Page 9 of All That Glitters
A collective gasp rippled through the courtroom. The air, once still and reverent, was suddenly charged. The sweet-looking old lady in the floral dress was immediately on her feet, fury blazing in her eyes.
“Objection!” she shrieked.
The judge, startled from his nap, rapped his gavel sharply. “Order! Order in the court!”
“Kiss off!” the old woman snarled.
In one fluid motion that defied her age and her demure appearance, she whipped a can of pepper spray from her needlepoint purse and dashed toward the witness stand. The skinny kid’s smug expression dissolved into one of sudden, stark terror.
“Oh, crap,” he managed to get out before she fired a direct burst into his face.
He went down, choking and clawing at his eyes. A burly bailiff, who looked like he’d been waiting his whole life for a moment like this, rushed forward to intervene. The old woman spun on him, aiming her little can of chemical warfare. The bailiff, a man twice her size, stopped dead in his tracks. He took one look at the crazed glint in her eyes, made a swift about-face, and bolted out the courtroom doors.
“I SAID ORDER!” the judge roared, his face now turning a deep shade of crimson.
She turned her attention to the bench and sprayed a vicious orange cloud in his direction. The judge vanished behind his podium with a muffled yelp. That was the signal for total anarchy. Tony, Jeff, and Bob dove under the plaintiff’s table. Around them, spectators, lawyers, and litigants piled out the doors like rats from a sinking ship.
Three marshals burst through the doors, fanning out like a well-oiled machine — a machine that was about to be gassed.
The old woman, now a tiny, raging goddess of chaos, had leaped onto the witness stand. She let out a guttural snarl as the marshals moved in. It was a big mistake. She fired off a thick, orange cloud of spray, and all three professionally grim men went down choking in a pile of flailing limbs.
Beneath the table, Tony stared in disbelief at the unfolding carnage. He slowly turned to Jeff, who, despite the tear gas wafting in their direction and the sounds of mayhem all around them, was calmly straightening his tie.
Tony shot him a look that basically said he’d rather sell doughnuts at a Weight Watchers meeting than this.
Jeff grimaced, meeting his gaze. “This hardly ever happens.”
‘Senior Citizen Subdued After Courtroom Rampage’ read the next morning’s headlines. The article included a blurry cell phone image of the elderly defendant being escorted from the building in handcuffs.
The article mentioned three hospitalizations, thousands in property damage, and a judge who refused to comment beyond a terse statement about “mandatory strip searches of all elderly litigants before they entered his courtroom.” There was no mention of Tony Harding, who spent that evening applying for jobs in literally any field other than law.
His brief legal career had lasted exactly six hours and twenty-three minutes, a new personal record for shortest professional commitment, beating out the summer he’d attempted to work as a telemarketer (eight hours).
Adulthood, Tony was discovering, was considerably more complicated than expected. And significantly more hazardous.
Chapter four
Lost Bets and Job Hunts
The Ocean View Pub, a favorite hangout for Tony and his friends, was as Southern California as The Beach Boys and palm trees. It featured a shack and a weathered wooden deck that jutted out over the sand, perfect for taking in an afternoon of sun, beers, and girl watching.
Tony, Jeff, and Matt sat near the railing, giving them a front-row seat to the beach and ocean. A basket of fried calamari sat on the table beside empty beer bottles and wadded napkins. Jeff and Matt divided their time between watching girls walk past on the boardwalk and giving Tony a hard time about his latest career fail.
Tony did his best to ignore them, focusing instead on the newspaper’s ‘help wanted’ ads as if his rent and the survival of his bank account depended on it. Which they did.
“Hey,” Tony said, circling an ad with his pen. “What about this one? It’s working in telecommunications.”
Jeff, who had been tracking a blonde jogger’s progress down the beach, reluctantly turned his attention back to Tony. “Doing what?”
“It doesn’t say.” Tony squinted at the small print. “It’s with some cell phone company.”
“Do you even own a cell phone?” Matt asked.
“Time out.” Jeff raised his hands in a T formation. “Am I the only one who thinks it’s completely lame that he’s quitting law after exactly one day?”
Tony looked up from the paper. “You’re leaving out the part about getting maced by an old lady.”
“But why couldn’t it have been two days?” Jeff persisted.
