The Fugitive (8 page)

T
heo was leaving school on a Wednesday afternoon when his pal Woody stopped him at the bike rack. Woody was obviously worried about something. He said, “Say, Theo, you know the judge in Animal Court, don't you?”

It was a loaded question, and Theo immediately wondered what mischief Woody had been up to. He was a good kid and Theo liked and trusted him, but his family was a bit on the rough side and Woody was always either in trouble or close to it. “Sure. What's up?”

“Well,” Woody said, glancing around as if the police might be listening, “I have to be in court tomorrow afternoon. My brother Evan and I are being accused of something.”

Theo slowly got off his bike, hit the kickstand, and said, “Okay, what are you accused of?”

“My mom and stepdad don't know about this, Theo, and I'd like to keep it quiet.” Woody's home life was unsettled. His mother had been married at least twice and her current husband traveled a lot. Woody's father was a stonemason who lived in town with another wife and some small children. An older brother had been in trouble with the law. He asked, “If you go to Animal Court, do you have to tell your parents?”

“Not always,” Theo said. He almost added that it's always best to tell your parents, but then he often kept secrets from his. “What's happened?”

“Have you ever heard of fainting goats?”

“Fainting goats?”

“Yes. Fainting goats.”

“No. I've never heard of fainting goats.”

“Well, it's a long story.”

• • •

The following afternoon, Theo was sitting next to Woody and Evan in a small, cramped room in the basement of the Strattenburg County Courthouse, waiting for Judge Sergio Yeck to assume the bench and call things to order. They were in folding chairs behind a folding table, and behind them were several other people, including Chase, Aaron, and Brandon, all there out of curiosity. Across the aisle sat an angry man named Marvin Tweel. He was a farmer dressed in his work clothes—faded denim overalls, plaid shirt, and steel-toed boots with mud caked permanently on the soles and heels. Behind him were several people, part of the usual Animal Court crowd of folks trying to rescue unleashed dogs that had been picked up by the town's rather aggressive dogcatcher.

At four p.m., Judge Yeck walked through a rear door and took his seat at the bench. As always, he was wearing jeans, cowboy boots, and an old sports coat. As usual, he seemed bored with what he was doing. He was the lowest-ranking judge in town; in fact, he was the only lawyer who would handle the part-time job. Animal Court got little respect. Theo, though, loved it because there were few rules and no lawyers were required. Anyone, including a thirteen-year-old who thought he was a lawyer, could appear on behalf of a client.

“Hello, Theo,” Judge Yeck said. “How are your folks?”

“They're doing fine, thanks, Judge.”

Yeck looked at a sheet of paper and said, “All right, our first case is Mr. Marvin Tweel versus Woody and Evan Lambert.” He looked at the farmer and said, “Are you Mr. Tweel?”

Mr. Tweel stood and said, “Yes, sir.”

“Welcome to Animal Court, sir. You may keep your seat. Things are real informal in here.” Mr. Tweel nodded awkwardly and sat down. He was obviously nervous and out of place. Judge Yeck looked at Theo and said, “I take it you represent the Lambert brothers.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. Mr. Tweel, you are the complaining party, so you go first.”

Mr. Tweel said, “Well, uh, Your Honor, do I need a lawyer? If they got one, do I need one?”

“No, sir, not in this court. And Mr. Boone here is not a real lawyer, not yet anyway. He's more like a legal adviser.”

“Do I need a legal adviser like him?”

“No, sir, you certainly do not. Proceed with your story.”

Satisfied and more at ease, Mr. Tweel began: “Well, Judge, you see I have a small farm just south of town, and I raise and sell a certain breed of goats that some people enjoy as pets. Others raise them for meat and cashmere. They're not your typical goats. They're much smaller and easier to care for. They're called myotonic goats, on account of a muscle condition known as myotonia congenita. Now that's about all I know when it comes to the science, but one aspect of this condition is that their muscles freeze when they panic and they get all stiff and frozen, then they fall over with their legs straight out. That's why they are better known as fainting goats. They don't really faint, they remain conscious, but they're out of it for about ten seconds. Then they get up and everything's okay. It's just a muscle condition, nothing to do with the brain or anything.”

