“Later!” she laughed.
“Now,” I insisted.
I won that argument. I knew there wouldn’t be many that I won with my sexy Counselor, but today was a good day, I could feel it in me water.
By the time we arrived at the Supreme Court, I knew that my fans had come through for me. Not only were they out in their thousands, but a large number had come wearing doggie-style onesies, and at least fifty were wearing their own Canine Crusader costumes (which I’d been retailing online for $74.29 including tail, ears, cape and delivery).
But that wasn’t the best part—many had brought their beautiful mutts with them: big, small, hairy, smooth-coated, rough-coated, young, old and all amazing in their own special way, giving love to their hoomans as they milled around the entrance to the Supreme Court, held back by a thin blue line of two startled-looking police officers and a roll of incident tape. As we watched, a second patrol car screeched to a halt with four more officers leaping out to help with crowd control as my followers surged forwards.
“This is your moment, Vince,” Gracie said, nudging me gently. “Go meet your adoring fans.”
I shrugged humbly and grinned at her. “They’re just dog lovers, like me.”
The Uber driver was shaking his head.
“I cain’t get through, man. There’s some crazy shit going on out there. Those your people?”
I nodded happily. “Yup, they’re my tribe.”
As soon as I climbed out of the car, the chants grew louder and the noise was incredible as hundreds of dogs all started barking at the same time. I threw back my head and howled like a wolf, laughing like fook as a thousand of my followers did the same.
The TV presenters on the news crews were trying to speak to camera but had to give up and just film the fookin’ fabulous mayhem that was happening as I moved through the crowd, shaking hands, shaking paws, stroking furry friends, and giving out hundreds of dog biscuits until my treat bag was empty.
“Sorry, buddy,” I said to a pit bull who smiled and showed me all his teeth.
I gave him a pat instead, and only left when Gracie grabbed my arm and tapped her wrist watch.
I climbed the steps to the Supreme Court and turned to face my fans.
“No walls for four paws!” I shouted.
I listened, awestruck, as the words were yelled back by the crowd, and I punched the air in triumph. I may not be good at much, but I recognized fellow animal lovers when I saw them.
A microphone was thrust in my face as a reporter with a bad quiff pushed his way through the crowd.
“Vince Azzo, the Canine Crusader, are you worried about the possibility that you’ll go to prison today? Do you have anything to say to your fans?”
I nodded and grinned. “I’m not worried about prison because this is America, land of the free, and although it’s been an epic struggle between the forces of darkness and true justice, I know that the jury will make the right decision. No dog deserves to be put in prison—they all deserve to have a home—and every animal lover knows I did the right thing. And besides,” I smiled, winking at Grace, “This is me lawyer, Gracie Cooper, and when we win this case, she’s promised to be me girlfriend, too.”
The crowd roared, and a thousand wolf howls echoed through the Manhattan morning.
Gracie’s cheeks were pink and she had the biggest smile on her face.
“Couldn’t have gone better,” she said, squeezing my arm. “Now let’s go and crush this case under the heel of justice!”
“Fook, you’re hot when you go all lawyer on me!”
Gracie gave me a sly smile. “I’ll take that under advisement,” and she winked.
I couldn’t get over the change in her from 24 hours ago. Yesterday, she’d been down and defeated, but now she was coming back fighting. For me. It had been a long time since anyone had fought that hard for Vince Azzo.
When I walked into the courtroom, my supporters in the audience cheered, and the press were busy making notes. The bailiff looked worried and spoke to the two security guards on the door.
I took my seat next to Gracie and pulled up my hood, shaking my head so my ears flopped around my face, causing people around us to laugh.
Except son of Satan, Randolph Barclay, who had a face like a smacked bottom. As usual.
Gracie held back a grin as the court was ordered to rise for the arrival of Judge Herschel.
As soon as the judge saw me, her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned. She looked like the kind of woman who would give Barclay a smacked bottom and tell him he liked it, too.
“Counsel, please approach the bench,” she barked.
Grace strode forward confidently. “Your Honor?”
