Free Perfect Justice by William Bernhardt Page A

after all. This was what they lived for.
    The brawlers flew back and forth across the tiny bar, smashing and clattering as they went. Ben considered jumping into the fray to help; the question was—whom would he help?
    Banner had Garth in a headlock and was banging his face against a beer-stained table. Garth’s shouts were silenced by the repeated pummeling and the viselike grip around his throat. For a moment Ben was afraid Banner was going to kill him. Then, to his amazement, he saw Banner literally lift Garth off the ground and throw him across the bar. Garth landed on the cyclone pinball machine, shattering the glass.
    Mac was not going to be happy.
    Ben saw that Garth’s two friends were similarly on the bad end of major-league beatings. Just as he began to be concerned for their long-term health, he heard a siren wailing down Main Street. A quick peek out the window confirmed it—the sheriff was paying them a visit. Mac must’ve called.
    Ben crawled back to his bar stool and took another drink of his beer. It looked like it was going to be a long night.

13.
    A S BEN HAD NOTICED during his earlier visit, there were only three cells in the Silver Springs jail, and Donald Vick already occupied one, so Sheriff Collier was forced to divide everyone up into their respective teams: the locals in one cell, the ASPers in the other. With their best buddy Ben, of course.
    Ben had protested his innocence to both Sheriff Collier and Deputy Gustafson ever since they picked him up, based on Mac’s identification of Ben as the “instigator.” The sheriff was not impressed. And Gustafson was treating Ben even more coldly than he had when they met.
    After delivering a stern lecture on the evils of drinking and carousing, Sheriff Collier excused himself and left Deputy Gustafson to handle the actual incarceration. Vick eyed Ben as he passed down the corridor, but he remained silent. What must be going through the kid’s mind? Ben wondered. Just when you think it can’t get any worse, you see the deputy putting your lawyer behind bars.
    Gustafson locked the locals in one of the vacant cells, then put the ASP men in the other. To Ben’s surprise, Gustafson closed the door to the cell and locked it while Ben was still outside.
    Maybe there was hope yet. “Does this mean you’re letting me go?”
    “Dream on,” Gustafson said curtly.
    “Can you at least undo my handcuffs?”
    “No.” Gustafson’s face was like a rock. No sign of warmth or humanity was apparent.
    “You know, I didn’t lay a hand on anyone,” Ben said. “I had nothing to do with that fight.”
    “That’s not what Mac said.”
    “Mac was too busy crying over his pinball machine to get his story straight. I’m telling you, I’m innocent. And I can’t afford to spend all my time before the Vick trial in jail.”
    “Don’t sweat it. The sheriff’ll let everyone out in the morning. After you’ve had a chance to sleep it off.”
    “Sleep what off? I never finished my first beer.”
    Gustafson whirled Ben around and grabbed him by the throat. “Look, you piece of crap, I’m doing the best I can to control my temper. So just shut up and don’t try my patience.” He shoved Ben down the corridor and out of sight of the cells.
    “I don’t understand. What have I ever done to you?”
    Ben could see right off the bat that he should have remained silent. Gustafson was seething; his rage was already on the verge of boiling over. “You remember that car your boys torched two months ago because you mistakenly thought it belonged to the Vietnamese?”
    “I don’t know what you’re—”
    “Well, my little sister was on the sidewalk beside the car. Got caught in the explosion. She almost died—been having health problems ever since. Her face was ruined.”
    “But that wasn’t me!” Ben protested.
    “When something horrible like that happens to your sister, it just does something to you. Tears you apart. Makes you go a little crazy.” He looked