Dick by Law

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Simon slumped.

  "I can see it now." Judge Bartlebaugh cracked his gum. The crack didn't echo much in the jam-packed courtroom. "Suits and countersuits like swarms of bees choking the courts. Everyone suing to brand everyone else a dick or an asshole or a shithead. The floodgates will be opened.

  "As much fun as this lawsuit has been for me," said Judge Bartlebaugh, "I suspect the fun factor will be somewhat reduced by the time I preside over the hundredth or so copycat suit." He shrugged. "But until then, maybe we can benefit from letting this play out."

  "Oh my God." Quinn whispered so softly, Simon could barely hear him. "It's really happening."

  "Plus which..." Judge Bartlebaugh wagged a finger at Horne. "...I can see the dick in you quite clearly. You, sir, have dicktasticness aplenty.

  "If anything, Mr. Bellerophon is not giving you your dickly due. I would classify you more as a super-dick, Mr. Shaw. An alpha dick, if you will.

  "So here's the four-one-one, folks." Judge Bartlebaugh threw his arms in the air. "Congratulations, Mr. Bellerophon! You've just made history!"

  Simon looked at Ishi, who smiled and nodded. Quinn was smiling, too.

  "Soon enough, my decision will be appealed," said Judge Bartlebaugh. "I can't guarantee this injunction won't be overturned at that point...but in the meantime..." He pointed both index fingers at Horne and twirled them in little circles with a flourish. "You, sir, are officially a dick."

  All at once, the courtroom exploded with noise. Josie, Chip, and Ankha whooped and applauded, and the rest of the crowd in the roasting courtroom roared with excitement. Horne howled in dismay, pounding his fist on the table. Swope shouted one objection after another, none of them acknowledged by the judge. Reporters in the back of the room babbled over cell phones, shouting details to office-bound editors.

  And Simon just looked around in a daze in the midst of it all. None of it felt real to him except the sweat crawling down his sides and back, the smell of dust baking in the sunbeams around him, and the smooth surface of the wood tabletop under his fingertips.

  "We won!" Quinn snapped him out of his daze with a smack on the shoulder.

  "We sure did." Simon grabbed Quinn's hand and shook it hard.

  Quinn laughed. "Do you know how impossible this is?"

  "Nothing's impossible for the Lone Appraiser and Knight Ranger!" said Simon.

  Suddenly, Josie grabbed him and spun him around, engulfing him in a hug that was more like a wrestling hold. "Yabba Dabba Doo!" She twirled with Simon clamped against her bright yellow "Simon Says You're a Dick!" t-shirt, his legs fluttering like the cloth legs of a rag doll. "Way to go, Boss!"

  Chip reached up and tousled Simon's sandy hair. "Way to stand up for the common man, Sime! You da shit, mon!"

  When Josie stopped spinning and put Simon down, Ankha stepped forward and cupped his chin between her thumb and forefinger. It was weird seeing her in a bright yellow t-shirt instead of her usual all-black creature of the night wardrobe. "Congratulations, Simon." Smiling, she gave his chin a playful nudge. "You've made us proud."

  "Thank you all for being here!" said Simon. "Do you know how much it meant to me, having your support every day?"

  "Nothing to it, Boss," said Josie. "In¢entive$ takes care of our own."

  "Especially when you're paying us O.T. for being here!" said Chip.

  "Or at least buying the beer for our victory celebration!" said Josie.

  Simon pointed at her and winked. "You got it, Sister." Then, between Josie and Chip, he caught sight of Ishi, heading for the door with her arms full of art supplies.

  Before Simon could follow, he lost sight of her in the crowd. It seemed like everyone was pushing toward the front of the courtroom at once.

  They were surrounding Horne Shaw.

  Just as Simon wondered what was happening, the crowd started to clap and chant. Everyone, all at once, repeated the same word over and over:

  Dick! Dick! Dick! Dick!

  Horne's face was redder than ever, on the verge of turning purple. He snarled at the crowd like an enraged lion, but it made no difference. If anything, the chanting grew louder.

  Dick! Dick! Dick! Dick!

