Ralphy looked up from the glass that he was polishing and glared. "Fuck you," he mumbled.
"Yeah," snickered Joe. "Fuck you, too." Then, he turned and walked back outside into the cold, constant rain. He felt good after the beer, and after seeing Ralphy and Tap's again. Pausing for a moment, he rubbed his beard, gazing at his reflection in the window of the bar.
"Lookin' good," he said to himself, admiring the dark bristles that were starting to cover his chin and cheeks. Nostalgic, relieved, optimistic, he tried to picture Crank in the window beside him. This time, it was easy: without a shirt, with hair on his face and Brownstown all around him, Crank's friend had no trouble imagining him there.
He saw Crank standing there, his big belly rolling with laughter, his red hair wet with the rain. Crank's friend smiled at the silly victory, watching as his memory played upon the glass.
Bartlett was far away, now. Joe felt giddy as he turned from the window, and splashed his feet in a puddle like a child as he started down the street.
*****
Special Preview: Dicks
A Twisted Comedy
From Robert T. Jeschonek
Now Available
Tucker County Courthouse
Melville, Pennsylvania, 9:31 a.m.
"You guys have made my day!" Judge Jonah Bartlebaugh's rich, resonant voice boomed from the judge's bench in the vast main courtroom of the Tucker County courthouse. "Thank you for this!"
Simon Bellerophon, who was sitting at the plaintiff's table near the front of the courtroom, smiled. The happier the judge, the better, right?
Then why wasn't Simon's lawyer smiling, too?
Simon frowned as he looked up at Quinn Keegan, his attorney. Quinn was standing beside him, eyes fixed on the judge, face unreadable. He was doing a great job of keeping his feelings under wraps, hiding them even from Simon, who knew him better than anyone.
Because Quinn, after all, was his foster brother. Who better to help launch his mad quest for revenge?
"Your Honor?" Quinn's flinty brown features were silhouetted in the sunlight streaming in from the big arched windows ringing the courtroom walls. Swirling dust formed a halo in the multicolored shaft from the stained glass dome in the cupola overhead.
Judge Bartlebaugh chuckled and flapped a sheet of paper in the air. The crackling flap echoed through the giant, ornate courtroom, which was a remnant of the county's long-gone glory days. Tucker County had been a booming place twenty years ago, before the steel companies had pulled out of Melville, the big-money heart of the region, and shut down all the mills. "You do know this is a first-of-its-kind lawsuit, don't you?"
"Yes, your honor." Quinn spoke gracefully, as he always did in court...or anywhere else, for that matter.
"Well, thank you for cutting through the boredom!" Judge Bartlebaugh ran a hand up over his smooth, bare scalp and down the back of his silver fringe of hair. "So what's the gist of your argument?"
"We see this as a case of truth in advertising," said Quinn. "Dangers to society should be labeled as such."
Simon straightened in his chair, heart pounding as his brother made the case. There they were, going into battle side by side, kicking ass and taking names.
And the enemy himself sat thirty feet away.
Leaning back in his chair, Simon looked across the courtroom at the defense table. The enemy's enormous, beer-bellied attorney, Delroy Swope, blocked the view...all three hundred ice-cream-suited pounds of him.
As Simon watched, the enemy himself leaned back and met his gaze. With his curly black hair, ruddy, pockmarked face, and wild eyes, he looked like a crazed pirate or a member of the Manson family. His glare caught Simon like hot metal catching skin, radiating waves of pure cherry-red fury. He silently mouthed two unmistakable words in Simon's direction: Fuck you.
Ladies and gentlemen, the one and only Horne Shaw, so-called claims adjustor for the 5G5 delivery company.
Just then, Judge Jonah Bartlebaugh's voice snapped Simon's attention back to the front of the courtroom. "Oh, this is good." He chuckled as he stroked his impeccably trimmed silver mustache and beard with his thumb and forefinger. "How can you not love this case?"
Swope waved his thick arms and shook his head. "First of all, it's pure defamation, Your Honor..."
"The question was rhetorical." Judge Bartlebaugh chuckled. "But hey, great reaction time!"
Without another word, Swope dropped into his chair.
"Mr. Fluff-and-Fold!" Suddenly, Judge Bartlebaugh swung his gaze back to Simon. "This started over a washing machine, right?"
"Yes, Your Honor," said Simon.
"So what if Strayer-Roland gives you a new washing machine?" said Judge Bartlebaugh. "Could we make this case go away?"
"No, Your Honor." Simon said it without hesitation. "There's a principle involved."
"Oh, good." Judge Bartlebaugh rubbed his hands together briskly. "And what principle is that?"
