Just A Joke
Amon Simmons occupied a space at the
end of the steel bench for a second day. His arrest came as a complete
surprise. Solicitation through graphic display. What was that? Just words on a t-shirt.
Seniors and the elderly should not give a damn what flying AI drones thought
and he gave them the bird ever he liked. He had no regrets for his feelings
about his rights…freedom of speech. It still stood, even with the
modifications, by an amendment. But sitting in a bullpen holding cell with all
kinds of guys with all kinds of problems and a every other day flushing toilet
was a challenge, but the old man made it regardless. Now that the weekend
ended, they called names to make bail or go before the judge. Would his
granddaughter bring him a walker since the cops took his? The arresting
officers told him to buy another, a nice way to treat the handicapped. “Amon
Simmons.” That static filled voice of the seven-foot, four-hundred-pound
humanoid robot nicknamed, “The Terminator” walked the down the hall. Everybody
lined the cell walls. They put those things in to action after a guard got beat
to death fetching a prisoner. You dare not move the wrong way.
“Here.” The machine looked around
and scanned everybody’s ID number and thankfully another guard brought Amon a
walker.
“You going to interrogation,
asshole.
“Thanks.” Amon gave everybody the
thumbs up.
“Give those motherfukas hell old
man. We still love your t-shirt.” They all laughed and down the hall he went.
*
The smell alone of the
interview/interrogation room would make somebody cooperate. Amon sat in the
steel chair and hoped his walker would be left. An hour pasted, no cops
entered. But a portion of the steel gray painted wall became illuminated and
what appeared but four faces that would scare the devil himself. What was this?
All of them had overly wrinkled pale faces and lifeless eyes that did not
blink. “What you lookin’ at?”
“You, Amon Simmons, you.”
“And?” Amon spat the question at
them. Whoever they were they wore black shirts with one gold bar on the collar.
DOJ prosecutors wore similar outfits.
“You are going to answer our
questions or else.” The oldest looking guy said.
“All this over a t-shirt? Tell me
you’re joking.”
“We are not kidding, Simmons.”
“Well, at the least, this is
intimidation over a t-shirt.” Amon shot out his seat. He got close to the wall. “See that,
assholes, it’s a joke. Young women avoid the draft let me get you pregnant.
Where’s my lawyer I been held over twenty-four hours and no charges? I ain’t
saying another word.”
*
Amon and his granddaughter walked
down the ramp of the police station. He got stiffer with each step. His thin
frame ached even though he adjusted the height of the walker. He must have
stopped a million times before they got to her car. They kept quiet all the
way; audio surveillance was the government favorite eavesdropping tool. The
joke amongst the masses: The louder the fart the bigger the fine. “Jesus, Erin
you keep your car spotless…”
“Spare me, granddad, I told you not
to wear that shirt to any protest,” she snapped. “Those fools didn’t want to
let you go. They don’t give a shit about your age or disability.” She sighed
took a deep breath and hit the starter button.
“Sorry for the trouble, but fuck the
regime. We still got rights and old folks, like me and other like-minded people
ain’t stopping. To hell with the Middle East War.” Amon paused a second. “You
with us, right?”
“Of course, and take a long shower
when you get home. And I scheduled an appointment with your primary doctor, got
it?”
He nodded.
*
Even though he took his
granddaughter’s advice, he showered and soaked in the tube. But he could still
smell himself. All in his mind he told himself, he asked the big hipped nurse,
who he flirted with every visit. “You good, Mr. Simmons,” she assured him.
His doctor with the shoulder length
hair and green contact lenses came in and sat in front of the computer. “Well,
Amon, all your tests are good for a man your age. Hope I can be as good when I
get eighty. And be careful at those protest those secret police boys and girls
hate us all, right?”
“Right.” The doctor did routine checks;
they shook hands and Amon stopped at the front desk and made his next
appointment. He could not wait to get back to the park and talk to the fellas.
The pollen count was low, for once,
and the heat and humidity were tolerable. He started to rent a scooter but did
not want to have to return to the park entrance. It was inconvenient since he
lived on the other side. The closer he got to the big fountain; the chess
tables came into view. There sat his partners in crime, let the cops tell it,
Ben and Tank with their attention focused on the chess board. Ben, with a cigar
hanging on his lips that he never lit and Tank taking a sip from his flask. Hundred-year-old
scotch, so he said, had to be cherished. That he did, not sharing with anybody.