  "Shut up!" said Horne. "Shut the fuck up, you fucking assholes!"

  Dick! Dick! Dick! Dick!

  Finally, Horne roared and plowed through the crowd, bowling people over on his way to the door.

  The people just laughed and kept on chanting.

  *****

  Chapter 15

  130 Million Years Ago

  China

  Long into the night, Grip howled over the bodies of his murdered mate and pups. The forest around him took no notice; its myriad creatures, revived by the cool of night after the long, hot day, screeched and chattered and chirped and buzzed like mad.

  By the time dawn finally came, and the forest started to brighten, Grip had lost his voice. He kept trying to howl, but all he could manage was a feeble whimper.

  For the thousandth time, he nudged his mate's body with his muzzle...and hopped back in surprise. He couldn't believe what he'd seen.

  Movement.

  Head down, he crept toward her, watching carefully. He smelled the truth in her altered scent on the air, understood what was really happening...but he dared to hope.

  There it was again. His mate's snout twitched.

  Grip padded around to that side of her. Head cocked to one side, he dipped his nose and sniffed at her open maw, searching for a trace of her warm, sweet breath.

  But what he smelled was rotten.

  Suddenly, a big, black beetle burst out of her mouth and took wing, flying straight at him.

  Heart racing, Grip ducked and stumbled back through the weeds. The beetle looped around his head twice, then rocketed off into the forest.

  Heaving and panting from panic, Grip backed against the knobby roots of the tree where his family had once nested. From a distance, he saw other things crawl in and out of his mate's mouth, things the night's darkness had mercifully hidden from him.

  Still dead.

  Completely exhausted in every way, Grip collapsed among the roots. He closed his eyes to shut out the sight of his mate's twitching body...but when he did that, the scents of his family's killers burned more brightly in his mind.

  The scents swirled in a cloud, each smoky tendril distinct, each painting a picture of the creature that had made it. Grip teased them out, one at a time, and tasted them, searing their unique flavors into his memory. Filing them away.

  They all belonged to dinosaurs, he could tell that much...six of them. All the same kind of dinosaur, too--meat-eaters, unfamiliar but similar to others he'd known. Their scents were twined with the smell of dead flesh, simmering in the chemical cook pots of their bellies.

  Killers.

  They were killers and nothing more, unlike Grip, who ate green growing things as well as meat. They were well-fed, so they were strong and fast and smart. Their bellies had been full or nearly so when they'd come upon Grip's family, so his mate and pups had been nothing but a snack.

  Grip saw the killers so clearly in his mind's eye, he felt like they were there with him, polished teeth gleaming white and streaked with blood, serrated talons flashing and slashing. His lip curled in a snarl as he pictured them and imagined what they'd done to his family, again and again.

  When he finally fell asleep, the pictures replayed in his dreams. He slept restlessly, rolling and thrashing and nipping as he fought in his nightmare, battling to save his mate and pups.

  Grip woke long after the sun had gone down for the day. Rising from the loam on his stubby legs, he stretched and sniffed the warm air.

  The first thing that struck him was the putrid smell of his family's decaying corpses. Pushing past that, he picked out the lingering wisps of the killers' mingled scents.

  Grip walked out a little ways, following them. The trail was cooling, but not so much that his sensitive nose couldn't track it.

  They were out there
somewhere in the forest, probably killing more prey, the remains of Grip's mate and pups dissolving in their guts. The slaughter was probably already forgotten as they turned to their next targets, mouths watering. Sneaking through the brush, hopping between trees, eyes popping to peer through the darkness. Mouths opening, dripping saliva.

  Suddenly, Grip was seized with a new urge. His heart beat faster, and the wiry fur on his back stood on end.

  Go.

  Turning, he looked one last time toward his home. He glimpsed fur among the ferns in the silvery moonlight, the fur of the ones he'd loved. The ones who'd been taken.

  And then he did something he'd never done before.

  Turning from home, Grip set out on a hunt, following a trail not for food or to win a mate or protect his territory. For the first time in his life, and perhaps the first time in the world, one creature--a mammal, one of the first--set out to hunt another for a different reason.

  Revenge.

