Jury Snippets

by Hap

Rating: everyone
Tags: Random
Length: 4099

A story that can't be published, because it's too meta.

Noble Jurists, and things they do.

A story that can't be published, because it's too meta.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-07-04 17:19:26 UTC

Floydien's Pancakes

Floydien looked down at the battered stove and narrowed his eyes. He relaxed his grip on the plate, letting the brick-like pancake slide to the floor. The sound it made was entirely too heavy for breakfast.

He lifted the pan and hefted it. Solid cast iron. Perfectly seasoned.

He glanced down at the bowl of batter. A few more bubbles had formed on top of the thick, malty mixture. Years of breakfast-for-dinner had let him refine the mixture to perfection.

This stove. Floydien took a deep breath. This stove had ruined too many meals. In fact – he turned his head slowly, taking in the cluttered counters and grungy faux-linoleum floors – this kitchen had been fighting his every gourmet effort for years.

No more.

Floydien reached out his arm and slowly, gently, placed his finger against the side of an open bottle of vegetable oil. The same oil that, moments ago, he had used to fry the hash browns. Or, rather, the hash grays. Nothing but soggy, greasy mush.

He pressed harder, and watched the bottle begin to tip. The golden liquid leaned farther toward the shoulder, until the whole thing fell over onto the stove. The little glug-glug noise it made caused a tiny smile to crack across his face.

The smile grew until it covered his whole face. Floydien jumped forward, frantically pulling everything out of the cabinets until he found what he was looking for. A jar of coconut oil. Vanilla extract. An old container of bacon grease.

He was breathing heavily now, ripe with anticipation. The stove. This motherfucking stove. Yes. Yes. Yes.

One more bottle of oil remained. A glass bottle, tall and slender, with a decorative cluster of pewter grape vines on one side. He selected a tea towel, delicate and nearly transparent, and twisted it into a hefty rope and bit it between his teeth. The rubber stopper popped out with a cute "poink" sound before he stuffed the tea towel into the neck.

Floydien held the bottle upside down with one hand while he reached forward and clicked the burner to maximum with his other hand. He then repeatedly slapped the knob until the piezoelectric igniter had turned the gaseous hiss into a whoosh of flame.

He kept his eyes on the tea towel as the green, fruity-scented oil creeped toward the pointy tip of the gossamer cloth. When it had been soaked up to the tip, Floydien righted the bottle and held it over the burner.

The clean, blue flames from the stove seemed so different than the orange, smoky tongue licking its way down toward the mouth of the glass bottle. But fire is fire. Or should be, he thought, as he looked down at the brick-pancake on the floor.

Floydien took a step backward and looked at the oil covering the stove and dripping down to the green-and-orange flooring. This should work.

One more step backward and he was standing in the hallway. Smoke rose in greasy ropes and rolled along the ceiling, staining the white plaster in streaky splotches that looked almost like it had been put there by a paintbrush. An artist, truly.

He tossed the bottle up into the air, and watched it arc nearly to the kitchen’s ceiling before crashing down on the stove. The already-hot oil on the stove caught nearly instantly, and oil from the bottle sprayed across the counter, spreading droplets of liquid fire to the various other flammable liquids he had strewn around.

On his way out the front door, Floydien stopped long enough to pick up a Rainbow Dash plush toy from the couch. He looked back at the roaring inferno that was quickly consuming his kitchen.

“Yeah. That’ll cook a pancake.”

Archer Collins, Competent Driver

Archer Collins looked at his phone. He didn’t recognize the number, but that wasn’t unusual. For a long moment, he let the pale blue light wash over the car’s interior as he debated whether to answer. A horrifyingly simplistic midi of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” almost drowned out the sound of fat raindrops pounding on the car’s roof and windshield.

With a heavy sigh, Archer flipped the phone open and held it up to his ear. “Hello?”

The voice was calm and spoke slowly. “Is this a competent driver?”

“Is this a joke?”

The voice remained emotionless. “This is a job. I need a competent driver. Are you available right now?”

Archer leaned over the dash and looked at the sky. A purely symbolic gesture, as the deluge obscured everything, and the sky was as black as, well, a storm at night. “You need something delivered in this thunderstorm?”

