I walked into Big Denny's office to find him flipping through a pile of
Card Player magazines. "Hey, Maxey," he growled, "I got a beef wit' ya."
What else is new? "What's the problem this time, Denny?"
"All dese years ya been makin' a livin' writin' about me, but I never got nuttin' from it. How come I don't get a cut of yer action?"
"It would be a breach of journalistic ethics," I assured him righteously. "If writers paid our news sources, it would compromise our integrity."
"Integrity!?" he bellowed. "All ya does is make up garbage about me, like I'm some sorta mug wit' no education. Don't ya know I almost graduated?"
"From where? Reform school?"
"Dat does it!" Big Denny shouted. "If yer gonna keep insultin' me, yer gonna pay fer da privilege. I'm gonna get half of everyt'in' ya been paid, so lemme figger out how much ya owes me. Let's see. Ya been writin' fer
Card Player fer about 20 years now. So 26 times 20 is … is …"
"One hundred issues," I prompted him.
"Yeah, dats about right. An I figure about 99 of dose times ya wrote about me. Say, how much does Card Player pay ya, anyway?"
"Oh, nearly minimum wage."
Big Denny began writing down numbers. After great length, he slammed down his pen in triumph. "Maxey, I figgers ya owes me 200 grand," he announced.
"Really? You're off by only a few thousand percent."
"You fergits about interest, Maxey. I charges 6 percent … per week."
"Look, Denny," I said patiently, "you're the one who ought to pay me for all the publicity I've brought to the Barstow Card Casino."
"Yeah, some publicity," Big Denny snorted. "Every time ya writes somet'in' about my joint, I get raided by da cops."
Sure, blame me, I thought. His casino has been charged with running an illegal craps game in the backroom, loan sharking, extortion, money laundering, sanitary violations at his "Four-Star Buffet," use of marked cards, and at least six unsolved murders. He doesn't need any help from me.
"Denny," I said, "I'd really like to share my money with you, but I saved up all my
Card Player salary and spent it on a new pair of sneakers."
"Yeah, well ya shoulda spent it on bandages if ya don't come across wit' my share of all da loot ya collected writin' about me. Or maybe ya prefer I sue ya in court?"
"Don't be preposterous. Your case is about as legitimate as the Loch Ness monster."
"Da lox mess monster? Never heard a' him."
"Never mind. Besides, even if by some miracle you got a judgment for a few dollars, the court costs would be a lot more."
A big smirk crossed Big Denny's simian features. "I got dat figgered out too, Maxey. You an' me is gonna be in Judge Judy's court. Here's da soopeena."
Denny handed me a paper summoning me to appear on her show at a given date. It had as much validity as all the spam e-mail I get saying I won the lottery, but I decided to humor the big ape and show up. It was better than having him blow up my car.
On the appointed day, I walked into the TV courtroom set. There was the familiar lady, black-robed, stern, and unsmiling as ever. She glanced at Big Denny and shuddered. "Very well, who is the plaintiff?"
Denny gave her a blank look. "What's dat?" he asked.
"The party bringing charges."
"Oh, yeah, dat's me, Judy."
"Judge Judy, you imbecile," she barked.
"OK, lady, whatever ya says."
There was a silence. "Well?" the judge demanded.
"Well, what, Judy? I means,
Judge Judy," Big Denny asked.
"Your charges," she said as patiently as she was capable of doing. "Will you kindly explain the nature of your complaint against Mr. Shapiro?"
"Oh, yeah. Well, dis bum been writin' about me fer years in a poker magazine. He never gets nuttin' right about me, makes up all kinda stuff, makes it look like I'm runnin' some kinda crooked joint in Barstow. An' if dat ain't bad enough, he don't wanna cut me in on da action an' pay me."
"Your honor," I interjected, "I have given considerable publicity to the Barstow Card Casino, which has brought it numerous patrons."
"Oh, yeah?" Denny sneered. "Da only people ya ever brought in, Maxey, was da cops when ya wrote about my dice game."
Starting to get worked up, Big Denny cocked his fist and made a move toward me.
Judge Judy banged her gavel. "Order in the court!" she demanded.
"Oh, ya kin order here?" Big Denny smiled. "In dat case, I'd like a meatball san'wich."
Judge Judy buried her face in her hands. "How did these characters ever get in here?" she moaned. "Look, gentlemen, this is a court of law, not Jerry Springer." She looked at me. "Mr. Shapiro, can you offer any intelligent rebuttal to Mr. Denny's claims?"
"Sure," I said. "It's ridiculous for me to pay him. I mean, Dirty Wally pays me $10 every time I write about him."
The proceedings were starting to get to the good judge. "Dirty Wally? And who the hell, I mean, who in the world might that be?"
On cue, the courtroom doors swung open. "That's me, yer honor." In walked my key witness, long stringy hair, scraggly whiskers, cowboy hat, and water bottle sticking out of his back pocket. What an impressive sight!
"I'm Dirty Wally," he announced, "winner of 175 tournaments, married eight times, star of 100 movies, and I'm available to sweat anyone fer five bucks an hour. Hey, kin ya use me on yer show, judge?"
"We can manage quite well without your services, Mr. Wally. Is it true that you pay Mr. Shapiro to write about you?"
"Waal, yes an' no, yer honor. I don't need any publicity 'cause everyone knows who I am. I sometimes pay Max to write about my gran'pappy, Filthy Willy. He ain't worked in 75 years an' I'm tryin' ta get him a job. Wanna talk to him?"
"No!" Judge Judy yelled, but it was too late. The door slowly opened and a scraggly creature wearing a Confederate Army cap staggered in.
He looked around in confusion and began sobbing. "Am I in jail again? I didn't do nothin'. Why are you Yankees always pickin' on me?"
The judge seemed about to have a stroke. She flailed her arms, cursed, waved her gavel, and then banged it so hard that the head flew off and struck Big Denny in the groin. Enraged, he charged the bench and began rocking it back and forth. I covered my ears as Judge Judy screamed hysterically and a squad of police rushed in and began clubbing Denny on the head. Growling like a demented gorilla, he flung them off and began demolishing the court stage.
Thus ended the most entertaining show Judge Judy will ever film. Be sure to watch for it. In the meantime, not only is Big Denny still after me to get money for those stories, but now the
Judge Judy show is holding me responsible and suing for the cost of Denny's destruction of the court and the medical bills for the five cops he sent to the emergency room, along with treatment for the judge's nervous breakdown.
I probably should have just paid him the first time around.
