Johnny Wraith Stories

“Mr. Wraith, are you telling me your client, Rodney Allen James, is failing to appear for a third week in a row?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“I’m issuing a warrant for his arrest.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

“That will be all,” said Judge Diane Anderson. She popped the gavel. Everyone in the rows behind us rose. Me and my buddy Bob – he was the prosecutor on the case – kept standing and smiling. The Judge gathered her files, slid back her chair, and exited the courtroom.

The place cleared out. Bob and I stayed behind. I joined him at his table.

“Your client is fucked,” said Bob.

“He wasn’t drunk, you know.”

“Oh, Johnny, that’s bullshit. He ran a school bus full of kids off the road and crashed into a tree.”

“I think he had a seizure.”

Bob laughed out loud. “How do you explain the 37 empty beer cans in his car?”

“He was taking them to be recycled.”

“His Blood Alcohol Content was three times the legal limit!”

“It was a set up. His ex wife works at the crime lab.”

“She does?”

“Not sure, just a hunch.”

“Jesus Christ! I’ve heard it all now.”

“Just wait until I finish looking into the evidence.”

“Johnny, I wouldn’t be surprised. How the hell you got this guy out on $10,000 bail is beyond me.”

“None of the kids were hurt too badly.”

“Well, your guy James is fucked now. He’s going back to jail as soon as the cops find him. He’s on the run. Probably in Mexico already. Isn’t he?”

“How many years are you going to offer?” I asked.

“10.”

“Man, that’s rough.”

“Johnny, this will be his 5th drunk driving conviction. And this time there were kids involved. You don’t have a case.”

“It doesn’t look good. How many years you think James will get if he goes to trial and is found guilty on all counts?”

“30.”

“That’s what I came up with too.”

“Let’s get out of here and have a few pitchers down at Mulligans – my turn to buy,” said Bob.

“Alright, see you there.”

Bob and I met in the parking lot. The pitchers of Milwaukee’s Best were cheap because it was happy hour. $3.00 a pitcher. We sat in a booth where we could watch all the girls come in. We talked about cases until finishing the third pitcher.

“Look at that hot blonde over there,” said Bob. He’d finally changed the subject from how many guys he planned to execute that year, to girls.

“Yeah, not bad.”

“I’d love to eat her ass,” said Bob.

“You mean figuratively or literally?” I asked.

“I mean actually. I’d tongue her brown eye all night!” Bob flicked his tongue at me before tilting his glass to his mouth.

“What would your wife think of you staying out all night, coming home in the morning with a strange woman’s ass on your breath?”

Bob shrugged and threw up his hands. “Jesus Johnny. Don’t ruin the fun!” He motioned to the waitress for another pitcher.

The waitress came over. She was about 22. She leaned over the table to make a good show of cleavage. I saw some pink aureole. As he emptied his glass, Bob stared straight into her loose blouse with big eyes. Her curly red hair dropped over her face. Her fingernails and toenails were painted silver.

“Another pitcher for you boys?” she asked, chomping her gum.

“Yep.”

“So why the suits and ties?”

Bob sat up straight and proud. “We’re lawyers.”

“Oh yeah? What kind?”

“Bob here executes people. I fight to save them,” I answered.

They both stared at me. It was a strange silence.

“One more pitcher coming up!” said the waitress. She turned and hurried to her next table.

“What the hell did you say that for?”

“I just told the truth.”

“Aw, fuck Johnny. Didn’t you see her tits?”

“Yep.”

“She had a tongue ring!”

“Alright, alright. I’ll only say stupid shit to ugly girls from now on.”

“Thanks.”

So, we kept talking the usual talk and drinking beer until it was real dark outside.

Bob got up to take a leak and staggered towards the bathroom. He came back. “I paid the bill. I better get home.”

“You had about 5 pitchers. Want me to drive you home?”

“Screw that. I drive better drunk than you do.”

“Later.”

“Later.”

I stayed, emptied the last pitcher, finished the half glass Bob abandoned.

The waitress stopped by with an empty tray balanced on her hand. Now she was wearing a thick sweater over her blouse. “Anything else?”

“No, thanks. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you have a tongue ring?”

She stuck her studded tongue out and wiggled it. “My boyfriend likes it.”

“I bet.”

“Thanks for coming!” she said, then strutted away.

I stood and almost fell over. My balance was bad. I took a few deep breaths and zigzagged for the front door. I got in my car and started it up, backed out, and slowly crawled out of the lot. “If I can only make it to the highway, it will be a straight shot home,” I thought.

I made it to the highway, and wasn’t doing too bad. The car wasn’t weaving more than halfway across the yellow lines. Driving with one eye shut was helpful.

“OH FUCK!” I yelled out as I came around a bend. Up ahead, about ¼ mile, police cars were everywhere, flashing lights. A long line of cars was stopped and idling ahead. It was a sobriety checkpoint, and I had to go through it. If I turned around, I’d be spotted. A patrol car would be on my ass in less than a minute.

I pulled over onto the median, left the car running, the lights on. I opened the driver’s door slightly and the car beeped. I slid over into the passenger seat and waited. The car kept beeping and the interior light was on.

Patrol cars came charging in, lights flashing, sirens blaring. Bright flashlights were shoved in my face.

“Get out of the car!” yelled an officer. “Show your hands!”

I stumbled out the passenger door.

“Do you own this vehicle?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Drivers license?”

I clumsily yanked my wallet, pulled my license, handed it over. It changed hands amongst policeman, until one took it and vanished.

“Were you driving this vehicle?”

“No.”

“Do you expect us to believe you?”

“No.”

“But you say you weren’t driving?”

“Yes.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Very. But I wasn’t driving.”

“Alright then, mind telling us who this imaginary friend of yours is?”

“Rodney Allen James. I’m his lawyer.”

Bob’s wife came and picked me up about 20 minutes later. By then the police were on a manhunt. Helicopters were buzzing overhead.