Ben was the bony one, but healthiest one with a deep distinctive voice and
vocabulary women loved. Tank, big as a tank, muscle bound for an eighty-year-old
and soft spoken like he was in a confessional. They looked up and smiled when
they saw him.
“Well, good to see you, old man.”
Ben said. They all bumped fist. “You could’ve called, we were worried.
“You
know they took my phone, a burner, of course. I never bring the important one
to a
protest.” They laughed. “I sat in that
shit hole for two days. How did y’all get away?”
“Just
wanted you.” Ben said. “What’s that about?”
“Don’t
know.” He waved over a vendor and got a hot dog. “The feds got the hots for my
t-shirt I guess.” They laughed. “Erin got
me out after she made a call.”
“Well,
nowadays they want to keep an eye on everybody. I, we told you that remember?”
Ben said.
“Sounds
like you agree with them.” Tank said.
Amon
studied Ben’s expression, he seemed to agree. “When I think about it, Ben
you’ve
never worn one of our t-shirts.”
“Ours…yours.”
Ben said.
“Really?”
“Really,
Amon. Any protest material has to be registered and you know it.”
“It’s
a joke, Ben.”
“Against
the war in the Middle East?”
“Yes,
Ben, that’s been going on for years. You hearing this, Tank?”
“I’m
hearing him.” Tank replied and stared.
“What
they paying attention to a group of old chess players who flirt with all the adult
females that actually flirt with us all
the time too?” Amon chuckled. “Look out for those dirty
old men, right?”
“But
your joke is offensive to some.”
“You
a prude? Damn as old as you are, never married with how many kids you got?”
Tank asked.
Amon
laughed. “You can laugh, but I’m still right.” Ben said.
“Oh,
did I hurt your feelings?” Tank pouted and continued laughing.
“Don’t
laugh, Tank. They might take your big ass next.” Ben snapped.
“I
ain’t scared of protesting the war. I’m too old not to stand up to it. Some old
folks worried about their social security
being hold up if they protest even after the courts put a
stop to that shit, you still scared, Ben?”
He did not reply and started setting
up the chess board. “You playing, Amon?”
“I won’t get in trouble, will I?”
“Go to hell, Amon.”
“Just checking.” He chuckled and
made his first move.
*
Amon knew the system was pissed, so
he was required to appear before a judge. The judge looked older than Amon with
a frown that looked as if stamped on his small face. The way he looked at Erin
said it all. Lust. A dirty old man in a judicial robe. Her curves always
worried him since she was a teen; he prayed he would not have to hurt anybody.
“You honor, I’m Erin Simmons representing my grandfather, Amon Simmons.”
“That’s fine attorney, let’s get on
with it. These complaints are numerous and a bit con- fusing…”
“Excuse me, your honor, can I say
something?” Amon interrupted. “This has got to be a joke.” What did he say that
for? That old fool turned cherry red.
“What did you say?”
“I think you heard me…your honor.”
Erin shot to her feet. “Your honor I
need a word with my client if the court doesn’t mind.”
The wrinkles in the judges face
relaxed. “Okay, we’ll take a short recess.”
Amon cut his eyes at Erin. “You know
this old fool got something up his sleeve, right?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if he tries
to hold you in contempt. Don’t fall for the bait, right granddad?”
“Got it, but don’t feel bad if I don’t listen,
it isn’t your fault, okay?”
“Okay.”
The judge returned and gave Amon a
dirty look. “You got a rebellious attitude, Mr. Simons.”
“Rebellious? I’m eighty years old.
I’m pissed. I got arrested for a joke. The system that thin skinned? Well, I’m
anti-draft regardless, who isn’t? Next, you’ll be telling me I’m
anti-government.”
“That’s what I mean, Mr.
Simmons.” The judge moved like he was gong to stand; he shifted and gathered
some papers.
Erin touched her granddad’s arm.
Amon sighed. “No disrespect intended.”
“I don’t buy it. I’ll be nice due to
your age and handicap, case continued and the clerk will give you the next
available date. Is that satisfactory consular?”
