kind of justice are we talkin' about? How many years in the Slammer?" She lackadaisically ignored his question and Wade quickly became angry and turned defiant - spurred on by her apparent superfluous attitude. "Tell you what, screw the Slammer and these guys in their rainbow suits. How a new plan? For starters how about getting back to the basics and you acting like my lawyer and not like that Red clown over there? Honey, it's nigh past time for you to get your head on straight and stop playing these fools' silly game. C'mon girl, tell me true, how do we beat this rap? There's always a way out!"
At first, she was caught off guard by his aggressiveness, then automatically answered, "Be found not guilty?" She thought for a moment then laughed so hard, tears came to her eyes. Even the rest of the council snickered with a knowing grin - they had seen this drama before. Her response embarrassed Wade and knocked his ego down a notch. "Not guilty?" she repeated. "Impossible. No one has ever been found, not guilty." She dabbed her face with a tissue. "Moving forward past this obvious moot point, Mister Thornton, we are now brought to the issue of dispensing your punishment. Its nature primarily depends on whether you contest the charge or not. If you plead guilty and beg for the mercy of the Court you will be dealt with in the most expeditious and humane way possible."
"Which is?"
"You'll be vaporized where you stand immediately after the Magistrate renders a 'guilty as charged' verdict. There is no appeal. On the other hand, if you try to contest and lose, your execution will be identical to the method you incorporated on James Glover." Turning away, she asked, "Mister Green, exactly in graphic description what was the method of James Glover's termination?"
"Four fatal gunshot wounds to the chest and abdomen." Wade gulped and paled.
"Are you ready to proceed, Miss White?" queried Mister Blue.
Arching her eyebrow, "An interesting death. Thank you, both. Yes, I'm sure we're ready now to enter a plea of guilty and beg..."
"No, no, no!" Thornton languished, "This is a nightmare. I didn't shoot him. I... I can't remember." Spinning around in his holding cell, he saw at the rear of the courtroom on either side of the portal he came through, hung an old fashion wooden grandfather clock. Both were silent: their pendulums still; there were no hands on either face which denoted the reference of time didn't apply here. "Nooo!"
"Miss White does your client wish to enter a plea of not guilty against your advisement?" questioned an incredulous Mister Blue.
"Yes, yes!" roared Wade. "I'm innocent. I didn't shoot him. I woulda remembered it. You freaks are trying to trick me into confessing to something I didn't do. It won't work. I'll never confess!"
"Very well, the defendant has spoken. Mister Red, resume your case presentation and submit the evidence please," instructed the M.C. Under his breath, "At least this is a break from the usual routine."
Mister Red began with: "The historical, publicly recorded, 'nolo contendere' is on file depicting James Glover's termination and the method utilized. Therein and in addition, the manifest listing the specific stolen merchandise has demonstrated the defendant's motive. Although there were not any witnesses none are required and in the same respect, confessions per se have been adjudicated as non-definitive articles. At this time, I submit as evidence for the council's inspection, the perpetrator's murder weapon." An image of the pistol appeared on the video screen. "This antique, thirty-eight caliber revolver with an attached muffling device bears the d.n.a. of Wade Thornton. Wherein, establishing an irrefutable link between the defendant and the scene of the crime. 'Ipso facto', which conclusively proves the premeditated murder of the victim by Wade Thornton."
"Yeah, yeah, I held the gun," Wade butted in. "Still don't mean I shot him."
"Mister Red, please submit the hard copy of the ballistics report to the council," directed Mister Blue.
"I'm sorry; I don't have it at hand. I didn't anticipate a challenge," he sheepishly returned. "I'll have to query the computer. One moment, please. Turning to the rear wall, "Computer, display the ballistics report pertaining to case, 5-24-1974WT."
All parties together reviewed the data presented on the rear video screen. Mister Red's jaw dropped, the council gasped. The tenth line from the top stated: 'Weapon not discharged.'
"How do you explain this discrepancy?" barked, Mister Blue.
Wade immediately recognized the implications. He began laughing and dancing in his tube. Joyfully, he kept pointing out the report to Miss White. "See, Honey, that's what I'm talkin' about. Tell me, Sweetie is that one o' them famous 'technical errors' you people don't have no more?" He poured it on while Miss White, in disbelief, read it over and over. "Beat you mothers. You ain't got no case!" he bellowed.
