Critical Mass, Ch.21: The Truth, The Whole Truth, and Nothing But The Truth

He and his family members had always tried to live their lives with decency and honor. They found whatever way seemed karmaeically sound to acquire what they needed to get by, but never walked on those less fortunate to do so. When they had to steal, they did so without killing, and only stole from people or businesses that could take it. Almost the entire topside was insured against theft, especially cars. By stealing one's automobile, you were essentially buying them a brand new one.

They did whatever they could to teach this philosophy to other, slightly more rash or depraved souls who didn't understand karma, or were beaten down for so long that they simply didn't care anymore. He and his family lived this way because it was the right way to live, not because there was any personal benefit for them in it, not for profit, not due to zealous fear-based religious duty, but simply because it was right. They always fought the good fight, and for that they were still fucked with, insulted, beaten down, locked up, and then insulted some more, only to be released when it was no longer profitable to keep them.

Thor had spun his wheels in this mire his entire life, and for those reasons alone, for freedom and a chance to find like-minded people, he chose to remain outside of society. He saw no worth at all in any of the ideals they pretend to value, or any of the superficial, materialistic attachments that motivate them. For the most part, he viewed them as a exponentially expanding virus eating away at anything and everything he holds dear.

One of the most difficult things he has ever had to do in his life was to sit there and lie, pretending to agree with the simpleton bullshit that was being heaped upon him in syphilitic piles, then kissing the ass of an inferior intellect, just to get them to leave him alone. The animosity he felt for the so-called leaders of this pestilence could not easily be quantified.

At this point, he figured he had been in his cell for about 24 hours without any contact. No explanation, no food, no water, and shackled in restraints that bound his wrists to his ankle cuffs with a three foot chain. They obviously didn't know much about his resourcefulness in combat! That was like giving him a weapon! It was apparent to him now that they didn't actually have anything on him. This whole process was just a big shakedown.

If they did know who he was at all, it was because of a facial scan somewhere that he must have walked right into, but they didn't have shit for evidence against him, or they would already have him before a judge. Once he did finally go, they would most likely just be giving him a chance to hang himself, to confess to anything just to make all this horrible treatment stop.... What they didn't realize was that he would not be broken, least of all by them! He was getting irritable, however, due to everything that had happened in the last couple of days, and was in no mood to be fucked with.

Something just didn't feel right, and he knew he needed to get the fuck out of this place as soon as possible. They had interrupted what, by all rights, should have been an opus morning, for him and him alone, to bask in the moment and plan out the future of his new kingdom in front of an uptown coffee shop somewhere, taking in an uptown view, and checking out some uptown tail. He grinned at the irony… He made a conscious decision right then and there to be a big fucking nuisance from now until his release, when he would go directly back down to the dungeon, where he belonged.

He looked up, seeing the speaker/ microphone/ camera and grinned. "All right! I did it! I did it all! I confess! I'll sign anything, just please, please don't throw me back in the underground!" he yelled, having a hard time keeping a straight face at the Brer Rabbit reference. He wondered if any of these bastard sons of the computer age were even aware of Brer Rabbit. They all grew up watching movies and playing video games on huge, high resolution holo screens. Did the people up here even read anymore? Who cares! His bait was gobbled up. The large steel door buzzed unlocked, then started to open, slowly revealing a man in a detective's three piece suit and two guards, armed with the same kind of stunners that the security guards in the bank had. He knew its pitch, now, but did not see it as being prudent to fight deep inside a facility like this one.

"Mr. Krey...." the detective spoke up. ”We've been wanting to have a talk with you for some time." His heart missed a beat. He was relieved as hell that the man didn't say "Stanton," but now there was just the question of how much, if anything, they knew. "It seems you've been placed at the scene of a few rather heinous crimes, Krey, but if you formally confess, it will be taken into serious consideration with regard to your sentence...." Thor just sat and silently stared at him. "Look, asshole, your friends already confessed, and they've implicated you! Yeah, that's right! We already know exactly how it went down; we just need to see it on a formal document so we don't waste any more of the court's valuable time. Your cooperation will definitely help bring leniency to your sentence!"

Thor smiled. Where the hell do they find these guys? He exhaled, and looked down at the floor as if he was thinking about coming clean.

