Grey Matter of an Irish Aries

The Trial of a Not so Bad Guy

It all started with a trio of mischievous twelve-year-old boys who were sitting around in an alley they called their own. They were hanging out and looking very bored in the process.
“Guys, we hafta do something!” one of them, distinguishable by his platinum blonde hair, told the others in a fed up kind of tone.
“Well, what could we possibly do?” another one, the only brunette, asked, pulling his finger out of his ear.
“I don’t know,” the platinum child replied, with a shrug.
“Hey!” The third one finally spoke. “We could go for pizza!”
Hearing the word ‘pizza’ made the three boys leap up in the air and whoop loudly.
“Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!” they all shouted. The platinum boy rubbed his stomach, somewhat hungry as young boys are at any given time.
The boys set off for the nearest pizza parlor, Mama Theresa’s, in a line. Two of them strolled along with ear-to-ear grins on their faces. The platinum haired boy wore a retainer and hated his smile, so he gave a quick Elvis lip curl to his pals in response to getting some pizza. Of course he was glad to have an excuse to remove the indescribably bad fragranced and even more awful tasting retainer, but, for the moment, in case any cute teenage girls named Mara Damon or Chrissy Pellicano, the two hottest girls in the boys’ school, happened to walk by, he wanted to be ready with his shiny and freshly whitened teeth. He had spent three months allowance on Crest Whitening Strips and they seemed to be working. If they didn’t, HE”D MAKE THEM PAY.
They had gone deep into the alley, so that nobody passing by could see them. When they reached the street, they turned and began walking. But suddenly, something leaped out from behind a telephone pole and screamed “HEEEEYYYY KIDS!!” as if he were attempting to imitate the famous words of Binky the clown from the old TV show “Garfield [the orange lazy cat] and Friends”.
The boys freaked out and turned to run.
“Duh, where are you going?” The something turned out to be a harmless middle-aged man who had no idea why anyone would want to run from him. He scratched his head, but couldn’t come up with an answer.
The platinum boy stopped running, but it wasn’t because he was out of shape. It was because he felt like the monster had just asked a stupid question. With the odd expression that was locked for minutes on his face, one would have thought the “monster” asked him to be his Prom date or some horribly gross question of that sort. He glared at the “monster” with a tilted head, like one of those really stupid and confused dogs.
“What did you just say?” the platinum boy wanted to know.
“Where are you guys going?” the monster asked again.
“Oh,” the platinum haired boy said, “we’re going…AWAY FROM YOU!!” He shouted the last part in the intruder’s ears.
“Aww.” The “monster” started to sob.
“Aww, shut up!” the second mocked him, cruelly.
Just then, a policewoman entered the alley.
“Ahm, what goes on here?” She waved her hand around, expecting an instant answer from someone.
“Nothing,” Bob said, rubbing the back of his neck, nervously.
Meanwhile, the boy who had told the intruder to shut up grabbed his shoulder and started to moan with false pain.
“Ow! He hit me! He hit me! Ow! It hurts! It hurts!”
The policewoman eyed Bob.
“Is this true?”
Bob looked from the boy to the policewoman.
“I didn’t hit anybody,” he said, scratching his head, confused as to what this kid was talking about.
The policewoman eyed the feigning boy and rolled her eyes, convinced.
“Yeah, right. I’m sure they’re doing this just to get you in trouble, eh?”
Bob nodded.
“I’m sure this is all their fault. What’s your name?” she asked Bob, who shook his head, defiantly.
“My mommy told me never to give out my names to strangers,” he said, proudly.
The policewoman looked a bit on the miffed side.
“Do you think you’re funny?” She raised an eyebrow and swooshed back her blonde ponytail. “Let me tell you, there’s a place for fresh punks like you! The slammer! The big house! Jail! Prison!” She tugged on Bob’s arm and he could barely refrain from crying.
“But I didn’t do anything!” he shouted, defensively. As the policewoman dragged him away, he yelled, “Aww, here it goes!” That’s when the lady glanced at him and said, “That show was only on the air for five years.” Bob didn’t reply because he didn’t know what ‘show’ she was talking about.
