by Chris Lynch
Fortunately I escaped harm. No one asked me to dance.
Wolfgang watched his malicious handiwork with a frightening grin. He lapped it all up the same way he lapped up the salsa, sticking his fingers into the bowl, licking them, then sticking them right back into the bowl again.
This time his violations could not be overlooked.
10 The Setup
JURY SELECTION, OF COURSE, was the first hassle. I thought it made sense to have a small, intimate military-style tribunal made up of just official He-Men. You know, to keep it in the family. The accused, however, had other ideas.
“First,” said Wolfgang, “the law says that I am entitled to a trial before a jury of my peers. And since the dictionary describes a peer as one’s equal, I think we can agree that I don’t have any of those here in the house.”
“Well …” I said. He had me back on my heels, as usual. We were involved in a stage-three secrecy meeting inside the Lincoln, a man-to-man pretrial hearing.
“Second, if you are going to call all your jurors as witnesses, then that would seem to stack the deck against me right from the start, and that’s no good either.”
“Yes, but—”
“So, what I was thinking was …”
It was as if it was my pretrial hearing. As in most situations, Wolfgang was cool and in control, totally relaxed in the face of his impending public disgrace.
“Why don’t you just run your own trial then, Wolfgang?” I huffed when he let me into the conversation.
“Well, if you want it run right, then I probably should.”
I turned away from him to look to my men, who were gathered in a quivering pack outside the passenger-side window.
Yes, Wolfgang had even snagged the driver’s seat.
He tooted the horn. “The only fair thing is that you go right ahead and call your witnesses, but I—since I will be acting as my own lawyer …”
Gulp!
“… will call my own defense witnesses.”
Not only was Wolfgang being extremely helpful in his own prosecution—he was treating it more like a party in his honor—he was looking forward to it.
“So,” he said, clapping his hands. “When can we get started? I’ve got invitations to send out, you know, a caterer to hire …”
See?
“Wait here,” I said as I threw open my door.
“I’ll try to keep myself amused.”
The three of them inched closer as I got out and slammed the door behind me.
“So what did he say?” Jerome asked. “Did he squirm? Does he want to plea bargain?”
“Well … it’s kind of tough to tell with him … you know, with his legs not working and all … but ya, I think I saw him sort of squirm once there. …”
“I never been so a-scared in my whole life,” Cecil said, staring off past me. This was not news. This was basically the only sentence Cecil had spoken since the Massacre at Casa Ling.
Steven didn’t say anything right off, just listened attentively. Curiously Steven, who had really been the driver of the bus in the move to oust Wolfgang, had fallen largely silent in the days following the incident.
The poor, shattered He-Man.
On the other hand Jerome was invigorated. Motivated. Rabid.
“So what do we get to do to him after we find him guilty? Can we go over the punishment options once more?”
“Slow down, slow down,” I said.
The Lincoln’s horn beeped. Two long toots, then a short one.
“Hey,” came Wolf’s muffled voice as he tapped himself on the wrist where his watch would be if he owned one. “Step it up; I got a date.”
“Ya, you got a date all right,” Jerome yelled, leaning and pointing in Wolf’s direction. “You got a date with jail,” he said, a little dramatically.
I actually had to pull him back. “Ah, Jerome, I don’t quite think we have the jurisdiction …”
Steven spoke cautiously. “Anyway, what’s he saying in there? Does it look like he’s gonna, you know, go quietly?”
I tried to screw up my most quizzical-looking face for him. “Are you kidding? Wolfgang? I think he’s going to call the newspapers to cover the trial.”
“Oh,” Steven said thoughtfully. “That isn’t good.”
“So what?” Jerome yapped. “Let him call the newspapers and Court TV and Oprah Winfrey if he wants. We’ll show the world what a rat he is.”
“I never been so a-scared in my whole life,” contributed Cecil.
Jerome was so blinded by rage, he could not look ahead to how this might not turn out to be so much fun after all. And Cecil, he couldn’t see a hand in front of his face. Only Steven and I were starting to get the picture. Not a pretty picture.
