May Flasher Award
The Instructions on May 3rd were:
This is one of those items in the paper that make you wonder "What the ...?":
Mr. Jones, a law-abiding and church-going, upstanding member of a small mid-western community comes home from work one night and, while his wife and children are out, sets fire to his house before getting in his car and driving off into the sunset.
So, what the ... ?
In 1000 words or less. Jokers, deuces and any card with a face on it are wild. Other than that, usual Flasher rules apply.
And the winner is….
Guilty as Charged (by Roy)
“Can I have order?” The judge slammed his gavel. I glared at him.
Judge Samuel, my friend, my golf partner every Saturday morning. You don’t know your real friends. Margie squeezed my shoulder from her seat behind me. She’d come in crying again. I know she’s worried about the insurance money. The kids hated the motel, so they’re at her mother’s. I didn’t tell Margie my law partners fired me if I lost this case. I already lost the run off.
“This court recognizes Taylor Jones as counsel for defendant Taylor Jones.”
Judge Sam frowned at me and then at the court reporter Bee as she nodded. She took testimony like longhand but she was Mayor Tom Bradshaw’s aunt. The seven foot giant bailiff in the corner was his cousin. Even the judge’s sister married the mayor’s brother, so he went to the poker game Friday nights and I was never invited. I may have married outside the family, but I love my adorable five foot four blue eyed sweetie, even if she’s kind of, uh, spastic.
Henry Cataby, Mayor Tom’s cousin was prosecuting… me. I lost the “change of ADA” motion in chambers and Sam laughed at my motion for a change of venue.
“If it please the court…” The ADA aped for photos. The mayor, sitting a row behind the prosecution table, ran his election courtside, pin stripe suit, carnation in his lapel. He handed notes in a candid play for the camcorder as Henry pretended to care. The incumbent set me up somehow. He was desperate. I tied him and he lost his landslide, not enough family in town.
“ Bonnie Breen to the stand.” The town gossip knows everything about everyone, or makes it up. She’s not too believable.
***
Five witnesses, three questions on cross got past all the objections. Bonnie was devastating and the kid on the bicycle was a bad idea to cross examine. Old man Brad Simpson looked over to me, shook his forefinger at me, more than he usually shakes, and told the “truth as he saw it.” He knew the fire started in the kitchen and saw me come out of the front door, “like a bat outta hell and drove off into the sunset.” He then testified that my wife and kids were at the market, “My wife told me they were.” That was hearsay, but it was allowed. I looked like a fire starter.
Pastor Josiah Murphy of Evangel Temple told the judge he saw me at the QuikMart just about the time other testimony had firemen at the house. I went there from the office to buy a coke and a donut. He said he was surprised that I had become an arsonist. Even stricken, the remark was death to my defense.
***
Five years in a low security prison upstate. I’ll appeal, but without a change of venue… not a chance. Just three days to settle things. Sweep cinders into a dump truck?
The sheriff came busting into court, pushed his way to ADA Henry. I glanced at Margie, eyes red and swollen, but a question mark above her. I sure hope she plans to wait for me -- five years.
***
Margie’s in the motel, cleaning up, and we’re going out tonight for steak, not fast food, and not bread and water. What a day! When Margie and I went to Judge Sam’s chambers, all my so-called friends except Mayor Tom were there. Hank shook his head and looked down. “We’re sorry, but a miscarriage of justice has been done”
I remember I mumbled something.
“Hank,” the judge interrupted. “I’m sorry I doubted you, Ty, but you had no alibi, damn it.” He hit the table with his fist. Forgot his damn gavel.
The sheriff stood, face flushed so that his brownish red mustache resembled a dead caterpillar. “We got additional evidence -- that Bill Simpson was lying.“
I said, “What was your first clue?“ Saw light at the end of this tunnel.
“Bill wasn’t even at the market. He was at the motel having a nooner with Tom Bradshaw‘s teenage daughter, Flo…”
Margie gasped. I looked up to God with thanks.