  That was what it was, though Grip did not have the words to describe it. He set out with one goal in mind: to destroy those who had destroyed something he loved.

  The damage was already done. The hunt could not bring back those who'd been killed. There was nothing to be gained. If anything, the hunt could lead to Grip's death, too.

  But Grip didn't care. He didn't consider that possibility. All he wanted in the world was to take from those who'd taken so much from him. To make them feel the pain they'd made him feel.

  To tear them apart if he could, or be torn apart in the process. To put an end to it one way or another.

  Grip walked and then ran through the forest, tracking the fading scents of the killer dinosaurs. His stomach growled with hunger, and he ignored it. All he could think about were the six dinosaurs ahead of him and what he would do when he caught up with them.

  It made him feel better, this new thing. It kept him alive. His tail wagged at the pure hum and thunder of it.

  Revenge.

  *****

  Chapter 16

  130 Million Years Later

  After Court

  Simon and Ishi sat across from each other at a romantic corner table in the nicest restaurant in Melville, Pennsylvania--El Pescador ("The Fisherman").

  For a first date situation, it couldn't have been more perfect. The lights were low, and candles flickered on the tables. The décor had an exotic Spanish flavor, with old-fashioned fishermen's nets and gear hung alongside Spanish photos and paintings on the adobe-covered walls.

  Attentive waiters brought bread and wine and made recommendations from the menu. The smells of bubbling sauces and frying meats wafted out of the kitchen. The sounds of a softly strummed guitar played through the dining room, as a strolling musician wandered among the tables.

  It wasn't the kind of place Simon frequented, but the atmosphere was just right for a special occasion. Winning the lawsuit--and a chance to win Ishi--certainly fell in that category.

  Simon clinked his wine glass against Ishi's. "Here's to the best thing that ever happened to me in court," he said. "Meeting you."

  Ishi smiled and clinked her glass against his. "I'll drink to that." She looked radiant in the light from the candle on the table, surrounded by a softly glowing nimbus.

  Simon couldn't tear his eyes away from her; he just stared and drank in every detail. She wore her dark hair up, arranged in a neat twist on top of her head. Her silky white spaghetti strap top left her creamy neck and shoulders mostly bare. A single onyx pendant hung from a thin gold chain at her throat, a black oval glittering in the candlelight.

  Simon's heart beat faster as he watched her sip her shimmering white wine. "I'm glad it happened," he said. "I'm glad Horne Shaw screwed me over, and I ended up suing him for being a dick. If it hadn't happened, I probably never would have met you."

  Ishi clinked glasses and giggled. "Here's to Horne Shaw for being such a dick then."

  "Yeah." Simon laughed. "Here's to that big, nasty dick for making all this possible."

  "It's ironic," said Ishi. "Someone like that sets out to make your life miserable, and in the end, he's the one who's miserable."

  "And my life's better because of him." Simon smiled at her. "Definitely better."

  "Don't tell him that, though," said Ishi.

  Simon grimaced and shook his head. "He wouldn't appreciate it, would he?"

  "My guess would be 'no,'" said Ishi. "A big, fat, alpha dick 'no.'"

  Just then, a waiter brought the first course--an assortment of tapas. He arranged them on the table, asked if Simon and Ishi wanted anything else, then hurried off.

  "Those people over there are staring at us." Ishi bobbed her head to one side.

  Simon looked over and caught a couple turning away at the same moment--a well-dressed man and woman in their thirties or forties.

  "The price of fame," said Ishi. "You'd better get used to it."

  "I think they were admiring you," said Simon. "They were probably talking about how stunningly beautiful you are."

  "I'm serious, Simon." Ishi reached for one of the tapas--a little sandwich made of purple olives between hunks of herb-dusted bruschetta. "No one expected you to win that lawsuit. Mark my words, you're going to be a celebrity."

  Simon grinned. "Would that be a problem for you?"

  Ishi shrugged. "It doesn't matter either way."

  "Ha!" Simon pointed at her. "You are my 'either way.'"

  "I know some famous people," said Ishi. "They're the same as anybody else." She took a bite of the tapa she'd chosen.

  "What famous people do you know?" said Simon.