At the same time, back in the alley, none of the three boys spoke for a few seconds. The silence barrier was only broken when the boy with the platinum hair suggested the group go for pizza.
“Mmm,” they sighed, drool dripping down their chins. “Pizza!”
A few minutes later, Bob arrived at the prison and was handed over to the prison warden.
“In ya’ go. C’mon, we’ve all got lives, don’t you know?”
Bob, fighting back a little, said, “You’re so mean!”
However, the warden simply whipped out a nail filer and sat down at his desk, saying, and “I know, I know.” Then, he became serious. “Then, again, so was Joe Guard.”
“Who?” Bob wanted to know.
“Oh, for goodness sake.” The prison guard looked up at his prisoner. “”Don’t you know who Joe Guard is?” When Bob shook his head, he sighed and started to tell the story. “Joe Guard murdered thirty-three people and he had that very cell before you did!” He was, of course, making this up to scare Bob, and it worked. He paused to think up some more scary details, before he could start up again, he heard Bob inhale and exhale.
“OHHH!”
The guard sighed.
“Can I finish the story, doofus?” he snapped.
“Sorry,” his prisoner replied.
He leaned back in his chair and continued
“Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted…” He glared at Bob, who was picking his nose.
“Joe Guard was the meanest criminal ever and he was only captured when he went into a building and it was blown up. He came flying out and landed on the ground. He ran all bloody down the street, but by that time, he was so beat up and hurt that the police were able to capture him easily. He was brought in and was going to get the penalty, but he died before he could.” He paused once more to take a breath.
“How did he die?” Bob wondered aloud.
The prison guard thought for a moment, trying to come up with something truly scary, so scary that his prisoner would never be able to sleep. He watched him walk around in the tiny cell until he was tired, then he saw him collapse on the hard bed.
“I don’t know, but he died in this very cell.” He glanced at Bob’s bed. “On that very bed,” he snickered.
Much to his delight, Bob jumped almost a foot in the air.
“Thanks for telling me!” he cried, scared out of his wits. He sat shivering in the cold chair and rocked back and forth for a few seconds before he heard his name.
“Bobby, darling!”
He looked up to see a woman dressed in tight jeans, chunky, tall black boots, and a midriff tank top that had Americana scripted across the chest.
“Bobby, hey, great to meet you! How are you? I’m great, thanks for asking. Anyway, I’m here to bail you out. How’s that sound?”
Bob was amazed at how fast the woman could talk, and how long she spoke for! He didn’t quite know what to say and his words came out as, “Uh, well, I, uh….”
“Uh, well nothing,” the oh-so-enthusiastic lawyer told her client. “I’m the best there is. I just won my first case and I’ve only been working this job for four measly years. Great, huh?”
She stopped and looked for praise from her client, but he seemed to still be figuring out the first thing she said.
“You can get me out of here?” he said, finally.
She nodded.
“That’s good,” Bob replied, slowly.
His lawyer nodded, happily and confidently. The person she was representing did not look as sure.
“How many years did you say you’ve been doing this?” he inquired.
“Only four meekly years and I’ve already won one of my cases! Isn’t that grand?” She grinned.
“Well…” Bob’s voice trailed off.
“So, I’ll do my best to bust you out and you’ll be outta here so fast it’ll make your head spin!”
“Really?” Bob grew excited.
“Yup, yup. Anyway, I have to go, but I’ll see you in court.” She turned and began to leave. Bob barely heard her say, “Name’s Ms. Breadmin by the way,” before she exited.
Bob was left standing by the door of his cell alone.
“No wonder she’s not married,” he said to himself.
A few days later, Ms. Breadmin met up with Bob in court, as the trial was about to begin. Ms. Breadmin gave Bob some info.
“Okay, depending on who we have, this could be good or bad in the long run. We’d
better hope for someone good.” She took out a tiny mirror and checked her teeth.
“Who’s a good one and who’s a bad one?” Bob asked.
“Well, anyone besides Judge Martin Jr. is good,” his lawyer replied.
They looked across the room where the bailiff was clearing his throat, ready to begin the trial.
