1 The Bitches of Everafter (7 page)

11

My What Big Balls You Have

Judge Redhood stood in her enormous home office at the end of Wolf’s Den Drive, holding a bloody Mary in one hand and a golf putter in the other. She hated golf. Hated everything about the stupid sport, but her physician, Dr. Miner, thought it might help her stress levels if she developed a hobby that allowed her to relax—take her mind off her work. She told him that was what bloody Marys were for, but he seemed to think the booze would elevate her blood pressure, which was the very thing they were trying to lower, so golf it was. Except she wasn’t much for the sun and wide open spaces, which was why her house was situated at the end of a pine-lined street on the edge of Sherwood Forest. So she’d had her assistant, Tink, build her an indoor course. Currently Judge Redhood, whose friends would call her Red if she had any, was on the back nine, and if not for the bloody Mary Tink had just poured she would be launching the putter right through the Tudor-style window.

She sipped the spicy drink, popped a blue cheese olive into her mouth, and said, “What’s my score, Tink?”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t worry so much about keeping score. Perhaps the simple joy of the game should suffice.” Tink beamed her kilowatt smile at the judge, her curly turquoise hair bouncing all around her dainty shoulders. Her voice was a series of squeaks, clicks, and giggles that some people found annoying, but Judge Redhood usually found it endearing. She reminded the judge of what a dolphin or a butterfly might sound like if equipped with vocal cords.

There were a lot of things the judge didn’t like besides golf—surprises, old people, infomercials, losing, soup…the list was longer than her leg. Right at the top was being questioned.

She turned to her demure assistant with the almond shaped eyes and the glittery shadow that trailed behind her wherever she walked. The judge stood up very tall, towering over Tink and said, in a voice deep and low, “What. Is. My. Score.”

Tink fluttered back, her feet barely touching the ground as if she still had wings. She shuddered, then pulled out the scorecard and liberated a pencil from behind her little ear.

Judge Redhood sipped her drink, waiting for Tink to tally up the marks. She didn’t like snapping at the girl. She was just a slip of a thing with a loyal streak and a dedicated work ethic, but once you allowed a subordinate to question your authority, you lost all control. And Redhood had vowed long ago that she would never again lose control.

Tink lifted her heart-shaped face up to her boss. The judge clutched her drink. Her right leg shook involuntarily like a dog’s does when you rub him just right.

“Well, let’s have it,” said Judge Redhood.

Tink smiled broadly, although the judge thought she saw the curve of her mouth waver. “538.”

The judge set her putter down and leaned against her cherry wood desk. She looked up at the ceiling and pumped her fist once. “Yes! I’m getting better.” She finished her drink and smiled at the empty glass.

Tink waved her delicate arms in the air. “Yay!” She did a little cheer.

The judge stopped celebrating for a moment. 

“What was my handicap, Tink?”

Tink shuffled through the pockets of her grassy colored sundress. She pulled out a notebook. “Three windows.”

“That’s one less than last week,” the judge said with a twinge of excitement.

Tink bobbed her head up and down, grinning. “Six lamps.”

“Perhaps we should install recessed lighting,” Redhood said. “Make a note.”

“Indeed,” Tink agreed. She scribbled in her pad then checked her list. “One gardener.”

“Giant Jerry?” Redhood asked, disappointment coloring her words. “Oh, no. He’s the only one who can trim the trees properly. Without a ladder.”

“I’m afraid so, Judge. He has two black eyes from the first hole this morning.”

The judge frowned.

Tink was quick to lighten the somber mood. “It’s not your fault, Judge. The upper east wing has that nasty hazard.”

“Hmm,” the judge said. She turned to Tink. “Perhaps we should simply do away with the entire east wing.”

“But that’s where I live,” Tink said.

Redhood said, “Right.” She lifted the glass to her lips and tapped the bottom of it, sending some ice cubes tumbling into her mouth. As she bit into the hard coldness, the judge considered the best place to relocate her assistant so that she could improve her golf game and still have the girl at her beck and call in an instant. She gazed down at Fang, her pet wolf, who was silently dozing in the corner of the room. She spun back to Tink with a fresh idea.

Before Redhood could express her thought, Tink practically shouted, “We could build a bridge between the two wings, eliminating any sharp angles. Then you could just play straight through.”

Tink held her breath, her tiny body twitching.

A slow smile spread across the judge’s face. She snapped her fingers and said, “There you see, Tink, that’s why you and I get along so famously. You’re a forward thinker, an opportunist always looking for the best solution to a problem, just like me. I like it. Get started on it right away. After you fix me one more drink. It’s Saturday and I’ve done so well on my game I feel like indulging.”

“Right away,” Tink said. Then she frowned. She cocked a pointy ear toward the door.  “Do you hear that?”

