one more excerpt from the world's most unpublishable book, Under Cover of Darkness.
The Bust
by
Steven Hunley
"And you take your time
And you do your crime
Well you made your bed
I made mine.” Lil’ Wayne
Two days later two loud knocks were heard on Dude's door. He answered, and not one or two but seven men pushed past him in a hurry, all total strangers. The only one that talked to him directly was busy reciting something. He'd heard this piece before on television. It was the Miranda Act. It started with, "You have the right to remain silent," and went on from there. He suspected he might be in trouble.
Two men were F.B.I. Two worked narcotics. Two were sheriffs and the other bozo was there, as he explained later “just for fun.” From the other room he heard one of them, the Bozo that was there 'just for fun', shout, "Bingo!"
He suspected he was in worse trouble.
When they put him in the back of the car he had a sneaking suspicion his world was about to change in a big way. For once in his life he was right.
Dude was mad, sad, and disappointed. All this trouble and they never even took out their big bad guns.
Six months later Dude was sent up.
The courtroom, when they got to the courtroom, was like every other courtroom. That is to say; dull. So I’ll waste no words to describe it. They led Dude in wearing his county blue jumpsuit and on his wrists were gun-metal blue bracelets, a matching pair, attached to each other so he couldn’t lose them, and you had to notice that they perfectly matched his eyes. They put them on him not for fashion, but to prevent him leaving the proceedings if things got too dull, or if he decided to bolt which is much the same thing.
The judge was a woman judge so I’ll say nothing about that other than Dude was lucky and got on with women but we already know that. She found him guilty, of that she had not the slightest doubt. So that just left the sentencing.
“I find you guilty as sin,” she announced from on high, “and remand you, Robert Louis,” that was his real name, judges are into using real names, “to the custody of the California State Department of Corrections for…” here she hesitated a moment, “say, are you related to the late Steven Louis the famous anthropologist?”
“Yes, Your Honor, he was my dad.”
“You mean?”
Dude saw what was coming. He’d heard this sh*t as far as back as high school.
“That you’re Robert Louis, Steven’s son?”
They both started laughing, both he and the judge. He, because it seemed so stupid and sophomoric. She, because she thought she was the cleverest woman to put on a black dress and sit on a bench. Two lawyers started laughing, and three from the crowd started to chuckle. The ones that didn’t get it were probably an ill-read lot who had flunked high school English.
“Please, Your Honor,” Dude said laughing, “Give me a break.”
“I will,” she continued, then wiping a tear of laughter from her eye said, “nine months.”
That was it.
Bap Bap went her gavel. Like handing out candy. Dirty stinking legal laughter is what it was. That was all the court reporter wrote and thought it was over.
No man was ever more sensitive to his environment than Dude. The courtroom was so damned dramatic. I mean, there were the actors, the judge, the lawyers and he. On the other side of the balustrade was the audience, now silently waiting for the proper lines to be delivered. The recorder was busy writing down the script as the actors spoke. He was saturated with the theatrical atmosphere in which he found himself.
Dude, having a flair for the dramatic, decided to do a re-write. And why not? He had nothing to lose.
As the bailiff led him away he turned to the judge and asked her,
"Your honor, do you see my face?"
That got her attention.
The court recorder started recording again, even though she had stopped.
"Yes, Mr. Louis, I see your face."
"Good." He raised his hands and loosened his collar. " When you hang a man, you better look at him."
Dude always liked Clint Eastwood and had seen Hang 'Em High, at least three times. That's where he got the line. The spaghetti western fans in the audience began clapping. When they took him out of the courtroom Dude Eastwood was still smiling.
The judge wasn't. I guess no one ever clapped for her. She should have been used to it by now.
As the theme song to “Hang ‘Em High” by Dominic Frontiere slips from our ears we must keep in mind that Dude is now a convicted criminal and is ready to do his “just deserts” whatever the hell that means.
http://youtu.be/u0n4eMGXAyk
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