“All rise for the honorable Judge Martin.” The honorable judge entered the room and sat down. The bailiff saw him and continued. “This is the trial of the people versus Bob Franklin.” Suddenly, a tennis ball came flying out of nowhere and hit the bailiff and he fell over. Standing up, he adjusted his glasses and started again. “All rise for the honorable Judge Martin Jr.” Bob turned around and saw that the three boys from the alley were at the trial. They smiled at him and the boy with the platinum hair pretended to slice his throat.
Meanwhile, as the bailiff explained what would go on, Ms Breadmin muttered to herself, “Honorable my ass.”
“Pardon me, Ms. Breadmin,” the honorable Judge Martin Jr. said, eying the defense attorney.
“Nothing,” Ms. Breadmin replied, batting her eyelashes, innocently. A yellow halo appeared over her head.
The judge was silent for a moment before moving on.
“Order! Order! This meeting will now come to order!” he turned to Bob. “Mr. Franklin, you are being charged with assault of a minor. How do you plead?” He waits for a response.
Suddenly, having heard the word ‘order,’ Bob called out, “I’ll have a hamburger, fries and a chocolate shake, please.”
Ms. Breadmin smacked him, saying, “It’s only an expression, dumbass!”
“Oh.”
“So?” the judge persisted, leaning forward in his seat, wanting an answer. “How do you plead?”
Bob shrugged.
“I didn’t do anything,” he promised.
“Sure you didn’t,” the judge said, rolling his eyes, “Do you have an opening statement?” he added.
“A what?” He looked to his lawyer, who whispered in his ears what it was. When she was done, his eyes opened wide.
“Oh, yes!” He stood up. “I can catch a baseball!” he told the audience, proudly.
“Are we supposed to care?” asked the judge.
Bob shook his head.
“All right.” Judge Martin Jr. faced the prosecutor, a big burly man, probably in his late forties. He had little hair, but he tried to hide it via combing it over. “Mr. Porter, you may proceed,” he said.
Mr. Porter rose from his table and stepped up to the witness stand.
“For my first witness, I call Mike –he hesitated here- Loser to the stands.”
“That’s Lo-zar!” an embarrassed preteen called out. He stood up and walked down the aisle. Bob turned and saw that it was the boy who pretended to be hurt.
“That’s great,” Mr. Porter said, uncaringly.
The bailiff stepped up to the boy, who was now next to the stand.
“Place your hand on the bible, son,” he said, politely.
Mike did.
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
Mike nodded.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, quickly.
The bailiff gave him the evil eye and Mr. Porter whispered, “Just say you do.”
“You do,” Mike said
“Say I do this time,” Mr. Porter told him.
“Why?” Mike inquired, wondering why he had to say something you only say when you get married.
Mr. Porter wanted to kick himself.
“Just say it, huh?” he said, wondering how this kid never saw a “Law And Order” episode.
“I do,” Mike said, his voice shaking.
The judge was satisfied and smacked his gavel against the table to wake everyone else up.
“Order! Order!” he yelled.
“I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries,” called out Bob.
“Shut up!” Ms. Breadmin was bright red with embarrassment.
Mr. Porter managed to relax and when he did, he stood up straight and strolled over to the witness stand, where Mike was sitting, picking his nose.
“Now, Mike, you were one of the most important, if not the most important, character in this crime. Why don’t you tell us what happened on that day you met Bob?”
Mike thought for a few moments before answering.
“Well, I was walking with my friends in this alley and we were going for some pizza.” He paused to reflect on pizza. “And that guy came up to us.” He pointed to Bob, who was paying more attention to the mouse scrambling across the floor. “Anyway, he started talking to us and wouldn’t leave us alone. We asked him politely to stop pestering us, but he wouldn’t. We tried to run, but he grabbed me and gave me this.” He pointed to his nose, revealing a scar, really catsup.
“Then what happened?” Mr. Porter asked Mike.
“I ran,” Mike said, his eyes not meeting the prosecutor’s.
“And your friends…” Mr. Porter’s voice trailed off.
“They ran, too.”
Mr. Porter rubbed the back of his neck, seemingly nervous, but said, “No further questions at this time.” He went back to his seat.
“The witness may step down,” said Judge Martin, Jr.
Mike rose and walked down the aisle, making sure he stuck out his tongue out at Bob.
There was a bit of silence, but then, one of the jury members stood up and cleared his throat.