Archer wasn't sure, but he thought there was a hint of a chuckle on the other end. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Alright, then. Where should I be, and when?”

“I’ll text you the address as soon as I hang up. We're already waiting for you. Don’t google it, and don’t use gps to get there. Buy a paper map if you have to.”

Archer held the phone at arms length and looked at it with a raised eyebrow. “Ooooookay.”

“And you’re sure you’re competent?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll discuss payment and details once you get here. Do you have any questions?”

Archer licked his lips. “Yeah. What’s your name?”

The other end was silent for a few seconds. “You can call me Ridayah.”

The line went silent. Archer flipped his phone closed, and waited for it to chime.

Archer pulled up to the address in question. It was an unremarkable apartment complex, especially in the rain. A man in glasses was standing under an awning smoking a cigarette. Even through the rain, Archer could see the smoke curling around the porch light.

As Archer threw the transmission into park, the man turned and went inside. Archer began composing a text, but heard a knock on his window before he could send it. The bespectacled man moved his umbrella to cover the window and door, then motioned for Archer to get out.

Archer opened his door, and the man stood uncomfortably close, keeping the umbrella over the two of them as he spoke. “Let’s go inside and disuss details.”

They half-walked, half-shuffled to the door. The man could easily have been described as barrel-chested, though he didn’t carry any of the weight in his face or arms, making his brown suit hang limply around his wrists.

The door opened as they approached, and the man folded his umbrella and dropped it as they walked through the door. Two other men were standing in the hallway, also wearing what looked like Salvation Army three-dollar suits.

The long-haired man spoke up. “You must be the competent driver.”

Archer nodded. “And you must be Ridayah. I’m Archer.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Archer waited, but nobody moved to go into any of the apartments lining the dim hallway. None of the men’s pants quite matched their jackets. Somewhere, a baby’s crying could be heard over the sound of a television turned up too loud. “Soooo… you need a competent driver?”

One of the men hiked up his pants. “Why was your phone number scrawled on a bathroom stall?”

Archer sighed. “Somewhere between job frustration and a half-joke. I mostly get drunk calls joking about bank robberies.”

Pants man snickered, but glasses rolled his eyes. Ridayah gave a half-smile. “Nothing so dramatic, I promise. We do, however, require a certain degree of discretion in addition to competence.”

Archer shrugged. “Hell, I’ve got nobody to talk to, anyway.”

Ridayah nodded. “Ever driven an Audi A8?”

Archer looked back at the 2001 Toyota he’d driven to the apartment. “Can’t say as I have.”

Ridayah tossed a plastic key to Archer. “Take it around the block a few times. Don’t be afraid to push the limits. We don’t want any surprises. When you’re done, just pull back into the same spot, and we’ll hop in.”

The Audi’s lights blinked through the downpour. It was in the driveway, much closer than the street where he had parked. Archer looked up. “How much does this job pay?”

“Well,” the man in glasses said, “how much do you think it’s worth?”

Archer looked from one of the men to another. None of them thought that glasses’ question was odd. Archer looked down at the Audi key, then back up. “I still don’t know what the job is.”

Glasses man idly ran his fingers across the hem of his jacket where his arm hung by his side. “After the job, you can tell us what you think is fair.” He fished inside his jacket and pulled out a fold of bills with a hair band around it. “Here’s a thousand in advance.”

Archer didn’t bother to count the thick stack of twenties. “You’re giving me the key to a new car, and a thousand dollars. You’re not worried that I’ll just… not come back?”

The three men looked at each other then back at Archer. Glasses man blinked. Archer licked his lips. “Oh.” He hit the unlock button on the key.

Archer didn’t recognize the part of town he was in, but it was nice. A gated community, the kind of neighborhood where state-level legislators and local television personalities lived. The kind of community where it must be difficult to get a keycode for the gate.

Two of the men, Ridayah and hitching-his-pants man, had left the car carrying heavy duffel bags. They didn’t have umbrellas, and didn’t seem to worry about the torrential downpour as they ducked under some towering and sprawling lilac bushes. It’s a shame they were out of bloom. Archer loved the smell of lilac.

