It Is Your Honor

Enjoy this short story by Hellen Heels.

With her head still lowered she looked up furtively, trying to catch his gaze. And that was when she caught sight of his shoes which were peeping out from underneath the robe he had on.

She had to blink several times to be sure of what she was seeing. Were those not black high heels, she mused.

St. Vincent's black high heels to be precise.

Angie could tell they were, from the shiny gold buckles and the inscription 'SV' that was clear and visible even from that distance.

"I said, what do you think I am supposed to do to you, young lady?" Judge Maxwell demanded.

Angie looked up at him with a smile. "You have to pardon me, your honor."

"How can I do that when the evidence is overwhelmingly against you? You have destroyed public property, almost killed an officer of the law, endangered other motorists on a major road, and also shown a lack of remorse and bad attitude while in court."

"Well, I think you should pardon me because my taste in St. Vincent’s is also quite remarkable," she said with a smirk.

The Judge sat up. "What?"

"I have a remarkable taste too, for St. Vincent's attires and designs, your honor," Angie said.

The police man stepped forward with a frown. "Objection, my Lord."

"Overruled," Judge Maxwell said.

The police man gaped at the Judge. "But she is just blabbing and calling names of saints, your honor."

Judge Maxwell glared at the police man. "And I still over -rule your objection, officer. St. Vincent’s is not just any name. Do you understand?"

The officer ran his fingers through his hair, confused. "I don't understand. But she is guilty, your honor."

© 2022 Hellen Heels (Hljóðbók): 9781667080598

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Hljóðbók: 11 juni 2022