Rescued by that New Guy in Town

by J. L. Salter

  I didn't clarify there was no intermission in that movie. "Yeah. Sure." Cookies would be great for those ten pounds I'd been trying to lose.

  Chapter Twelve

  As I arrived at the bank Wednesday morning I realized I had forgotten to tell Miss Zachery about my court date that day. She'll probably boil me in booger stew.

  While I waited for my cash drawer, I broke the news. Miss Z's pickle-puss scowl made my innards freeze. I half-way expected her to scream, "Off with her head!"

  Instead, she pursed her lips beyond their normal extension and said curtly, "Civil leave is dock-time."

  I nodded meekly. The Empress of Z certainly had me cowed. Had I still worked at the downtown facility, my former supervisor probably would have let me take it as an early lunch. But not Miss Z. She seemed to have it in for me and my only slender hint why, was something I'd heard her say about bankruptcies. Czaress Z took the rather peculiar stance that she "didn't believe" in bankruptcy, as though the status did not even exist. I interpreted that to mean she vigorously disapproved of individuals availing themselves of the pertinent laws. Miss Z probably still preferred debtor's prison.

  I wanted to run something by Aynette about the witch movie I'd seen twice, but we didn't have opportunity to speak during the brief time before I left for court. With Miss Z watching intently, I turned in my drawer and literally slunk out the back door at 10:15 a.m. If looks could kill.

  ****

  I arrived on the top floor of the courthouse about ten minutes before my ticket stipulated and saw a couple dozen people clustered out in the hallway. To my query, an elderly man said the court was in recess. It was probably that business where they'd called the first batch of cases at nine o'clock just to see who was present and then conferred in chambers with the prosecutor and whichever attorney was involved to see who had negotiated pleas. I guessed our tickets were in the second batch — eleven o'clock.

  I didn't see Hazzard anywhere. His office was somewhere in that same building, so maybe he planned to swoop in at the last minute and make a swashbuckling entrance. Ha.

  Eleven o'clock came and went. About twenty minutes later, the Bailiff emerged and opened both huge wooden doors. Everybody entered.

  Still no Hazzard. But the icy attorney with dyed blonde hair and obviously fake bosom was seated at the prosecutor's table. Yikes. Hadn't figured on seeing Vanessa there.

  The Bailiff called "All rise" and in strode Judge Gunther, known county-wide as the hanging judge. Wonderful.

  Gunther looked around, sat regally, and then motioned for the rest of us peons to squat humbly. The clerk scurried over with a stack of folders and a two page list of cases.

  Three cases were called before Hazzard's. But he still hadn't appeared. I saw Corporal James over against the wall, but he didn't meet my eyes. Vanessa Big Chest looked like she was pretending to be bored.

  When the harried clerk called a second time for Hazzard's case, Vanessa lurched suddenly and scrambled to hand the judge a note she'd evidently just remembered. Gunther read it and looked around the courtroom. He shrugged and exhaled heavily into the microphone. Then he whacked his gavel. "Next case."

  The clerk called my case and I stood. "What about the pirate?"

  "Beg your pardon?" Gunther looked surprised to hear a voice besides his own.

  "We both got the same ticket. Ask that policeman over there."

  James had just taken a seat on one of the two cushioned jury benches (presently unoccupied) on the judge's left. The corporal nodded slowly, but didn't speak. This newest exchange had obviously piqued Vanessa's attention considerably. She could no longer pretend to be bored. After all, she was part of the pirate's as-yet-untold long story.

  Gunther turned back to me. "Do you have an attorney?"

  "No, your Honor. I didn't think I needed one since I didn't do anything wrong."

  "Well, if you keep interfering in other cases before this court, you just might need counsel."

  I decided to keep my mouth shut and just grind my teeth a bit.

  The judge motioned to the clerk, who then read out the particulars of my ticket while Corporal James and I stood at attention. Gunther directed a question to James affirming those details and he replied, "Yes, your Honor."