Judge Redhood cocked her head as well. She didn’t hear a thing. Below her, Fang stirred. A low growl escaped his throat as he sat up straighter on his bed.

“It’s loud, obnoxiously so,” Tink said, casting a twittery glance at Fang.

Judge Redhood parted the curtains and the two women stood at the window, one straining to hear a phantom noise, the other certain that she was listening to a parade marching down the street, when Robin Hood’s crappy old Pinto coasted up and parked alongside the curb. It was blinking, honking, bouncing, and blaring.

“What in all the world?” Tink asked.

The judge glanced at the clock. She hadn’t realized it was so late.

“Let him in, Tink, and fix me that drink. I have a feeling there’ll be a lot to celebrate today.”

Tink whisked out of the room without saying another word while Judge Redhood stared out the window. A distraught, pink-faced Robin Hood exited his car, kicked the front tire, slammed the door, and trudged up the cobblestone pathway, folders in hand. He looked like a defeated man, and Red couldn’t have been more pleased.

Finally! He must have something, he simply must. At least on one of them. And that was all she needed—to tear just one of those bitches away from the rest of the pack. It was the five of them all together that was the problem. She never dreamed when she came to Everafter, when she agreed to this arrangement, that they would all meet in this land, let alone be living together under the same roof. It was a nightmare, these last few weeks, as one by one they paraded through her courtroom. Not broken as she had expected, but fierce, defiant, even courageous.

If she had her way, she would have locked up the last one, Snow White, and thrown away the key. That would have solved the problem. It was Snow who the judge truly despised, not for her crimes here, but for what she had done in their homeland.

But alas, there were rules and protocol to follow. So she had to wait, had to be patient. But now time was running out. They would only grow stronger the longer they stayed together and then she didn’t know what would happen. She hoped, as she watched the man she had been married to a lifetime ago—a man who only knew her now as the judge of Everafter—that he had some good news for her. From the vacant look in his eye, she supposed he did.

Redhood turned to Fang. The canine curved his neck around to look into his master’s eyes, his own eyes a glowing swirl of black and gold.

The judge said softly, “Well Fang, I have a feeling you and I will be hunting in the woods and eating filet mignon for years to come. If there’s one thing you can count on about a fallen princess it’s that no matter how far she drops, she can always sink further.”

The doorbell rang and Judge Redhood tossed her crimson locks over her shoulder, sucked down the last of her Bloody Mary, and walked behind her desk.

12

A Little Bit of Pixie Dust

Generally speaking, Tink loved most things in life. She loved the wind in her hair, she loved listening to the birds sing, she loved cotton candy and cartoons, but most of all she loved freedom. There were two things she did not like. The first was working for the judge, because not only did she have no freedom, no privacy and no personal time, but she also had to deal with Fang, the second thing she didn’t like. It wasn’t that she didn’t like dogs or house pets, it’s that Fang was neither. He was a wild animal that belonged in the woods, and he seemed to sense it. However, he had a warm bed to sleep in, all the food he could eat, and his favorite toy at his disposal—Tink herself.

Every Saturday morning, Tink wrestled with the idea of slipping something into the judge’s bloody Mary to make her ill so that Tink could sneak out and frolic in the sun. It was a simple fantasy, harmless, because Tink would never do such a thing for several reasons, not the least of which was that she would be the one ordered to clean up the mess.

She delivered her boss a second bloody Mary before heading to the front door to let Robin Hood in for their weekly meeting. Tink felt sorry for poor Robin, who used to be a proud, gallant man, but who seemed deflated these days. She wondered if he and the Missus were having trouble or if it had more to do with working with the judge. That was enough to shake the spring from any man’s step.

Tink opened the door extra wide and smiled extra big for the man with the badge. “Hiya, Robin!”

Robin nodded. “Hey, Tink. You get cuter every time I see you, you know that?”

Tink blushed. “Thanks.”

He looked toward the hall on the right where the home office was located. “Your boss in?”

Tink nodded and put a hand to the side of her mouth, shielding her lips. “She’s in a pretty good mood too, so you’re in luck.”

“I could use some of that today, I’ll tell you.” Robin glanced back toward the street.

“Car trouble?” Tink asked. She had heard the thing from at least three blocks away, she was certain. Her superior hearing was her superpower.

“You could say that.”

Tink shut the door behind Robin. “Come on, I’ll take you to her.”

They exchanged pleasantries on the way to the judge’s office and Tink stopped to fluff up a ficus. When they reached the double oak doors, she knocked once. “Judge Redhood, Robin Hood is here to see you.”

“Send him in,” said the judge.

Tink opened the doors, and swept her hand in front of Robin. “Be my guest.”

Robin thanked her, and she closed the doors behind him.

She walked a feet few down the hall until she heard the lock mechanism click. Then she shuffled back to the door, put her ear to it, and listened.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Hood. Can I have Tink bring you anything?”

