Wife-In-Law by Haywood Smith Page A

mind.
    He peered over his readers at Kat. “Have I got that right so far?”
    After a brief, murmured conference across the aisle, Kat rose. “That is correct, Your Honor.”
    The judge nodded. “Then, after repeated clarifications of the terms, Mrs. Callison chose a makeover winner among the protesters and, using electric clippers, not scissors,” he emphasized, “proceeded to begin shaving”—he looked back to his notes—“one Julius Rabinowitz”—more chuckles—“who then got up and threatened Mrs. Callison with violence, only to be stopped by one Kat Rutledge, who lives across the street from Mrs. Callison, and is her best friend.”
    Julius shot to his feet. “She cut my beard! That’s a felony!”
    The judge practically crawled over his desk. “Do not dare to lecture this court on the law, sir! I, and I alone, will decide if a crime has been committed here! Now sit down and shut up, unless you want to join your loudmouth friend!”
    Wisely, Julius sat down.
    The judge pointed to the guy I’d skunked. “You, sir, with the blessed beginnings of a crew cut. Please stand.”
    His hand protectively over his bald patch, the guy stood.
    “State your name for the court.”
    The guy looked down, barely managing a thready, “Ken Stilson.”
    “Do you still wish to prefer charges against Mrs. Callison?” Judge Blount asked in a warning tone.
    The guy glanced from me to the judge, and back again, then bent his head and mumbled something that prompted a hissed reaction among the ranks.
    “Speak up, young man,” the judge ordered. “I’m not a psychic.”
    “No, sir,” the guy repeated loudly. “I do not.”
    “You do not what ?” the judge demanded.
    “I do not wish to prefer charges.” The guy sat abruptly and slunk down.
    Judge Blount smiled. “Be it so noted, that Ken Stilson has dropped the charges against Mrs. Callison.” He aimed his gavel at Julius. “And you, sir. Stand up.” Julius slowly rose. “After further consideration,” the judge said, “do you still wish to prefer charges against Mrs. Callison?”
    Julius shot a pained glance to Kat, but remained mute.
    “Speak up, sir,” the judge insisted. “Have you reconsidered bringing charges against the law-abiding citizen on whose property you were criminally trespassing?”
    So much for a fair trial.
    Julius bent to whisper in Kat’s ear. Kat nodded, then rose to address the court. “Yer Honor, you told Mr. Rabinowitz to remain silent on threat of contempt.”
    “Smart-ass hippies,” the judge muttered, then said, “He has the court’s permission to speak when directly addressed by the bench.”
    “I am still preferring charges against Mrs. Callison,” Julius said, defiant.
    Kat briefly closed her eyes in dread.
    The judge turned to me. “And you, Mrs, Callison,” he said kindly, “do you wish to prefer charges against these … hippie trespassers?”
    Forrest put a staying hand on my forearm as he rose. But his “Yes, Your Honor” was drowned out by my firm “No, Your Honor,” as I stood beside him.
    “Counsel,” the judge warned Forrest. “Consult with your client.” He looked behind me. “I see a Mrs. Louise Taylor, one of Mrs. Callison’s guests, listed as bringing charges for assault. Mrs. Taylor, you wish to prefer charges.” It was a statement, not a question.
    Cindy’s friend started to rise behind me, but I turned and shook my head no. She looked from the judge to me in confusion.
    “No,” I said in a desperate whisper. “Please don’t.”
    She shrugged, then did as I asked. “No, Your Honor. On further consideration, I have decided to drop the charges.”
    The judge was not amused. “Very well. Be it so noted.” He frowned down at me. “You are certain, Mrs. Callison, that you do not wish to press charges?”
    “No charges, Your Honor. Kat’s my best friend,” I explained. “No matter what she did, I can’t have her put in jail.”
    Pencils scribbled harder as a buzz of sympathy passed