“And the mayor went after him with a shotgun, but just beat him up a little.”
Judge Sam said, “the mayor admitted to the sheriff he paid off ol’ Bill to lie, and Bill did it to forge an alibi of his own, besides the money. Bill’s wife found out anyhow, town gossip, you know-”
Good old Bonnie.
The judge looked down and watched himself drum the table. “Anyhow, it seems the mayor is copping to campaign strategies that got out of hand. Prosecuting rape of a minor is more important. I guess there’s enough reasonable doubt now to reverse the decision. You‘re free to go.”
“Just like that?” came out of my mouth.
“Well, there’s more. We all decided, Bradshaw is out, so you’re our new mayor. Just take your office and we’ll make the whole mess go away.”
I looked at Margie. Can they do that? She grabbed a tissue from her purse and mopped tears. I was now the mayor. I got handshakes and apologies from everyone, though it just about killed Henry to do it. Called my law firm and told them I was cleared. They welcomed me back, but I hedged. Maybe I won’t work for those ungrateful jerks.
***
I called my insurance company on the cell, and they heard, told me the claim for the house would go through with no added hindrances. So we’d be looking for a new house right away. Everything had turned around good today. I was so happy until Margie decided to talk in the car.
“Honey, you remember the toaster?”
I nodded with fear of that intro -- “Well, I was making English muffins, and when they got caught, y’know…” Her pauses were loaded. “I used a butter knife, and sparks came out and I just yanked the cord out of the plug.”
I thought she meant socket. She didn’t. I told her to go on.
“That’s all. I didn’t want the toaster to blow up, so I put it on the stove where it was safe.”
The stove?
“Yeah, I blew out all the little flames in the burners a month ago. I was saving money not burning expensive gas. And it wouldn’t work after that, and you were busy with the campaign, so that’s why we did fast food all month.” She smiled with reddened eyes. Who could argue with that? Her mother can keep the kids a little while longer. As we head west into a perfectly good sunset I just refuse to dwell on that toaster -- and the damn plug I never rewired.
This is one of those items in the paper that make you wonder "What the ...?":
Mr. Jones, a law-abiding and church-going, upstanding member of a small mid-western community comes home from work one night and, while his wife and children are out, sets fire to his house before getting in his car and driving off into the sunset.
So, what the ... ?
In 1000 words or less. Jokers, deuces and any card with a face on it are wild. Other than that, usual Flasher rules apply.
And the winner is….
Guilty as Charged (by Roy)
“Can I have order?” The judge slammed his gavel. I glared at him.
Judge Samuel, my friend, my golf partner every Saturday morning. You don’t know your real friends. Margie squeezed my shoulder from her seat behind me. She’d come in crying again. I know she’s worried about the insurance money. The kids hated the motel, so they’re at her mother’s. I didn’t tell Margie my law partners fired me if I lost this case. I already lost the run off.
“This court recognizes Taylor Jones as counsel for defendant Taylor Jones.”
Judge Sam frowned at me and then at the court reporter Bee as she nodded. She took testimony like longhand but she was Mayor Tom Bradshaw’s aunt. The seven foot giant bailiff in the corner was his cousin. Even the judge’s sister married the mayor’s brother, so he went to the poker game Friday nights and I was never invited. I may have married outside the family, but I love my adorable five foot four blue eyed sweetie, even if she’s kind of, uh, spastic.
Henry Cataby, Mayor Tom’s cousin was prosecuting… me. I lost the “change of ADA” motion in chambers and Sam laughed at my motion for a change of venue.
“If it please the court…” The ADA aped for photos. The mayor, sitting a row behind the prosecution table, ran his election courtside, pin stripe suit, carnation in his lapel. He handed notes in a candid play for the camcorder as Henry pretended to care. The incumbent set me up somehow. He was desperate. I tied him and he lost his landslide, not enough family in town.
“ Bonnie Breen to the stand.” The town gossip knows everything about everyone, or makes it up. She’s not too believable.