"People should have the right to know when they're dealing with someone like him." Simon hiked a thumb in Horne's direction. "They shouldn't have to find out the hard way, after the fact."
"'Caveat emptor,' Your Honor." Swope wobbled to his feet. "'Let the buyer beware.' That's what we say."
Judge Bartlebaugh rolled his eyes. "I never would have guessed."
"Motion to dismiss this frivolous lawsuit, Your Honor," said Swope.
"Is it frivolous?" Judge Bartlebaugh raised his eyebrows at Simon. "You don't want a new washing machine. You don't want money. You don't want any form of compensation for the damages you've suffered."
"Correct, Your Honor," said Simon.
Judge Bartlebaugh grinned and shook his head. "You just want the court to acknowledge officially that the defendant, Horne Shaw..."
"...is a dick." Simon nodded. "Yes, Your Honor."
"A dick," said Judge Bartlebaugh. "As in a person of low character."
"I see it as doing a service for society," said Simon.
"I think it's our duty to identify people like him."
"Your Honor, I ask again that you dismiss this most frivolous lawsuit." Swope combed pork sausage fingers through his shock of wavy white hair. "Suing to have my client branded a dick is an extraordinary abuse of both the court's time and the county's money."
Judge Bartlebaugh smirked. "You want to talk about abusing time?" He tapped his desk with an index finger. "Try sitting up here day after day dealing with one boring drug arrest or property line beef after another. This dick case is a breath of fresh air!"
"We will demonstrate that this suit has significant merits, Your Honor," said Quinn. "We seek an injunction under the public nuisance statute. We will prove that Mr. Shaw is a nuisance to the public, and as such, deserving of regulation."
Judge Bartlebaugh unwrapped a hunk of pink bubble gum and popped it into his mouth. "The statute was written with other nuisances in mind. Are you comparing Mr. Shaw to a strip mine or hog farm?"
"If the shoe fits." Simon said it just loud enough for Quinn to hear.
But Quinn gave no sign he'd heard. "Mr. Shaw fits the very definition of public nuisance. He is offensive and annoying to the people of this community and others."
"Your Honor..." said Swope.
Quinn wouldn't let him interrupt. "Mr. Shaw actually exceeds the definition under the statute. Not only is he offensive and annoying, but he actively causes pain and suffering on a regular basis."
"Bullshit!" Face flushed, Horne popped up out of his chair.
Swope pushed him back down. "I object to Mr. Keegan's characterization of my client!"
"In ten years as a claims adjustor for 5G5 Delivery," said Quinn, "how many claims has Mr. Shaw paid out?"
"That is not relevant," said Swope.
"Zero." Quinn returned his gaze to Judge Bartlebaugh. "He has never paid one penny to a customer."
"Objection!" Swope's ample jowls jiggled with rage.
"And you know it's not because there weren't any damages in ten years." Quinn spre
ad his arms wide. "It's a furniture and appliance delivery company, for heaven's sake."
Simon got a chill up his spine. Listening to Quinn when he hit his stride was hardcore stirring. He was like a super-hero in a black pinstripe suit and red tie.
"You will see, if you give us the chance," said Quinn, "that Mr. Shaw is at best a nuisance and at worst a genuine threat to the public good."
Judge Bartlebaugh narrowed his eyes. "But the injunction specifically says dick. How do you plan to prove he's not just a nuisance, but a dick?"
Quinn held up a sheaf of papers. "We have signed affidavits from dozens of people supporting our..."
"Yes, but it's subjective." Judge Bartlebaugh rocked back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling, chewing his gum as he spoke. "We might as well call him a fuckwad or a shit-for-brains."
"Hey!" said Shaw.
"Your Honor..." said Quinn.
"Why not change the complaint?" said Judge Bartlebaugh. "Leave out the 'dick' part."
Quinn stared at Simon with special intensity. The truth was, Quinn had hated the "dick" concept from the get-go and had tried many times to talk Simon out of it.
But the answer was still the same.
"That would be missing the point," said Simon.
Quinn stared so hard, he looked like his eyeballs were about to pop out.
"He's a total dick." Simon hiked a thumb toward Horne. "People should know."
Judge Bartlebaugh cracked his gum and got up from his chair. "All right then. The elements of the case are clear to me. It's been fun, but now we're done."
"Thank you, Your Honor." Swope closed his leather-bound notebook with a crack that echoed through the cavernous courtroom and grinned over at Simon and Quinn. "So pleased we could reach this result."
As Judge Bartlebaugh started down the steps behind the bench, Simon slumped. He'd known the lawsuit was a long shot, but he was still disappointed at the outcome. Even without a win, he'd hoped to have a little more time to make his point in a public forum. A little more time to get back at that dick Horne Shaw. But now, all his high hopes for revenge zoomed away at once like pigeons from a gunshot.