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t charge the defendant with contempt of court. Be careful with your answer, Ms. Cooper, because I’m also considering charging you with contempt of court!”
I held my breath.
“Of course, your Honor,” Grace said, her voice clear and self-assured. “I requested that Mr. Azzo be himself today—it’s as simple as that. The jury hasn’t truly seen how passionate he is about saving animals, they’ve only heard it second-hand; and I might add it wasn’t Mr. Azzo who named himself ‘the Canine Crusader’ but his supporters. District Attorney Barclay is correct when he says that his case has much wider repercussions than the events of January 4th—much wider. It was never about trying to steal dogs but to rescue them. This is what Mr. Azzo does; this is who he is.”
The judge stared down at Gracie for so long, I started sweating in the Lycra suit, my groin becoming very damp, and not in a fun way.
“Very well, Ms. Cooper,” the judge said at last. “I’ll allow the defendant to wear his costume, but I warn you, do not try my patience further.”
“No, your Honor,” said Gracie, crossing her fingers as she turned to walk back to her seat, a small smile of triumph on her face as Barclay turned the color of a pickled beet.
He probably whiffed like one, as well, vinegar-faced arsehole.
Gracie took a deep breath and pulled her shoulders back, her eyes glowing at me with belief.
“The defense calls Vincent Alexander Azzo.”
She looked so hot in her dark gray pant suit and cerise blouse with a pussycat-bow that I was still staring at her when she cleared her throat and gave me a pointed look.
“Oh, right! That’s me. Sorry, Gracie.”
People in the audience chuckled, but the judge threw them a very frosty look. Blimey, had she found her knickers in the fridge this morning?
I strode to the witness stand, giving a quick twirl of my cape on the way, took the oath, then lowered my hood so I could hear better.
“The defendant would like to plead ‘not guilty’ on the grounds of inhumanity,” Gracie said loudly.
“The defendant has already pleaded, and surely, you mean ‘insanity’, Ms. Cooper?” Judge Herschel asked.
“Definitely debatable, but not today, your Honor,” Gracie smiled. “He is not guilty on the grounds of inhumanity because the way animals are treated is not humane.”
“Objection!” yelped Barclay. “That’s not a real plea! She’s grandstanding!”
“Sustained,” said the judge, looking grim. “Ask your first question, Ms. Cooper.”
“Of course, your Honor.” Grace turned to me. “Mr. Azzo, in your own words, please tell the ladies and gentlemen of the jury what happened the night of January 4th.”
“Well, I’d been polishing me knob, your Honor,” I began confidently.
“Excuse me?” Judge Herschel interrupted.
I was going to say it again, but Gracie jumped in first.
“Ah, um, he’d been doing some housework, hadn’t you, Mr Azzo?,” she said pointedly. “Before going out for dinner
Right. Don’t mention my Tinder date!
“Leading the witness,” Barclay spoke sullenly.
“Overruled. Please continue, Mr. Azzo.”
“Right! So, after I’d, um, done me housework, I wen
t out to meet a friend and then go for dinner. I left Roxy’s hotel at 9pm and asked Alf, the doorman, if he knew of any good vegan restaurants nearby. He tipped me the wink and I gave him a score so…”
“Mr. Azzo is British, as the court will know by now,” Gracie said with an artificial laugh. “I believe Mr. Azzo is saying that he was given the information required and tipped the doorman twenty dollars.”
“Objection!” Barclay whined. “He’s not even speaking English!”
“He’s speaking what they speak in England,” Gracie said coolly, “which I believe is English. I’m merely interpreting a few colloquialisms for the benefit of the court, but I can desist.”
“Please continue,” Judge Herschel sighed.
“Right! So I was on my way to this Thai vegan place when I heard dogs crying. Not just barking or howling, but really crying like their little hearts were breaking. It was the most terrible sound,” I said, choking on the words as I remembered that night. “I thought one of them must be hurt, but when I got closer, I realized the crying wasn’t coming from a street dog but from an animal shelter.”