The officer continued, "Look, man, I'm not the enemy. I'm trying to do you a huge favor here... They're calling you a terrorist! I know you're not a bad guy... You probably just made some bad decisions and feel like now you don't have any choices left, but if you don't show some remorse and confess, the judge is going to have no choice but to give you the maximum sentence. You could be looking at being locked up for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?" He leaned down toward him, trying to look into his eyes. "I said, is that what you want?!?" he yelled, slamming his open hand against the wall, palm down.

"Shit, I'm sorry, were you still talking?" He smiled, politely, getting some satisfaction as he could see the man's face actually turning from white to red. "I was busy writing a poem. Check it out:" He recited it for the man, adopting a thick, but very convincing Irish brogue.

"My mind has gone and run away,

I hope that I won't miss it

And if ye see me hairy arse,

Well, ye know that ye can kiss it."

He cracked up laughing at his own joke so hard he fell over sideways out of his seiza position, then spoke out, still in character with his Irish accent,. "What did you say your name was? Mr. McFullo'shit? Sounds Irish… Do you have a little Irish in you? Do you want some? Piss off, Boyle! Can't you see I have a lot going on, here?" He started laughing again, this time, right in the man's face, who was still leaning down toward him. He took the bait again. Thor cringed a little as the enraged man pulled back his fist and drilled him right in the face with a strong right cross, just above his left cheek, then stormed out of the room, followed by the guards. There was no doubt this would leave a shiner.

He fell over laughing hysterically as they left him alone again. Now he would have some leverage to use in his sure-to-be-senseless court proceedings. However this was to play out, he thought, it would probably behoove him to keep his mouth shut in the presence of the judge and just go for sympathy points. He wasn't going to convince this person to see things his way, nor was he likely to even listen to reason, but he did have the power to remand him to further evaluation, which would keep him incarcerated for up to 72 more hours! This would not do. He would bite the bullet and keep his thoughts to himself, even though this was something he was not exceedingly good at....

No sooner was he back into a state of centered meditation, when the door opened again and in walked another man in a three piece suit, followed by the same two guards. They carried in a collapsible table and two chairs and began setting it up, one chair on his side, and the other straight across from him. "Cigarette?" he offered, taking a seat.

"Sure," Thor replied, trying not to sound too anxious, though he couldn't even remember the last time he smoked a "tailor-made" factory cigarette instead of the home made, roll your own tobacco from underground hydroponics or houseplant style growing operations. A rare treat like this was almost worth getting pinched in the first place. Almost.

"Let me see that eye..." He leaned forward, then shook his head in obvious disapproval of the officer's tactics. "Jesus." He reached out, offering Thor a flame.

Thor inhaled deeply; eyes closed, held the smoke for a couple seconds, then exhaled and sat down, leaning way back in his seat and smiling skeptically at the man with his arms crossed over his chest in a somewhat dignified manner, despite the shackles. "Good cop, bad cop?"

"I'm not a cop, I'm your lawyer."

"What the hell do I need a lawyer for? I didn't do anything!"

"Well, at this point, they have a sheet a mile long on you; they just need to show that you're remorseless and untreatable to obtain a life sentence, or a death sentence. If you can explain each of these offenses to me from your point of view, I will make sure they remand you to a clinic for 'treatment.' You and I both know you're not crazy, but you may have to play their game to get out of this."

"To be sure,” he nodded, taking another long drag, "to be sure." This was the biggest pile of steaming excrement Thor had ever had the privilege of standing knee deep in. "Do you have a pen? I can start by writing a couple things down...."

The man's face lit up just a little too much. "Sure!" He reached into his suit jacket inside left pocket, revealing just enough of his shirt that Thor could see the strap of a shoulder harness style holster; the gun, no doubt, probably locked in one of the small weapon lockers outside the processing area for use by all of the cops. He produced a pen and offered it to Thor, extending his hand with the pen between two fingers, like a cigarette. Thor reached for it, acting nervous, and intentionally rammed the back of his hand into the point of it, knocking it to the floor off to the man's right. The man turned and squatted, leaning over a bit without offering his backside to Thor, as any cop would instinctively do. This gave him just the angle he needed to see the small belt clip badge beneath the man's jacket, hidden way off to the right side, as any right handed person would probably wear it. Thor reached back out, this time offering his left hand, palm up to the officer.

