Pricks and Pones

When the judge called for the defendant to be brought in, a curtain of gasps and whispers from both sides of the aisle preceded him.

Detective Stoole turned to see what the all the commotion was about, and nearly spat his tongue out when he saw the defendant’s face. The man was black and blue all over his head, the left eyelid swollen and hanging over his cheek like the top of a soggy portobello mushroom. His jaw was veered to the right, and as he creaked his mouth open painfully with each step, the Detective could see he was even missing a few teeth. A prison guard had to hold the man steady as he walked up the courtroom to his attorney.

Stoole, mouth still wide open, spun to look at Warden Billingsley, who was standing just a few rows down from him. Billingsley raised his eyebrows and smiled widely back at him, and then conspiratorially rubbed his nose. Detective Stoole held his hands out, palms up, and mouthed something at him.

The Warden’s smile didn’t fade, but he mouthed back, “What?”

Detective Stoole walked down swiftly and stood next to the Warden. “What the hell have you done to him?” he asked, quickly but hushed.

The Warden couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh from deep in his belly. “Ah, don’t worry, Detective, none of it will come bite us.”

The Detective looked at him still puzzled. “But–why? What did you have to beat him up like that for?”

At this, the smile on the Warden’s face turned into an annoyed frown. “Damn pervert, Stoole. He got what was comin’. Come, this isn’t the first time you’ve seen this. I mean–what if it was your child, huh? It’s a good thing you caught him, too. But you should know all that–you’re the one who charged him.”

Detective Stoole was utterly confused. What the hell was Billingsley talking about? “But it–it wasn’t that bad,” he whispered.

“Uh, I think,” snorted Billingsley, “I think I know what’s bad, and what’s just utterly sick, Mr. Detective,” he said, tapping a wad of paper that was folded in his pocket. It was a copy of the arresting charge that Stoole had filed.

Stoole snatched the document from the Warden’s pocket and unfolded it quickly. He scanned through the details, and then he grew very still. “Oh shit,” he said, “oh shit, oh shit”.

Warden Billingsley peered back at him. “What?”

Stoole looked back. “The charge. It was supposed to be ‘Downloaded porn illegally’,” he said, “not ‘Downloaded illegal porn’”.

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About runningvein
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"My pieces comprise, entirely, works of fiction. Some pieces are shorts, others tend to get a little longer. Some are straightforward and may be read evenly, while others can tend to be amorphous. You see, sometimes the writer does his piece completely lucid, sitting straight up and staring intently into it as his fingers simply glide across the keys. Other times his eyes are opaque with tears from imaginary emotions. Sentences, nay, words, barely come out as he stabs at each letter with one trembling finger, like how your mom types. Then there are the times a piece of work is scrawled from a leaking pen on a notepad in a bar after several whiskeys, as the writer gleefully tries to get everything down before the bouncers come over to throw him out for laughing like a crazy person to himself all night. The writer cannot say what is good, or what is bad. He can only write. It does not do for one to rank a piece of his work above others, just as it does not do for one to deign to strive to be published. That must be left to others, to come and ask the writer if they may publish his work, and that all of the work would be copyright (c) him 2000-2009, if they were to do so. Some of the pieces may even seem far too real -- as though he's actually blogging about his real life, his personal thoughts. You know -- because it is a blog, some people may think that may be the case. Well it ain't, damn you, it ain't." The man in the tracksuit shrugged over the counter. "Thanks for the info, Hemingway," he said, "but I just wanted to know where the damn ATM is."

8 thoughts on “Pricks and Pones

  1. Damn, that guy got his ass kicked for nothing! Great story, especially the dialogue and description of physical gestures.

  2. You have the sweetest voice I’ve heard, Justinne.

  3. I like the line, “… a curtain of gasps and whispers from both sides of the aisle preceded him.”

    A curtain of anything that is not a curtain is cool.

  4. what about roast beef curtains?

    just had to put that out there. dig your short buddy. way to capture the silly moments of dismay in our lives. the moment you hear the door shut and intuitively know that your keys are right behind you on the seat of your shitty locked car. thats a tough thing to write about and i admire your portrayal. i spend alot of time trying to work those into shorts that they dont belong in. try it out sometime. its kinda fun.

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