My sister came in, slamming the front door closed behind her. She whipped her car keys onto the table and grunted when they hit the floor.
"Having a rough day?" I asked hopefully. I was lying on the couch, reading an article on Auto-Erotic Asphyxiation, really engrossed in it, but I put it down. This was gonna be more interesting.
She sat down on the couch beside me and took a deep breath, calming her nerves. "I got another ticket!" she blurted out.
"So, nothing new with that. What's the big deal?"
"What's the big deal!" she screamed."What's the big deal! Oh you men are all alike!" She stormed off into the kitchen.
When I got there (a little on the confused side), she was pouring herself a coffee. "Care to explain?" I asked hopefully.
"The fucken' cop wanted me to...You know, pay off the ticket in other ways."
"You mean..." I began but she cut me off.
"He wanted me to give him head! Can you believe the nerve of that guy?" She finished her coffee and poured herself another cup. She was shaking.
I was right, this was more interesting than the article. "So what'd you do?" I asked. I was more than interested. I hated cops and wished them all dead.
"I told him to go to Hell and that I'd see him in court."
"When is it?"
"Monday," she said "will you come with me?"
"You mean miss school? Gee I don't know sis, you know how important my grades are to me."
She looked at me and we both burst out laughing.
The weekend went by amazingly slow. All I heard was that fucken cop this, that fucken cop that, but Monday morning finally arrived.
We found ourselves standing outside the courtroom,smoking one last cigarette, a little nervous to go in. We both flicked the buts and pushed open the massive oak doors which led inside . All at once, I wished I had gone to school instead. I thought about calculus, and put the idea aside. Besides, what can go wrong, I thought.
We went in and she went up to her lawyer, I found a place far in the back. There were a lot of people there, probably playing hookey as well.
The bailiff came in. "All rise, court is now in session, the honourable judge Harry T. Stern presiding."
Everyone got up but me. The judge came in. "You may be seated.
Everybody sat down, I got up (I was a rebel).
"The first case is Tracy Weinstein vs. The Montreal Urban Community Police Dept.'s Jean-Pierre Francois."
"Tracy Weinstien," the judge began, "you are hereby accused of driving your car through a stop sign at the corner of Oak and..." he checked the report, "Maple. How do you plead?"
She gave him one of her big-assed, shit eating grins, and waved. He waved back and returned the smile. "Guilty, with an explanation."
"Give it your best," he said.
"Well you see, your honour," she stood up, still smiling, and arched her chest out a little (a little was all she needed), "I was putting on lipstick in the rear-view mirror and just plain didn't see the little old sign, sir."
"Well Tracy," he cleared his throat, "we can't be perfect all the time." He gave her another smile. "Please try to be more careful in the future. Case dismissed."
She smiled in return, and flung her hair back.
"The prosecuting attorney stood up. "Not so fast, miss Weinstien. It is miss isn't it?" He asked hopefully.
"You bet," she giggled.
"Well Ms. Weinstien, If you wouldn't mind answering a few more questions for us we'd really appreciate it."
"Oh anything for you," she beamed.
"Good, good. Well Ms. Weinstein..."
"Call me Tracy."
"Alright Tracy. Are you familliar with a Mr. Todd A Weinstien?"
"Yes he's my brother."
I was sitting in the back, half falling asleep when I heard my name. I began to sweat.
"Well could you tell me Tracy, where he was on the night of April 17, 2001?"
"Isn't it true that on the night in question he was out at the Royal Bank on Maisoneuve st. mugging a Mrs. H. Miller, stealing her old-age pension check, and killing her in the process?"
Now I really began to sweat. My fingernails were sweating.
"Well...He, he didn't mean to kill her, and... And he put the money to good use, and he...He gave to the Cancer society, and..."
"Thank you Ms. Friedman, that will be all."
I was sweating so bad now, there were flooding problems in the last three rows.
"I object!" the defence blurted out.
"Overruled," was all the judge would say.
I began looking for a way out, but people were scrambling to get out of the way from the flood.
"I see no other choice but to find Mr. Friedman guilty as charged. He will be taken into custody, until he is electrocuted until dead." The judge got up. "That will be all." He gave my sister a wink and a smile. She smiled back.
Four bailiff grabbed me and took me away. I was put into a cell with fourteen ex-football players turned homosexual. I stayed there for five days.
Finally a guard came in and took me away. I said my good-byes to Rocco and the boys and walked down the grey hallway to my death.
"Do you want to speak to the priest?" one of the guards grunted.
"I'm Jewish, can I speak to a Rabbi?" I asked.
"Sorry bub, it's Shabbos."
They brought me into a room that reminded me of something I'd seen on the late show the other week. There were several chairs, (one of them electrical), a table, and four of the most ugly mother-fucken guards you could imagine. One of them spoke. "You have any last requests, vermin?"
"I'd like a cigarette."
"Forget it, those things'll kill ya." One of the guards laughed.
"Can I figure out Pi to the last digit?" I asked hopefully.
"No, don't think so."
They strapped me into my electronic barber chair.
"This is it bub." The guard reached for the switch.
"Hold it! Hold it!," someone from down the hall bellowed.
My sister ran into the room. "Wait a minute!"
At last, I thought, I'm saved!
"Can I help you miss?" one of the guards asked.
"I just wanted to say good-bye to my brother."
So much for being saved.
"Well...I don't know..." the guard gave her the once over.
"Please," she began, and drew herself closer to the guard. "Just for a second." She gave him her award winning smile.
"Well, I suppose it's o.k."
"Hey bro what's up?"
"Not too much." What could I say?
"Well, can't stay too long, Gordon's Jaguar is double parked."
"Who the hell is Gordon?"
"You know Gordon, Gordon St. James. The prosecuting attorney," she said." He asked me out when you were in strip search. He's so cute, when he smiles you can actually see dimples! Couldn't you just die!"
"Give me a minute."
"Well good luck in the hereafter, bro. Remember to write, and if you're going to call, make sure it's after 9:00, you know dad'll kill you if you run up a big phone bill."
"bu...but..." I was speechless.
"Well, bro, gotta go." She giggled, "Hey that rhymes."
And with that, she was gone. The guard pulled the switch, and so was I.