Glasses sat in the front seat while Archer squinted at the map he’d laid out on the steering wheel. He tried not to notice that when glasses was sitting down, something popped up on both his shoulders, pushing the suit nearly up to his ears. He also tried not to imagine what was in the tennis racquet case by the other man’s knees.

Archer knew most of the streets on the map, but he concentrated on memorizing the different routes that glasses had highlighted on the paper. He visualized the streets, the landmarks, and each of the stoplights, trying to imagine what they would look like in a pitch-black downpour.

Glasses was getting antsy, if the whole car shaking from the way he bounced his leg was any indication. It was too wet to smoke outside, and he apparently didn’t want to light up in the car. Arch was glad that he didn't have to ask the guy not to smoke.

“So,” glasses said, checking his cheap flip phone for the hundredth time, “you drive a lot?”

Archer kept his eyes glued on the map. “Uh huh.”

“You seem kinda nervous.”

Archer looked up. He pinched his eyebrows together, but didn’t say a word. Rain fell in sheets as gust after gust rocked the car. Glasses checked his phone again. Archer cleared his throat. “So, you guys are on some sort of secret mission or whatever. None of my business. But I’d think you’d have your own driver. Did something happen to him?”

“Nah,” glasses said, rolling the phone in his hand as he draped his wrist over the back seat. “We needed someone familiar with the area, and a pizza delivery driver seemed like a good bet.”

“Wait,” Arch said. “I never told you that.”

Glasses man didn’t blink. “You came recommended.”

“By whom?” Archer couldn’t believe that anyone he knew would be connected with… whatever it was these guys did. Or think that he would be good for a getaway driver.

He didn’t respond. He was watching his phone even more intently than before. The slapping noise of fat raindrops faded into a background roar as Archer stared along with glasses. When it buzzed, Archer nearly jumped out of the seat, but glasses didn’t blink. He just stuffed the phone into his pocket, opening the door and grabbing his tennis racquet in one smooth motion.

Arch watched him disappear into the rain, then leaned over and closed the door, as quietly as he could.

The next few minutes passed slowly. It couldn’t have been more than three minutes, but the start of hail didn’t help Archer’s nerves. He kept his eyes peeled for his passengers, but he jumped when the rear door jerked open, and again when the passenger door jerked open.

Ridayah slid into the front seat, completely soaked and breathless. He dropped a small, heavy bag on the floor as glasses was half-tossed, half-helped into the back seat. He alternated between coughing and gulping air like a fish.

Archer twisted around and asked, “Is he going to be alright?”

Pants man slicked the sopping wet hair out of his eyes and nearly shouted, “Eyes front!”

Archer sat straight up, keeping his eyes glued to the hood of the car while a couple of heavy objects were dropped into the rear floorboard. Pants man slid into the seat and closed the door. He smelled vaguely familiar, like some kind of oil, mixed with smoke. Sort of like the time Arch had spilled some oil on the exhaust manifold while adding a quart at a gas station.

Pants slapped Arch on the shoulder and said, “Let’s go.”

Ridayah added, “Nice and slow. Same way we came in. Same as before, turn on the vent and get the windows fogged up before we get to the gate.”

Glasses continued to gasp and sputter in the back seat. Nobody seemed concerned about him.

Once they reached the subdivision’s gates, Archer chose a nice, slow side street from the list of routes. No stoplights, just a few stop signs that nobody would notice if he rolled through in the deserted dark. As he pulled onto the street, he wasn’t sure, but he thought he could see an orange glow through the rain in his rear view mirror.

Archer heard another generic ringtone, and saw Ridayah pull a phone out of his jacket and flip it open. After a moment of listening, he said, “Affirmative.” Another moment, and Archer felt Ridayah glance his way. “He does now.”

As slow as he was driving, Archer’s heart was racing. Whoever was on the phone was talking about him. Ridayah held the phone in the center of the cabin, water strill dripping from the cuffs of his suit. “You're on speaker now, Tee.”

The voice crackled through the phone’s cheap speakers, nearly drowned out by the echo of hailstones bouncing off the car’s roof. “Mister Collins, … enjoy working with colleagues …ciate your competence?”