“Your honor, we have already reached a verdict,” he said, loudly.
“Yes,” the judge replied, rolling the ‘s’ like a snake would.
“We think the defendant is guilty and that he should go to jail!” The jury member smiled and sat down.
“Your honor, we haven’t gotten a chance to show our defense!” complained Ms. Breadmin.
“Too bad,” the judge told her. “I sentence the defendant, Bob Franklin to two hundred years in jail. Take him away!” He slammed his gavel down and two guards stepped forward to arrest Bob.
“Isn’t there a law against this?” Bob looked at his lawyer, who was already packing her things up to leave. “It was nice while it lasted,” she said, stuffing the last of her papers into a bag. She was turning to leave when Mr. Porter happened to walk by.
“Sorry for you loss, NOT!” He snickered.
Ms. Breadmin narrowed her eyes, angrily.
“Why I oughta…” She growled.
“Do what?” The other lawyer grinned, gleefully.
“I oughta do this!” Ms. Breadmin leaped over the table and slammed her fist into Mr. Porter’s upper lip, sending him crumbling to the ground.
“Like that didn’t even hurt, okay?” Mr. Porter whined.
They continued to fight until the judge smacked his gavel against the table.
“Order! Order!”
“I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries!” Bob called out for the third time. Ms. Breadmin was in such a terrible mood that she smacked her client across the face.
“Shut up!” You are so stupid!” she cried.
Bob’s eyes filled with water and he let out a wail as he started to cry.
“Guards! Get these lunatics out of here!” the judge commanded.
Three guards stepped forward and each of them grabbed a lunatic. They dragged them off, kicking and screaming –the lunatics, not the guards- and threw them in the same prison cell where Bob had been put a few days earlier when he was first arrested.
“I knew you’d be back,” the happy prison guard said, glancing up from his dirty
magazine. The three prisoners groaned and immediately started yelling at each other.
“This is your fault!” Ms. Breadmin whacked both of the men, who looked at her, fearfully. The men remained silent, their few brain cells overworking to come up with a great insult.
“You’re ugly!” Bob yelled.
The lawyer faced the wall and sniffled.
“I am not,” she muttered to herself, wiping away the tears.
Behind her, the men were arguing in low-pitched voices when teary-eyed Ms. Breadmin suddenly blurted out.
“I’ve got it!”
The men turned to her and Bob tilted his head.
“What have you got?” he asked.
“Our ticket outta here!” Ms. Breadmin answered, quite smugly.
“We’re listening,” Mr. Porter said, leaning close.
Ms. Breadmin wrinkled her nose.
“You’re against us!!” she snapped.
Mr. Porter sighed and slowly shook his head.
“No,” he said, “I was paid to make Mike Loser or whatever his name is, look good.” He seemed ashamed of what he had done.
The others were shocked at this.
“What?” they both cried at once.
“I was paid one billion dollars to make him look like he was the victim.” He wiped tears away from his eyes.
“How could you?” Ms. Breadmin demanded.
Bob moved his head back and forth, muttering something about a bad boy and a donut.
Mr. Porter poked him.
“Shut up!” he told Bob, sharply.
“Bad! Bad!” the loon continued to scold him.
“Are you two boneheads going to listen to me or not?” a very impatient defense attorney wondered aloud.
The men stopped and sighed.
“Go ahead,” Mr. Porter said, sitting down on the bed.
The trio got into a huddle and all that could be heard from the outside were little whispers of the plan that would set them free.
A few minutes later, they broke up and Ms. Breadmin strolled casually over to the door of the cell.
“Um, excuse me, Mr. Guard, sir?” she called, sexily, to the prison guard, who glanced up at her.
“What do you want?” he replied.
“I have a sore back. Do you think you could rub it for me?” She batted her eyelashes hundreds of times per minute, making her tired.
The guard, though supposedly tough, blushed and went over to the door.
“Maybe just for a few minutes,” he told her, opening the door. As soon as he walked in, the three pounced on him and used their shoelaces to tie him up.
They were about to leave when suddenly Mr. Porter glanced at Bob and asked Ms. Breadmin if she was sure they had to take him.
“We’ll look bad if we don’t,” she told him.