"Sorry about that...." Thor played along, pretending to be genuinely unaware of the man's true identity.

"No problem." The officer looked at the guard to his left, then waved him closer. "Get my client a pad of paper, please." The guard nodded nervously, looking up at Thor just before he walked off toward the door. "Look, you're going to have to be as concise as possible, there's not much time left... They have you scheduled to go to court at 8:30! It's 8:00 right now..."

"Got it!" Thor smiled and winked, making a clicking sound in his cheek as he pointed a finger pistol at the man and dropped the hammer. "What do you call a million dead lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?"

The man grinned. "What?"

"A good start!" The officer belted out the beginning of a genuine laugh, then pulled back. The guard came in with a small notepad, about the size of a trucker's wallet, and handed it to the officer, who in turn handed it to Thor.

"OK!" He exhaled hard into the palms of his hands and rubbed them together with the pad out in front of him, then picked it and the pen up and leaned against the wall and started writing. "Details, details..." he muttered. The officer smiled proudly a tiny bit, trying not to let it show.

Unbeknownst to most, Thor was actually an avid cartoonist, and given the circumstances, he could not resist. He quickly drew a comedic rendition of the man, exaggerating all of his prominent features, down to the excessive hair on the back of his hands, and his uni-brow. He depicted the man's hand placed palm down on a bible, while the other hand pointed at you, mouth open, making some kind of point to a judge, or somebody. The caption at the top of the page said, "How do you know when a lawyer is telling a lie?"

The officer was semi-distracted, talking to both guards about their families, etc., basically making small talk enough to make Thor feel comfortable writing down all the information he could muster. He turned over the paper and started on picture #2. It was exactly the same, even down to the body positioning, but instead of a bible under his right hand, he was holding a pair of cuffs, and instead of making a point with his finger, he was pointing a pistol at you. Through his open jacket, Thor even depicted the man's actual harness and badge in their proper places. The caption, answering the one on the previous page, was "His lips are moving!"

He shut the notebook and tossed it across the table toward the men, then sat back in his seat and yawned, genuinely unconcerned at this point what they did from here; they didn't have shit on him, and they didn't realize the implant was even done. One of the guards finished looking at it and burst into laughter.

"Fuck you!" the detective yelled back at him, flipping them all off without even looking back as he banged on the door to be let out. "Keep on laughing... you can joke all the way to the commune with all the other worthless pieces of human trash!"

"At least they're still human, you fucking backstabbing robot errand boy!" Thor retaliated, just in time as the steel door slammed shut with a loud echo.

The courtroom had lost any personality or dignity that had been handed down in tradition over the centuries. All that remained was a sterile, plastic reflection of the institute the judicial system had always so proudly revered as the last outpost for truth to be revealed and justice to be dispensed. In keeping up with the social deterioration and complete martial intolerance, the modern courtroom had become nothing but a processing venue with a synthetic aire of false justice where the strays could be put back in line, and the obsolete, eradicated.

The room was divided right down the middle by a wall of see-through, bullet proof composite, a table and two chairs on the defendant side, and a large desk with what looked like a King's throne, set several feet higher than grade, with the usual State flag and National flag on either side of the Judge's chair. There was one chair for a bailiff to the side toward the entry door, and that was it. No witness booth, no jury box, no audience seating, just one case at a time, judged and sentenced by one man, in front of a camera on both sides of the glass. At any given time, there were over 100 of these courtrooms dispensing judgment at the same time, taking up a quarter mile long wing of the jail/ district court building in every major district in the city, and they were all televised. The position of City Judge could be applied for by anyone without a criminal history, with only a simple, ambiguous psychological test to decide one's moral aptitude for the position. Needless to say, many self-serving wing-nuts with their own vigilante style agendas managed to get past the screening and were able to destroy just as many undeserving lives before their discrepancies were reported and investigated.

He was still in shackles when the two guards shoved him in the tiny room and slammed the door behind him. The bailiff on the other side hit a button on the wall and some lights came on in Thor's corner. He hit another one, and there was an ambient hum in the air, coming from the speaker above him. "Can you hear me, bud?" the bailiff asked, looking at Thor. Thor nodded. "Out loud, please." he said, a little louder.

