Inspired by Aristophanes

Never underestimate the power of a pissed off woman

…continued from yesterday

AFTER THEY SPENT A SLEEPLESS NIGHT in jail, the daytime deputy dragged Karen and Georgia to the court for their arraignment. The move didn’t take long since the courtroom was down the hall the jail. “Quicker turn around means more county profit,” he told the two as he deposited them in their seats. He didn’t bother to unlock their cuffs since, “Judge is too savvy to let them cuffs influence him when he rules against you.”

The court had scheduled the arraignment at nine, but the local Old Boy’s business breakfast and prayer meeting ran late because they needed to pray for the moral decay that had descended on Butte Fork only that week.

The judge carried his Bible into the chambers, snuck a snort from the flask hidden between Isaiah and the Gospels, and denied them bail before their lawyer (who’d driven from Austin to appear pro bono) had spoken. The lawyer, Jessica Stanfirm, protested that the judge couldn’t deny bail to Karen and Georgia without a hearing, but the judge refused to listen to arguments since women couldn’t be real lawyers.

Jessica protested, “Your honor, they have no record, and they were in the theater when the murder happened.”

The court had scheduled the arraignment at nine, but the local Old Boy’s business breakfast and prayer meeting ran late because they needed to pray for the moral decay that had descended on Butte Fork only that week.

The judge rapped his gavel like he wished he were pounding on a BLM protestor’s skull. “Don’t matter. Every male with legal standing in Butte Fork filed suit for these little women’s intent to violate the Texas abortion statue. They’re staying put till justice is served.”

Jessica turned to Karen and Georgia to assure them she hadn’t finished, but the day deputy, a twenty-year-old with a fifteen-year-old’s acne, swept them from the courtroom.

In their cell, Georgia banged the back of her head against the cinderblock wall. “I don’t know, but when we finally get out, this will make a hell of an episode, whether they catch the killer or not.”

In their cell, Georgia banged the back of her head against the cinderblock wall. “I don’t know, but when we finally get out, this will make a hell of an episode, whether they catch the killer or not.”

Despite the dismal outlook, the sheriff cut Karen and Georgia loose early that afternoon — grumbling, growling, and spitting tobacco in a demonstration of displeasure. Jessica greeted them outside their cells. “It seems the women of Butte Fork have informed the men they’ll be sleeping on their couches until you’re released to do the shows.”

Karen checked to make sure her purse was intact. “I see. A little Lysistrata action.”

The sheriff coughed, then hawked, then spit out a wad of tobacco juice the size of a softball. “No liberal talk, whatever you call it, ladies. We’re talking no action at all.”

continued tomorrow…

The characters in this story are fictional and not to be confused with real persons named Karen and Georgia, alive or dead.