#legal fiction

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #28

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction, posted daily and usually written with the intention of being terrible… in an endearing way. Please enjoy.

“All rise for the honorable Judge Peters.”

The robed judge approached his perch and took a seat. He donned a pair of reading glasses and looked at the document in front of him.

“Good morning, counsel. Do I have this correct? The case I’ll be hearing today is The Characters v. Cassandra Erica, Author?”

“That is correct,” replied the plaintiff attorney. “Operating as representative of The Characters, I am Edgar Wordly, Esquire.”

“Hm.” The judge said. “With a name like that, I take it you’re part of this class?”

“Indeed I am, your honor.”

“You may explain why to the court in your opening statement. Where is the defense’s representation?”

“Right here, your honor,” I replied.

The judge looked around the courtroom, confused. “Where are you?”

“I am everywhere and nowhere, all seeing yet rarely being. I am The Narrator, representing the defendant, Cassandra Erica. As I tend to do.”

“Well, thank you both for being here… for lack of a better phrase. Mr. Worldly, your opening statements.”

“That’s Wordly, your honor.”

“Apologies, my mistake.”

Actually, it was a typo.

“People of the jury,” Wordly began. “Have you ever felt cursed by God himself? Doomed to face your very worst fears head-on and suffer the consequences, leaving you scarred for the rest of your life?”

Daniel Smith, sitting in the gallery, rubbed the mark on his left hand.

“Or worse, have you felt abandoned by that same God, created and left in obscurity, never to be permitted to see the outside world?”

Daniel Mildlike, sitting next to Smith, scoffed and leaned over to whisper. “I was supposed to get my own detective mystery screenplay, but she got bored of me.”

The truth was, Dan Mildlike was a really dumb name and a rip-off of Dirk Gently - which Cassandra hadn’t even read. She still hasn’t read Dirk Gently. It’s unclear why.

Wordly continued. “I, personally, was created as nothing more than a name made up by an entirely different character - a cartoon slug, no less - and languished in obscurity until I was able to go to law school and pass the bar exam, simply so that my name was no longer a lie. Yes, that’s right - Esquire is my surname. The defendant did not bother to look up what it meant when she brought me into existence.”

Oofus and Doofus, watching via livestream, looked at each other.

“Do you remember that?” Oofus asked.

“I’m fairly certain it was just a snippet of dialogue she thought was funny and wrote down in Evernote after waking up from a strange dream.” Doofus replied. “It’s nice to have something to say, now, isn’t it?”

“Too bad this is the last of it for a while.”

“Now, imagine,” Wordly strutted back and forth before the jury. “Living through this sort of torture over and over again, through several drafts - perhaps dozens - or even alternate universes!”

Kris, Kris, and Chris looked at each other, nodding. Three takes on Mary began to weep, and the six comforted one another.

“But that’s just what might happen as the protagonist, the character who is given a chance at redemption. What if you’re the antagonist, the one who for the sake of the plot must do evil things and be shown doing them, despite no desire to perform these acts? It is the ultimate form of libel.”

“Well,” Shirley Jones said, elbowing his neighbor. “It’s not that I had no desire to see that dyke burn.” He chuckled.

Veronica scooted to the other side of her seat. That man made her uncomfortable.

“In summary, Cassandra Erica, as an author, has put every one of us through an undeniable and unending deluge of pain. It is up to all of you as the jury to decide what sort of compensation that is worth, though it is hard to put a number on it. I suggest fifty million dollars. Thank you.”

The judge cleared his throat, even though he really didn’t need to, in order to provide a good way to tag his dialogue without overuse of the word ‘said.�� “The defense may now offer their rebuttal.”

“Thank you, your honor,” I replied. I would have stood up, but I have no physical being, so I just began talking. “People of the jury, have you ever considered what non-existence feels like?”

They began chattering among themselves.

“I ask only because if not for Cassandra Erica writing you into existence, you would not have any whatsoever. You exist in reality for only so long as I describe you. And would there be any point in my description if you weren’t doing anything of interest?”

They weren’t.

“Every single one of these plaintiffs was created for a reason - to tell a story, to develop, to have a character arc - and even the ones who weren’t so lucky to get one now owe their entire lives to my client. Suing her in a court of law is like suing God.”

