"No, Your Honor." Simon said it without hesitation. "There's a principle involved."
"Oh, good." Judge Bartlebaugh rubbed his hands together briskly. "And what principle is that?"
"People should have the right to know when they're dealing with someone like him." Simon hiked a thumb in Horne's direction. "They shouldn't have to find out the hard way, after the fact."
"'Caveat emptor,' Your Honor." Swope wobbled to his feet. "'Let the buyer beware.' That's what we say."
Judge Bartlebaugh rolled his eyes. "I never would have guessed."
"Motion to dismiss this frivolous lawsuit, Your Honor," said Swope.
"Is it frivolous?" Judge Bartlebaugh raised his eyebrows at Simon. "You don't want a new washing machine. You don't want money. You don't want any form of compensation for the damages you've suffered."
"Correct, Your Honor," said Simon.
Judge Bartlebaugh grinned and shook his head. "You just want the court to acknowledge officially that the defendant, Horne Shaw..."
"...is a dick." Simon nodded. "Yes, Your Honor."
"A dick," said Judge Bartlebaugh. "As in a person of low character."
"I see it as doing a service for society," said Simon.
"I think it's our duty to identify people like him."
"Your Honor, I ask again that you dismiss this most frivolous lawsuit." Swope combed pork sausage fingers through his shock of wavy white hair. "Suing to have my client branded a dick is an extraordinary abuse of both the court's time and the county's money."
Judge Bartlebaugh smirked. "You want to talk about abusing time?" He tapped his desk with an index finger. "Try sitting up here day after day dealing with one boring drug arrest or property line beef after another. This dick case is a breath of fresh air!"
"We will demonstrate that this suit has significant merits, Your Honor," said Quinn. "We seek an injunction under the public nuisance statute. We will prove that Mr. Shaw is a nuisance to the public, and as such, deserving of regulation."
Judge Bartlebaugh unwrapped a hunk of pink bubble gum and popped it into his mouth. "The statute was written with other nuisances in mind. Are you comparing Mr. Shaw to a strip mine or hog farm?"
"If the shoe fits." Simon said it just loud enough for Quinn to hear.
But Quinn gave no sign he'd heard. "Mr. Shaw fits the very definition of public nuisance. He is offensive and annoying to the people of this community and others."
"Your Honor..." said Swope.
Quinn wouldn't let him interrupt. "Mr. Shaw actually exceeds the definition under the statute. Not only is he offensive and annoying, but he actively causes pain and suffering on a regular basis."
"Bullshit!" Face flushed, Horne popped up out of his chair.
Swope pushed him back down. "I object to Mr. Keegan's characterization of my client!"
"In ten years as a claims adjustor for 5G5 Delivery," said Quinn, "how many claims has Mr. Shaw paid out?"
"That is not relevant," said Swope.
"Zero." Quinn returned his gaze to Judge Bartlebaugh. "He has never paid one penny to a customer."
"Objection!" Swope's ample jowls jiggled with rage.
"And you know it's not because there weren't any damages in ten years." Quinn spread his arms wide. "It's a furniture and appliance delivery company, for heaven's sake."
Simon got a chill up his spine. Listening to Quinn when he hit his stride was hardcore stirring. He was like a super-hero in a black pinstripe suit and red tie.
"You will see, if you give us the chance," said Quinn, "that Mr. Shaw is at best a nuisance and at worst a genuine threat to the public good."
Judge Bartlebaugh narrowed his eyes. "But the injunction specifically says dick. How do you plan to prove he's not just a nuisance, but a dick?"
Quinn held up a sheaf of papers. "We have signed affidavits from dozens of people supporting our..."
"Yes, but it's subjective." Judge Bartlebaugh rocked back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling, chewing his gum as he spoke. "We might as well call him a fuckwad or a shit-for-brains."
"Hey!" said Shaw.
"Your Honor..." said Quinn.
"Why not change the complaint?" said Judge Bartlebaugh. "Leave out the 'dick' part."