Tink straightened and held her breath.

“No thank you, Judge, I’m fine.”

“Now then,” the judge said, “What have we got this week?”

There was some shuffling of papers. Ice clinked in a glass as the judge sipped her drink. She said, “Hm-hm. Very good.”

She didn’t sound like she meant it. Her voice was pinched, sour. “Snow White will begin therapy and community service this week then?”

“That’s correct. As you can see, the others are doing remarkably well.”

Officer Hood’s voice cracked a bit at the word ‘well’. Did that mean he was lying? Or was there some other meaning behind that shaky tone?

Tink pulled out her notebook and wrote down her thoughts. Her favorite thing to do in this big boring house was to eavesdrop. Not because she was nosy, but because she loved to study the human condition. She was fascinated with psychology and hoped to be a shrink someday. Not the kind that prescribed drugs, but the kind that helped people with their problems through cognitive therapy like Doctor Bean. She adored him—had a huge crush on him in fact. He told her once after one of his town hall rap sessions—his words, not Tink’s—that she could intern with him, and if she liked it and did well, he’d put in a good word for her at the psychology department at the university. She had been over the moon!

Of course that was before she spoke with the judge.

“Absolutely not, Tink,” the judge had said. “I need you here and fully focused on your job.”

As if shoveling up dog doo the size of her head took more brains and commitment than Tink could handle.

But she needed the job and the room, and since it was all she could ever remember doing, how else would she pay for her tuition? She had a stash saved up, so she knew someday she’d make her dream come true. Just not today.

Through the closed door, the judge said, “That’s it? That’s all you have?” She sounded irritated. Perhaps Tink hadn’t put enough vodka in her cocktail.

Robin said, “I thought you’d be pleased. They’re doing well in the program and Granny seems to have a handle on her tenants.” His voice was a clipped. Robin, it seemed to Tink, didn’t care for the judge’s mood swings either.

The judge backpedaled. “Well, of course, I’m pleased, Robin, I’m just wondering if perhaps you aren’t watching them closely enough.”

“Doing my surprise rounds, just like you wanted.”

Judge Redhood tapped her high-heeled foot. She didn’t do that often, but Tink knew from experience that it was an anxious habit.

Why would she be anxious, Tink wondered.

A chair slid back. “I want you to up the surveillance. Watch them more closely.”

“You want...I mean, what? Why?” Robin asked.

Tink bit her lip, waiting for the judge to drop the hammer on him. If there was one thing her boss didn’t like, it was being questioned about anything she did or said.

To her surprise, Tink didn’t hear any glass breaking or Robin being strangled with his own moustache.

Rather, she heard the false smile in the judge’s words as she said, “Well isn’t it obvious? I care about my town and I want only the most upstanding citizens living in it.”

There was a pause. Then, “And what seems to be the trouble with your car, Officer Hood? I thought I heard a commotion before you pulled up to the house.”

Hood’s chair squeaked. “Electrical problem. Gotta get it looked at.”

“Hmm,” the judge said.

Another pause.

“If that’s all, Officer Hood, you may leave now.”

The chair groaned as Robin got to his feet. “I’ll show myself out. See you next week.”

Tink took cover behind a huge vase as Robin left the judge’s office. He shut the door and turned the corner, his boots clacking along the tile. The front door opened and closed. Then Tink scurried back to the office doors.

There was silence for a moment. She heard the judge tapping on something. After a moment, Redhood said, “It’s me.”

There was a pause, then “I don’t see how,” said the judge.

Another pause. Tink had pretty good ears, but not good enough to hear across telephone wire transmissions.

“No, I don’t think memory is an issue yet, but it may be soon.”

What was she talking about? Whose memory?

Silence.

“I’m not certain. Could be days, could be weeks.”

Another pause, longer this time. Who was on the other end of that phone call?

“My biggest concern is the treaty.”

Treaty? Was she talking to some sort of government official? The mayor? The president? This was too weird.

Redhood took a deep breath, then said, “I don’t think that’s wise. The protocol—” She stopped abruptly.

Whoa. No one cut the judge off. Not in conversation, not on the highway, and not on the phone. Tink waited for her to explode at whomever she was speaking to. Except she didn’t. She only sighed. 

“No, of course not, but—”

The judge drummed her heel, faster this time. The sound vibrated through the door.

“Yes, I understand.”

A long pause.

“Consider it done.”

The judge hung up the phone. Tink heard a crash and the shatter of broken glass. It wouldn’t be the first lamp her boss had smashed out of anger.

This was big, whatever it was. Bad too, if Judge Redhood was rattled. Tink decided then and there to pay a little more attention to what went on around this place.

For now, though, she tip-toed backwards, away from the judge’s office.

She was almost near the curve in the hallway when she heard a menacing growl from behind her.

Fang.

Tink ran for her life.