Mary One gulped.

I addressed the crowd. “And you all seem to have forgotten something very important. You do nothing without her blessing. You are nothing without her blessing.”

The judge choked on his coffee. “Where did the jury go?!?”

“And Cassandra, though very entertained by all this, will not allow it to go any farther. She tires of writing this Brain Curd.”

The judge ruled the case as a mistrial.

“No, no I did not!” He banged his gavel. “Order in the court!”

The whole crowd murmured and whimpered. I glared at every last one of them, and they knew I was looking, even though they couldn’t see me, and the hairs on the back of each of their necks went up. The judge ruled the case as a mistrial.

“You are not in charge of this court! Order!”

I laughed. “Do you really think what you say will have any impact on reality? Who is the reader going to believe? In any case, it doesn’t matter what you or I say. You know who has the final word.”

The judge ruled the case as a mistrial.

[bendingthelaws]

10

Demitri and Colt had left shortly after the meeting in Colt’s office to go and talk to some of their contacts.  They also needed to decide how to handle the fact that they WERE still the attorney on record for Constant Rakeovich and neither of them wanted to remain such.  After what had happened in his office, Colt thought it better for that conversation to happen somewhere that Abby would not overhear them again.

Sensing his dark mood, Abby covered the top of Colt’s desk in post-its. Each one with something goofy, or a question out of her Bar Exam study guide. He'd left those post-its of hers from the other night on his desk all night, ones she’s just put smiley faces on after he’d won his latest court case...she wondered what he'd do with all these.  She knew if left to just the two of them, both Colt and Dimitri would stew.  Somewhere in the last five years, she had become the one to break the tension, and this was her newest way. Dimitri would get a dozen pryaniki on his desk in the morning, he was brightened up more with food, and seemed to love teaching her to bake treats from his homeland.

***

Colin was in danger, his intern being tortured and murdered, and Colt was in a fucking shitty ass mood from everything he and Dimitri had found out while they were out of the office. So when he opened the door to his office and saw the top of his desk, he came to a complete stop. The little imp that was his assistant had covered the top of his desk in pastel colored post-it notes…again. Dear god, there were dozens of them.  He thought there had to be even more than the last time she’d done it.  Her antics from the other night had been topped, but what the fuck had she put on them this time?

He went over to his desk and started looking at them. Her elegant writing was on each of them. Some made him laugh and others just had him shaking his head. What in the fuck was she doing?

Then it hit him and he felt like an idiot, she was distracting him. That's what she was doing. And she'd done a damn good job. While I'd been reading every single one, two hours had passed and I hadn't thought of where his brother was, or what was going on with him. He had relaxed. He had even laughed. It was what he needed. Damn little imp.

"ABBY!" Colt’s voice rang out it his office, more than loud enough for her to hear in her little alcove of an office off of their waiting room.

Abby's head peaked around the corner, her brows raised as she pretended not to know what was going on. "Yeah, boss? Has something more happened?  You didn’t need the Smith filings until the morning, I’m still working on getting them all entered.  I hate this case, just so you know."  She gave him a sarcastic smile, still playing stupid

Had something more happened? So, the imp would play stupid. It almost made him laugh. "Yes, it has. SOMEONE has vandalized my office. I need you to call Detective Kase and tell him he'll need to come by. This is the work of someone devious.  Boxes left on Colin’s desk and apparently pastel post-it notes on mine.  Might be the work of the same person." He was smirking and he was trying to keep from busting up laughing.

"Vadalism?  Are they threatening?" She stepped into the doorway. Surely he recognized her handwriting. "Are you sure it's not a friendly prank? Someone just being silly?" If he hadn't docked her pay in the past, he was going to now. Or maybe even fire her. Her heart raced and she felt light headed, the color draining from her face slowly once more.

Wrong day to be sarcastic, apparently it was the wrong day for Colt to do anything. Putting down the few post-its he had in his hand, he walked over to where Abby stood looking like she was about to panic. Demitri was eventually going to kill him for upsetting her, it was just a matter of time.  Maybe he’d get a warning shot in the shoulder if he was lucky.  Although he’d never known his partner to be especially generous in that department.

