Crime And Justice
RAVENNA TO BOLOGNA, OCTOBER 2013
This was actually the very first story I ever wrote for Friday Flash Fiction.
I recently found myself on a return train from Ravenna to Bologna in northern Italy. Confused, I’d messed up validating the ticket on the outward journey, but the friendly train conductor wrote a note on the ticket for the conductor on the journey home. That way I wouldn’t incur a huge fine.
But coming back, the train conductor didn’t speak any English, and my Italian wasn’t good enough either. Exasperated, I kept saying “Non copisco”; exasperated, he kept shouting louder and louder.
So I did the only thing possible. I took a gun from my jacket and shot him dead.
ALL IN THE NAME OF?
It was all over in minutes.
The two men had been arrested, tried, found guilty and condemned, all in accordance with law. A crowd had gathered near the gallows. No children, though.
Someone pronounced a few official words. The condemned pair, their hands tied behind their backs, were led up some steps to a narrow wooden table, and a noose placed around each man’s neck.
Then the table was kicked away. They didn’t quite die immediately, it took a minute or so; afterwards, two small pools of urine could be seen below.
Their crime? They loved each other, of course.
THE HANGING JUDGE
For St Andrew’s Day.
In the dock, the prisoner stood, ready for the inevitable. The judge studied him sternly.
“Prisoner,” she said, “you have been found guilty of failing to write a story for Friday Flash Fiction today. Have you anything to say?”
“No, ma’am,” he bleated.
The judge excitedly fumbled for her black cap.
“In that case, I hereby sentence you to be hanged by the feet in the public square until you’ve thought something up.”
Someone in the gallery cried ‘No!’. The prisoner bowed his head, knowing that as a kilt-wearing Scot, his darkest secret could no longer be kept hidden.
THE BODY IN THE LIBRARY
Holmes studied the victim’s body in the library. Head beaten with a blunt instrument. Blood, yes, but also water on the carpet. No murder weapon.
“I’m baffled,” Watson said. “It’s cold in here.”
Suddenly, Holmes leapt to his feet. “It’s elementary, Watson!”
“Elementary?”
“The butler did it,” said Holmes. “Ring for him!”
Moments later the butler, Jeeves, appeared. “You rang, sir?”
“You beat the victim to death with a block of ice, which melted. As butler, Jeeves, you’re the only one with access to ice.”
Jeeves bowed. “As you wish, sir.” Then he added, “Shall I bring the handcuffs, sir?”
SUMMARY JUSTICE
“No!” Chelsea yelled. “Put me down! Let me go! Stop!”
She felt herself being hoisted into the air, and with no great care either.
“It isn’t fair, it’s not my fault! Why me?” she moaned. “I’m not even two years old yet – ”
She was cut off in mid-sentence.
It made no difference, because no-one could understand what Chelsea the Range Rover was saying as she was lowered into the crusher, her owner having repeatedly been caught speeding on the school run. Some observers even applauded.
It’s not fair on the car. It’s the owner who belongs in the crusher.
ABRAHAM ZAPRUDER
For the 50th anniversary of President Kennedy’s assassination. Abraham Zapruder captured the famous live footage of the event.
I got it, I got it!
I got the whole thing in my movie camera. It’s all in there.
I was watching the President, the shots came from behind my back.
I’m gonna be rich, I’m gonna be famous.
Everyone will want a piece of me.
What’s gonna happen?
The police will want to speak to me. The papers, the TV. Everyone.
Maybe I don’t wanna be rich and famous.
They say the camera never lies. I wish it did this time.
I think I’ll give all my cameras away.
I don’t like cameras any more.
THE CUT THROAT GANG
It took the Cut Throat Gang just three minutes to steal seven hundred thousand pounds from the West End branch of the Bank of Scotland. Forty seconds to smash through the front door, twenty seconds to disable all the alarms, one minute thirty seconds to crack the safe, thirty seconds to scoop all the money into bags before they made their escape.
It took a lot less than three minutes to catch them. Thanks to a tip-off, the police were waiting for them at the door as they came out.
THE HACKER
Martha stared at her computer. The enormity of her achievement had finally dawned on her.
Aged just seventeen, she’d hacked into one of the world’s biggest banks. She’d simply become the Royal Bank of Scotland. All that remained was to transfer money from the RBS account into an unmarked Swiss account that only she knew about.
