Page 7

“Harry… Bowels…”

The tone was unmistakable — cool, calculating, and very judgemental. Judge Machamp, presiding over Inferior Court this day.

Harry stood. It felt less like rising to meet justice than to meet his Maker; instead, he was standing to face his ex-wife. The judge. Judge Machamp.

“Approach the bench, please.” Business as usual — as she always was. Harry obliged and stepped forward.

Judge Machamp flipped through some papers on her desk, then peered at him over the rim of her glasses.
“Representing yourself?” It was more a statement than a question; she already knew the answer.
“Do you need a public defender for the charge of… jaywalking?” She glanced back at the file to confirm.

Harry felt his blood run cold. The jab about needing a public defender for jaywalking was as cutting — and as calculated — as he remembered her being.

“No, Your Honour.”

Her eyes flicked up without her head moving. “Very well. How do you plead?”

“For jaywalking?” Harry asked, incredulous — a query met by the judge’s one simple, arched eyebrow.

“Yes, for jaywalking.”

“Your Honour, everyone was—” Harry began, but she cut him off.

“This isn’t about everyone. This is about you, Harold. You were the one cited. There’s video of it. Would you like to see?”

No, he didn’t want to see. He didn’t need to. He had jaywalked. At least ten others had, too — they’d all been avoiding a pool of water from a burst pipe.

Knowing he wasn’t going to win, Harry steeled himself, clenched his jaw, and pled, “Guilty.”
He could almost see her smirk.

“The fine is fifty dollars. Can you handle that, or is it another thing I need to carry for you?” The question was cold, a deliberate jab at whatever pride he had left.

Harry thought for a moment. “Can we make an arrangement?”

Now he was sure he saw a smile flicker across his ex-wife’s face — and not a pleasant one.
“Yes!” she replied brightly. “You can move that cretin who lives under the highway underpass.”

Harry winced. Mustafo Bob. She wanted him to evict Bob from his “home” under the highway — in lieu of fifty dollars.

“I can find the money for the fine, Your Honour.”