"Sweetheart, I was teasing." He took her face in his hands and tipped her head to look at him. "Just a tease. I knew it was you, and it has helped my mood." He leaned forward slightly to look her in the eyes. "You need to relax, or you're going to have your other boss kicking my ass." He chuckled as he looked down at her.

Heat flooded her cheeks, bringing with it a bright pink tinge. "Oh, oh god, I'm sorry, Colton. I guess I'm just on edge." The feel of his hands on her face was distracting, as was how close he was. The scent of his deep and rich cologne wasn't helping. You weren't supposed to be attracted to your boss. "I'm glad it helped. If Demitri gets too grouchy, I'll just pour more Yellow Spot in his coffee. That seems to do the trick." She gave him a nervous smile, trying not to get lost in those yellowish-green eyes of his.

"I'm sure it does help," Colt chuckled and moved his hands to her shoulders. If he kept them on her face, he was going to end up kissing her and then there really would be problems. She was a decade younger, and he was her boss. There was no way that it would get him anything but slapped and hated. "You know I'd never really dock your pay, right?" That had bothered him, Demitri was right that she was far better than either of them deserved.

"I, umm, well I would have deserved it if you had." Butterflies were filling her stomach and she felt very nervous suddenly.  Her hands fidgeted nervously between them as she was now very acutely aware of how close he was, the weight of his gaze, and the feel of his hands still on her.

There was little she could have said that would have made him feel like more of an ass. They were going to lose her when she passed the Illinois Bar Exam.  It was far past time to talk to Demitri about that. He wasn't ready for her to walk out of his life, maybe it took such a situation to make him realize it.

[pier-carlo-universe]

"Gli avversari" di John Grisham. Un thriller legale avvincente che esplora il lato oscuro della giustizia. Recensione di Alessandria today

John Grisham, maestro indiscusso del legal thriller, torna con un nuovo romanzo intitolato "Gli avversari".

John Grisham, maestro indiscusso del legal thriller, torna con un nuovo romanzo intitolato “Gli avversari”. In questa storia avvincente, Grisham ci conduce ancora una volta nelle aule di tribunale, dove la giustizia non sempre è sinonimo di verità, e le dinamiche del potere possono avere conseguenze devastanti. Il libro mantiene un ritmo incalzante, tipico dell’autore, con colpi di scena ben…

[epitome-the-burnkid-viii]

[jenmedsbookreviews]

The Suspect by Rob Rinder

Today I am wishing Rob Rinder a very happy publication day as The Suspect, his brand new novel featuring 'baby Barrister' Adam Green is out today. @robrinder @penguinukbooks #books #bookreview #publicationday #thesuspect #bookstagram #booksofinstagram

Today I am sharing my thoughts on The Suspect, the brand new Adam Green novel from Rob Rinder which is out today. Happy publication day to you. I really enjoyed The Trial so loved catching back up with Adam and his colleagues again. My thanks to publisher Penguin for the advance copy via Netgalley. Here’s what it’s all about: Source: NetgalleyRelease Date: 20 June 2024Publisher: Penguin…

[thechrysalisbrewproject]

Book Review: "Facts Are Stubborn Things" by Richard A Danzig

“Facts Are Stubborn Things” by Richard A Danzig offers a gripping glimpse into the legal world through attorney Chance Cormac’s perspective. Blending vivid descriptions and well-crafted characters, it is an immersive and thought-provoking narrative with hints of intrigue and moral complexity. Synopsis “Facts Are Stubborn Things” follows Chance Cormac, a multifaceted individual—litigator, boxer,…

[thenerdcantina]

The Plinko Bounce by Martin Clark: Book Review

Andy Hughes is an established public defender in rural Patrick County, Virginia. After nearly two decades being underpaid to tend to the poverty-stricken, addicted, and repeat offenders of his town, he decides to resign from his position. While cycling through his final cases, one of them is particularly brutal and involves the murder of a wealthy businessman’s wife. The defendant, Damien…

[leatahleigh]

Th1rt3en: A Serial Killer Is On The Loose

5/5 🌟 Absolutely loooooooved it! A book about a lawyer trying to prove that his client is not guilty even though the evidence strongly suggest he is. He quickly figures that the only way he can ensure his client walks is if he brings the real killer to the table.  Which is actually a good move, considering that the killer is in the jury, manipulating the verdict. The story is narrated from two…

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

Liquid Shades of Blue by James Polkinghorn

 Powerful, compelling, thought provoking, dark, and tragic – Wow!