Typing in the last steps, the screen greeted her: “Welcome, RBS. What service would you like?” She asked it to transfer ten thousand pounds to Switzerland.
There was a delay, then the screen said simply, “Sorry RBS, you have insufficient funds for this transaction.”
DISSIDENT
Refused permission by the authorities to write in his native language, the dissident decided to mark his opposition in two ways. Firstly, he published his latest story in picture-form: a piece of flash fiction expressed as a strip cartoon, the only words being those found in billboard signs, newspaper headlines and so on. Secondly, he posted a 'real' hundred-word story on the a website he himself had created. Those who wanted to read it would know where to find it.
The effect was electric: the story went viral, until one day there was a knock on his apartment front door.
ON THE NAUGHTY STEP
They both sat on the naughty step. She'd been argumentative – something about snakes – he'd been name-calling.
"'S a' yer fault ah'm here," she moaned. "'S no' fair."
"Yous is aye cliping," he grumped. "If it wisnae fur yous, we'd neither o' us be here. Twenty minutes! Naw, s'no fair right enough."
Meanwhile, Maw was in the kitchen making dinner. "Quiet, yous twa!" she yelled. "D'ye's want some mair?"
The bairns replied in chorus that "it wisnae fair, it wis the other yin's fault." That did it, twenty minutes more. They protested, but Maw was unmoved. The cat wasn't impressed, either.
THE SUPREME COURT RULES
The garden game quickly descended into a squabble about the rules. Minutes later, Mom was there to sort it out.
"He cheated!" the girl said.
"That true?" Mom asked.
"'Plead the 5th," the boy said.
"He's a dirty low-down cheat!" the girl said.
Mom said, "Don't speak like – "
"I'll say what I like: 1st Amendment." Bear in mind these two kids are six and four.
"Well," said Mom, "Mrs Walker's phoned to complain – "
"That old witch!" the kids said in unison.
That did it. They were over her knee in no time: a cruel but not unusual punishment.
MORNING BREAK WITH THE BOYS
Following a ridiculous ruling by England’s Justice Minister that prisoners should not be allowed to receive books in prison, I donated some new copies of my own for the local prison library. They invited me to take a tour.
It's ten o'clock.
I'm looking down a long corridor. Because it's tea-break time, hundreds of people like me are walking from one part of the building to another. Gym to library. Farm area to education area. Anywhere to pass just another little part of the morning.
Everyone's in uniform, although not the same uniform. Some in red, some in blue, some in green; a cynical group wear jackets and carry radios.
You wouldn't like
it here. I don't, which I suppose is the point.
Actually, come to think of it, could you remind me again exactly what the point IS?
BREAK-IN AT THE DEAD OF NIGHT
0400 hours. Finally, the culmination of months of planning.
With one last hammer blow from Jake, the wall gave way and the Cut-Throat Gang found themselves on the ground floor of Pyramid, the high-end jewellers in Edinburgh’s West End. In front of them sat the diamond ring mounted in platinum, worth countless thousands, that they had all set their heart on.
Jake stepped forward to look closer; the price-tag said “Special Price Today - £1.00 only.” He smiled.
A voice spoke behind him. “Jake, isn’t this taking it a bit far to be first in the queue for Black Friday?”
WHITE LILIES
This is on exactly the same subject as the Billie Holiday song “Strange Fruit”.
Tick, tock, tick, tock. I look up as the pendulum swings.
Back and forward, back and forward.
I'm out at night with my sister, a few years older than me. From a safe distance, we're watching a familiar scene from the thirties: a solitary tree in a field, a bunch of white lilies stand below, silently gazing up as the tree keeps its own slow, rhythmic beat. The branch creaks in perfect time.
Back and forward.
My sister touches my arm. "Watch, Ellen," she whispers in my ear. "Watch the lilies."
"Aren't lilies supposed to be beautiful?" I ask her.
GUYS AND DOLLS
Barbie stood on the corner, chewing gum authoritatively. Most of the gang were dressed in short skirts and low-slung tops, but Barbie’s demeanour marked her out clearly as leader.
“Hey dolls, time to hit the clubs,” she said.
Nodding towards a figure standing a little away, Steffi and Cindy screwed up their faces. “All of us?”
“Why not?” A command, not a question. “He can’t help being male.”
“The inferior 49%,” Steffi muttered.
They set off, Action Man a few paces behind. Then he drew out his machine gun and wasted them all.
“The violent 49%. You dolls never learn.”