For the Love of Amelia

Ian Cognito takes a deep breath.

A sleepy-eyed teen with pink hair dispassionately says, “Welcome to Cross River’s Taco Palace. It’s Taco Tuesday…What can I get you?”

His hand shaking, Ian reaches into his jacket, producing an ancient revolver.

“You can get me all of your money!”

“You’re sure you don’t want our Super Senor Special?”

“The only thing I’m hungry for right now is money.”

“Okay, have it your way,” the girl replies, opening the cash register.

“Isn’t that Burger King’s slogan?”

“Are you a criminal or the fast-food police?”

“I’m not a criminal…”

“Right. You’re an independent contractor,” the girl replies.

She stuffs the cash in a take-out bag, handing it to Ian.

“Have a nice day!”

                                               ***

Ian counts the money, totaling $345, mostly in one-dollar bills. Realizing his appetite has awoken, he heads for McDonald's.

After lunch, Ian returns to his small apartment. He groans at the stack of bills in his mailbox, wondering if the landlord will let him skate on paying rent for another month.

Opening his front door, Ian is immediately set upon by two police officers who put him in handcuffs.

A third officer, Dante Alouetta, takes the sack, saying, “We’ve been waiting a while for you.”

“I spent eighteen bucks on lunch,” Ian offers. “McDonald’s is more expensive than I thought.”

“Consider it your last meal,” Officer Alouetta replies. “The folks at Taco Palace are relieved you didn’t rob them earlier. They sent a kid off to the bank with a four thousand dollar deposit a few minutes before you came in.”

                                               ***

Ian’s cousin, Dickie McSwain, represents him in court. Dickie is a well-known ambulance chaser with greasy hair whose wrinkled checkered suits shout limited success. His smarmy patter and penchant for capitalizing on loopholes have hardly endeared him to Judge Ramsey Reinhold.

His silver hairline further receding with each stressful case, Judge Reinhold glares at the scruffy, blonde-haired twenty-something man fidgeting before him, certain he’s seen him before.

The Judge groans when he reads the defendant’s name.

“Back again, Mister Cognito? We first met when you tried to rob a gun shop with a baseball bat.”

“I was seventeen. Young and stupid.”

“And now you’re much smarter, aren’t you? I gave you probation for your first offense because you looked naive and harmless, and you swore you’d never do it again. At twenty-two, you broke into a house, looking for the owner’s coin collection, which was actually in a safe in the house across the street. You got hungry, so you cooked some eggs. The family returned home, and the wife subdued you with a frying pan. I sentenced you to pick up trash for ninety days when I should have jailed you for three years. Now I’ve got egg on my face because here you are again, twenty-seven and still stupid.”

“It was a crime of desperation, your honor,” Dickie says. “Mister Cognito is a carpenter. Since he was laid off, finding work has been hard for him.”

“I hope you’re a better carpenter than criminal, Mister Cognito.”

“He is your honor. In fact, Ian made the bench you’re sitting on.”

Judge Reinhold studies the bench’s fine craftsmanship and buffed mahogany finish.

“Excellent work… So, you were apprehended in your apartment with the stolen money, except for eighteen dollars, which you spent on lunch…Let me get this straight. You robbed the Taco Palace, but you went somewhere else for lunch. Why not pick up a burrito or two? It was Taco Tuesday…”

“I’ve got a sensitive stomach, Your Honor.”

Judge Reinhold feels his hair receding further.

“So, you were unaware there was a camera pointed at you while you were robbing Taco Palace and that there was another camera next to where you parked your car. On top of that, the girl at the cash register put a tracker in the bag she gave you. You really are an inept thief.”

“He’s willing to pay restitution, Judge,” Dickie says.

“With what? That dumb look on his face? Do you have seven hundred and forty-five dollars, Mister Cognito?”

“I’m cash-challenged, Your Honor.”

“You’re just challenged, period. This is your third time before the court. Three strikes, and you’re in… In jail, that is. I’m sentencing you to three years and sending you to Sunnyvale Penitentiary, a minimum-security facility. In addition, I’m ordering you to take part in their woodworking and carpentry courses. When you get out, get a job. Get a life.”

                                               ***

Ian shuffles into his room carrying his worn duffle bag. A large bald prisoner with little flesh visible behind his numerous tattoos snarls when Ian throws the duffle bag onto the lower bunk bed.

