Worlds Collide

“Now, excuse me, but how bloody amorphous is all that? It’s like Wheel of Fortune Murder Edition.” I finish my third glass of red wine, dip the last of the garlic bread in the red sauce from heaven, and order spumoni and coffee.

“Who thought all this up, Sean?”

“Not me, honey. I’m from Texas. We have our own ideas about justice in Texas,” he says. He is undressing me with his eyes, which I enjoy.

“Then, if you are convicted of using a deadly weapon during the commission of a crime, in Nevada it is a separate offense, right, in and of itself, and it can and usually does double your sentence.

Right now, even steel-toed boots are deadly weapons. I mean, how do you kill someone without using a deadly weapon? At the moment you pick up the gun, plastic fork, prosthetic foot, whatever you use to effectuate the killing, that thing automatically becomes a deadly weapon. It seems unfair and like it ought to be overturned.”

“That’s the daily double, I guess,” Sean says.

“It sounds more like double jeopardy to me.”

Sean just watches me, letting me unwind.

“I know I have no juris doctorate, but it strikes me that once you leave the land of first degree, it’s all jury voodoo. You know, it is weird. The whole trial began with sorcery at the motion to dismiss, and we end it on black magic and voodoo.”

“I like the way you think, kid. You’re unique and intelligent, and you have great legs.” At this, he slides his hand up my thigh, which I do not count as cheating, because A, John is the one really cheating, and B, I have trousers on. I am lonely, and I am intoxicated, and I have a very powerful man’s eyes all over me … and his hand is only on my thigh.

We are interrupted by the waiter, who brings my spumoni and coffee. I light a cigarette.

“You look a little beat up, kiddo. You need to relax. I could take you on my plane to my island in the Caribbean.”

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