“Objection!” Barclay snapped. “Dogs can’t cry.”
“Were you bitten on your bony arse as a kid?” I snapped back. “Dogs cry. It’s a sound that if you ever hear it, you’ll never forget.”
“Overruled,” Judge Herschel said again.
“I rang the doorbell and knocked loud enough to wake the dead,” I continued, “but nobody came. Blimey! What kind of animal shelter doesn’t have a night nurse in case one of the beasties gets sick? So, I, um, climbed over the wall—which was easy, crappy security—then kept pounding on the office door and it, um, gave way. I nearly fell face first. Flimsy locks. Very unsafe.” I cleared my throat at the way I’d stretched the truth, knowing full well that I’d climbed over a nine-foot wall then booted open the inner door. “There were 11 adult dogs in cages, and another cage that held six puppies with no mum. They looked hungry and they were trying to get out of their cage to reach me. I thought I might be able to find them some food.”
“Objection!” Barclay yelled. “Mr. Azzo’s fingerprints weren’t found on the dogs’ bags of food, but on the door handles and those of the animals’ cages. The puppies were found about his person—clearly he was intending to steal them.”
Grace stood up.
“Objection, your Honor! District Attorney Barclay is stopping the witness from making his statement—and the defendant wasn’t trying to steal the dogs, just cuddle them. He’s a great dog-lover and has three rescue dogs of his own. He felt sorry for them, all alone, in the dark, surrounded by other strange dogs and…”
“Yes, thank you, Counselor. I get the picture,” Judge Herschel said acidly. “Please return to your seats, Counselors, both of you. I wish to hear what Mr. Azzo has to say.” Then she muttered to herself so only I could hear her, “This should be entertaining.”
“Right, so there was no one there to feed the puppies. They’re like babies—they need milk every few hours—I didn’t think that was right. And then three of the adult dogs were scheduled to be euthanized, put down by lethal injection. That’s murder! They were all healthy, friendly as foo—, and I couldn’t stand by and let that happen. All me own dogs are rescue dogs, me Lud, I mean Judge Hershey…”
“It’s Judge Herschel, not Hershey!”
I grinned at her. “Right, right! ‘Cause you’re sweet enough already.”
Grace
Did he really just say that? Oh my God, he did!
Vince had named the judge after one of Cady’s favorite chocolate brands then called the judge ‘sweet’.
Fascinating factoid: Milton S. Hershey founded his famous chocolate company in 1894. It’s one of the biggest chocolate manufacturers in the world.
I gulped. Oh well, I had told him to be himself.
Judge Herschel looked Vince up and down as he continued to grin at her.
“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that, Mr. Azzo,” she intoned as people in the audience sniggered behind their hands, and I noticed that several of the jurors were hiding smiles. Then the judge’s voice dropped to a mutter that only the defense table could hear, “But it’ll definitely be going in my autobiography.”
She liked him! The judge was being won over by Vince’s unique and peculiar charms.
I’d taken a huge gamble telling Vince to be himself, but I’d needed to do something to shake up the trial because dry and dusty evidence wasn’t cutting the French mustard, as Vince would say.
It seemed like the gamble was paying off, although I couldn’t count my penguins before they’d hatched just yet. Oh my God! I was starting to talk like Vince, too!
“Thank you, Mr. Azzo,” I said, restarting my questioning. “And then what happened?”
“The police arrived and carted me off to the clink, and that’s where you came and saved me bacon! Vegan bacon, that is.”
“And the following day, did you re-visit the animal shelter?”
“Yep.”
“Why was that?”
“I wanted to see how the puppies were. And if they were still planning to euthanize those three dogs, I was going to adopt them.”
“Even though you already have three rescue dogs of your own?” I pressed.
“Yeah, definitely.” Vince’s face was serious. “I couldn’t allow those dogs to be murdered. It’s not right, killing healthy dogs. Aren’t we supposed to be the civilized ones?”
I left his words hanging in the air before I asked my next question.