“You know,” I said, “I just don’t think it’s fair to put poor Cecil through a trial, to force him to relive it all …”
“Ya,” Steven rushed in. “To have him up there on the stand recounting the whole mess … that would be cruel. I suggest we offer Wolfgang a dishonorable discharge, tell him to get his Woman-loving butt out of our club and never come back.”
“Good plan, He-Man,” I said, and offered him a salute from my sweaty brow. He saluted back, and everything was looking fine.
“You two make me sick,” spat Jerome. “After what he did to us? After the torture … now you want to back down and let the snake just slither out of town? Dishonorable discharge? I’ll give him a dishonorable discharge off the tip of my work boot.”
Wow. Jerome was off. I didn’t even dare point out to him that he was wearing cream-colored canvas boat shoes, and that he probably didn’t even own a pair of work boots.
“Listen,” Steven said to his old buddy. They were, after all, the two original founding members of the club, and had a special relationship.
“No, you listen, needle nose,” Jerome said.
“Jerome,” I bellowed, remembering I was in charge. “Understand, if we go through with the court-martial, he’s going to insist on calling in his own witnesses.”
“Let him call—”
“Witnesses …” I continued, “which would include any and all individuals—be they He-Men, or girls, or Nessy—who might have witnessed the event—bringing them right in here, into the one reliable sanctuary. … Think about it, Jerome. Who knows when Vanessa’ll get an uncontrollable attack of the kissies?”
Jerome’s face, which was normally a shocking level of white, drained further into a sort of thin greenish film that barely concealed the veins and muscles of his face.
“Cut a deal,” he croaked.
I opened the car door and hopped eagerly back inside. “All right,” I bluffed. “You’re a lucky guy, Wolf. The tribunal is in a very generous mood today, so we have agreed—out of respect and fondness for the history we’ve all shared here in the He-Man Women Haters Club—to forgo the formal, unpleasant process of a trial and allow you to leave quietly with a handshake and a dishonorable discharge.”
At least Wolf had the courtesy to cover his mouth with his hand during the early stages of his long laugh at me.
“You’re such a kidder, Ling.”
He knew very well that I am no such thing.
“Why would I want a dishonorable discharge from the club I love so dearly? First off, nobody really wants a dishonorable anything—that’s not cool. Second, I didn’t do anything wrong. Third, I’m going to win if we have a trial. And fourth, this’ll be fun. The experience will bring us together, don’t you think, because really, we’ve kind of drifted apart lately.”
Clearly, Wolfgang had thought this through and had his heart set on a trial. If he wanted it, then for sure we did not. He was as frightening now—through that happy sinister grin—as he had ever been. A lesser man than myself would have admitted defeat right about now and begged him to let us out of this.
Boy, did I wish I were a lesser man.
“You know,” I said sternly, “we could just kick you out without a trial.”
“No yo
u couldn’t.”
“What’s to stop us?”
“I won’t go,” he said calmly.
“You won’t—What do you mean you won’t go? That’s the way things work, Wolfgang. Everybody in the world understands that if you get kicked out of someplace, you go.”
“Not me, I don’t.”
“Then we’ll throw you out. We can be pretty He-Man when we want to be, you know.”
Again his hand politely covered his mouth. “I will ignore the obvious insanity of what you just said, and point out that if your club is caught throwing a defenseless handicapped boy out onto the street … well, you’ll never hate women in this town again.”
Wolf was by now so surely in charge of things, and so plainly aware of it, he turned away from me and pretended to be driving down the highway. “Can I drop you off anywhere?” he said cheerily.
“You are about as defenseless as a pit bull—”
“Thank you.”
“On steroids—”
“Oh you’re too kind.”
“With a gun.”
“Stop, you’re embarrassing me. Anyway, I’ve got to fly, so let’s make a date. Saturday suits me.”
