And Mo Cash will ask the jury if they can believe me, when it's my money and the office's at stake, and whether they can believe Jimmy, a twice-convicted felon. I expect to lose the trust account my grandfather left me as well as whatever's left of my professional reputation.
“You don't look so good, Burns. You look frigging beat. . . . We should call you Deadeye instead of QuickDraw,” McGee says, studying me as he comes into the interview room.
“I'd rather we just forget about the nicknames,” I say. I chew slowly on the pizza and concentrate on swallowing.
McGee sits heavily in a plastic chair. “Can't say I blame you, lad. What happened?”
I give him a shrug and explain the run-in with the seventeen-year-old gang member. “I didn't recognize the others, but the one we hooked is Dominic Torres's little brother. They're going to send him to Evanston for a psych eval.”
“It seems a little strange. That he'd just run across you like that. . . . I would have expected him to have stalked you instead. . . . Something like a shot through a window . . . or a bullet in your back. . . . Or just take all your money in that civil suit. . . . They say revenge is a dish best eaten cold.”
“Well, he wasn't. He was pretty damn hot, stoked up on crank, I guess. Anyway, the local cops don't think he was over here looking for me. They say it was just coincidence. His gang, Sureno 13, is out of Cheyenne and Casper. They just come to Laramie to stir up trouble with the cowboys and hippies and look for girls at the university. The cops are out trying to find his buddies. How they knew I'd be here, I don't know. I wouldn't put it past my pal Bender to tip them off, though.”
What was Bender doing there in uniform just hours after the duty sergeant told me he worked nights? I take this to mean something's definitely fishy with the Danning case. Am I paranoid or could this thing with the Surenos have been a setup to get me out of action?
McGee doesn't respond to my accusation. Instead he says, “I got a call from the sheriff. He wants you out of town. . . . He said he didn't want any more trouble . . . with the gangs. I guess I don't have to tell you to watch your ass, lad. . . . Especially when you go to Cheyenne . . . next week for the hearing. Wear a friggin' vest.”
I toss the crust back in the pizza box and pick up another piece.
McGee watches me chew and I look down at the floor. Ever since the shooting, every time I've seen him, I can feel him studying me, as if he can weigh what's in my heart and in my head. McGee has been my sole support among the brass at the AG's Office, but I think his endorsement is somewhat reluctant. Like everyone else, he has questions of his own about that night. The administration had wanted to charge me criminally and see where it led. That would have been good politics for people such as the then–Attorney General, who was running for national office at the time. It would have sent a message that Wyoming will not whitewash the police-related deaths of their minorities, that they take such things as seriously as Los Angeles or New York. I suspect it was McGee and the fact that I'm something of a minority myself that saved me from an indictment. But they can still file a case at any time. There's no statute of limitations for murder.
The cheap carpet on the interview room floor is stained with vomit and urine. I stare at it and realize the healing I've felt since my return to Laramie the day before is totally gone.
“You want off this investigation? If you can't hack it here . . . let me know now. I'll get you back up north. You'll only have to come back . . . for the hearing next week.” McGee's voice is uncommonly soft.
I shake my head angrily and feel tiny pieces of glass fall on the bare skin of my arms. “Fuck that, Ross. I'll finish this.” I'm glaring at him and I realize he wanted to make me mad. So I smile and say, “Everyone tells me this Danning thing is
“You don't look so good, Burns. You look frigging beat. . . . We should call you Deadeye instead of QuickDraw,” McGee says, studying me as he comes into the interview room.
“I'd rather we just forget about the nicknames,” I say. I chew slowly on the pizza and concentrate on swallowing.
McGee sits heavily in a plastic chair. “Can't say I blame you, lad. What happened?”
I give him a shrug and explain the run-in with the seventeen-year-old gang member. “I didn't recognize the others, but the one we hooked is Dominic Torres's little brother. They're going to send him to Evanston for a psych eval.”
“It seems a little strange. That he'd just run across you like that. . . . I would have expected him to have stalked you instead. . . . Something like a shot through a window . . . or a bullet in your back. . . . Or just take all your money in that civil suit. . . . They say revenge is a dish best eaten cold.”
“Well, he wasn't. He was pretty damn hot, stoked up on crank, I guess. Anyway, the local cops don't think he was over here looking for me. They say it was just coincidence. His gang, Sureno 13, is out of Cheyenne and Casper. They just come to Laramie to stir up trouble with the cowboys and hippies and look for girls at the university. The cops are out trying to find his buddies. How they knew I'd be here, I don't know. I wouldn't put it past my pal Bender to tip them off, though.”
What was Bender doing there in uniform just hours after the duty sergeant told me he worked nights? I take this to mean something's definitely fishy with the Danning case. Am I paranoid or could this thing with the Surenos have been a setup to get me out of action?
McGee doesn't respond to my accusation. Instead he says, “I got a call from the sheriff. He wants you out of town. . . . He said he didn't want any more trouble . . . with the gangs. I guess I don't have to tell you to watch your ass, lad. . . . Especially when you go to Cheyenne . . . next week for the hearing. Wear a friggin' vest.”
I toss the crust back in the pizza box and pick up another piece.
McGee watches me chew and I look down at the floor. Ever since the shooting, every time I've seen him, I can feel him studying me, as if he can weigh what's in my heart and in my head. McGee has been my sole support among the brass at the AG's Office, but I think his endorsement is somewhat reluctant. Like everyone else, he has questions of his own about that night. The administration had wanted to charge me criminally and see where it led. That would have been good politics for people such as the then–Attorney General, who was running for national office at the time. It would have sent a message that Wyoming will not whitewash the police-related deaths of their minorities, that they take such things as seriously as Los Angeles or New York. I suspect it was McGee and the fact that I'm something of a minority myself that saved me from an indictment. But they can still file a case at any time. There's no statute of limitations for murder.
The cheap carpet on the interview room floor is stained with vomit and urine. I stare at it and realize the healing I've felt since my return to Laramie the day before is totally gone.
“You want off this investigation? If you can't hack it here . . . let me know now. I'll get you back up north. You'll only have to come back . . . for the hearing next week.” McGee's voice is uncommonly soft.
I shake my head angrily and feel tiny pieces of glass fall on the bare skin of my arms. “Fuck that, Ross. I'll finish this.” I'm glaring at him and I realize he wanted to make me mad. So I smile and say, “Everyone tells me this Danning thing is
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