  "Are you into manga?"

  Simon frowned. "Japanese comic books, right?"

  Ishi nodded.

  "Honestly, I've never read them," said Simon. "I know lots about American comics, though."

  "Then you won't know who I'm talking about," said Ishi. "He's a mangaka. A comic book artist and writer. Very famous in manga circles. One of the most famous."

  "How do you know him?" said Simon.

  "He's my father," said Ishi. "Takumi Yoshida. Creator of Pontoon Pudge, Mister Mishap, and Baby Steroid Snapper."

  "How cool is that?" said Simon. "You're famous by association!"

  "Actually," said Ishi, "I'm kind of famous myself, too, you know. Father based one of his manga characters on me. Ever hear of Sweet Bean Shiko?"

  The name rang a bell, and Simon snapped his fingers. "Was there a cartoon about her?"

  "A Japanese anime, yes," said Ishi. "It aired in the States ten years ago. Sweet Bean Liontamer. I'm Sweet Bean."

  "No kidding." Simon grinned. "So your father's an artist, and so are you. Artistic talent really runs in your family, huh?"

  Ishi shrugged. "Being a courtroom sketch artist isn't quite the same as being a mangaka."

  "Have you ever drawn manga?" said Simon.

  "I worked as an assistant in his studio when I was young," said Ishi. "But it didn't last."

  "Why?" said Simon. "Did your styles clash?"

  "You might say that. Takumi fired me." Ishi smiled sadly. "We had a falling out, but it's just as well. He's a tough act to follow."

  Just then, a short man in a tweed jacket and black tie stopped beside the table and cleared his throat. "Excuse me." The man adjusted his dark-rimmed glasses and smiled. "Dave Geist, Melville Beacon-Clipper. May I ask you a few questions about the 'dick' suit?"

  Simon looked at Ishi and laughed. "'Dick suit.'" It conjured a crazy image.

  Ishi giggled. "Can you take one of those to the dry cleaners?"

  Just then, the strolling musician reached the table and proceeded to strum a powerful Spanish-flavored tune. It was a bizarre scene--the reporter on one side, the guitarist on the other, with Simon and Ishi in between. It was a scene that never could have happened before that day.

  "What do you say, Mr. Bellerophon?" said Geist. "I'll make it quick."

  Simon leaned back and shook his head. "This is wild."

  Ishi gestured at the newcome
rs and nodded. "See? I told you you'd be a celebrity."

  "You're the celebrity," said Simon. "How about if you talk to the reporter, and I'll talk to the guitar player."

  Ishi took his hand and smiled warmly. "Enjoy the spotlight. You deserve it."

  "Only if we get to pick this up later," said Simon. "Our interview, I mean."

  Ishi shrugged. "Either way."

  *****

  Chapter 17

  The Next Day

  The morning after his date with Ishi, Simon stumbled out of his bedroom in a rumpled gray t-shirt and navy blue sweatpants, feeling groggy but great. Memories of the night before swirled in his head: the romantic dinner at El Pescador, after-dinner drinks at a local night spot, a walk in the park...and a kiss in the car outside her apartment. The kiss, especially, kept coming back to him, getting better every time he thought about it. He smiled as he walked down the hall, feeling like he was still in a dream.

  Then boom, the dream was over. As soon as Simon walked into the living room, Josie thrust a telephone at his face.

  "It's the President of the United States, Boss!" She was still wearing her yellow "Simon Says You're a Dick!" t-shirt from court. "He wants to invite you to the White House for dinner!"

  "That's nothing!" Chip, who was sprawled upside-down on the sofa, also wearing his yellow t-shirt, held up another phone. "I've got the Pope on line 1!"

  Josie waved dismissively at Chip. "He's full of shit, Boss!"

  "So is she." Chip wagged the phone in Simon's direction. "We both have reporters on the line."

  Simon guessed he'd slept longer than he'd thought. The In¢entive$ team had already let themselves in and started their shift. He was briefly irritated that he'd given Josie a key to the house, but he couldn't stay irritated on a day like today, with the memory of kissing Ishi still fresh in his mind. "Reporters are calling about the case, huh?"