The three left the station and headed back to the courthouse
As they exited, they heard the guard call out and beg them to return.
“Come back!” he sobbed, loudly.
The trio raced to the courtroom, where another trial was already underway.
Judge Martin, Jr. was sitting at his huge table when the three arrived at the courthouse. The lawyer was asking the witness a few questions when the three slipped in through the back of the room.
“Now, Ms. O’Neal, you do know my client, Ms. Belle Beast, do you not?”
Ms. O’Neal thought for a few moments before nodding her head.
“Yes, I do,” she replied, looking directly at the defendant.
“Ah, but a few months ago, you told police that you had no clue as to who she was?” The lawyer raised an eyebrow, suspiciously.
“Yeah, well I was totally wasted then, so I really didn’t know anything.” Ms. O’Neal looked at the lawyer, who sighed.
“No further questions, your honor,” he said, walking back to his seat.
“I have a question!” Mr. Porter interrupted from the back of the room. Every head turned and faced him and waited for him to continue.
“Oh, damn, not him again,” the judge muttered to himself.
“Well, it’s not a question,” Mr. Porter said, “It’s more of a statement.” He paused to figure out his next line. He couldn’t think of one, so Ms. Breadmin stepped in to please the eager crowd.
“We’ve got a confession to make,” she said, loudly.
“Yes,” the judge said in his snake-like tone.
Bob thought this was a good time to try once again to prove his innocence.
“I didn’t do it!” He cried so loudly, the bailiff had to slip his earmuffs over his ears.
“No,” Mr. Porter said, “I did it.” A camera filming the trial for MTV focused in on him and he moved on. “Boys and girls. Ladies and gentlemen. What happened at this trial was entirely my fault.”
“But, you didn’t murder my husband, I did,” Ms. O’Neal called out. Seconds later, she realized what she had let slip and she clapped her hand over her mouth. “I mean, husband? What husband? I don’t have a husband.” She slurred her speech and stepped off the witness stand, falling over to make it seem like she was drunk. “I think I had a little too much Corona tonight. I’m wasted as a horse on a Thursday,” she said. Guards stepped forward to grab her and lock her away, but then Mr. Porter cried out, “Will you let me finish my damn affirmation?”
Everyone who had been staring at Ms. O’Neal, the drunken killer of her husband, now faced the somewhat impatient Mr. Porter.
When he saw that he had nearly everyone’s attention, he smiled.
“Now, as I was saying, I was bribed with one billion American dollars to make a not so nice person resemble a poor innocent victim. But the truth was, he wasn’t a victim.” He pauses to think of the right word. “He was the victimizer. I took the bribe only because I really needed the money. I, too, have a family, with three children, and I know what it’s like to have to support all of them.” He began wiping tears from his eyes and tried to finish.
“So, in conclusion, my friends, punish me, not this man.” He pointed his thumb at Bob, who was picking his nose. Ms. Breadmin noticed everyone facing him and elbowed him to stop.
Mr. Porter looked back at the judge, who was now crying.
“Punish me, the guilty man.” Again, he pointed to Bob. “Don’t punish the innocent man. Thank you,” he said, stepping back. Most of the people in the courtroom were crying, including Ms. O’Neal.
“Oh, please, stop!” sobbed Judge Martin, Jr. “Bob can go, but please stop talking. God, just don’t make me cry anymore!”
The entire assembly stood up and cheered. Except for Ms. O’Neal, who leaped up and attempted to run, but was caught and was thrown into jail.
“Hear that, Bob?” Ms. Breadmin asked her client. “You’re free!”
Bob grinned.
“I want to go play baseball now,” he told his lawyer, who nodded indifferently. She watched him run off to play his favorite game.
“Okay, Bob!” she called after him, turning away from him and toward her opponent.
“There goes one lovable idiot,” she said to him.
He nodded and she smiled.
“So, you hungry for pizza?” he asked her.
“Sure.” They left the room, while Ms. O’Neal came barging through the doors.
“NO! Not in there! Please anywhere but in there!” she screamed as she was dragged into the bathroom.
Judge Martin Jr., having seen all this, pounded his gavel on the table and hollered, “Court is like so dismissed.”