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Silly Manhunt Thing
Ontario Superior Court of Justicem, Friday, April 13
The judge making his way to the bench was no spring chicken, and the attractive woman had plenty of time for another look at the foofoo at the table opposite her. What was that around his neck?
Oops -- the judge was waiting. "Alex Cabot for the State of New York," she said.
As expected, Kern's lawyer started in on his whining. "The Supreme Court was unequivocal in its 9-0 ruling under the Charter of Rights and Freedoms of the Canadian constitution concerning the matter of extradition of capital offenses," he sniveled.
"Madame Prosecutor, aren't my hands tied by the Supreme Court's ruling?" the judge asked.
"Only if you're a big pussy," she replied. "I mean, why don't you just put up a sign that says, 'Welcome to Canada -- give us your murderers, your maniacs, your huddled killers yearning to breathe free'?" She paused to congratulate herself on her argument, and noticed Kern's lawyer staring at her. "What are you looking at, ribbon boy?"
"Uh . . ." The judge seemed at a loss for words. Poor old geezer. ". . . Mr. Picard, aren't you concerned that Canada might become a safe haven for criminals seeking to use our constitution as a shield from prosecution?"
Picard shot her an annoyed glance. "I would prefer not to speculate on the hypothethical situations that may or may not result from the high court's ruling," he said. "I can only ask this Court to interpret the law as it is written."
"OK. First of all, don't get me started on your so-called Supreme Court. Second, look at this guy." She gestured toward Kern standing in the dock. "He is a lying raping murdering truck- stealing -- hey, wait a minute . . . ." She chewed her lip for a moment. "You know what? Our DA isn't really that big on the murder- with-special-circumstances thing any more. He got his car stolen last week, so now it's all 'What about the truck? What about the truck?'" She rolled her eyes. "So I think we'll just drop all that other stuff. Now can we have him?"
The protestations of Asswipe's lawyer went nowhere, and soon she was letting herself back into the hotel room from which she had emerged two hours earlier.
"Hey," she said softly. "You feeling any better?"
"If being violently ill every half an hour instead of every 15 minutes can be construed as 'better,'" the woman in the bed groaned.
"Only a lawyer could make throwing up sound intellectual." Olivia reached behind her lover to stuff another pillow behind her shoulders.
"How'd it go?"
"Oh, good." The news seemed to cheer Alex. "We pulled it off. I owe you unbridled sex when we get home." The proposition trailed off into a cough. "Did you have any problems with the speech?"
"The one I put in your pocket."
While Alex reached over to the bedstand for a glass of water, Olivia stuck a hand into the pocket of her borrowed suit jacket and read the sheet of paper to herself. "While I do respect the high court's rulings in the matter of constitutional rights and protections, I would submit that this ruling does not apply . . ." When she finished, Alex was looking at her expectantly.
"Uh, no, no problems," she said. "That's exactly what I said." She unbuttoned the jacket, ready to get back into her jeans. "By the way, you don't think this judge knows Branch, do you . . .?"
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