Erin nodded. “Thank you, your
honor.”
“A continuance for this foolishness,
for a disorderly conduct and the rest of that bullshit? I shouldn’t be here for
anything.”
Erin sighed and gathered her papers.
“Sometimes it’s best to keep your mouth shut. You called the cops everything
but a child of God.”
“But to say I’m some sort of
conspirator to under mine the war effort is crazy.”
“Let’s go before you get locked up,
again.” Erin grabbed him by the arm and lead him out of the room. They took
their time walking to the entrance.
“You’d think they would have
modernized this place; it got the same dingy gray color and marks on the wall
when I came here years ago to renew my drivers license. Cheap ass city, but
what can you do?”
Erin’s phone dinged. “Let’s sit for
a minute I have to read this.” They found an empty bench right outside the
building. She opened her laptop. “I should’ve known. They got a search warrant
at your place, granddad.”
“What!?” He looked at her computer.
“They look like they ready to knock it down. They got those things in their
arms ready to swing.”
“Wait a second, they have to wait to
show me the warrant.”
“Attorney, as you see we are about
to enter the residence,” The officer said. He panned his body camera over the
door.
“What is this shit, Erin?”
Erin rose her hand. “I’m reading
what they’re looking for, hold on.”
“Since when do they do this?”
“Since the people allowed the
fascist to amend the constitution. They call themselves doing us a favor by us
letting watch.” She turned the computer around. “They are looking for t-shirts,
printing inks and anti-regime material. This is foolishness, but proceed
officer and when you finished you have to secure the entrance to his
residence.”
“We are aware, attorney.”
“Shit! I feel violated. This all
over a joke, a joke.”
“Somebody got really pissed at you,
but it could be worse, you aren’t in custody.”
“True, when they finish, I’ll have
to let the place air out…pigs.”
“They’re not real pigs, granddad.
They aren’t all bad, remember my fiancé a cop.”
“Yeah, sorry I forgot.” They sat
there until they concluded the search.
“They said it’s all clear.”
“No shit. Can I go home now?”
“Yes, they e-mailed a copy and looks
like nothing was damaged. Slow down with the jokes, right, granddad? Call me
when you get home. Take an Uber, I have more business to attend to.” She kissed
him on the cheek and left.
*
“Now that you have reached dissident
status what will you do?” Tank asked and made a move on the chess board.
“Don’t know, haven’t heard anything
since the search. What do they have except intimidation? Erin’s got me covered.
I’m thinking about a public service joke/statement since the return of that new
strain of HIV virus.”
“You don’t get enough do you, Amon?”
“No, I don’t… Ben. Don’t be jealous,
you getting attention from the girls too. Don’t forget it’s a joke. Women will
get out of combat some kind of way.” Amon giggled. “Something on a t-shirt
hasn’t hardly given them an idea they ain’t thought of yet. You should know
that.”
Ben shook his head. “Y’all crazy.”
“You scared?” Tank said. “You too
old for that. Fuck ‘em.”
Amon held up his hands. “You want to
hear what it is?” They nodded. “A
Tisket, A Tasket, A Condom or A Casket!” They laughed. “I should sell
that to the rubber companies. Think they’ll buy it?” Ben shook his head and
continued laughing. Amon came to the conclusion that Ben was or soon to be a
rat or an informer of some sort. He would never disagree with the current
regime’s policy. He and Tank were anti-war back in ’26 when that fool got the
country in the Middle East conflict and two decades later, still there. So far
today Ben had not mentioned how affluent they were being the last generation to
get a pension from a company. Not their fault, envy will get you nowhere. All
he had was social security and other stuff that was issued by how the big boys
felt. No guarantees. Suck it up and keep living. Be glad you got that. They
told people years ago pay attention and vote. But what can you do? You cannot
make people do anything.
Ben would never wear a shirt like
them; Amon told Tank he was going to print a bigger sign and put it behind them
and the chess tables “Let us get you pregnant.” That would include Ben.
And if the cops harassed them again, he would make sure Ben’s name was
included.
The End
Eric Burbridge has been writing short fiction for years. He has been published. in "Yellow Mama " magazine and he continues to write short stories which is his passio