Pushing Her Luck

Pushing Her Luck

by Loki Renard

“So, what’s the damage, Saul?” ‘Loki’ said, trying to sound nonchalant as she lowered her stinging rear onto the hard plastic prison chair.

Her lawyer looked annoyed, a little bit bored and a little bit paunchy.

“Well, Ms…” He shuffled through his documents, obviously looking for something in particular. “Ermentrude,” he finished, pulling out Loki’s real name. “It looks as if your stay here will be extended. The judge isn’t impressed.”

“The judge should be impressed, we went through an entire trial without anyone noticing the documents didn’t add up. I should be set free!” Ermentrude pointed out.

Saul looked at her with expressionless eyes. “That’s not the way it works.”

“I know that’s not the way it works. The state needs license plates more than it needs free people.”

Saul shook his head and rattled his papers in a way that was probably supposed to suggest officiousness and power. “I can lodge an appeal, but it will more than likely be struck down. Worse case scenario, they charge you again and you end up in here for an even longer stretch. If I were you, I’d keep my head down.”

Ermie seethed silently. Typical Saul. Worst lawyer alive. “Well if I were you, I’d invest in some Rogaine and stop fucking teenage interns, but that’s just me,” she lashed out bitterly.

Saul gathered his papers with a grim face and stuffed them into his shiny leather briefcase. “I’ve done my duty in informing you. Good luck, Miss Ermentrude.”

Dodging the chair she’d thrown at her lawyer as it rebounded off the wall, Ermie was irritated to find that it bounced off the bullet proof divider without so much as a scratch, allowing her slimy lawyer to escape unscathed.

“Hey, calm down, you’re in enough trouble,” C.O Henderson reminded her in harsh official tones. “This isn’t your house. We don’t throw furniture in here.”

“What? No fucking pun this time? What kind of house do you think I used to live in? A fucking fun fair house? A house of rubber?” Ermie snapped with angry sarcasm, turning her ire on the C.O.

Henderson’s smile was unpleasant. “I’m really going to enjoy taking you back to Callie, girl. Might even stick around and watch.”

“You would, sicko,” Ermie muttered under her breath. Henderson gave her a nudge to get her moving, and although she briefly considered digging her heels in and refusing to go back, she’d still rather deal with Callie than the screws any day.

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“There you go, Miss Ermentrude,” C.O Henderson ushered Ermie back into her cell. She didn’t stick around and watch as she’d threatened. She couldn’t because another one of the inmates had decided to go batshit insane elsewhere in the prison and all the C.Os were needed to go tase everyone who looked at them funny. She’d done all the damage she needed to by using Ermie’s real name though. Bitch. Ermie mentally added her to the list of people who would suffer revenge.

Callie was standing in the middle of the cell, looking mad. She’d probably been pacing back and forth the whole time. If they ever made a Shawshank Redemption style escape, it’d be through the rut in the floor created by Callie’s pacing.

“You lied.” The words were heavy.

Ermie noticed she had one of the arms of her uniform rolled up, the one on her hittin’ arm, signifying that she was probably still not done with her beating plans. She shook her head. Callie was making way too much out of this whole thing. “Oh no, your trust is shattered, because ‘Loki’ totally sounded like a real name anyway. Assuming you’re Norwegian and it’s the year 500 BCE,” she said sarcastically.

Callie looked momentarily befuddled at the classical reference before becoming annoyed at the sarcasm. “Have you lost your mind, fish?”

“Ah fuck, whatever,” Ermie tossed herself down on her bed, making sure her ass was well protected. “Just don’t leave any mythical objects around and you’ll be fine. I’m particularly bad at stealing hammers that make lightning.”

Callie snorted. “I’ll be fine? You should be worrying about you,” she said in threatening tones.

“Believe me – I’m plenty worried about me,” Ermie replied.

For a long moment, there was silence. Callie seemed utterly torn between types of violence to inflict on Ermie. Finally, she sighed and sat down on her own bed. She still didn’t roll her sleeve down, but the movement pleased Ermie none the less. The beating had been postponed, if not canceled completely.

“So you’re Ermentrude?” Callie asked, clearly trying to restrain a smirk.

“Ermie,” Ermie corrected.

“Ermie. Well I guess that explains a life of stealing other people’s names.”

The joke riled Ermie instantly. She raised herself on her elbows and poked a finger at Callie. “Don’t you fucking…”

Callie’s expression darkened. “Now would not be a good time to start swearing at me, fish. You lied to me. I ain’t forgotten that. ”

Ermie rolled her eyes. “What do you care what my name is anyway, you’ve never used it. You prefer hitting to talking. If my ass had turned out to be someone else’s ass, I could understand your disappointment.”

Callie growled. “You got a real mouth on you girl, you know that?”

“Thank god one of us does. You know, in case we encounter a situation where hitting the nearest thing doesn’t help.”

Ermie knew she was getting stupidly reckless now, but something inside her just wouldn’t let her shut up. An extension to her sentence was bad news, real fucking bad news. She’d have loved nothing more than to curl up and cry, but that wasn’t an option in the Bucket.

“Fish, are you tryin’ to get your ass beat?”

Ermie looked over at Callie. The woman’s expression was thunderous, and she was rubbing her hands together as if barely restraining herself from grabbing Ermie then and there. The outcome of this little discussion was obvious, even to Ermie. All there was left to do was damage control of sorts. The breadboard paddle from earlier was sitting at the foot of Callie’s bed, and Ermie knew damn well that Callie would be using it sooner rather than later. Fuck that. Fuck everything about that.

Moving with uncharacteristic speed, Ermie jumped up from her bed and rushed Callie, who, reacting in utter surprise, recoiled for a split second. That was all it took for Ermie to press her advantage. She grabbed the breadboard paddle, rushed over to the cell door and shoved it through the dinner slot.

A moment later she heard it drop in the hall outside and turned around with a satisfied grin, her arms raised in triumph. “Fuck yeah. Three points to me. I told you to watch your stuff.”

 

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The End

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