“All right, Wolf, you’re on. But the jury is going to be He-Men only. That is not negotiable. Only official He-Man members can decide your fate.”
“Hmmm,” he said. I had him there. He was mean, but not unreasonable, and knew that we had to decide this among ourselves.
“Okay, I accept the He-Man jury, but on one condition.”
God, get me out of this car before I promise him my first child.
“I want a judge to preside over the proceedings. A neutral party to make sure you guys don’t railroad me.”
“I’m going to be judge,” I said.
“Ling, you expect to be prosecutor and jury member and witness and judge? Aren’t we getting a little Alice in Wonderland here?”
“Fine,” I sighed. “Who do you propose?”
“Your mom.”
Whoa! There it was. The great tactical error. I knew he’d eventually make a fatal mistake, and there it was.
“My mom?” I asked coolly.
“Yes. She seems to be a fair and reasonable person, and I figured she would be acceptable to both parties. Is she acceptable to you, Ling?”
I tried to contain my glee.
“Um, I suppose we could accept this condition.”
“Wonderful.” He extended his hand. I took it and we shook.
“See you on Saturday,” I said with professional dignity.
“Done,” he said as he slid himself out his car door and into his waiting chariot. “Now, I’m off for my date with your sister. Wish me luck.”
My whole body shivered. With either fear or disgust. I couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
As soon as Wolf was gone, all the He-Men piled into the car wanting to know, “What happened, what happened? How’d it go?”
I folded my arms across my chest. “I toyed with him.”
11 The Trial
IT WAS LIKE A parade of all the villains from all our previous episodes, filing into the garage behind smiling Wolfgang.
Rock was pushing him in the wheelchair.
Behind them, Nessy marched humorlessly, like the POWs part of the Memorial Day Parade.
Behind them Monica, leading her battalion of sly, never-turn-your-back-on-them Girl Scouts.
If Steven had a recurring nightmare that haunted his sleep, I’m sure it looked exactly like this.
On the bright side, Cecil had constructed a very nice courtroom for us. Using the pallets that were our stage platforms when we were rock stars, he had made a raised jury box for Steven, Jerome, and himself. My mother sat at the very back wall of the garage, in a maroon velour bucket seat that we had removed for the occasion from a Mustang Lars had been restoring. The Lincoln itself was to serve as the jury deliberation room.
Wolfgang’s rogue’s gallery of supporters had to sit on the cold floor on cardboard squares laid over oil stains.
The witness stand, next to my mother, was a gray metal folding chair.
“I call my first witness, He-Man Jerome,” I boomed. I figured I would hit him right off with the most enthusiastic of his accusers.
From across the room, Jerome just shook his head at me.
“Excuse me?” I said.
He shook his head some more. Remained frozen in the jury box like a taxidermist’s hamster.
“Excuse me, your honor,” I said to Mom. I scurried to Jerome. “What are you doing?” I whispered, whacking myself on the leg with my riding crop.
He stared straight ahead. “Maybe later. Start with somebody else.”
“Grrrr,” I growled at him. Regrouping, I said, “The prosecution calls He-Man Cecil.”
Nervously, but with great strength and dignity, Cecil took the stand.
“State your name for the court, please,” I said.
“I never been so a-scared in my whole life,” he answered.
There were titters aplenty from the gallery.
“Cecil,” I said, calmly, slowly. “That is not what I asked y—”
“I never been so a-scared in my whole—”
“Your witness,” I said to Wolfgang, knowing when I was licked. Cecil’s normally vacant eyes were practically emitting their own light at this point.
“Mr. Cecil,” Wolfgang said warmly. “On the day of the alleged dance party, what exactly did you believe you were going to the Ling household to do?”
Cecil finally broke eye contact with space. He looked at Wolf. He looked newly startled.
“I never been so a-scared in—”
“Yes, we have established that. What were you going there to do?”
“I object,” I called, jumping out of the jury box and waving the riding crop like a flag.
“Sit down, you, and wait your turn,” the judge said.
