sat up, he realized the headache had hit full force. The pain in his temples throbbed along with his pulse. “Yes, I’m awake.”
“I’ve brought you some aspirin,” the sheriff said. “And a phone.”
“It’s about time,” Conner said. The sheriff opened the door, and Conner got up. “What’s your name?”
“Tracy,” he said, handing Conner two pills and a glass of water.
Conner looked at the man as he swallowed. He’d taken off his cap, revealing an almost totally bald head. What hairs remained were mostly gray. He was a big man, with a big belly and broad flat hands. But for some reason, he wouldn’t look Conner in the eye. Guilt, probably. He knew this whole thing was a travesty.
“You wanna make that phone call now?”
Conner nodded. “Oh, yeah.”
“Follow me.”
Tracy led him out of the small back room to the front of the sheriff’s office. Two desks took up most of the space, with a wide counter separating the officers from the public. A fan whirred from the corner, and Wanted posters lined the far wall. On the right were file cabinets. Three of them. They each had one drawer open, and Conner could see they were stuffed to the gills. This scam of theirs must pay off nicely for them to have so many cases.
The sheriff nodded at one of the desks, and Conner sat down. He had to call Information to get Dan’s phone number. Luck was with him, though. Dan’s phone only rang twice before he picked up.
“Leoni.”
“Dan. It’s Conner.”
“Hey, how you doin’, buddy? Long time no see.”
“This isn’t a social call. I need your help.”
“Okay, shoot,” Dan said, his voice immediately calm and businesslike.
Conner explained the situation. He left out nothing, including the bulging file cabinets. “It’s got to be a fraud,” he said softly so the sheriff couldn’t hear. “No one can go to jail for saying damn.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Dan said.
“Are you kidding me?”
“Calm down. I don’t know. Some of our little towns have some peculiar laws still on the books. I’ll have to do some research. And I won’t be able to do much of that until morning.”
“Can they keep me here? Overnight, I mean?”
“Yeah, they can. But I’ll make sure you’re out of there first thing tomorrow.”
He’d hoped for better news. Much better news. “I don’t like this, Dan.”
“I don’t, either. Just hang tough. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
Conner hung up the phone, and as he stood to go back to his cell, he looked out the front window. They were lined up. Everyone. The woman in denim, the one from the bakery, the kid who’d bumped his chair at the diner. They all had their noses pressed up against the glass, staring at him as if he were a prize exhibit at the zoo. “Don’t you people get cable?” he asked.
“Come on along,” Tracy said.
As Conner turned to go back to his cell, he saw a nameplate on the sheriff’s desk. His first name was Richard. How about that? Conner had been arrested by Dick Tracy.
HE WOKE UP AT THE SOUND of jingling keys. It was almost 8:00 a.m., and he was going to have his day in court at nine. He still hadn’t heard from Dan, so Conner figured he’d ask for bail, then tell Dan to sic ’em.
“Morning, son,” Dick Tracy said as he slipped the key into his cell-door lock.
“Yeah,” Conner replied. He felt remarkably good, considering. The mattress had helped, and so had the aspirin. He’d ended up reading the Stephen King and it had kept him entertained. The biggest surprise had been the snack at ten last night. Homemade chocolate cake and ice-cold milk. It was kinda hard to stay mad at a sheriff who brought cake, but Conner had managed. No matter how nice, it was still jail.
“I went to the motel,” Tracy said. “Got some of your things. They’re in the bathroom.” He pointed down the hall. “Hurry, though. Breakfast will be here in about fifteen minutes.”
Conner didn’t thank him. He just stood up straighter as he walked down the hall. That would show him who’s who. He slammed the door shut, and it occurred to him that he was being a dope. Tracy wasn’t about to let him go because he’d refused to say thank-you. Or because he’d shut the door forcefully.
The next hour went by quickly. After he was dressed, he went back to his cell. Breakfast consisted of Belgian waffles, fresh strawberries, orange juice and excellent coffee.
Then, just five minutes before they had to leave, Dan called. Tracy took him to the phone up front.
“What did you find out?” he asked.
Dan cleared his throat. Not a good sign. “The law is real,” he said. “It’s over 125 years old, but it’s on the books. But that’s not the worst of it.”
Conner closed his eyes. “What?”
“They can give you jail time for this.”
“What?”
“Hold on. They can give you jail time, but they don’t have to. I can’t believe they will. I’m sure all you’ll get is a slap on the wrist and a hefty fine.”
“You’re joking, right? They can’t really do this. Not for saying dammit to hell. I hear that on television all the time. It doesn’t make sense.”
“That’s true. But it doesn’t have to make sense. It’s their town, and their laws.”
“Can’t we fight it?”
“Yes. We sure can. And we will. But for today, just be polite, act contrite, plead guilty and pay the fine. We’ll deal with the rest when you get home.”
Conner wanted to argue further, but what was the point? They had him, and there was nothing he could do about it. “Thanks, Dan.”
“Call me when you get home.”
Conner hung up, and Tracy walked him to the courthouse, which happened to be upstairs.
It didn’t surprise him to find every seat filled in the large room. Some folks even stood in the back. This was the weirdest place he’d ever been. The woman behind the bench didn’t give him anything. Not a smile, not a scowl. She was older although he couldn’t even guess her age. Reddish-blond hair, cut pretty short. A black judge’s robe.
He looked around as he was led to the front of the room. The crowd acted as if they’d never seen anyone like him before. As if he’d come from another planet. Or maybe they were so fascinated because they knew what was coming. He thought about the story, “The Lottery,” and he had a sudden image of himself being stoned to death. Nah, they wouldn’t. Would they?
He sat down, and the judge banged her gavel. The room grew instantly still.
“Conner Malloy, would you please approach the bench?” she said. No preamble at all.
He stood up again, and Tracy led him to his place in front of the judge. Her name was Elizabeth Larson. Up close, she looked pretty tough.
“Dr. Malloy, you’ve been charged with using foul language in front of women and children. How do you plead?”
“Guilty, Your Honor.”
“I see,” she said. “Cursing is an offense we take seriously here, make no mistake about that, especially when there are children involved.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” he said, trying to keep cool. Trying to remember that Dan would fix this soon enough.
“So seriously,