Archer rolled up to a stop sign and looked both ways carefully. A large tree branch had fallen onto the sidewalk, and the branches still on the trees were whipping wildly around in the rapidly-changing wind. “Uh, it was certainly a new experience.”

Tee chuckled, a vaguely disturbing noise when combined with the crappy speakers and the storm’s howling. “Well, I ho… you’ve enjoyed.”

“Why don't we wait till everyone is home safe before we…” Archer trailed off as he let a dumpster run a stop sign in front of him.

“A wise choice. Floyd?”

Pants man spoke up. “Seems like a bad idea to keep that much bacon grease right next to the stove. Should keep them busy for a while.”

“And… about Hat?”

Archer raised an eyebrow as he looked in the rear view mirror. That guy’s name was “Hat?”

Glasses man nodded, still flapping his mouth like a fish. Floyd said, “He’s fine,” and thumped him on the chest with a soft metallic thunk. Hat slapped at Floyd’s arms and face with his left hand.

Tee crackled through the speakers again. “I’m sorry to hear there was trouble.”

Hat spoke in between shallow breaths. “Armed bodyguard… for a felon… a crime… knew what he was… getting in to.”

Ridayah spoke up. “We should have known about the bodyguard. Nick planted a bug in that whatsit he pulled off the brown truck.”

Archer saw Floyd nodding in the rear view mirror as a minivan pulled up behind them. Archer put on his left turn signal and inched through the intersection, splashing through a miniature river. The minivan followed.

As soon as Archer had straightened the Audi into his lane and reached a steady speed appropriate for the driving conditions, the minivan began flashing its brights.

“Fuck.”

Ridayah pulled the phone back up to his ear and said, “We’ve got company. Yeah. I’ll get back to you.” He flipped the phone closed and said, “What would you do if we were just normal people on our way somewhere normal?”

Archer pulled to the side of the road, but left the car in drive with his foot on the brake. He felt Floyd lean against the back of the seat as he picked up something from the floor. The minivan pulled up next to the Audi and rolled down its passenger window. Arch heard Floyd press something against the inside of his door. Arch rolled down his window a few inches despite the rain splashing its way inside.

“Hey buddy,” a woman in the passenger seat shouted, “your brake lights are out!”

Archer threw the Audi into park and made a show of looking into the rear view mirror as he tapped on the brake pedal. “No way!” he shouted back. “This thing is brand new! I guess I’m taking it to the dealership tomorrow. Thanks!”

The woman smiled and waved as she rolled the window back up. Arch followed suit as the minivan pulled away.

Floyd dropped something onto the floorboards and let out a breath. Ridayah slapped Arch on the shoulder and said, “Man, you are smooth.”

Archer shrugged. “That was the normalest part of my day.”

Ridayah leaned forward and opened the glove box, flipping a switch inside. The brake lights suddenly began reflecting off a million raindrops, rippling through the water that ran down the rear window.

Hat gasped, “Sorry,” from the back seat.

“It’s alright, man,” Ridayah said as he settled back into his seat. “You were distracted when we were getting back onto the road.”

As Archer signaled and pulled back onto the road, his pocket began playing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” He checked his mirrors before pulling the phone out and looking at the number. With a glance at the clock, he flipped the phone open. “Yeah?”

Floyd leaned between the seats and watched Archer. Archer held the phone against his shoulder and looked at his passengers. “You guys want some pizza?”

Tchernobog: The AppleDash Signal

Tchernobog turned his head, squinting toward the window as he swirled the martini in his hand, the toothpick making a miniscule tinkling noise against the glass. The young woman next to him paused her meaningless banter to follow his gaze. The sequins on her dress sparkled in the light of the chandeliers as she turned with the rest of the crowd.

Conversation in the room dropped to a low murmur as everyone shuffled toward the tall French windows and looked to the sky. Slipping between the partygoers, Tchernobog opened the doors and stepped into the chilly evening air. A handful of brave, or just tipsy, strangers followed him, their breath curling around them in wispy tendrils.

