Defendant

Enjoy this short story by Hellen Heels.

"My accounts were frozen, officer."

"Yeah, yeah. And I catch dead fish for a living. Maybe you would think of something to do after cooling your heels here in this cell."

"Officer, please let us talk."

The cop shook his head and locked the door. "I don't have anything to talk to you about. When you are ready you can speak to your attorney."

He cursed and began to pace around the large cell. There was no other person in there except him. The floor inside there was dirty, but not as dirty as the one he could see through the thick, round metal bars that made up the door and demarcated the cell from the main station.

He ran his fingers through his hair as he thought of what he could do. An idea occurred to him and he raced to the bars.

"Hello? Hello, officers. Can you hear me?"

"What is it, Mr. Man?" one of the cops asked.

"I need a lawyer."

The cop laughed. "You mean you want to call your lawyer?"

He sighed. "I didn’t say that I had a lawyer. I just want to speak with one."

"Okay. Go ahead and call one then."

He sighed. "You know I cannot do that from here."

"So, what do you want us to do?"

"Please help me get a lawyer."

The cop grunted. "When we asked you to talk to us, you refused. Now you want to talk to a lawyer?"

"What the hell is this? I have my rights. I want a lawyer and I want him right now."

"Okay, okay, okay, Mr. Man. You would get to talk to her soon enough."

He frowned. "Her?"

"Didn’t you just request for a lawyer?"

"I did."

"Well, she will soon be in the station, Mr. Man. Just relax."

He thought about this. "Is she good?"

© 2022 Hellen Heels (Hljóðbók): 9781667050614

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Hljóðbók: 11 juni 2022