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Back Porch
37
Thumbing through the book Loren recited, “Well, let’s see. April, 44, but I didn’t start until the tenth; 87 in May; June, 92; July, 46. In August it was 33, and in September it was only 19, but they caught me with nine days to go.”
“The numbers were dropping. Were you slacking off?”
“Nosir. It was just getting harder to find villains. More folks were parking where they’re supposed to.” “Indeed so,” said Mr. McClelland. “Indeed so.” With a nod toward his opponent, he resumed his seat.
Mr. Thibideaux, as he believed duty required, engaged in a protracted cross examination of the defendant, thereby enabling Loren Satterfield to twice more tell his story.
Closing arguments were lengthy by the prosecution and succinct by the defense. The judge instructed the jury as to the law they were sworn to follow, and six good citizens retired to deliberate.
The two old friends waited in a deserted courtroom.
“Well, what do you think, Rollie?” Roland ‘"Rollie” McClelland sighed. “I think two old geezers gave ‘em a run they’ll remember, but you’re a dead duck. We were sunk
when the judge rejected my ‘justifiable malicious mischief jury instruction. We picked too honest a jury. The judge told them they had to follow the law even if they didn’t want to, and they’ll do it. We’re goners.”
He was right—almost.
“Has the jury reached a verdict?” “We have, Your Honor.” A grim housewife spoke.
“How says the jury?”
“Guilty, with recommendation of mercy.”
“Your Honor!” Mr. Thibideaux exploded. “They can’t., that’snot... I..” “Hush up and sit down, Thibideaux,” said the judge.
Then, to the grim housewife, “Lady, ah, Madam Forelady, let’s do this again. What is ya’ll’s verdict?” “Guilty, wi...”
“Whoa! That’s good enough. The jury is discharged. Bail continued. Sentencing one month from today. Court is adjourned.”
One month later, the judge was late for the sentencing. Finally, looking somewhat bedraggled, he ascended the bench.
“Gentlemen, my apologies. Some jerk parked in my ‘Judges only’ parking space, and I had to walk a block in the rain.”
The damp jurist continued. “I have now decided on an appropriate sentence in this matter. If counsel insist on wasting breath, I’ll listen to futile argument with an open mind. “Mr. Thibideaux?”
Risking hernia, Mr. Thibideaux declined.
“Mr. McClelland?”
“Argument is waived.”
“Very well. Mr. Satterfield, you are hereby sentenced to one year in the county jail, sentence suspended on the condition that you never again snip a valve stem unless you own it. You are also sentenced to patrol at your convenience the parking lots of this county and to gather evidence of jerkish parking practices. I’ll see that this evidence is published in the newspaper.”
“Any questions?”
There were no questions.
“Veiy well. Court will recess. And Mr. Satterfield, approach the bench, please.”
Loren approached.
“Satterfield, this MAUGIE. You ever find out who it is?”
“Nosir.”
“Hmmm. Well, by heavens I’m going to. That jerk. Ugliest old Cadillac I ever saw.”
-o-
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