“I see,” I said, sending a look to the jurors that was laden with significance. “So you returned to adopt the three most desperate dogs, but what did you find when you arrived at the shelter?”
Vince grinned. “They’d already been adopted! Every single one of them. Every dog in the shelter! It was foo— freakin’ fab! There was a crowd out front, and when they saw me, they started calling me the Canine Crusader! It was well epic.”
I smiled at the jurors. “The Canine Crusader? And why do you think they chose that title for you?”
Vince shrugged. “Because I was trying to save dogs. I dunno really; I just thought it was cool.”
“Yes, very cool,” I said with a dry smile. “And you say that all the dogs had suddenly been adopted, even the ones scheduled for euthanasia? Why do you think that was?”
“Uh, well, the shelter’s director, Benson something, he said that word had got out about what I’d done and that they’d been getting calls all morning from people wanting to adopt dogs. He said all the shelters in the city were emptying faster than a fart in a vegan restaurant! It was fantastic!”
“Let me clarify,” I said, slowly and clearly, while trying not to laugh. “Mr. Luft, the director of Barkalaureate Animal Shelter said that you were responsible for all of the dogs being legally rehomed? Not just in his shelter, but across the whole of New York City?”
“Yes,” Vince said, pure joy shining in his eyes. “He said it was because of me.”
“So, you were happy with that state of affairs?”
“Well, bloomin’ happy with that part, yeah. I was happy that all the dogs had got homes, but Benson said they were skint—none of the shelters had any money: they’d got no money to make the upgrades for the shelter, and sweet FA for marketing or fundraising. Which means they can’t afford to publicize when there are dogs needing a new home. That’s when I came up with the idea of the Canine Crusader dog fashion show fundraiser. We ended up raising over half a million dollars, and it all went to shelters across the city. Foo— freakin’ fab!”
“Did you make any money personally from this fundraiser, Mr. Azzo?”
“No, and everyone involved gave their time for free. Uh, but I sell S&M dog-inspired leisure wear on my Instagram. Does that count?”
“No,” I said hastily. “Defense rests, your Honor.”
Barclay rose with a sour look on his face.
“What a fascinating fairytale, Mr. Azzo, almost believable in pl
aces.”
“It definitely had a happy ever after ending,” Vince agreed, and several people chuckled quietly.
“It seems an extraordinary coincidence that you decided to fundraise for the shelter only after being arrested for burglary and larceny, only after needing some positive publicity to rehabilitate your image.”
“Not really,” Vince said calmly. “I’d only been in New York City for a few weeks—I didn’t know that the shelters had money problems. I’ve done fundraising for animal shelters in other places I’ve lived. What I don’t get is why no one else did anything about it in New York before.”
Barclay dismissed the answer with a sneer. “How noble. And what did you intend to do with six puppies and 11 adult dogs that you’d released from their cages?”
Vince looked puzzled. “Take ‘em home.”
“All of them?”
“Well, yeah! No man or dog left behind, right?”
“And what were you planning to do with them once you got them home?” he asked.
“Feed ‘em, cuddle ‘em, and then find them their forever homes.”
“And why did you think you were equipped to do that when the shelter had been unable to?” he pressed. “Surely you intended to sell them?”
Vince shrugged. “Nope. All me friends are dog lovers—I’m good at publicity and the shelter doesn’t have any budget for marketing. I’d have found them homes.”
“You certainly are good at publicity,” Barclay said snidely. “Self-serving publicity, one might say.”
“Objection!” I snapped, jumping up.
“Sustained,” intoned the judge.
“And I suppose you would have accepted money for this re-homing service?” Barclay pressed on.
“No!” Vince snorted. “I wasn’t going to sell them! I just wanted them to find families to love them.”
“How noble.”
“You said that before—I’m deducting points for repetition, mate—but loving a dog isn’t noble, and it isn’t a one-way street because they return that love tenfold and…”
“Thank you, Mr. Azzo.”
“You’re welcome, but dogs love unconditionally. And I can talk to them.”
The World According to Vince - A romantic comedy (Gym or Chocolate Book 2) Page 22