Quinn stared at Simon with special intensity. The truth was, Quinn had hated the "dick" concept from the get-go and had tried many times to talk Simon out of it.
But the answer was still the same.
"That would be missing the point," said Simon.
Quinn stared so hard, he looked like his eyeballs were about to pop out.
"He's a total dick." Simon hiked a thumb toward Horne. "People should know."
Judge Bartlebaugh cracked his gum and got up from his chair. "All right then. The elements of the case are clear to me. It's been fun, but now we're done."
"Thank you, Your Honor." Swope closed his leather-bound notebook with a crack that echoed through the cavernous courtroom and grinned over at Simon and Quinn. "So pleased we could reach this result."
As Judge Bartlebaugh started down the steps behind the bench, Simon slumped. He'd known the lawsuit was a long shot, but he was still disappointed at the outcome. Even without a win, he'd hoped to have a little more time to make his point in a public forum. A little more time to get back at that dick Horne Shaw. But now, all his high hopes for revenge zoomed away at once like pigeons from a gunshot.
And then zoomed right back.
"See you Monday, everyone." Judge Bartlebaugh waved on his way through the door to his chambers.
"Huh?" Startled, Simon turned to Quinn, who looked equally startled.
"But you said we were done here!" said Swope.
"Done for the weekend." Judge Bartlebaugh blew a bubble, then popped it and sucked the gum back into his mouth. "No way am I dismissing this case!"
With that, he slammed the door shut behind him.
*****
What happens next? Find out in Dick by Law, now on sale for your favorite e-reading device!
*****
E-books by Robert T. Jeschonek
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6 Fantasy Stories
6 More Fantasy Stories
Blazing Bodices
Earthshaker, A Novel (Urban Fantasy)
Girl Meets Mind Reader
Groupie Everlasting
Heaven Bent, A Novel
Rose Head
Snowman's Chance in Hell
The Bear in the Cable-Knit Sweater
The Genie's Secret
The Return of Alice
The Sword That Spoke
Warning! Do Not Read This Story!
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Now on Sale from Robert T. Jeschonek
A Young Adult Fantasy Novel That Really Rocks!
One of Booklist's Top Ten First Novels for Youth
Being trapped in a book can be a nightmare—just ask Idea Deity. He’s convinced that he exists only in the pages of a novel written by a malevolent author . . . and that he will die in Chapter 64. Meanwhile, Reacher Mirage, lead singer of the secret rock band Youforia, can’t figure out who’s posting information about him and his band online that only he should know. Someone seems to be pulling the strings of both teens’ lives . . . and they’re not too happy about it. With Youforia about to be exposed in a national magazine and Chapter 64 bearing down like a speeding freight train, time is running out. Will Idea and Reacher be able to join forces and take control of their own lives before it’s too late?
School of Rock meets Alice in Wonderland in this fast-paced, completely unpredictable novel of alternate realities, time travel, and rock ‘n’ roll. If your favorite band does not exist . . . do you?
"Overall, My Favorite Band Does Not Exist is a wacky and enjoyable trip...full of intriguing, imaginative concepts that keep a reader hooked." –Thom Dunn, The Daily Genoshan
"This first novel has all the look of a cult fave: baffling to many, an anthem for a few, and unlike anything else out there." –Ian Chipman, Booklist Starred Review
"Chaos theory meets rock 'n' roll in adult author Jeschonek's ambitious, reality-bending YA debut." "...this proudly surreal piece of metafiction could develop a cult following..."–Publishers Weekly
"Reading this reminded me of authors like Terry Prachett and Neil Gaiman…" –BiblioJunkies
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THE SECRET OF THE ULTIMATE MALE ENHANCEMENT
Copyright © 2013 by Robert T. Jeschonek
www.thefictioneer.com
Cover Art Copyright © 2013 by Ben Baldwin
www.benbaldwin.co.uk
Published in April 2013 by Pie Press by arrangement with the author. All rights reserved by the author.
Originally appeared in Space and Time 115, 2011.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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