Feathery clouds slid past the moon like leaves on a garden stream. A brilliant light reflected from the clouds, in the shape of an apple, bisected by a lightning bolt.

A tiny smile curled one corner of his mouth. He downed his martini in a single gulp and, with a flick of his wrist, levered the olive off the end of the toothpick, sending it hurtling over the balcony railing to the city below.

As he turned around, a woman in a slinky red dress stopped him with a hand on his chest. She let it linger for just a moment too long as she looked up at his face. The moon shone in her eyes like jewels underwater. “Where are you going?”

Tchernobog placed one hand on the small of her back, then swept his leg underneath her feet, catching her halfway to the floor. His lips mere millimeters from hers, he waited for her to catch her breath. She smelled like Grand Marnier, and jasmine. He leaned in closer, and whispered in her ear, “It’s happening. The AppleDash.”

In one smooth motion, he had lifted her to her feet, spun her around, and left her in the arms of a gray-haired man with a monocle. By the time she had turned around, he was striding out the door.

Ridayah, Jewel Thief Extraordinaire

And with that, Ridayah turned around, his skirt twirling. The hem raised up a few inches as he spun on his heels, revealing just a tantalizing peek of his slim and toned legs. He had shaved, just for tonight. He was sure they noticed.

He grinned, though he hoped none of them could see his smirk.

The cool evening air felt good on his blushing face as he stepped confidently into the orange halo of the streetlamp. Rid was thankful there was no snow. His last time in high heels had been less than pleasant, but this time he was closer to home and out of the chillier mountain altitudes.

Now, his only question was whether he could make it to the bus station before the hostess noticed that her diamond necklace was no longer clasped around her neck. With a quick glance around, he leaned over and pulled off the unwieldy shoes.

The sidewalk was cold and rough under his nearly-bare feet. Hose was cheap, but it didn’t take long before his red-painted toenails began to poke through the sheer nylon. Ridayah quickened his pace as he heard the quiet shuffle of shoes in the distance.

Only two more blocks to the bus station, but the footsteps were getting closer. Without looking behind him, Rid stepped into a dark alley and lifted his dress nearly to his navel. With his other hand, he reached down and pulled the tiny Walther out of his garter.

Didn’t Q say something about the .32 automatic “hits like a brick through a plate glass window?” Rid rolled his eyes. Never hire a movie buff as an armorer. The safety clicked under his thumb with a noise that was more felt than heard.

The footsteps slowed as they approached the corner where he had disappeared. He had to work hard to slow down his breathing, though his heart rate did not cooperate. The nearby streetlight cast a growing shadow as his pursuer stepped closer to the edge of the brick wall.

Ridayah felt each grain of sand in the mortar under his fingertips. Every sound was amplified, from the distant traffic to the blood rushing in his ears. One. More. Step.

Nick Ha, Professional Shipper

Nick Ha stood in front of the door. It looked taller up close, somehow. He turned his head and looked at the cloudless sky, and the way the sun shone off the concrete walkway like fresh snow. Nearly blinding.

He turned back to the door. Cool, dark stone and ancient timber beams framed the little porch. It was far too dark for how bright the day was, just a few feet behind him.

The sounds of a busy afternoon failed to reach Nick’s ears over the imposing silence echoing around the little alcove. He reached for the doorbell with one quivering hand.

A low chime reverberated through the house. It reminded Nick of some kind of horror movie, as if he had just summoned some horrifying abomination. Long after the echoes had dissipated, he felt the vibration in his chest rattling between his ribs.

A shuffling noise came from behind the door. Nick watched in slow motion as the doorknob turned, and the massive wooden door noiselessly swung inward. A rush of cool air poured across Nick’s bare legs, only adding to the chill already rushing up his spine.

A woman appeared behind the door, wearing yoga pants, and a sweatband across her forehead. She was holding a package of 100-calorie Nabisco cracker thins. She didn’t say a word.

Nick licked his lips. “Sign here, please.”

She took the electronic clipboard, halfheartedly scribbled on it, held the package of crackers between her lips, and grabbed the box out of Nick’s hands.

Nick turned and squinted into the sun, where his big brown truck waited for him. Yes, shipping is serious business.