Not guilty? Not guilty? Judge Blick stared. What an idea! The concept of somebody entering his courtroom who was not guilty was so startling as to verge on the physically impossible. Judge Blick frowned at the defendant – who was guilty as hell, you could tell it by looking at the man – and repeated, "Not guilty?"

"Completely not guilty, Your Honor," Stonewiler declared. "It is my hope," he continued, declaiming as though for multitudes, "to prevent, with Your Honor's assistance, a tragic miscarriage of justice."

"With my assistance eh?" Judge Blick narrowed his beady eyes. No funny business in my courtroom, he told himself, and said to the bailiff, "Is the arresting officer here?"

"Yes, Your Honor. Officer Fahey! Officer Fahey!"

Officer Fahey, a huge beefy Irishman in dark blue, came confidently forward, was sworn, and told a simple story. He had been on radio-car patrol with his partner, Officer Flynn, and they had started a routine check of an alley behind a row of stores when they saw the defendant – "That fella right there" – emerging from a doorway with a pair of TV sets in his hands. The fella had frozen in their lights, they had stepped out of the car to investigate, and they had found approximately thirty other TVs and similar appliances stacked just inside the door, apparently for easy removal to the defendant's automobile, parked nearby. The defendant had made no statement, and had been arrested, advised of his rights, brought to the precinct and booked.

Judge Blick listened to this tale with the soothing calm of long familiarity. How nicely policemen testified! Thud thud thud came the facts, each word following inexorably like the brogans of a cop walking his beat. Judge Blick nearly smiled as he listened to it, this gentle lullaby, and at the end said, "That seems very straightforward, Officer."