Alice’s Restaurant: Redux—The Absolute Conclusion


“Hey Slickster, why are you sweating?” My buddy Curt was waiting outside in the courthouse parking lot for me.

“The courtroom’s air-conditioning system is broken. It’s hotter than hell in there. See all the windows are open?”

“Yeah, I noticed that while passing by earlier this morning on the way to the post office. I seen the bailiff chasing a black crow out of the first slash with a broom.”

“That cracked everyone up. It crapped on the judge’s bench while zigzagging around the room. Roy Bean was livid and called a fifteen-minute recess to have the mess cleaned and sanitized. What are you doing here?”

“Kat told me you might need some money and I want to help you out.”

“You can help me out by telling the prosecutor over there, coming down the steps, that it was you who threw the garbage in Tommy’s trash bin to begin with.”

“I couldn’t do that. I’m still on probation for releasing all the research-lab animals at the med school,” Curt said. “I wouldn’t have gotten caught if it wasn’t for being seen putting a cage with one of critters in the back seat of my car.”

“You certainly have a small zoo of wild beasts at your place for sure. Amazing how you train them.”

“Look, Mike, I appreciate you taking the rap for this. Here, take this in case you need it.” My obviously sincere, concerned friend handed me a wad of cash. “There’s one thousand dollars there. Pay the fine with it and don’t worry about paying me back.”

“Where did you get this much moola to throw away?”

“Part of my inheritance. My father left me a good bit of it. Don’t tell anyone. Everybody will be asking me for a loan.”

“Hey, man, I appreciate it; makes me feel a whole lot more secure. I’d say I owe you one, but this fiasco today makes up for the last time I told you that and then some.”

“No problem, I’ll even buy you lunch. Come on, lets go across the street to Mary Sue’s Pizzeria.”

While splitting a pizza with my generous compadre, I explained my proposed, outrageous defense for how I hoped to be found not guilty; for which I would give Curt back the loot. His face lit up, obviously pleased that a good chance for his not losing a grand was a decent possibility.

Back in the courtroom—more like a sauna—tall, standing fans surrounded the room to cool things down, making a racket like airplane propellers. I took my seat again in the first bench to hear things better and maybe pick up something useful for my intended vindication against being found guilty of aggravated criminal littering.

The thoroughly riled judge better have had a pleasant lunch, I thought.

Upon his pompous return, the no-nonsense jurist flew through the next two-dozen cases as if he was a man on a mission, clearing out his courtroom before three o’clock to hear my case.

His piercing gaze had cast my way on occasion, making me extremely paranoid, thinking he was pondering whether or not to sentence me to the gallows. My trial folder was indeed at the bottom of the pile. After my being sworn in by the bailiff, the esteemed prosecutor proclaimed my villainous charge.

“How do you plead, Mr. Slickster?” Judge Bean said.

“Not guilty, Your Honor; I’m an innocent victim of unusual circumstance.”

“Littering is not an unusual circumstance in my courtroom. I hear cases every week for littering, some worse than others. What makes yours so unusual?”

“I didn’t do it. Where was my check found, Your Honor?”

Judge Bean turned to the prosecutor, who removed a few eight-by-ten, glossy, black-and-white photographs with tiny circles and arrows drawn in white, indicating the strewn bags of rubbish on the asphalt by Tommy’s dumpster, with emphasis to my cancelled check, lying on the ground amongst everything else.

My Shyster showed me the photos and my actual check before handing them to the bailiff.

“Is this your check?” the judge said.

“It is, Your Honor.”

“How about in these pictures? Are these brown bags of garbage and the circled check yours?”

“I can only say yes about the check on the ground, but not for the bags. They all look alike, don’t you think?” I said. “Besides, why would I want to tote my trash more than a mile from my house to Tommy’s lot, when I have regularly scheduled garbage pickup at my front curb?”

“Good question, but not all garbage bags look the same. Some are white. some tan. What color bags do you use?”

“All colors, depending what might be on sale at the market.”

“Do you have evidence of trash pickup?”

“I brought our monthly statement from Sal’s Refuse Company, the ones who take our garbage.” The bailiff took the bill, showed Mr. Shyster and handed the document to the judge.

“Objection, Your Honor,” the prosecutor bellowed. “What if the defendant forgot to put out the trash on garbage day and decided to get rid of it where his check was found?” Both the judge and Mr. Shyster raised their outrageous eyebrows in unison, waiting for my reply.

“If that happens, I take the bags to the landfill on Smithborough Road, closer to my house than Tommy’s General Store is. It doesn’t cost me anything.”

“That still doesn’t explain how his check ended up on the ground, Your Honor.” Shyster said. “Can you explicate any further, Mr. Slickster?”

“As I said earlier, I’m an innocent victim of circumstance; but make that check on the ground, circumstantial evidence,” I said. “Did anyone actually see me put those garbage bags in the dumpster?”

“We have no record of such,” the prosecutor said, “but the check is clearly yours.”

“Did anyone actually see me placing my check there on the ground, which, for the record, is shown as being separated from all the other rubbish?”

“No record of that either,” the prosecuting attorney said.

“Well then, Your Honor, how can I be held responsible for something no one saw me doing, something I have no reason to do, with a piece of circumstantial evidence lying on the ground?” I said and explicated further:

My check may have fallen out of Sal’s garbage truck on the way to the dump, after the bag, in which it was in, broke open while being compacted by the rear blade. The wind could have blown the paper down the road to where an animal might have found it, taking the check as bedding for its nest, but got sidetracked when passing by all the fallen garbage at Tommy’s parking lot, leaving it on the ground there while rummaging through the bags for a feast in the meantime.

“That’s the most preposterous defense I have ever heard in all my years of being a justice, Mr. Slickster. However, I can’t see how a measly animal would specifically carry your check directly to that exact spot. I find that hard to fathom.”

“But the main thing is, Your Honor, in my humble opinion, the benefit of a doubt falls in my favor, even if there’s only one in a million chances for it to happen,” I said. “The possibility is still there, and no one had actually seen me in the act of committing aggravated criminal littering.”

A woman by one of the open windows jumped up abruptly, pointing frantically at a gray squirrel on the window sill with what appeared to be a newspaper clipping in its mouth, dropping it after a moment onto the courtroom floor, jumping back outside and scurrying out of immediate view.

Glancing out at the parking lot, I saw the little rascal hop into the back seat of Curt’s car, parked alongside the curb below. My friend was standing outside of the vehicle, grinning, beaming from cheek to cheek, flashing me the peace sign.

The rodent was obviously one of his trained critters. Curtis shut the rear door, got into his black Cadillac and drove off. The intelligent creature had stuck his little snoot out the cracked-open rear window. I didn’t realize the bushy-tailed varmints liked to do that too.

The bailiff in the meantime had picked up the piece of newspaper the squirrel had dropped, and handed it to the judge, who belly-laughed instantly, loosing his judicious composure and normally deadpan appearance, as if he had just inhaled copious amounts of nitrous oxide at the dentist’s office.

“Case dismissed! You are free to go,” the chortling justice said and waved over Mr. Shyster. “Look here, it’s my picture in the Cranston City Chronicle from last week’s article. I look very judicial, don’t you think?”

The jurist took a minute or so to gain control of his mirth. “Cranston City General Court is now adjourned.” The honorable Judge Roy Bean slammed down his gavel sharply, reverberating as if a cannon had just been fired, which this time was music to my ears.

Curt's Squirrel

Curt’s Squirrel


About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at
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