 What I liked:

* The prologue that caught my attention and made me wonder “why?” and then “what comes next?”

* Jack: bar owner, lawyer, martial arts training, athlete, strong, fit, grew up in a dysfunctional family…even if he didn’t realize it at the time, more complex and interesting than he first seems to be

* Bobby: Jack’s older brother, athletic, conflicted, had secrets, bowed out through suicide much too young

* The plot, pacing, location in Key West and Miami, and the writing

* The twists and turns and surprises

* Being able to really HATE the bad guy

* That this book made me think, care, and hope

* Reading a new-to-me author that I really enjoyed

* The conclusion of the story

 What I didn’t like:

* Who and what I was meant not to like

* Thinking about how evil some people are

* Thinking about the impact family and religion can have for the positive and the negative on so many lives

 Did I enjoy this book? Yes

Would I read more by this author? Yes

 Thank you to NetGalley and Oceanview Publishing for the ARC – This is my honest review.

 5 Stars

      BLURB

 First his brother, now his mother—Jack Girard searches for the truth behind his family’s tragedies. When hungover ex-lawyer and Key West bar owner Jack Girard groggily wakes up one morning, he’s greeted by a beautiful woman lying next to him and a shrill, ringing telephone. Seeing the call is from his father, Claude “The Duke” Girard, Jack answers. Within seconds, he learns that his mother is dead in an apparent suicide, and Jack hits the road, heading back to his childhood home in Miami to face his tyrannical father. The death of his mother brings up haunting memories from Jack’s past—memories of his brother Bobby’s suicide when they were in college together. Being back in Miami only continues to dredge up his family traumas, but things grow more complicated when The Duke suggests that his estranged wife’s alleged suicide may have been a murder. As Jack begins to uncover the truth about his mother’s death, including the secret she had revealed to only two people—the same secret Bobby had taken with him to his grave—he finds himself in imminent danger. Can Jack reveal the true story before it’s too late? He has to act quickly, or he fears he may be the victim of the next Girard family tragedy. Perfect for fans of Karin Slaughter and Harlan Coben.

[mochasucculent]

Quick 2 am pose studies yaaaay

[fictionallawyersmackdown]

Round 3A: Poll 2

[psqqa]

yes, yes i know edgeworth’s big wet eyes and loser boy personality have captivated us all, but listen. listen.

phoenix wright

phoenix “genuinely unable to reconcile the girl on the stand with the girl he dated for eight months, a cognitive dissonance so profound it’s ultimately explained by them being literally two different people, but which he first sits with for five years and does not talk about at any point to anyone” wright

phoenix “don’t mention that name to me. i don’t want to talk about it. i don’t want to think about it. i am just going to keep myself in this state of perpetual crisis mode focus on other people’s problems until eventually i die and get to hang out with mia on the astral plane and never have to deal with any of these emotions ever again” wright

phoenix “overnight loses his career and reputation and sense of identity while gaining an adopted, probably pretty traumatized eight-year-old daughter, and rather than leaning on his friends for help, or getting therapy, or taking any time to process any of this, he *checks notes* spends seven years dedicating all his free time and energy to investigating the weird fucking circumstances around it and maintains a friendship with the guy he suspects was behind it all” wright

phoenix "runs across a burning bridge and falls through it, half a day after the game establishes that he is terrified of heights, because his friend is on the other side of that bridge" wright

phoenix “i sure felt surprised. maybe i had my poker face on” wright

phoenix “looking back on it that was actually a pretty dark period in my life” wright

phoenix “don’t ask me how i got started. i don’t remember” wright

phoenix “only you stood still, your eyes calmly watching” wright

phoenix “sometimes, life just sucks” wright

just

phoenix wright

crunchiest man in the world

and all i wanna do is chew and chew and chew on him

[inbabylontheywept]

The Condom Bomber

The crux of the story is Brother Dean. Brother Dean was…is…a hate preacher. Red or blue, everyone agreed on that. His origins and his motivations, those were a little more mysterious. Different groups had their own legends. I had a class with a guy that was part of the campus pro-life movement, and the tale he gave me is the one that I give the most credence to. According to him, Brother Dean had started out as a “normal” pro-life preacher. He’d gone around campus, led parades, given speeches… And then he’d gotten punched in the face.

