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Hunter woke often during the night with dreams of being late for the trial and pounding on the closed courtroom door, or waking to the full light of day and seeing the clock reading 10:00AM. When she awoke again, the readout showed 3:10AM. Hunter turned off the alarm and went into the bathroom to take a long shower.
She dressed afterward in her black dress and matching shoes, and her only jewelry was a short strand of white pearls that rested just below the hollow of her throat. She picked up her purse and went downstairs to make breakfast. When Hunter passed the clothes left on the stairwell from the night before, she picked up her jeans and searched the pockets for money. She found the forty dollars and the keys to Raymond’s car, still parked in Outlaw Road. She jiggled them a moment, then carried them with her and put the keys on the kitchen counter.
Thirty minutes later Hunter was on the road to El Paso. She arrived at the courthouse at a quarter to seven and sat in the pickup, listening to the radio.
At ten of eight, Truman zipped around the corner at the end of the block in a motorized wheelchair that must have been doing ten miles an hour. A new briefcase lay on his lap, and one leg was in a big cast. It stuck out in front like a battering ram. He had white bandages circling his head at the temples, forcing his frizzy red hair straight up in the air. He wore a white shirt, a tie that matched his hair, and a camelhair blazer that, oddly enough, seemed to work. He had on a pair of dark blue jogging pants with one leg cut off for the cast.
Hunter met him at the door. “Unusual look,” she said.
“This is my A-Game outfit. A guaranteed winner.”
Hunter held the door open for him and when they were inside she asked, “You went to college, right?”
“Yeah, sure,” he played with the controls as he talked, and moved the wheelchair left and right, then around Hunter in circles.
“Was it the University of Mars?”
Truman popped a small wheelie and said, “What do you mean?”
“I’m just not sure which planet you’re from.”
“Hah! You’re wrong again. I’m from the planet Krypton,” he zoomed down the hall and slid to a stop at the courtroom door to wait for her.
When they entered, Hunter saw a single man in the audience. Her scalp prickled when she recognized her Marfa Patrol Agent In Charge, Carl Horton. When they were even with him, Carl purposely avoided looking at her. “Ohhh shit,” Hunter said under her breath.
Ronald and his client were already seated. Truman stopped by Ronald and said, “Better be good today, Hoss, ‘cause I’m bringin’ my best.”
“Morning, Truman,” Ronald said. He studied Truman’s hair and smiled, then looked over it at Hunter and nodded at her. She didn’t nod back.
Truman moved his wheelchair behind the desk next to Hunter and opened his briefcase to go through his notes. They could hear people coming in behind them and sitting in the audience benches.
***
The judge was announced, everyone stood, then sat as court was placed in session. Ronald addressed a few cleanup points to his client’s previous testimony, but it was obvious there was nothing left but the summation. He was just warming up.
Truman did the same, clarifying points such as Hunter’s latest optometrist records, showing her vision to be twenty-ten, then using the information to drive the point that she saw the pistol. He talked about the torn photo showing El Lobo holding a pistol, and about the burglary of his home and the photo taken. Ronald objected, saying that without the photo in evidence, there was no way to tell if it was faked. Ronald continued, saying a torn photo wouldn’t show what the other parts of the complete picture revealed. Judge Pelham thought a moment then sustained the objection, telling the jury to disregard Truman’s statement concerning the photo. Truman was flustered. Both attorneys looked like fighters waiting for the bell.
Hunter turned once in her seat and looked at Carl Horton, who turned red-faced and lowered his head. She knew one thing: he wasn’t here to give her support.
Truman was the first up for summation, and he started out by wheeling himself as close to the jury box as he could get. “Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, I’m not here to try and sway you. You’ve heard reams of evidence, been bored to death with diagrams and step-by-step descriptions of the incident, and you’ve observed at what lengths trickery and deceit are deemed acceptable by Mr. Kincaid and his client.”
Truman moved his wheelchair out and worked a half-circle to face the jurors. “We have shown you that the items found in Julian Garcia’s miracle billfold were altered or complete fakes. We’ve shown you photographs of the heroin Mr. Garcia loaded into the false compartment of his pickup. We’ve proven his wife and son were at the scene when this was done. DEA had Mrs. Garcia under surveillance, as you saw from the video stills, because they had strong indications of narcotics trafficking in the family. And last, you have the testimony of Agent Hunter Kincaid, a woman of honesty, character, and bravery. She was doing her best to uphold the laws of the United States, and risked her life in the effort. Ladies and Gentlemen, she acted fully and completely within the scope of her authority, and we should not punish her for doing so. If anything, she should be honored. You can do that with a verdict of Not Guilty. Thank you.” Truman wheeled back to the desk and turned to watch Ronald.
Ronald walked in front of the jury and stood in silence, looking at each juror and nodding slightly at each one before going to the next. After the last one, he said, “Do any of you know how many times you’ve been investigated or put under surveillance by a government agency? I didn’t, but yesterday I received a response from a Freedom of Information Act request I filed some months ago. Would you like to know how many times it’s happened to me?” Several jurors nodded, “Six times in the last three years.” The jurors stirred in their seats and looked at each other.
Ronald continued, “Me, a person who has never even had a parking ticket,” he moved closer to the jurors’ box, “Big Brother is real, and he’s invading our privacy every day, just like he’s done to the Garcias.” Ronald paused, and looked at Hunter. When he turned back to the jury, he said, “Many of you may not know that Agent Kincaid is my sister,” several jurors looked surprised. “How many of you would prosecute a family member, a beloved family member, unless you were totally convinced it was necessary? Not one of you. I love my little sister, but I know that Big Brother has used her, the government has twisted her for their own means. They can do the same to your loved ones. If you let them. This is the time you can send a message, a clear message that you’re not going to tolerate such an un-American invasion of life or privacy. I ask you to remember one point, that to send a message you have only to find the defendant guilty and award damages of a fitting monetary sum. It will be heard loud and clear all the way to Washington. I
ask you to vote Guilty. Bring America back to the way it was meant to be. Thank you.”
Truman watched Ronald sit down, then he leaned to Hunter and said, “I can’t read how this one’s gonna work.”
“I guess we’ll wait and see. Either way, thanks, Tru.”
“Any time.”
Hunter looked across at Ronald, then said to Truman, “God-o-mighty, but he’s a smooth talker, isn’t he?”
“Makes Teflon feel like forty-grit sandpaper, he’s so smooth.”
