rings. Every new blast he threw only made the blades spin faster and faster, stabilizing the center post. I was getting stronger, but the Beast kept on coming—it was all he knew.
A black-widow spider can kill a man. But if the man has that spider inside a glass jar, all the spider can do is wait—it’s not his choice to make, not anymore.
t first, the DA was real worried. In fact, he was terrified. People around here don’t pay much attention to what goes on in the court. They’re a lot more interested in close-to-home gossip, like whether it’s true about the pastor’s wife and that guy they send out when your satellite dish needs an adjustment. But get yourself known for losing a big trial—especially one people really wanted you to win—and they
will
remember that.
“No offense, son, but your sister did have herself quite a reputation, if you know what I mean.”
I knew what he meant, all right. But it wasn’t Rory-Anne’s reputation that made the DA’s hands tremble and his voice go thin; it was the Beast’s.
The DA was standing between two men on a dueling ground. He knew if he offered a nice enough deal—say, two, three years in prison—the Beast would not only snatch at it, he’d be beholden to him as well. But then the town would have a new thing to gossip about.
And not the usual petty stuff—rumors of corruption would be flying about. Worse yet, everyone wanted the Beast gone, and they expected the DA to handle that business for them.
There was no real possibility of compromise. The DA was an expert in such things, but no matter how he tested those waters, they came up foul. So he not only had to charge the Beast with murder, he had to make it stick.
Sure, he was a politician, and he didn’t want to chance losing an election. But this was worse. A whole lot worse. When you dealt with the Beast on any matter, win-or-lose always came down to live-or-die. Either he’d owe you a debt, or you’d owe him a death.
If the DA lost
any
murder trial, that would cost him some prestige. But if the Beast walked out of the courtroom without shackles on his wrists, the DA knew it was only a matter of time before dirt would be shoveled over his own coffin.
t’s not a question of believing you, Esau. I know you wouldn’t lie. But juries are funny—you just never know how they’re going to act.”
“But—”
“Let me finish, now, son. It’s not as cut-and-dried as you seem to think. See, we don’t really have that ‘forensics’ stuff juries expect to see today. All that damn TV, it’s polluted their minds. Sure, we have the pistol, we have the bullet, and we can prove that your father …”
I hadn’t said anything, but he must have felt some of the rage coming off me when he used that word. The Beast wasn’t my father. He wasn’t anybody’s father.
“… that the defendant”—he switched words so smoothly that I knew he must have had a lot of practice—“shot the … victim. But there was that butcher knife out in plain view, and everyone in the house had left some prints on it. Even you.
“So what it comes down to is one person’s word against another’s. And that’s never a choice you want to leave up to a jury.”
“There isn’t a person in this town that wouldn’t take my word over his,” I told him.
“I’m not saying that isn’t true. But Lord knows your sister had good reason to hate that man. You, too, truth be told. And everybody in this town knows that, too.”
When a silver-tongued man says something blunt, you’d best listen. The DA was warning me what was going to come out at the trial—what would be all the motivation I would ever have needed to hate the Beast. Even enough to lie under oath.
I visualized a horde of savage termites attacking our house, boring their way in so deep that the wood was going to collapse in on itself.
I reached desperately for my balance like a man grabbing for a handhold while tumbling down a quarry wall. I clawed
A black-widow spider can kill a man. But if the man has that spider inside a glass jar, all the spider can do is wait—it’s not his choice to make, not anymore.
t first, the DA was real worried. In fact, he was terrified. People around here don’t pay much attention to what goes on in the court. They’re a lot more interested in close-to-home gossip, like whether it’s true about the pastor’s wife and that guy they send out when your satellite dish needs an adjustment. But get yourself known for losing a big trial—especially one people really wanted you to win—and they
will
remember that.
“No offense, son, but your sister did have herself quite a reputation, if you know what I mean.”
I knew what he meant, all right. But it wasn’t Rory-Anne’s reputation that made the DA’s hands tremble and his voice go thin; it was the Beast’s.
The DA was standing between two men on a dueling ground. He knew if he offered a nice enough deal—say, two, three years in prison—the Beast would not only snatch at it, he’d be beholden to him as well. But then the town would have a new thing to gossip about.
And not the usual petty stuff—rumors of corruption would be flying about. Worse yet, everyone wanted the Beast gone, and they expected the DA to handle that business for them.
There was no real possibility of compromise. The DA was an expert in such things, but no matter how he tested those waters, they came up foul. So he not only had to charge the Beast with murder, he had to make it stick.
Sure, he was a politician, and he didn’t want to chance losing an election. But this was worse. A whole lot worse. When you dealt with the Beast on any matter, win-or-lose always came down to live-or-die. Either he’d owe you a debt, or you’d owe him a death.
If the DA lost
any
murder trial, that would cost him some prestige. But if the Beast walked out of the courtroom without shackles on his wrists, the DA knew it was only a matter of time before dirt would be shoveled over his own coffin.
t’s not a question of believing you, Esau. I know you wouldn’t lie. But juries are funny—you just never know how they’re going to act.”
“But—”
“Let me finish, now, son. It’s not as cut-and-dried as you seem to think. See, we don’t really have that ‘forensics’ stuff juries expect to see today. All that damn TV, it’s polluted their minds. Sure, we have the pistol, we have the bullet, and we can prove that your father …”
I hadn’t said anything, but he must have felt some of the rage coming off me when he used that word. The Beast wasn’t my father. He wasn’t anybody’s father.
“… that the defendant”—he switched words so smoothly that I knew he must have had a lot of practice—“shot the … victim. But there was that butcher knife out in plain view, and everyone in the house had left some prints on it. Even you.
“So what it comes down to is one person’s word against another’s. And that’s never a choice you want to leave up to a jury.”
“There isn’t a person in this town that wouldn’t take my word over his,” I told him.
“I’m not saying that isn’t true. But Lord knows your sister had good reason to hate that man. You, too, truth be told. And everybody in this town knows that, too.”
When a silver-tongued man says something blunt, you’d best listen. The DA was warning me what was going to come out at the trial—what would be all the motivation I would ever have needed to hate the Beast. Even enough to lie under oath.
I visualized a horde of savage termites attacking our house, boring their way in so deep that the wood was going to collapse in on itself.
I reached desperately for my balance like a man grabbing for a handhold while tumbling down a quarry wall. I clawed
Similar Books