"That's enough, Wade Thornton!" commanded Mister Blue.
"Yeah, yeah, I hear you," but he kept dancing and making obscene gestures at Mister Red.
"Come to order! Mister Red, your explanation."
He sputtered, "I am without one. Again, I must query the computer. Computer, how is it the report states, 'weapon not discharged'?"
The metallic voice answered, "Seizure of subject and time transport occurred prior to weapon discharge."
"How could this have happened?" wondered, Mister Red.
"Searching archives one moment, please," responded the computer. "Search complete. Time warp tractor beam technician, SENHL200 committed a programming error when transcribing timing data into the activation module. There had been produced a one minute disparity between the proposed and actual system execution."
Embarrassed, Mister Red meekly admitted, "Yes, that would explain it. I beg the court's forgiveness for my oversight and request a continuance."
The three other colors rose and faced Mister Black. A ruling necessitated.
He stood, stone-faced, curt and to the point, "Your continuance is denied. Your case preparation is inexcusable. Technician, SENHL200 is hereby demoted and reassigned to the Sanitation Bureau". The Magistrate's eyes drilled the prosecutor, "Mister Red, you will assume his vacated position. He paused for effect as Mister Red's shoulders slumped. "Wade Thornton will be remanded to his own time. So judges the Fourth Dimension Court of the New Order."
The four other colors bowed their heads and spoke in unison, "So judges the Court." The prisoner's cylindrical cell began sliding toward the reopened exit.
Wade, his face beaming, heckled Miss White. "See, Sugar, ya gotta have faith." He hummed a tune while snapping his fingers, "Uh-huh, dum, dum, uh-huh" and was subsequently put to sleep by an invisible gas en route to the Time Warp Transporter chamber.
"Is someone there?" called the night watchman.
Thornton shook his head and thought, "Whew, I must be trippin' from that little hit." He blinked his eyes and refocused on the target. Wade squeezed the trigger. 'Poof, poof, poof, poof'. Four rapid fired shots slammed into the victim's chest and abdomen - driving him against the rear entranceway. Whump! He hit the door. His knees buckled; the guard slid down to a sitting position. Dead. Thornton scrambled out of the dumpster and quick-stepped it to Glover. The killer kicked the guard's left arm and his body fell on its side. Thornton checked the alleyway in both directions; it appeared still clear. He reached for the building keys...
Exactly one minute after the deadly shots had been fired: A blue flash! An acrid smell, similar to burning electrical wiring, filled Thornton's nostrils...
The end
Note: The author wrote this preceding story when he was a fifteen year old high school sophomore.
A Fowl Covenant
"It must be seven fifteen. There goes Mister Weinstein out to feed the birds again," remarked Sophie Peterson. "Every morning, just like clockwork... before he goes to work."
"Humph," returned Jack, her husband of forty years.
"He's been doing the same thing for over three years... ever since we moved in here," continued his wife. "What do you make of that, Dear?"
"Frig'n nut case is what I say," as he placed his coffee mug on the kitchen table. He glanced up from his new
spaper and stated, "Birds, all the time birds. He has a dozen cages on his patio and probably twice as many more inside his house judging from my nose. I told you what happened last week didn't I?"
"Yes, Dear. Several times."
"Humph, damn moron," as he turned a sports page and continued to talk to himself - reliving the incident anew. "I went out to get the newspaper and noticed his carrier had thrown his into our yard. I picked it up and walked toward his house to toss it at his front door, being a good neighbor and all. Well, he just happened to be coming out to retrieve it at the same time. He accused me of trying to steal that rag of a paper he reads, The Herald. Can you imagine how stupid that is? Me, steal his crappy paper! I'll bet all he uses it for is to line his bird cages... to catch bird poop. Weinstein probably can't read at all!"
"The fool's front door was open when I handed it to him. The stink coming from inside smelled like the County Zoo's aviary if they hadn't cleaned the cages for a month. I said, "Geesh, Harvey, do you have any live birds in there?" and pinched my nose closed. He called me a Cretin and made bird whistles at me as I returned home."
"I know, Dear. You've told me before," as she topped off his cup and handed it back to him. "What's a Cretin, Dear?"
"Never mind, Sophie. I think you've missed the point, again," and dropped the subject.
She took a last peek at her neighbor's back yard to observe Harvey