“Fainting goats?” Judge Yeck said.

“Yes, sir. They're pretty well known in the goat world.”

“Well, excuse me. So what's your complaint about?”

Mr. Tweel glared at Woody and Evan and continued: “Well, late Monday afternoon, I was in the house reading the newspaper when my wife sticks her head in the den and says there's a commotion down at the goat shed. It's about a hundred yards behind the house, so I head down there. As I get close, I hear somebody laughing. Somebody's on my property, so I step into my toolshed and grab my twelve gauge. When I get closer to the goat shed, I see these two boys here messing with my goats. I watch 'em for a few minutes. One is on one end of the goat pen, and the other is leaning on a fence taking a video. One—and I can't tell them apart—jumps out from behind a water trough, claps his hands real loud, yells at my goats as he lunges at them, then cracks up laughing when they faint. When the goats get up, they run away, and he chases them, yelling like an idiot until he corners a couple, lunges at them again, and howls when they go down.”

Judge Yeck was amused. He looked at Theo and said, “So we have this on video?”

Theo nodded. Yes.

“How many goats were in the pen?” Judge Yeck asked.

“Eleven.”

“Please continue.”

“And then, and this is what really ticks me off, when things get real still, one of the boys lights a firecracker and tosses it at the goats. Bam! All eleven go down, stiff-legged, like they're dead. At that point, the boys start running, but I'm right on them. They see my shotgun, and they decide their fun and games are over. They're lucky I didn't shoot them.”

“Did the goats get up?” Judge Yeck asked.

“Yes, sir, they did, but here's the bad part. About an hour after I get rid of the boys, after I get their names and address, I go back down to the goat pen to check on things. That's when I saw that Becky was dead.”

“Who's Becky?”

Mr. Tweel picked up two enlarged photos. He handed one to the judge and one to Theo. It was a fluffy white goat, lying on its side, either in the process of fainting, or in fact dead.

“That's Becky,” Mr. Tweel said, his voice suddenly weaker. They looked at him and realized his eyes were moist.

“How old was Becky?” Judge Yeck asked.

“She was four, Judge. I was there when she was born. Probably the sweetest goat I've ever had.” He wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. In an ever-weaker voice, he went on, “She was perfectly healthy. I kept her because she was a good breeder. Now she's gone.”

“Are you accusing Woody and Evan Lambert of killing your goat?” Judge Yeck asked.

“She was fine and dandy until they came along. I don't make my goats faint. Some people do, I guess, for fun and sport. Not me. These boys scared 'em to death at first, then I think that firecracker really upset them. Yes, sir, I think these boys killed Becky.”

“How much was she worth?”

“Four hundred dollars on the market, but to me she was worth more because she was such a good mare.” Mr. Tweel was regaining his composure.

Judge Yeck paused for a long time, and finally said, “Anything else, Mr. Tweel?”

He shook his head. No.

“Theo.”

Theo, who'd spent Wednesday night outlining his arguments and had thought of little else all day, began by stating the obvious. “Well, Judge, of course my clients were wrong to be there. It's not their property. They were clearly trespassing and should be punished for that. But there was no intent to do anything wrong. Look, fainting goats are famous because they faint. Mr. Tweel just said that a lot of owners make their goats faint for the fun of it. Go online and check out YouTube. There are dozens of videos of people who own these goats jumping and yelling and springing up with big umbrellas and such, all in an effort to frighten the goats so they'll do what they're expected to do—to faint! That's all.”

“But your clients didn't own the goats,” Judge Yeck interrupted.

“No, Judge, of course they did not. Again, they should not have been there.”

“And they made a video?”

“Yes, sir.”

“To post on YouTube, I presume.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. Let's roll the tape.”

Theo knew the video would be shown, and he was prepared. It was hilarious and he planned to use it anyway. Some humor might soften up Judge Yeck and show that making a fainting goat faint was harmless.

He had loaded the video into his laptop and wired it to a larger screen. He placed it on a folding table near Judge Yeck and hit a button. Everyone in the courtroom squeezed closer to the table.

