Free Knife Fight by Joel Goldman Page B

we stand out of respect whenever the judge and the jury come or go. I ain’t got no fuckin’ respect for people what gonna decide if I live or die and all they care about is what they wearin’. Ain’t none of them fuckin’ know who I am or what I’m about. They got the power and Alex she got to play their game but that don’t mean I got to respect they shit.
    Fred Barton be the detective on the case. He a fat fuck, his collar squeezin’ his head till it swoll up like a thumb somebody done hit with a hammer. Him and the D.A. got they shit together playin’ patty cake with the questions. Barton he all about how Diego all cut up, the D.A. showin’ the jury pictures of the holes in Diego’s head where his eyes used to be and another close up of the man’s junk all bloody. Alex she object like it her junk the jury lookin’ at but the Judge tell her overruled and take a seat.
    I watch the jury. Couple them white guys getting red, the women swallowin’ hard like they gonna puke. I already seen the pictures. They bad but I seen worse.
    Barton go on sayin’ how Diego was under investigation for sellin’ drugs, mostly crack, and that I was the one what was sellin’ the shit to Diego. Alex, she take a piece out of Barton, walkin’ around the courtroom like she own it, askin’ him questions.
    “Detective Barton, did you find any drugs on Mr. Hernandez’s body?”
    “Yes, ma’am, we did. Several rocks of crack cocaine.”
    “Whose label was on them?”
    Barton, he look at her like she crazy. “Street drugs don’t have labels on them,” he say.
    “Well, then,” Alex say, “was anybody’s name on those drugs?”
    “No.”
    “How about a receipt? Did you find a receipt or a cancelled check or a credit card record showing who paid for those drugs?”
    “No. That’s not the way these things work.”
    “Of course they don’t detective. Drug dealers don’t operate like Wal-Mart. Everyone knows that. So you must have found some other physical evidence that proved my client sold those drugs or any drugs to Mr. Hernandez.”
    Barton took a deep breath, looked over at the D.A. “No, ma’am. We didn’t.”
    “What? No photographs? No wiretaps? No fingerprints?”
    “No.”
    “But you testified that the defendant sold drugs to Mr. Hernandez and that my client murdered him when Mr. Hernandez didn’t pay for the drugs, isn’t that right?”
    “That was my testimony.”
    “And you told the jury that you relied on a paid informer who was part of Mr. Hernandez’s drug ring who told you that story about my client?”
    Another deep breath. Motherfucker keep suckin’ air he gonna blow up like a goddamn birthday balloon. “That’s correct.”
    “And that paid informer, who previously did time in prison for assault with a deadly weapon and who the District Attorney gave a get-out-of-jail-free card in return for his testimony is the only source of evidence you have that Travis Runnels sold drugs to Mr. Hernandez. Isn’t that correct?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “And that paid informer is also the only witness who told you that my client threatened to kill Mr. Hernandez. True?”
    “True,” Barton say, lettin’ the air out like he an old grandpa can’t breathe.
    “And if that paid informer hadn’t made such a sweet deal with the District Attorney, he’d be on trial for selling drugs. True?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t make those decisions.”
    “No you don’t, Detective. You just ignored his crimes and arrested my client instead. Nothing further.”
    Alex sit back down. “How’d you like that knife fight,” she say out of the corner of her mouth.
    “That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” I say, sittin’ high and feelin’ fine. My girl kills.
    Luis Pillco testify next. Pillco be the rat, a skinny dude got greased back hair, no meat on him, jumpy like he lookin’ to get fixed up. The D.A. take him through his paces. I don’t look at him. Alex, she eye Luis like he her next meal, squirmin’