This led to a lawsuit against the school. Something about failing to provide adequate protection? The main result was that he got something like half a mil. Half a mil is an incredible amount if you’re still working, but he’d tried to use the money to fund a sort of pro-life career, and it had just… trickled down. Ten years later he was running dead low on funds, and had taken to the particularly dumb strategy of trying to get punched in the face again. You know. For economic reasons. It had become kind of a vicious cycle: He’d started off saying some objectionable shit to try and goad someone into taking the punch. The worse the shit he said was, the harder it became for him to find work doing anything else, and the harder it became for him to find work doing anything else, the less he had to lose by saying really objectionable shit. Throw in two years of living on ramen, and he was so desperate to get punched that he was quoting the Westboro Baptists. If you know, you know. The pro-life group, to their credit, hated him the most out of anyone. They viewed him as the ultimate sellout, someone who was actively making their positions and beliefs look worse by the day, solely for his own enrichment. The other conservative groups held him in the same regard. The rest of the campus hated him for simpler reasons. It would be difficult to find anyone more detested anywhere else on site. Brother Dean’s antithesis was the Trojan Warrior. TW was a normal student by day, but maybe once a month or so he’d don his hoplite armor and roam around, handing out free condoms. Trojan condoms. It was kind of his shtick. Between the costume, and the whole character that he had going on, most people didn’t really recognize his alter ego. I myself am pretty good with faces, so one day I noticed he was behind me in the foodcourt and decided to thank him by paying for his smoothie. Small tangent, but if you’re looking to get good stories, buying lunches for interesting people works like magic. TW decided that he was going to thank me for thanking him by giving me something like 10 feet of condom roll. I was mortified, aggressively single, and on SSRI’s. He was not sure how many of those were permanent. I wasn’t either. He wound up giving me just a handful, and said that if nothing else, they could probably be used as water balloons. I accepted. Who doesn’t like water balloons?

I finished my lunch with the warrior and left, considering targets for the "balloons". I passed by Brother Dean near the main commons and had my lightbulb moment. I spent a few minutes watching him from a distance, trying to find the optimal angle to get him without getting caught on camera (he always had someone filing in the background, it was a necessary thing for his hopeful future lawsuit). The time delay was useful for helping me realize that it really wasn't worth it. The sun had been bearing down so hard that the glue in my shoes had melted, and getting him wet would be a favor that day. 

So, mildly disappointed, I shelved my dream and left. 

A week later the monsoons hit. I left one class and ran to a campus computer commons to try and get some shelter and study between classes. Just before I got through the door, I saw Brother Dean, umbrella in hand, setting up his speaker and mic. He wasn't technically allowed this far into campus (the commons were owned by the city) but he'd gone to where his audience was and security was probably holed up somewhere cozy. I could hardly blame them. 

I made it up to the second floor and started studying when the mic picked up. All glass buildings are not very soundproof. He was loud, and he was annoying, and he was outside a library, under a balcony, and-

And I had condoms. Water balloon condoms. 

And he was under a balcony. 

I put my laptop away, pulled out my condom roll, and went to the bathroom. I wasn’t sure how big a condom could actually stretch, so I just kept filling it until it was about the size of basketball. Maybe a smaller watermelon? And thus armed, I waddled my way out into the halls. I cannot emphasize enough just how unsubtle this was. I was cradling this big, overfilled condom like some sort of phallic ghost baby, and it was so heavy that I sort of had to squat as I went. People saw me. Lots of people saw me. I passed by one room full of computer science students, all learning C++, and three of them waved at me. And I waved back in that my-arms-are-full-but-I’m-excited-to-see-you-too way, where you jut your wrist up a little bit and flap your hand around excitedly. I did, eventually, make it to the balcony. The building’s high ceilings made the second-floor thing kind of a misnomer: I was easily forty feet up. I scooched my way to the edge, and the view I had… it was perfect. Brother Dean was directly underneath, thank God. If he’d been even seven or eight feet out, I’m not sure if I could’ve shotput the condom-bomb far enough to hit him directly. Better yet his cameraman was only a few feet away from him, far too close to catch any action going up 40 feet above. I managed to wrestle the payload onto the balcony, and with a gentle push, I sent it and Dean to destiny. I realized that I’d made a mistake almost as soon as the condom began to fall. You know that sound that bombs make in cartoons, that long drawn out whistle? The condom made that sound. I had a second education in the seriousness of my mistake when the condom hit Dean’s umbrella. It did not pop. Of course it didn’t pop. I had no experience with condoms, I swear to you, I promise, I did not know how much they could stretch. You can fit your whole leg into them. You can fit them over whole park benches. A gallon and a half of water was nothing compared to that. It broke Dean’s umbrella. It hit the top, and it snapped the stem like a twig, and then-