  Then the hanging judge turned to me again. "The charge is entering and remaining in the former armory building — now county community center — out on Highway 70 on Saturday night past. Ahh… make that early Sunday morning. Do you understand the charge?" He didn't wait for my answer. "And, how do you plead?"

  "Your Honor, as I understand this charge, it would be like going into a place deliberately, even though I'd been banned or barred or whatever. That was not the case." I took a deep breath as sweat trickled from my armpits. "I was a volunteer worker in that festival and I'd been out there almost every evening after work for the better part of two weeks. As for the 'remaining' part — I was put in jail…" When I saw Gunther's raised eyebrow, I quickly clarified. "The charity jail. They were supposed to call my brother to come donate money and bail me out. I didn't know this at the time, but Eric told me yesterday that nobody talked to him that night. But he checked his missed messages and figured Karla might've left him a voice mail. Problem is, Eric never checks his voice mail." I couldn't see Vanessa's face while I addressed the bench, but Gunther rolled his eyes. "Like I said, your Honor, I didn't know that at the time. But my feet were tired so it felt good just to sit. Before long, I kind of leaned over on that bench thingy. I was so exhausted, I just fell asleep in there." I decided not to mention the spiked punch. "Couple of hours later, when I woke up, all the lights were out and I was all alone, except for the pirate."

  "You mentioned a pirate before." There was a hint of further disapproval in the judge's eyes, visible over the top of his spectacles.

  "He was the other person Officer James ticketed that night. His case was right before mine, but he didn't show." I looked behind me to check again. Maybe they'd issue a bench warrant and haul his buccaneer carcass to jail. Real jail.

  "It does not concern you or anyone else, but I've received communication pertaining to his appearance."

  I wondered what that meant. "So, anyway, your Honor, I didn't enter improperly and I didn't remain… at least not on purpose. Believe me, that's about the least comfortable place in Greene County and what I was wearing was the least comfortable outfit I own."

  Vanessa was probably dying to know more.

  "Yes." Gunther tapped the folder. "The ticket has a brief note about your apparel."

  I turned to the Corporal. "You told the judge that I wore a witch costume?"

  In barely more than a whisper, James replied, "No, you just did. I only said you were both in Halloween suits."

  Sheesh.

  I could feel Vanessa's eyes boring into my spine, right above my tush. She probably wished she had a dagger. Or maybe she wished she had shapely hips like mine. Ha.

  "Witch costume, was it?" The judge took off his glasses and leaned back in his oversize leather chair. "Do you think that sets a very good example for our community's children?"

  "Well, the men seemed to like it." Oops. That slipped out. Behind me, I heard a smothered gasp from Vanessa.

  Gunther waved over the officer. He covered his mic and whispered something. James put his hands to his own chest as though indicating the cut of my bustier, and then leaned over to chop his thigh at approximately where my hemline would have been. Judicial eyebrows went up again. I'm certain Vanessa watched intently, because I had more bust than she probably did before her dramatic implants. The judge flipped over the ticket as though he wished it included a photo. Corporal James returned to his seat on the otherwise vacant jury bench.

  "Judge, I was not aware of any ordinance about the decorum of Halloween costumes, if there is such a thing. Besides, that new guy who's not here was in a pirate outfit." I imagined I could feel heat from the prosecutor's table.

  "Pirate again." Gunther looked toward the officer, who nod
ded.

  "Well, that pirate case has been continued, as I've already explained, and we're dealing with your case at the moment — your case, alone. The, uh, witch case, as it were. Are you ready to enter your plea?"

  "I already did, your Honor. I explained how everything went haywire but none of it was my fault."

  "For the record, we need to hear your plea in direct legal terms: guilty or not guilty." His drumming fingers made a softly hollow sound on my ticket.

  "Can I ask the court a question?"

  After a slight hesitation, the judge nodded but sighed heavily again into the microphone.

  "I'm not guilty, okay? But if I say that I'm not, what happens?"

  Gunther looked at the prosecutor and then inclined his head toward the clerk on his left. The clerk reached into the bottom basket on her much lower, compact desk and opened a folder. She scanned the top page and immediately put that material back. "Your Honor, if the defendant contests the charge when the arresting officer is present in the court, that case is put on the docket for a later appearance while the defendant obtains counsel and the prosecutor deposes witnesses." She nodded toward Vanessa's table.

