Free The Man Who Killed His Brother by Stephen R. Donaldson

stepped around him. For one second Teresa looked straight at me. Her face was as pale as if she were bleeding internally, but there was a hot red spot of color on each cheekbone, and her lips were tight. Her dark intense eyes didn’t flinch. Half her anger was aimed at me.
    Cason barked, “Axbrewder!” But I ignored him long enough to tell her in Spanish, “I will put him in prison by myself if you do not speak against him.” Then I turned away. Cason was getting ready to muscle me, and I didn’t want that to happen. I said to him, “Tell your detective I want my jacket back.” Then I strode straight into his office and dropped myself into one of the chairs.
    He followed me in, shut the door, and sat down. He put his hands on the desk and kept them there as if they were too heavy to carry around. Or maybe he just didn’t want me to forget how strong they were. With that harsh rasp of his, he demanded, “What did you say to her?”
    The bad taste in my mouth was getting worse, but I made an effort to keep my vocabulary polite. “The opposite of what you said.”

    “Huh?”
    “You told her I wasn’t going to testify for her.” That was what I’d seen in her eyes. I didn’t need her to explain it. “You tried to scare her off by telling her she’d have to carry this alone in court. You must’ve had a fine old time describing how ugly a rape trial can get.”
    “Is that so?” Cason growled. For a second there, he didn’t sound quite so sure of himself. Then he rallied. “Well, I’ve got news for you, smartass. You aren’t going to testify.”
    “How do you figure that?” I said, hoping there wasn’t something important about all this that he knew and I didn’t.
    “You’re a known alcoholic. You were in the part of town where you do your drinking. The arresting officers found you outside a bar. Who’s going to believe a thing you say?”
    “That’s cute.” The taste in my mouth made me sound like him. “The only problem is that I’m sober.”
    “Is that a fact?” he drawled. “How do you propose to convince a jury?”
    I almost laughed at him. “You’re wasting my time. I’ll call you as a character witness. Even you won’t be able to explain why you didn’t give me a blood-alcohol test.” He blinked at that a couple of times, but didn’t say anything. “Come on, Captain,” I went on. “You’re playing games with me. Why don’t you cut out the bullshit and tell me what’s really going on?”
    His fingertips began to touch each other lightly. “The man’s name is Charles Saunders, and he’s from Cleveland. We’re trying to get in touch with his wife. The doctor says he may have a ruptured kidney.” Then his hands jumped into fists. “Goddamn it, Axbrewder! Haven’t you ever heard of minimum force?”
    “‘Minimum force?’” I countered. “What’s that?”
    “He could sue you for every penny you ever had!”
    “Is that a fact?” Deliberately I imitated Cason’s tone.
    “We can probably get you off the hook if you let this thing drop.”
    I felt like it was my turn to get angry, but I held back. “So let him sue me. That’s my problem. I don’t give a shit what he does as long as he does it in jail.”

    “Smart-ass!” Cason barked. “I wish you still had a license, so I could get it pulled for this.”
    “Yeah, well, I appreciate your consideration. But I’m just a private citizen. I saw a crime being committed, and I intervened. I went in hard because there wasn’t time for anything else. He had a knife. I didn’t have a chance to ask him if he was going to use it.” I tried not to sound too angry, but I couldn’t swallow all of it. “What the hell’s the matter with you, anyway? You like rape? You want clowns like this Saunders running around loose?”
    “Shut up, Axbrewder,” he said softly, “or I’ll stuff it down your throat.”
    “Just what we need around here,” I shot back. “More police brutality.”
    “All right.” He was