His intense stare cuts through Ian, the crimson-colored cross tattoo between his eyes reflecting dangerously off the overhead light.

“That’s my spot, puke.”

Ian hastily moves the bag to the top bunk.

“Who are ya?”

“Ian Cognito from Cross River, New York.”

“That’s country club territory, white collah crime. What ya do?”

Ian sticks out his chest. “Armed robbery. You?”

“I’m Rock Rolle from Mott Haven in da Bronx. It’s a dangerous place ta live.”

Ian swallows hard. “So I’ve heard. What did you do?”

Rock’s muscular physique deflates.

“Dog knappin’.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My neighbor, Misses Jackson, has dis fluffy, cute Bichon Frise named Amelia. I wasn’t a dog man ‘till I saw Amelia, but there was somethin’ special ‘bout her. Native Americans believe we all got spiritual animals dat look afta us. I know Amelia is my little sister brought back ta life…I mean, dey even got da same name… I was five, and Amelia was three when she fell off’a da monkey bars and hit her head. That night, her head swelled up like a blimp. We took her to Montefiore Hospital, but it was too late. Amelia died from a brain bleed… A week later, our neighbor, Misses Jackson, brought home a dog named Amelia. Her dog havin’ the same name ain’t no coincidence. Amelia barked and bit everybody but me. She always ran to me and licked my feet.”

“So, you decided to steal her,” Ian says.

“Misses Jackson neglected her. Fed her canned dog food. Tied a ribbon ‘round her neck instead of gettin’ her a nice collar, and she didn’t play with her. I couldn’t take seein’ my little sistah mistreated, so I stole her.”

“And you got time for that?”

“Misses Jackson had a faintin’ spell when I tried pullin’ Amelia away from her. She bumped her head. Da judge said I caused it. I’m lucky I didn’t get da chair.”

“They don’t use the electric chair anymore…”

“I wish I could hold my sistah now, ya know?”

                                               ***

Ian is working intently on sanding his latest woodworking project when his teacher, Grace Goode, looks it over, nodding with approval.

Ian becomes a stammering stooge anytime Grace looks at him, a sure sign he’s smitten. With curly red locks, a trim figure, and their mutual interest in woodworking, Ian perceives Grace as an ideal partner.

“You made this from memory? You’re really talented, Ian. I have some connections on the outside. I can get you a job working for Woodn’t It Be Nice, providing you can show you regret your life of crime.”

“You know what my biggest regret is?”

“Missing his year’s International Woodworking Fair?”

“Yeah. That and not meeting you sooner.”

                                               ***

Ian gives Rock a package. Removing the paper, Rock gasps with the glee of a six-year-old opening a gift on Christmas Day.

“It’s a wooden dog!”

“A Bichon Frise, to be precise,” Ian says.

“It looks like Amelia!”

Quickly rising from his bunk, Rock hugs Ian hard enough to steal his breath.

“I’ll nevah forget dis! It’s like havin’ my sistah wit me!”

Rock suddenly looks at Ian, dumbstruck.

“If you can make somethin’ as realistic as dis, what else can ya make?”

                                               ***

Rock gawks at the wooden revolver Ian made in the wood shop.

“Wow, I can read da brand name of da gun on the handle, and it’s got serial numbahs.”

“But don’t forget it’s still made out of wood. A maple wood gun isn’t going to fool anybody.”

Rock opens the desk drawer, pulling out a small can of black paint.

“Stole dis from the janitor’s supply room. A few coats’a paint, and it’ll look real enough.”

“You should think hard about this, Rock. You’re only a year away from being paroled.”

“I gotta see Amelia! Rob Banks is on duty today. I don’t know why, but he’s scared ta death of me.”

“I can’t imagine why…”

                                               ***

Ian yells, “Banks! Come quick! I think Rock’s having a seizure!”

Banks bolts through the door, expecting to see Rock twitching in his bunk. Instead, he’s thrown in a headlock.

“Gimme the keys to your car, Rob.”

“Aw, c’mon, Rock. I just had it detailed.”

“I gotta see my sistah!”

“You’ll get the chair for this, Rock.”

Ian slams his hand against his forehead. “They don’t use the electric… Oh, never mind…”

                                               ***

Rock is a few blocks away from home when he runs over a police spike strip, shredding the car’s tires.