“Maaaa?” I whined.
“Cecil, answer the question,” she said.
“Mrffdedebrrrrr,” he mumbled.
“A little louder, please?” Wolf asked.
“I thought we was gonna get tough with that little girl Nessy.”
Everyone in the room gasped. The judge gasped. The prosecutor gasped.
“Well,” Cecil pleaded, “it sounds worse now that I say it out loud … but at the time it seemed like good clean—”
Wolf cut in. “How would you expect to get tough with this girl when she had in fact on a previous occasion defeated three of you He-Men at once?”
“Well,” Cecil answered sheepishly, “I thought we had you on our side this time. But I sure was mistaken.”
“Get off the stand, you,” the judge snapped. Cecil bolted put of there like a horse that was slapped on the rear with a riding crop … now there’s an idea.
Score: Forces of Evil—1, Forces of Good—0.
“The prosecution calls He-Man Jerome to the stand.”
Jerome shook his head no again.
“Oh this is unbelievable,” I said. I turned to my mother. “My whole case is built around him. Make him testify.”
“I can’t play favorites with you now. Ling.”
“But I am your favorite,” I said desperately.
“I object,” Wolf said. I suppose he had a point.
“No,” Rock called from the audience. “He’s right. He is her favorite, the little puke.”
Mom slapped her hands together loudly. We couldn’t find her a gavel. “I will have you removed from the court,” she said to my sister. “But Jerome, you get up here now. You do have to testify, so please get on with it.”
Now we were getting somewhere. “Jerome, will you please tell the court, in your own words, what happened to you on the day in question?”
Jerome, shaking like a madman and staring out into the gallery, hesitated before speaking. “Well,” he finally said. “It was pretty dark down there … it was hard to even know who was …”
Oh no. They had gotten to him. This was o
ne of those legal-thriller nightmares come true. I whipped around to see where Jerome was staring, and there was Nessy. She was making kissy faces at him.
“Jerome, I want you to know,” I said, “that you have nothing to be afraid of here. You should feel completely free to tell the truth without worrying about any retaliation.”
“Oh right,” Jerome said, the old vigor returning. “So who’s gonna protect me? You? You had your chance. Go ahead, lift up your shirt and show everybody the poke marks in your belly.”
The judge stepped in. “Ling? Don’t you dare lift your shirt here in front of all these people.”
“Face the facts,” Jerome went on. “The only He-Man tough enough to protect me is that rat over there.” He pointed at the defendant, who smiled shyly. “And you want me to testify against him.” He leaned forward as he said it, and jabbed me in the belly with his finger.
It was actually rather touching, the way Wolfgang took over the cross examination. He quietly wheeled up behind me and rubbed my back, like a manager removing a pitcher from the game when he tells him, “Sorry kid, it just ain’t your day.”
“Jerome,” he started, his voice sickly sweet. “You don’t really want me thrown out of the club now, do you?”
“Yes I do,” Jerome snapped. “You’re scary and you’re tricky and you do whatever you feel like and I don’t think you even hate women at all, so what do you think of that?”
It had gotten impossible to tell, anymore, whether Jerome was helping the case or hurting it. Or even which side he wanted to be on.
“Oh” was Wolf’s startled reply.
“And everybody in the club is afraid of you anyway.”
Wolf, pumped up with pride, turned to the jury box. Steven bared his teeth.
“You can go now,” Wolfgang said.
As he passed by Wolfgang, Jerome snarled at him, “You should be a lawyer, ya rat.”
It was time to put this away before Wolf could do any more damage.
“He-Man Steven,” I announced, as if I was introducing royalty. As Steven rose and headed for the witness stand, the entire garage went deadly quiet.
Both sides were aware this would be an event.
“Remember,” I said in his ear as I escorted him to the stand. “This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. We need to pull together here. I know you’ve been through a terrible ordeal, and we don’t want to dredge it all up, but let’s get the job done. I’ll lead you through it.”