***
Five witnesses, three questions on cross got past all the objections. Bonnie was devastating and the kid on the bicycle was a bad idea to cross examine. Old man Brad Simpson looked over to me, shook his forefinger at me, more than he usually shakes, and told the “truth as he saw it.” He knew the fire started in the kitchen and saw me come out of the front door, “like a bat outta hell and drove off into the sunset.” He then testified that my wife and kids were at the market, “My wife told me they were.” That was hearsay, but it was allowed. I looked like a fire starter.
Pastor Josiah Murphy of Evangel Temple told the judge he saw me at the QuikMart just about the time other testimony had firemen at the house. I went there from the office to buy a coke and a donut. He said he was surprised that I had become an arsonist. Even stricken, the remark was death to my defense.
***
Five years in a low security prison upstate. I’ll appeal, but without a change of venue… not a chance. Just three days to settle things. Sweep cinders into a dump truck?
The sheriff came busting into court, pushed his way to ADA Henry. I glanced at Margie, eyes red and swollen, but a question mark above her. I sure hope she plans to wait for me -- five years.
***
Margie’s in the motel, cleaning up, and we’re going out tonight for steak, not fast food, and not bread and water. What a day! When Margie and I went to Judge Sam’s chambers, all my so-called friends except Mayor Tom were there. Hank shook his head and looked down. “We’re sorry, but a miscarriage of justice has been done”
I remember I mumbled something.
“Hank,” the judge interrupted. “I’m sorry I doubted you, Ty, but you had no alibi, damn it.” He hit the table with his fist. Forgot his damn gavel.
The sheriff stood, face flushed so that his brownish red mustache resembled a dead caterpillar. “We got additional evidence -- that Bill Simpson was lying.“
I said, “What was your first clue?“ Saw light at the end of this tunnel.
“Bill wasn’t even at the market. He was at the motel having a nooner with Tom Bradshaw‘s teenage daughter, Flo…”
Margie gasped. I looked up to God with thanks.
“And the mayor went after him with a shotgun, but just beat him up a little.”
Judge Sam said, “the mayor admitted to the sheriff he paid off ol’ Bill to lie, and Bill did it to forge an alibi of his own, besides the money. Bill’s wife found out anyhow, town gossip, you know-”
Good old Bonnie.
The judge looked down and watched himself drum the table. “Anyhow, it seems the mayor is copping to campaign strategies that got out of hand. Prosecuting rape of a minor is more important. I guess there’s enough reasonable doubt now to reverse the decision. You‘re free to go.”
“Just like that?” came out of my mouth.
“Well, there’s more. We all decided, Bradshaw is out, so you’re our new mayor. Just take your office and we’ll make the whole mess go away.”
I looked at Margie. Can they do that? She grabbed a tissue from her purse and mopped tears. I was now the mayor. I got handshakes and apologies from everyone, though it just about killed Henry to do it. Called my law firm and told them I was cleared. They welcomed me back, but I hedged. Maybe I won’t work for those ungrateful jerks.
***
I called my insurance company on the cell, and they heard, told me the claim for the house would go through with no added hindrances. So we’d be looking for a new house right away. Everything had turned around good today. I was so happy until Margie decided to talk in the car.
“Honey, you remember the toaster?”
I nodded with fear of that intro -- “Well, I was making English muffins, and when they got caught, y’know…” Her pauses were loaded. “I used a butter knife, and sparks came out and I just yanked the cord out of the plug.”
I thought she meant socket. She didn’t. I told her to go on.
“That’s all. I didn’t want the toaster to blow up, so I put it on the stove where it was safe.”
The stove?
“Yeah, I blew out all the little flames in the burners a month ago. I was saving money not burning expensive gas. And it wouldn’t work after that, and you were busy with the campaign, so that’s why we did fast food all month.” She smiled with reddened eyes. Who could argue with that? Her mother can keep the kids a little while longer. As we head west into a perfectly good sunset I just refuse to dwell on that toaster -- and the damn plug I never rewired.
posted by Frenchie at 5:31 PM
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