Abandoning the vehicle, he runs the rest of the way, outdistancing the officers pursuing him and ignoring their demands to give himself up.

He reaches Mrs. Jackson’s house. She’s on her porch, holding Amelia, standing between two officers pointing their weapons at Rock.

“Shows over,” Officer Peake says, gulping at the sight of Rock’s tattoos and bulging muscles.

Amelia jumps from Mrs. Jackson’s grasp, running to Rock.

He picks Amelia up, cuddling her.

“Now that’s unconditional love,” Officer Peake says.

                                               ***

Dickie and Grace wear identical satisfied grins.

“This is a joke, isn’t it?”

“You know how serious I am about our future together,” Grace replies.

“I’m free? You’re a genius, cuz.”

“I’d like to take the credit, but it was Grace who noticed the oversight in your arrest report.”

“The arresting officers never read you your rights,” Grace says. “Judge Reinhold had to dismiss the charges. And that job I told you about with Woodn’t it Be Nice? It’s available.”

                                               ***

Over the next seven years, Ian rises to the position of head designer for Woodn’t it Be Nice, getting his promotion the same week Grace tells him he’s about to become a father.

He becomes a deacon at his church and joins Grace in teaching woodworking at Sunnyvale Penitentiary.

Their family bliss is interrupted by a loud knock that tears Ian away from the Green Bay Packers/New Orleans Saints football game.

Glancing out the back window at his daughter Jill playing with Grace in the backyard, Ian smiles as he swings open the door.

Rock’s bulky figure fills the doorway. He’s holding a tiny dog in the crook of his arm.

“Hello, you little puke!”

Putting the dog on the ground, Rock gives Ian a bone-crushing hug.

The dog latches onto Ian’s pants leg, tearing at it.

“It’s been what, seven years? What brings you here, Rock?”

“I was takin’ a drive. Thought I’d come by and surprise my old roomie. You doin’ okay?”

“Six figures. If it’s made of wood, Woodn’t it Be Nice crafted it.”

“I knew you’d make it, Ian. You ain’t no criminal.”

“Neither are you. Your looks could scare the bark off a tree, but you’ve got a heart bigger than an oak. You want to come in for a drink? Grace will be happy to see you, and I’m sure my daughter, Jill, will love you.”

“I wish I could stay longer, but I can’t hang out. In fact, I need a favor from ya. Could ya watch Amelia while I get her some gourmet dog food?”

Ian pulls his torn pants from Amelia’s mouth. He reaches down to pet Amelia. Snarling, Amelia snaps at Ian.

“She’s a real darlin’, ain’t she? See ya in a little bit.”

                                               ***

Ian attempts to pet Amelia, who nips at his fingers.

“This is the little piece of heaven Rock went to jail for?” Grace asks.

Amelia yips at Ian.

“Quiet, or I’ll introduce you to the crocodiles at the zoo!”

The approaching wail of police sirens eclipses Amelia’s barking.

“Wonder what’s going on outside?” Ian asks as they head for the living room window.

A group of heavily armed police officers streaks across the front yard.

“They’re coming here!” Grace shrieks as a battering ram splinters the front door.

Two officers point their guns at Grace. A bug-eyed officer forces Ian to eat the carpet, handcuffing him.

“Stay down on the floor, Dogknapper!”

                                               ***

Judge Reinhold buries his head in his hands.

“Ian Cognito, come back to haunt me yet again. My court is not a revolving door. What did I tell you would happen if I ever saw you here again?”

“But I’m innocent, Your Honor.”

“You and the twenty thousand other cons serving time in New York State.”

Dickie steps in, saying, “Ian is a pillar of the community, Your Honor. He teaches at Sunnyvale Penitentiary. He gives parolees jobs. He donates furniture to seniors. He helps coach his daughter’s soccer team.”

“It doesn’t excuse his breaking the law yet again,” Judge Reinhold replies, delving into the police report. “I see an officer read you your rights, so there’s no loophole there this time, Counselor McSwain. I also see you’ve graduated to… Is this correct? Dogknapping?

Turning to Ian, Dickie whispers, “You’d better tell him what happened, or he’s going to send you back to Sunnyvale or someplace worse.”

“I’m not going to rat on a friend.”

