Mickey was in no mood for buffoonery. Mickey wasn’t in the mood for bullshit, either. This was going to be number 8 out of 9, and he’d just as soon get it over with and get on with life than have to stand here with a noose around his neck any longer than he needed to.
“…indecent exposure, lewdness, aiding a known fugitive of justice, obstruction of lawful procedures, failure to report unlawful use of digital property, and public drunkenness, the people of the New Free Republic sentence Michael Barstow, also known as Mickey Barstow, Mickey B, Big Mickey, alias Mickey The Mutt, also known as Tricky Mickey, Slippery Mickey, and John Smith, to hang by the neck until dead.”
He had no idea where all those AKAs came from. Well, maybe a couple of them. He’d been called Big Mickey since he was a teenager. The summer of his thirteenth year he’d grown 4 inches and gained 100 pounds. Genetics were most definitely on Mickey’s side. That 100 pounds came in the form of muscle and Mickey knew how to use it. He got Tricky Mickey and Slippery Mickey on his third and fourth meeting with the Dark Man, respectively.