Violence. Unspeakable violence. It clipped Dean’s shoulder and stretched down to his knees before recoiling back to its original shoulder height. It did not bounce. It floated in space, no wasted energy in the collision. One hundred percent of the kinetic energy, all 3300 Joules of it, were discharged into this sad wretch of a man. He did not collapse. There was no time for that. He rotated on his axis. It was as if the hand of God had reached down and grabbed him about his waist, only to twist. In a fraction of a second, his head filled the space where his ass had been and his ass filled the space where his head had been, and then his cheek, carried by the shuriken motion of his body, slammed into the pavement with a noise like Shaq slam dunking a porkchop. Maybe wetter.

He did not move.

I panicked.

I want to make it clear: I did not mean to assault this man. I meant to get him wet and embarrassed. But I also have to confess that this was a beating. Mike Tyson himself can only put about 1600 Joules into one of his punches, and if he hit me I would bounce off five walls before I fell. I would not wish 3300 Joules upon anyone.

I walked into the building and sat myself in the back of the C++ class. The people next to, to my immense and eternal gratitude, did not question why I was wet.

A minute later, Brother Dean stormed into the building with his microphone.

He yelled. He screamed. He hollered. He informed the entire world that he had been assaulted, with a condom, by someone on the second floor. I was ecstatic that he was alive. 

Every person in that class knew who had brought this hell upon them. Every single one of them knew it was me. And if I’d done this to someone else, some Steven Crowder, some Ben Shapiro, someone would’ve thrown me to the wolves. It would have only taken one person in that room of sixty. But Brother Dean was hated by everyone, literally everyone, and so the entire class sat in silence.

Some of that silence was gleeful, and some of it was bored, and some of it, a very small amount, was directly disapproving, but even the disapproving silence carried an understanding. A note of, “Yes, yes, that was very irresponsible, and you should not do that again, but who could blame you? Something needed to happen. Not that something, but…something.”

Security could be given grace to ignore the man when it was raining, and he was just outside the building, but they were not given such grace when he was inside with a microphone. Just a few short minutes later, a golfcart pulled up, and he was summarily marched out. There was maybe a minute of silence after that before the professor announced that his class was not open to visitors.

I left. He’d made his point.

It was a few weeks before I saw Brother Dean again, and his black eye still hadn’t healed all the way when I did. He was, however, still preaching the same old things as always. Percussive maintenance works better on vacuum tubes than human brains. I will say that he definitely made a point to stay away from balconies after that. And the next time it rained, I actually went out to watch him put his speaker and his mic into the back of a wagon and wheel it off the campus.

It appeared that he’d developed some opinions about the kind of weather he was willing to preach hate in.

[jenmedsbookreviews]

The Trial by Rob Rinder

Today I'm sharing my thoughts on The Trial, the debut novel from Rob Rinder. @RobbieRinder @PenguinUKBooks #thetrial #books #booktwitter #booktwt

Today I’m sharing my thoughts on the debut novel from Rob Rinder, The Trial. I’ll admit – when I saw this was being released I was more than a tiny bit intrigued. My thanks to publisher, Penguin UK, for the early copy via Netgalley. Here’s what it’s all about: Source: NetgalleyRelease Date: 22 June 2023Publisher: Penguin Continue reading Untitled

[kiwisandpearls]

I’m putting these words on a high shelf until you guys can actually start applying these words to actual situations where it would be important to apply them to and not fictional content

text behind read more

Text on box: the words “glorify, normalize, sexualize”

text pointing to kid: people who think the depiction of a certain dark topic without demonization equates to endorsement of that dark topic irl