“Who are you, Jimmy Cagney? This isn’t some gangster movie where the good guy gets off. The second your friend left Sunnyvale, he kidnapped that dog again, then he came to visit you. Your so-called friend literally screwed the pooch when he left you holding the dog.”

“He’s on the run, and I’m sure he’s devastated he can’t see Amelia,” Ian says. “I won’t add to his misery.”

“What about your family’s misery?”

“Do you have something to say, counselor?” Judge Reinhold asks.

“No, Your Honor.”

“Well, that’s a first. Mister Cognito, I gave you more chances than I’ve ever given any other criminal. While I’m impressed that you’ve succeeded in business and have an exemplary record as a volunteer, it’s your criminal record that I have to judge.”

Judge Reinhold looks into the gallery at Grace hugging her sobbing daughter.

“I sentence you to three years.”

                                               ***

Ian has been in jail for a month when Grace and Dickie visit him with hopeful news.

“I started a petition to have your sentence commuted,” Grace says.

“Judge Reinhold won’t pay any attention to it. I let him down once too often.”

“You have to stop acting guilty, cuz. You didn’t kidnap that furball. Rock Rolle did.”

“He did it out of love. Granted, it’s a twisted love, but he honestly believes Amelia is his dead sister. The police’ll track him down. I can wait until he gets caught again.”

“Well, I can’t, and neither can Jill,” Grace responds. “This incident has wrecked your reputation. People drive by throwing Milk Bones at Jill! Some psycho sent me a picture of himself naked, wearing a German Shepherd mask, with a note saying he was sick as a dog that my man was in the doghouse.”

“We’re going to present the petition to Judge Reinhold tomorrow,” Dickie says. “We’ve got ten thousand signatures. Sure, there are a few nut jobs who don’t like you. The ASPCA, for instance. But you don’t realize how many lives you’ve touched.”

“And we have dozens of letters of support,” Grace adds. “And there are a lot of people willing to testify on your behalf.”

“Only Rock can end this. And if he does, he’ll go to jail. That would not only break his heart, it would break mine too.”

                                              ***

Judge Reinhold scans the packed courtroom, reading the signs of support saying, “IAN IS MAN’S BEST FRIEND!” “COGNITO IS NEAT-O,” and “DON’T DOG IAN!”

“Is the complainant, Carmen Maria Velez Alvarez Gore Jackson, in the courtroom?”

A well-dressed elderly woman holding a dog stands up.

“Call me Tete, Your Honor. My four husbands did.”

Fear strikes Judge Reinhold when he realizes Tete’s ogling him like he’ll be husband number five.

“Do you recognize the defendant, Tete?”

“No, this man looks like a surfer. My neighbor, Rock Rolle, keeps kidnapping my Amelia. Rock’s very macho-looking. He’s twice as big, bald, with lots of beautiful tattoos, like the red cross between his eyes.”

“I don’t see anyone in the courtroom who fits that description.”

Dickie waves his hand.

“Do you have to use the facilities, counselor?”

“No, Judge. Before you rule, I want you to consider the ten thousand signatures and the dozens of letters we got supporting Mister Cognito. And now, it’s obvious that even though he had Amelia in his house, he didn’t kidnap her.”

“Does anybody know the whereabouts of Mister Rolle?”

The courtroom doors burst open. Rock’s hulking figure fills the doorway.

“I’m Rock Rolle. I took Amelia, and I demand you set my friend free!”

Judge Reinhold squirms uneasily as Rock approaches the bench.

Amelia jumps from Tete’s grasp, running to Rock. He picks Amelia up, petting her.

“Guess it’s not just music that soothes the savage beast…,” Judge Reinhold says. “I have a solution. Mister Rolle, you’ll spend three years volunteering for the ASPCA. I heard they recently received several Bichon Frises like this little pooch.”

Tete raises her bejeweled hand.

“I’m getting on in years, your honor. I could use a good dog walker.”

“Excellent. In addition to your work with the ASPCA, you’ll help Miss Jackson.”

Tete winks at Rock.

“As for you, Mister Cognito, I give up. I’m retiring from the bench. I’m thinking of pursuing my newfound hobby of woodworking.”

“Would you be willing to learn about woodworking from an ex-con, Your Honor?”

“Sure. Let’s talk about it over lunch at the Taco Palace.”