  "You mean I'd have to come back? And hire a lawyer?" As my colorful Uncle Jasper often exclaimed, Teetering toad-frogs! "Your Honor, I can't afford a lawyer and I certainly can't miss another work shift to come back over here. What happens if I say I'm guilty even though I'm actually not?"

  The judge pursed his lips and intoned, "With an admission of guilt, you fall on the mercy of my court and are subject to the appropriate penalties thereupon."

  What a racket! I wasn't guilty of anything except being a sucker when they asked for festival volunteers. Consequently, I was standing before the county's Victorian judge. It was Catch-22: if I told the truth — not guilty — it would prolong my case and I'd have to come back. I'd certainly need an attorney to arm wrestle this cold-hearted prosecutor, who likely planned to throw the book at me. And I definitely couldn't count on any mercy from a moralistic hanging judge.

  "Is there a way to know what the mercy of this court is like in a case like mine?"

  The judge looked like he suppressed a sadistic smile as he stole a speedy glance at the prosecutor. "I've instructed you to enter your plea."

  "Because I don't want to come back again with a lawyer next time, I plead guilty despite my innocence."

  Gunther looked toward the clerk, who shook her head. He faced me again. "Miss, uh, Prima, think of this as a simple yes or no answer. Guilty or not guilty?"

  "I submit a guilty plea in order to streamline this process."

  The judge didn't even check with the clerk. He just frowned so harshly that it made my knees shake.

  "I'm sorry, your Honor. I've never done this before." That was only partly true, but I'd have to save that long story for later. After a few margaritas. I cleared my throat and tried to stand straighter. "With exceptions and protest, your Honor, I plead guilty."

  I could tell Gunther didn't like that answer either because he whacked his gavel so harshly that I jumped. "The arresting office will approach the bench."

  I sputtered a bit. What's the penalty? I looked around. The clerk wouldn't meet my eyes, the prosecutor lowered her face (most likely to hide her own sinister glee) and I thought I could hear that somber music in movies when the smelly oxcart rolls slowly toward a distant guillotine.

  Corporal James hustled forward. With the judicial mic covered again, they conversed for a few moments. The officer shook his head and then pantomimed the cut of my costume once more. Wonderful. It looked like my sentence would boil down to how much flesh I'd displayed at the Halloween Festival.

  James returned to his seat in the jury box and the judge looked down at me again. I was probably trembling — it certainly felt like it.

  "Defendant will rise."

  I was still standing from before, though my legs wobbled even more.

  Gunther didn't seem to notice. "This court sentences you to a fine of eighty dollars, suspended, and twelve hours of community service. That to be assigned after I confer with the prosecutor and the clerk makes contact with the agency involved."

  Huh? What agency? Where? When? Twelve hours! What a rip-off! Of course, I kept my mouth shut. Which is what I should've done the entire morning.

  ****

  I sat in my car and fumed for what seemed like twenty minutes. Helpless, frustrated, and furious. None of it was my fault and I hadn't done anything wrong. My worst offense was that I apparently upset the fashion sense of an old fogey in a black robe. And I still had to return to work and face the abominable Miss Z. Plus, I was hungry.

  Well, at least I could fix that last part so I stopped at the closest drive-thru and got a big, sloppy burger. Ought to glue at least an extra pound on my tummy. Since my entire life was spinning out of control, why not my belly?

  I was much too raw to endure more silent hostility from Miss Zachery. If she had said "Boo" to me, I might have jumped on her back and beat her pickle-puss to wrinkly pulp. But she didn't. For reasons completely inexplicable, Miss Z allowed me a wide berth and even pretended not to scrutinize me. Hmm. Must be a disguised bank examiner in the branch somewhere.

  Thank goodness the money order dirtbag didn't visit that afternoon.

  ****

  Four-thirty couldn't have come too early. After I turned in my drawer, I hit the back door without breaking stride. Didn't even say goodbye to Aynette.

