Free Rough Justice by Lisa Scottoline Page A

wasn’t about to be intimidated by anything weighing less than a ton. “You can’t look at it that way, Kenny. You have to put yourself in Steere’s shoes.”
    “Fuck that, man. Steere had a SL600. Twelve cylinders! Car like that’ll climb trees.”
    “Thas’ right.” Lucky Seven nodded, though Kenny ignored him.
    “If I had a car like that and some crazy old dude come up to me, I’d take off and leave him spinnin’.”
    “If
I
had a car like that,” Lucky Seven added, “I wouldn’t be
here
.”
    Megan would have laughed if she weren’t so anxious. She’d voted to acquit Steere, but didn’t want to say so with this going on. The fighting was getting worse. She really wanted this trial over with. Her e-mail had already been deleted by AOL. Megan wondered if that guy she met in the chat room had written back. He even had his own webpage. Megan liked that in a man.
    Christopher remained focused on Kenny. “But Steere was scared. He panicked.”
    “Ain’t no call to panic!” Kenny shouted. “Dude was just drunk, is all. He wasn’t gonna hurt nobody! He was jus’ an old man talkin’ out his mouth!”
    Megan flinched at the decibel level, and Nick grew even more nervous. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The voting, the hollering. He never decided anything without Antoinetta. His stomach was killing him.
    “Gentlemen,” said Mrs. Wahlbaum, who stood up at the middle of the table, a matronly fulcrum between Christopher and Kenny. Her form was stocky in a knit dress that flattened her generous bosom, and she raised her arms as if to separate the men. “Gentlemen, please. There are two sides to every story. We have to discuss this like civilized people, sitting down at the table, not shouting across it. You’re calmer if you’re sitting, you just are. It’s your body language. I think it’s a shame that that homeless man was killed, but I can’t blame—”
    “I wasn’t talkin’ to you, teacher,” Kenny said, his smooth head snapping toward Mrs. Wahlbaum. “Backoff.”
    “Just one minute, Kenny,” Ralph said.
    “I’m fine, Ralph.” Mrs. Wahlbaum silenced him with a wrinkled hand. She knew the way to deal with bullies was to stand them down. “Why don’t you both sit down, Christopher? Kenny? Just sit right down, both of you.” She waved her arms at them, so hard she could feel the fat wiggle underneath.
Hadassah arms
, her sister-in-law called them, but that Yetta could go straight to hell.
    Nick was getting more worried by the minute. He ate some Tums but his stomach was still on fire. He didn’t like being here without his wife. Forty-two years he’d been married, and Antoinetta had made all the decisions. Paid the bills, cooked the meals, raised the girls. Nick wished he had something to relax him. He wished he had some milk. Milk was supposed to be good for ulcers. Or maybe some nice, cold anisette in a little glass.
    Christopher folded his large frame into the hard chair, but Kenny didn’t budge. “What?” Kenny said, with an incredulous laugh in Mrs. Wahlbaum’s direction. “Teacher, you gonna tell Kenny Manning what to do, you got a lesson to learn.”
    “Kenny, I have forty years on you. You’d better show me some respect.”
    “Respect?” Kenny said, menacing her with a smile. “Show
you
respect?”
    “The expert again,” muttered Mr. Fogel. “The expert in sitting. She knows all about sitting. Ask her anything.” He leaned over to Wanthida. “It’s Iraq and Iran in here, and she thinks if they sit down, they’ll make nice. Like it’s automatic.”
    “I’m ignoring you, Mr. Fogel,” Mrs. Wahlbaum snapped. Troublemakers hated being ignored. “Now, Kenny, you sit down. Sit, sit,
sit
!”
    “Lady, you out your fuckin’ mind?” Kenny spat out, his smile vanishing. “Who you think you are, be orderin’
me
?”
    Ralph figured if he didn’t step in Mrs. Wahlbaum would be dead. “Kenny,” he said, “tell us why you think Steere is guilty. You can