The video: a fenced-in pen attached to a shed; a herd of eleven smallish goats, some black, some white, all with large bug-like eyes protruding from sockets, and all obviously minding their own business. Suddenly, Evan Lambert jumps from behind a water trough, yelling and clapping his hands, whooping and lunging at the startled and unsuspecting goats; several go stiff-legged and keel over; others go scurrying about as Evan gives chase, still yelping like an maniac, but also laughing. He zeroes in on one of the goats and stalks it until it decides life might be safer if it just faints; down it goes; others get up, baying at one another in chaotic frenzy; Evan continues tormenting them while, from behind the camera, Woody can be heard laughing uncontrollably.

It was indeed funny, and most of the people in the courtroom could not contain their laughter. In particular, Woody, Evan, Chase, Aaron, and Brandon were in stitches. Theo, the lawyer, managed to watch it with a straight face, partly because he had already seen it many times. Judge Yeck was amused. Mr. Tweel was not.

The video: During a lull in the action, the goats—all standing now—bunch together as if looking for safety while Evan fishes something out of his pocket. The firecracker. He grins at the camera, lights the firecracker, tosses it near the herd of rattled goats; sounds like a cannon, and all eleven hit the ground, their short little legs stiff as poles. Evan doubles over in a fit of laughter. Woody is heard roaring again.

End of video.

Everyone inched back to their seats. Judge Yeck waited for quiet and took a deep breath. Finally, “Proceed, Mr. Boone.”

“I would like for Evan Lambert to make a statement,” Theo said.

“Very well.”

Evan sat up straight and cleared his throat. He was fifteen but no taller than his younger brother. All humor had vanished and Evan was unsure of himself. He said, “Well, Judge, like Theo said, we shouldn't have been there. It was my idea. I saw a YouTube video last week, and so Woody and I started looking for fainting goats. We looked in the Yellow Pages and found goat farms, then we found Mr. Tweel's place. All we wanted to do was see if the goats would really faint. You know how it is—you can't believe everything you see on the Internet, and so we were just having some fun. That's all.”

“Did you post the video?” Judge Yeck asked.

“No, sir. Mr. Tweel said he would shoot us if we did.”

“And I will!” Mr. Tweel growled from twenty feet away.

“Enough of that,” Judge Yeck said. “Theo.”

“Yes, sir, and I'd like for my client Woody Lambert to make a statement.”

Woody was cockier than his big brother and was really not remorseful. Theo had cautioned him that any brash talk would hurt their cause. Act like you're sorry, Theo had warned him more than once.

Woody began, “Well, sure, we're real sorry about this. We didn't intend to hurt anybody, or any goat. Did you know, Judge, that they have a fainting goat festival every year down in Tennessee? I swear. Folks take their goats to the festival and for three days make 'em faint. I think they even give prizes. So what we did was not that bad. But, I agree, we were wrong.”

“What about Becky?” the judge asked.

“Who?”

“The dead goat.”

“Oh, that one,” Woody replied. “Look, Judge, when we left there, after a long talk with Mr. Tweel, all his goats were fine. We didn't kill one. If one died later, I don't see how you can blame that on us.”

“You gave her a heart attack,” Mr. Tweel said. “Just as sure as I'm sitting here.”

Theo said, “But there's no way to prove that, Judge, short of an autopsy. That's the only way to prove what caused her death.”

“You want to do an autopsy on a goat?” Judge Yeck asked, his eyebrows arched as high as possible.

“No, I didn't say that, Judge. That would cost more than she's worth.”

Judge Yeck scratched his stubble and seemed to be deep in thought. After a pause he said, “You have to admit, Theo, that it looks pretty suspicious. The goats were fine until a firecracker went off and shocked them to the ground.”

“They just fainted, Judge, then, they got back to their feet and forgot about it.”

“How do you know they forgot about it?”

“Uh, well, I guess I really don't.”

“Be careful what you say, Theo,” Judge Yeck lectured. “Lawyers have a way of overstating their case.”

“Sorry, Judge, but it's going overboard to accuse my clients of killing a goat. Under our statutes killing a farm animal is a felony that carries a punishment of up to five years in jail. Do you really think Woody and Evan deserve five years in jail?”