"Yeah, 10-4!" he spoke aloud.

"Thanks. You're our first of the day. Just powering up." he said, in a friendly sounding voice.

"Just oiling the jaws of the money machine... Right?" Thor smiled.

"You got it!" the man joked back, half smiling. He heard the loud click, then looked sideways behind him, toward the door. The door started to swing open.

"All rise!" he spoke aloud; a complete formality since Thor was the only one in the room and he had never sat down in the first place. In walked a 5'5" pudgy little toad of a man, bald on top, but with stringy, greasy strands of hair combed over the top in a failed attempt to conceal it. He sat down, tossing his oversize robe out to the sides in what looked to Thor just like a short, ugly woman's curtsy.

"Be seated!" the bailiff said even louder, trying to camouflage the smile he had because of Thor's facial expressions. Thor was bug eyed, like a curious cat. This self-important, pompous little twit wouldn't make eye contact with Thor no matter which way he leaned, but rather, sat there, gazing around the room as he shuffled his paperwork into submission, projecting the most pretentious vibe Thor could ever remember feeling. He gave up trying to lock eyes with the fool and sat back, a slight smile unavoidably toying with his lips.

"Mr. Krey, is it?" the judge asked, still not making eye contact.

"Yes IT is!" he responded, a tad over-zealously, and as sarcastic as possible.

"A simple 'Yes, Your Honor,' or 'No, Your Honor' will do, please."

"Ahhh!" he said back, eyes wide open, mouth wide open, head back, and then he shut down like a robot, "I'm sorry." he said, closing his eyes and slumping his head all the way forward, facing down at the table.

The judge didn't even look up to notice his self-entertainment. "You have been remanded to our custody for consideration of your alleged crimes against the State, some of which have been quite heinous in nature and destructive in magnitude. You have failed numerous attempts to be tailored as a functional blah bluh blee bluh blah, bla bla blue blah blee bluh blah blah. Blah bu bu-bu-bu blah, bu-bu blee, blah, blah.... "

I know I said "I'm sorry,"

But what I meant was "Suck my dick!"

I won't be responsible

For the fact that you don't know shit.

You seem quite ridiculous

On your self-appointed pedestal.

Flawless powers of observation,

Why don't you use them on yourself?

Rude and condescending,

Don't speak as if you ever knew me.

Another critic with a work in progress,

A portrait of hypocrisy...

Kill your own demons,

I've got mine on the run.

The evil things you think you see me do

Aren't hurting anyone.

I'll never say "Your Honor,"

You sick, self-righteous piece of shit.

Stroking yourself behind your desk

From the pompous throne on which you sit.

Just remember, little man,

If you find you're playing God for sport,

There may come a day

When you find yourself inside my court!

"....blah blah bluh ble boo bluh b-but if nothing changes, the next time we see you in here, you will receive a mandatory jail sentence of at least one year! If you are caught trying to circumvent the commune program and branch out on your own before you have demonstrated adequate means to do so, it will be considered another escape from processing, and will be punishable by one year's incarceration. Is this abundantly clear?"

"Yes," Thor said.

"Yes ...what?" the judge prompted, fishing for something he didn't deserve.

"Yes, it surely is." Thor said.

Outside the weather was beautiful. The sun was out and there was hardly a cloud in the sky. A nice cool breeze flowed in from somewhere out west, the gentle aroma of fresh cut grass and flowers mixing with the odd bouquet of the sea. Gulls complained high in the sky, still submerged well below the ever expanding skyline, halfway up to the tops of the man-made peaks, or halfway home, as Thor liked to see it, either way, he could see why this was considered prime real estate.

He took a huge breath in, savoring the smogless smell, and started humming the music to the song he made up in the courtroom as he slid down the steel column, one boot on each side, slowing his descent to the parking garage below. Above him, still basking in the sunlight of an otherwise uneventful morning, two guards lay peacefully unconscious in front of a building with a small fountain and sign that read "Northgate Serenity House, Dept. of Social Reinstatement." One had his left wrist cuffed to the other man's right ankle, and the other man was cuffed to the sign post. Somehow the smaller man's stun baton, still held tight in his other hand, was half engulfed in the larger man's butt cheeks, his pants pulled down around his ankles.

©2010 Steven G. Curry, All Rights Reserved