  I drove up to the gravel pit north of town, stared at the cliffs and boulders, and muttered angrily. Good therapy… granite wouldn't talk back.

  After I conferred with those stones for nearly an hour (and cried a bit), I was ready to go home and face Elvis the hungry cat. He meowed loudly, but didn't actually talk back either. Whenever he knew I was especially upset — a frequent condition in the past four years — Elvis just curled up by my feet and napped.

  So did I.

  Once awake enough to operate the equipment, I nuked a pot pie and ate it during the middle of a movie which did not interest me whatsoever. I thought about checking e-mail and social media, but just didn't have the juice.

  I grabbed a cold beer and began a long, hot soaking bath. Fortunately, the only sharp instruments near my tub were safety razors.

  Chapter Thirteen

  By Thursday morning I had recovered sufficient equilibrium to face my work shift. Not enough to look forward to it, but I possessed that grim momentum of someone in solitary confinement who makes another scratch on the wall and looks forward to the death of the evil warden. In my case, I suspected Miss Zachery would drop dead before the year ended. Ha.

  Aynette studied me closely, obviously curious about my court experience, but intuitively fearful that an inquiry might send me back into the dumps. So she didn't ask and I was grateful.

  After lunch, I felt slightly better and told Aynette I'd botched the court business by somehow representing everything Judge Gunther disapproved of.

  "In Mississippi they hang you for that."

  "Guess I'm lucky to live in Tennessee." But that was the extent of my good fortune.

  She exhorted me to treat whatever the court assigned like it was my permanent job. "I got three words, for you, Kris: Don't let 'em see you sweat."

  ****

  Shortly after two o'clock, the money order creep returned.

  Aynette had a customer, so the pervert's ugly, fleshy face broke out into a thin leer and he moved straight toward my window. I was so focused on him that I didn't realize Miss Z had arrived at my side of the window a split second before the slimeball reached his position.

  "I'm afraid you're late for your required break." She addressed me loudly. "If you don't take it now, you'll loose it." Madame Zachery was not one to reveal she was rescuing me.

  I nodded obediently and scurried away gratefully. But I stopped just on the other side of the cabinets — out of sight, but close enough that I could hear their exchange.

  "Hey, she was helpin' me." The scu
mbag was indignant.

  "I trained her, and hundreds like her, so I can certainly handle your banking needs."

  "But I wanted her." He probably pointed in the direction I'd taken.

  Long pause from my acidic supervisor. "If you wish to use the services of this establishment, you will deal with me." Miss Z probably clamped her jaws. "And I've been working with this bank since before you were born."

  "Well, I was goin' to git a money order…"

  "For what amount?"

  He'd likely started to step away, but evidently kept his position. "Two dollars." His eyes probably had that same dull flicker of cold flame I'd often seen.

  "That will be nine dollars."

  "Nine?" I could hear him sputter. "It's always five dollars!"

  "New policy. For money orders less than ten dollars, the fee has increased to seven dollars." Miss Z made it sound official.

  "That's nuts. You can't charge seven bucks for a two dollar money order!"

  No reply from Miss Zachery. But she probably pursed her lips and prepared to launch her nuclear scowl.

  "You're makin' that up. Show me this new policy."

  "Still being printed. Like I just explained, it's a new policy with a new rate sheet. It was just decided by our bank's board this very morning and has already been approved by the adjutant in the attorney general's office. It's due to be ratified by the state legislature's Committee on Banking and Financial Affairs by end of business tomorrow. But that's a mere a formality, because it's already policy."

  "That's baloney!"

  "If you wish to lodge a formal complaint, I'll be happy to forward it to our board which includes both the Sheriff and Chief of Police. Just fill out this form with your name, address, driver's license, and social security number. Also list any felony arrests and all your applicable aliases." She evidently handed him a piece of paper. "Our special investigators will pay you a visit to discuss your situation."

  From my hiding place, I struggled to control my emotions. I felt like cheering and crying, both in the same instant. I only wished I could see the look on the dull features of the slug who'd been harassing me all those months.