The defense hearing of The City of Townsville versus Princess Morbucks begins according schedule, only the star of the show is yet to make her big appearance.
Even old Judge Hayworth was beginning to grow annoyed, swivelling his gavel round in the air impatiently.
"If she doesn't show up in five minutes, I'm charging her for contempt." He says gruffly, and pounds it against the sound block.
But Miss Morbucks was in absolutely no hurry to make it there within reasonable time. Rather, it was her lawyer who beckoned the limo driver to step on the gas.
"Princess, you've already had your fingernails done, toenails done, your hair done, eaten breakfast, gone shopping and stopped for fast food. Shouldn't we be at the hearing by now?"
"Oh yeah, there's that." She says between a handful of french fries and a gulp of root beer soda, waving her hand to call for the driver's attention. "I want to make one last stop first."
A Pet Mart sign is reflected in her golden sunglass lenses.
...
The judge checks his watch, shaking his head. "Well, it's been four minutes. I am left with no choice but to charge Miss Morbucks with-"
The doors leading into the courtroom slams open.
"Wait!" A bespectacled man with oil slicked black hair walks in, then leans against a railing panting heavily from his marathon run through the courthouse.
"Mr. Goldstein!" Judge Hayworth exclaims, rising from his seat like most of the persons in attendance. "Where is your client?"
"I'm right here, old man!" Someone outside screams in a high-pitched voice.
Everyone watches as the heiress in her snow white mink coat struts down the walkway, high heels clicking, ginger hair puffs bouncing with each step.
Goldstein follows not far behind, frantically dabbing at the sweat pouring from his forehead with a silk handkerchief. "I apologize for the lateness, your honor." He says as he approaches the bench, while Princess settles herself at the counsel table. "My client insisted on taking care of a few important matters along the way."
"For your sake I hope they were important, Mr. Goldstein."
Just then, a chihuahua pokes its head out of Princess's black prada handbag and yaps. Judge Hayworth, the frazzled defense attorney and the entire box of jurors stare at the creature, stunned.
"Say hi to the mean old people, schnookums." Princess says to it in a cutesy voice and kisses it on the snout.
Hayworth attacks the bench repeatedly with his gavel. "Bailiff! Seize that animal from miss Morbucks and for God's sake, let's get this boat rolling!"
And get rolling it does, only with a chihuahua trying to lick the lazy-eyed bailiff's face off throughout the whole thing.
...
Goldstein presents his case.
"Princess Morbucks is an innocent woman, who donates to uhh...various charities around Townsville." At this, Princess winks at her very expensive Lawyer. He continues, "How can the people so callously condemn somebody so invested in the welfare of the community with such a harsh prison sentence?"
"Daddy would bail me out anyway." Princess murmurs, noisily unwrapping a stick of gum.
"Order please, miss Morbucks!" The agitated judge bellows. "At least pretend to grasp the severity of this hearing."
"My daddy has a coat closet worth more than you make in five years."
"Miss Morbucks!"
The dog starts to whimper until with a little petting and light singing in its ear courtesy of the bailiff, it calms itself.
...
A by all accounts old-fashioned looking gent; with salt and pepper hair, wearing a dapper vest and monocle, stands before the jury.
"Okay, who's that guy and what's he doing here?" Princess asks her Pocket Goldstein with scourn.
"That's Senior Federal Attorney Jefferson Beagle. He's basically here to make our lives miserable."
A federal attorney? Princess sighs. She was used to her father having these affairs sorted out within an hour, but if the government was out for blood it would certainly take more than him throwing around a few spare bills to make the charges slide.
"Just see what you can do. You're the best Jew my daddy's money could buy, so I'm counting on you to keep me out of the slammer, okay?"
"I'm trying, I'm trying."
She knew it was a tall order. Money laundering was what the government wanted to stick her with so that they could get her on bigger offences down the line, and this Beagle guy was using all the right buzzwords to make sure it stuck. Cleverly and subtlely molding the jury's perceptions of her, as if their minds were made of silly putty.
"He's really got it out for you." Goldstein whispers to her.
He sure did, with a fervor uncommonly seen in somebody working on a government paycheck.
With lines like 'she's just a spoiled brat', 'she's a menace to society', 'she endorses gang activity' it was clear that he was out to hurt her reputation, but whereas something like that could easily be repaired with a few well placed phillantrophic gestures, twenty years wasted in the slammer could not be.
Princess Morbucks leans back in her chair and, from her bag, removes a foot tall bottle of cognac and a pint sized tasting glass.
"Might as well get comfortable." She says as she fills up her first glass.
...
"Miss Morbucks. Miss Morbucks!"
She stirs awake, the now half-empty bottle of cognac in her hand and drool pouring out the side of her mouth.
"What is it now?"
"The jury is about to deliver their verdict."
She hid her face behind the prada bag as a portly man with an untrimmed mustache makes the first announcement today that will change the course of the richest woman in all of Townsville's life forever.
Guilty, on all counts of money laundering. It would seem her dealings with the local night clubs, strip clubs, gay clubs, lesbian clubs had finally come back to bite her on the perfectly tanned butt.
But rather than sending her straight to Townsville Jail, while delivering his sentencing the judge puts forward a unique proposition.
This was to be the second announcement made today that will change Princess's life forever.
"It occurs to me that, considering the vastness of the Morbucks fortune, the defendant might better serve the community by using her wealth and her family connections to assist in a certain problematic element that has plagued our fair city for decades."
Princess is too drunk to feel Goldstein nudge her side - no doubt seeking some recognition for his handiwork - but she hangs on each word that escapes the wheezing, slightly overweight judge's mouth.
"I am of course referring to the pink demi-animal with sofar incurable anger issues, that occasionally ventures into the city to cause thousands of dollars in property damage only to then return to his little shack in the woods. He is untouchable by the long hand of the law due to his classification as a rare species, and unreachable by even the best shrinks and psyciatric counsellors because of his frankly inferior mental faculties."
"Mister judge, you can't mean..." Princess debates under her breath, and hiccups. But her fate was pretty much limited to two different routes: jail or rehabilitating Townsville's very own fuzzy menace, and only one option could even be considered.
...
Fuzzy Lumpkins is sitting in his rickety ole rocking chair out on the front porch of his 'little shack in the woods' when he hears a sound that was quite out of the norm 'round them parts.
"Who the hell's on ma property?" He bellows, propping his funnel nosed shotgun up on his shoulder.
He travels the perimeter of the house in a hurry - through the garden comprised mostly of tomato, potato and corn crops, getting splashed by mud as he passes the pig pens and the chicken coop, cursing when he nearly trips on the gnarled root of a redwood - and sees a cloud of dust along the narrow dirt road that passes below the cliff behind his house.
Just when he is about to forget the reason for his little excursion in the first place he sees a slight, human figure emerge, and that is enough to get his blood boiling again.
"I already told 'ya, I don't have no minute to spare for your dang lawd-"
He stops as the unsuspecting intruder comes into view, his finger still tickling the trigger.
"Dayum."
...is all he can say as his eyes soaked up four foot something ginger haired dame in a fancy coat and sunglasses standing there, vainly laboring to brush the copper red dirt off her cashmere pants.