And then zoomed right back.
"See you Monday, everyone." Judge Bartlebaugh waved on his way through the door to his chambers.
"Huh?" Startled, Simon turned to Quinn, who looked equally startled.
"But you said we were done here!" said Swope.
"Done for the weekend." Judge Bartlebaugh blew a bubble, then popped it and sucked the gum back into his mouth. "No way am I dismissing this case!"
With that, he slammed the door shut behind him.
*****
What happens next? Find out in Dicks, now available for your e-reader device!
*****
About the Author
Robert T. Jeschonek is an award-winning writer whose fiction, comics, essays, articles, and podcasts have been published around the world. DC Comics, Simon & Schuster, and DAW have published his work. According to Hugo and Nebula Award winner Mike Resnick, Robert "is a towering talent." Robert was nominated for the British Fantasy Award for his story, "Fear of Rain." His young adult urban fantasy novel, My Favorite Band Does Not Exist, is now available from Clarion Books/Houghton Mifflin Harcourt and was named one of Booklist’s Top Ten First Novels for Youth.
*****
E-books by Robert T. Jeschonek
Fantasy
6 Fantasy Stories
6 More Fantasy Stories
Blazing Bodices
Earthshaker – a novel
Girl Meets Mind Reader
Groupie Everlasting
Rose Head
The Genie's Secret
The Return of Alice
The Sword That Spoke
Horror
Bloodliner – a novel
Diary of a Maggot
Dionysus Dying
Fear of Rain
Road Rage
Humor (Adults Only)
Dicks – a novel
Literary
6 Short Stories
Mystery and Crime
6 Crime Stories
Crimes in the Key of Murder
Dancing With Murder (a cozy mystery written as Samantha Shepherd)
The First Detect-Eve
The Foolproof Cure for Cancer
The Other Waiter
Who Unkilled Johnny Murder?
Science Fiction
6 Scifi Stories
6 More Scifi Stories
Give The Hippo What He Wants
My Cannibal Lover
Off The Face Of The Earth
One Awake In All The World
Playing Doctor
Serial Killer vs. E-Merica
Something Borrowed, Something Doomed
Teacher of the Century
The Greatest Serial Killer in the Universe
The Love Quest of Smidgen the Snack Cake
The Shrooms of Benares
Universal Language – a novel
Superheroes
7 Comic Book Scripts
A Matter of Size (mature readers)
Forced Retirement
Heroes of Global Warming
The Masked Family – a novel
Thrillers
Backtracker – a novel
Day 9 – a novel
Trek Trilogy
Trek Fail!
Trek Off!
Trek This!
Young Readers
Dolphin Knight – a novel
Lump
Tommy Puke and the Boy with the Golden Barf
*****
Now on Sale from Robert T. Jeschonek
A Young Adult Fantasy Novel That Really Rocks!
One of Booklist's Top Ten First Novels for Youth
Being trapped in a book can be a nightmare—just ask Idea Deity. He’s convinced that he exists only in the pages of a novel written by a malevolent author . . . and that he will die in Chapter 64. Meanwhile, Reacher Mirage, lead singer of the secret rock band Youforia, can’t figure out who’s posting information about him and his band online that only he should know. Someone seems to be pulling the strings of both teens’ lives . . . and they’re not too happy about it. With Youforia about to be exposed in a national magazine and Chapter 64 bearing down like a speeding freight train, time is running out. Will Idea and Reacher be able to join forces and take control of their own lives before it’s too late?
School of Rock meets Alice in Wonderland in this fast-paced, completely unpredictable novel of alternate realities, time travel, and rock ‘n’ roll. If your favorite band does not exist . . . do you?
"Overall, My Favorite Band Does Not Exist is a wacky and enjoyable trip...full of intriguing, imaginative concepts that keep a reader hooked." –Thom Dunn, The Daily Genoshan
"This first novel has all the look of a cult fave: baffling to many, an anthem for a few, and unlike anything else out there." –Ian Chipman, Booklist Starred Review
"Chaos theory meets rock 'n' roll in adult author Jeschonek's ambitious, reality-bending YA debut." "...this proudly surreal piece of metafiction could develop a cult following..."–Publishers Weekly
"Reading this reminded me of authors like Terry Prachett and Neil Gaiman…"
–BiblioJunkies
Now Available from Clarion Books!
*****
GETTING HIGHER
Copyright © 2011 by Robert T. Jeschonek
Cover Art Copyright © 2011 by Ben Baldwin
Published in December 2011 by Pie Press by arrangement with the author. All rights reserved by the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Design by Pie Press
Johnstown, Pennsylvania
bsp;
Getting Higher Page 19
