutely nothing for special counsel Robert Mueller to get excited about at all, Stone was gone, in the company of his attorneys, two sheriff’s deputies and pursued by a large scrum of media. The entire crowd came close to being knocked over by a fast-moving Broward county bus in the middle of the street outside the courthouse.

The near miss was a fitting finale to the circus that had been Roger Stone’s first encounter with the federal courts. Long after he departed back to the house where he was rudely awakened only hours earlier, the sounds of the Beatles’ Back in the USSR were still blaring from the loudspeaker brought by a protester to the courthouse steps.