“Kyle Farnbarndner.”
The judge’s voice boomed across the courtroom. Kyle swallowed and straightened his tie.
“Present,” said Kyle.
The Judge peered over his spectacles at him.
“You don’t have to say that,” he said. Kyle nodded. The judge turned the page in the docket.
“Kyle Farnbarndner, you stand accused of…” he raised his eyebrows as he scanned the paper. “Disorderly conduct… disorderly conduct in a place of business, statute three… and failure to conduct oneself in an orderly manner.”
Kyle straightened his tie. The judge settled back on his throne.
“Yes, well,” grumbled the Judge. “Let’s get on with it.”
The prosecutor rose to his feet. “Thank you, your honor,” he said. He moved across the room, hands clasped behind his back, his stiff blue suit rustling. He had thick curly blonde hair, ringing a plump pink face. His voice, a slightly garbled tenor, sounded a bit like Kermit the Frog.
“Today,” he began, “we will proceed through what would typically be a routine hearing, with regard to rather mundane offenses, as such covered under statute three.”
He shot a glance at Kyle.
“However, this defendant,” he pointed to Kyle. “is an extraordinary case.”
“Get to the point, counselor,” grumbled the Judge.
“Of course, your honor.”
The prosecutor strode across the room to his desk, and picked up a remote.
“Fortunately, we have video evidence to assert that this man” — he jabbed a finger at Kyle — “is not only a menace to society, but represents a significant departure from the normal function of the human mind. Frankly,” he said, catching his breath, “he must be destroyed.”
The judge scoffed. “Counselor, the, uh, death penalty is not a recommended sentencing option for disorderly conduct, or any of these other charges.”
“Yes, well,” said the prosecutor. “The prosecution recommends the maximum sentence.”
“Yes, of course,” said the Judge. “Please proceed.”
The prosecutor pressed the button on the remote. At the side of the courtroom, a large TV came on.
“If it please the court,” said the prosecutor. He played the video.
A grainy Kyle stood in a department store, in what appeared to be the homewares aisle. Other patrons milled about the store, shopping. Kyle looked this way, then that. Suddenly, he sprang into action. Grabbing a cup from the shelf, he raised it over his head.
“Mug Fight!” he shouted. He whipped the mug at a nearby shopper. The man cowered as the cup shattered on the floor, sending shards of ceramic everywhere. Kyle grabbed another mug, then another, throwing them at the other shoppers. The video cut abruptly when Kyle noticed the camera, hefted another mug — this one in the shape of a fat old man — and heaved it at the camera. The rotund mug grew larger and larger in the frame for the split second before the feed cut to static.
The judge raised his eyebrows. The prosecutor took up a sheet of paper and began reading from it.
“Property damage to Homesense Inc., totaling twenty-seven dollars,” he read. “No injuries, but mild psychological distress caused to one Edith Beakins, age ninety-six. Not to mention the mess.”
Kyle rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat.
“Given the video evidence,” said the prosecutor, “and the clear record of all damages, the people rest our case.”
The judge cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said. He peered over his glasses at the prosecutor, then at Kyle.
“Mr. Farnbarndener, you have entered a plea of innocent,” he droned.
Kyle looked around. The judge and prosecutor looked at him.
“Me?” he asked. “Oh, yeah. Innocent.”
“Yes, well,” muttered the judge. “I will advise you that for future reference, in the presence of such definitive video evidence, a guilty plea may be a better choice. Based on your innocent plea, in the state of Illinois, I have no choice but to find you guilty or innocent of the charges. Whereas, following a guilty plea, I may choose to lower or reduce the charges. Do you understand?”
“Well, I’m innocent!” said Kyle. He folded his arms over his chest.
“Mr. Farnbardner,” said the Judge. “Is that not you in the video, throwing mugs at the other customers of the Homesense in Woodbridge, Illinois?”
“There is no proof that it’s me,” protested Kyle. “It’s bad quality video.”
“Counselor Johnson,” said the Judge, addressing the prosecutor. “Can you provide other evidence to further your claim that the perpetrator in the video is in fact Mr. Farn — Mr. Farnbardbdner?”
“Yes,” said the prosecutor. He shuffled his papers. “I have here a receipt filed by the Homesense store on the day of the attack. An Arizona Iced Tea Drink and a package of pencils was purchased, using a credit card with the number ending in 7329. By subpoena, we obtained a copy of Mr. Farnsbarnenner’s credit card statement for the same month, which includes a charge for the same purchase, on the same card ending in 7329, showing that Mr. Farnbarnnens was at the store at the time of the attack.”
He shuffled his papers, drawing out another item.
“I have here a drawing, obtained by a legal search of Mr Farnnsnebares apartment, depicting himself throwing what appear to be coffee mugs, with the words ‘I WANT TO HAVE A MUG FIGHT’ printed clearly across the top. It’s a rudimentary drawing, but the connection is clear. I have here the receipt, the bank statement, the drawing, and the warrant for the search, to be entered into evidence.”
The bailiff approached the prosecutor, and took the folder, and brought it to the judge.
“Yes,” said the judge, looking over the items. He gave Kyle an appraising look.
“Well, Mr. Farnbarrne?” he asked. “What say you?”
“Yes, I was at the store,” said Kyle. “And I drew the picture. But that doesn’t prove that it was me in the video beyond a reasonable doubt.”
“Your honor, I’d like to enter one further piece of evidence,” said the prosecutor. He turned on the TV again.
“The Homesense in question did have one other camera angle,” he said. “While the defendant does not appear in the video, the microphone did pick up some of the audio. Let’s listen.”
He pressed play on the remote. The video feed showed an empty aisle. Faintly, a cry of “mug fight!” could be heard, followed by the smashing sounds of ceramic mugs hitting the floor, and the screams of the other patrons. “Dude, what the fuck?” said one voice, faintly. The prosecutor tapped the volume key. After a few seconds, a voice yelled, “My name is Kyle Farnbardner, and I love smashing mugs!”
The video cut.
The judge raised his eyebrows even higher. His eyes bulged.
“Pretty compelling,” he said. “Mr Farnbarndner, unless you can reasonably refute any of the strong evidence that it was indeed you who committed this senseless act of destruction, I have no choice but to hand down my judgement on this case.”
Kyle stammered. “Uh,” he said. “Well… It could have been anyone who said that. And someone could have stolen my credit card.”
The judge sighed. “I find the defendant guilty of all charges.” he banged the gavel. Kyle flinched. The prosecutor looked pleased.
“Kyle Farnbardner, you will complete six hours of community service, to be served before June 30, 1992. You will file your community service form with the clerk on or before that date, or you will be placed on parole. Do you understand?”
Kyle nodded.
“Wait, just a second!” spluttered the prosecutor. His eyes bulged. “Six hours!? Only six hours? This is preposterous!”
The judge glared at him. “Order!” he said, banging the gavel. Bang! Bang! Went the gavel. Bang! Went the gavel again. Bang! Bang! Bang! The sound of the gavel rang out.
“Counselor, you will restrain your outbursts in my courtroom!” thundered the judge. He banged the gavel again, imagining the prosecutor’s swollen pink face under it. Bang! Bang! He banged it.
Bang!
“But, but..” spluttered the prosecutor again. “This boy is a menace!”
“That’s it!” snapped the Judge. “Counselor, I find you in contempt of this court! Bailiff, if you please!”
The bailiff nodded. He stepped forward, drew a small bat from his belt, and struck the prosecutor in the head, killing him instantly.
The End
