Vernon God Little

'I can't speak for the defense, but I'll keep it brief,' says the prosecutor. 'Just tell us, please – if you could characterize the defendant in a word, what would it be?'

'Psychopath.'

'Objection!' shouts Brian.

'Sustained – the jury will ignore both question and answer.' The judge rotates a hard eye to the prosecutor. 'And Counsel will remember a young man could well be executed as a result of these proceedings.'

The prosecutor gestures to the jury like his hands are being tied, but the judge quickly scowls him out of it. He skulks back to Lally. 'Perhaps you'll tell the court, Mr Ledesma – did the defendant say anything to you, privately, about the school tragedy?'

Lally draws his lips tight, the way your best buddy does when he has to tell his mom you ate the last cookie. 'Not as such,' he says.

'Did anything he do suggest his involvement?'

Lally takes a deep breath. He looks at me with black, swollen eyes, and shakes his head. 'He talked in his sleep some nights.' His bottom lip starts to bounce. 'Growled in his sleep, more like it -"Boom," he would say. "Take that – booom…"' A sob breaks free from his throat. Deathly hush spreads over the world.

The prosecutor bows his head, and waits a respectful moment. Then he says, 'I'm sorry to put you through this…'

Lally raises a trembling hand, cuts him short. 'Anything to bring peace upon those wretched souls.'

Sniffles break out in court. There ain't a trace of hoosh about the prosecutor anymore, not within a hundred miles of him. After eight centuries, he just asks, 'Did you also see the defendant kill Officer Barry Gurie?'

'From the ground where I lay, injured, I saw the defendant run towards Officer Gurie. I heard a scuffle, then three shots…'

The prosecutor nods, then turns to my attorney. 'Your witness.'

Brian straightens his tie, and steps up to the box. Silence crunches like lizard bones.

'Mr Ledesma – how long have you been a TV journalist?'

'Almost fifteen years now.'

'Practicing where?'

' New York mostly, and Chicago.'

'Not Nacogdoches?'

Lally frowns. 'No-ho,' he hooshes a little powerdime-booster.

'Ever visit?'

'No-ho.'

Brian shoots him a knowing smile. 'Ever told a lie, Mr Ledesma?'

'Tch…'

'Yes or no.'

'No-h-ho.'

My attorney nods and turns to the jury. He holds up a calling card. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I am about to show the witness a calling card. It reads, "Eulalio Ledesma Gutierrez, President amp; Service Technician-In-Chief, Care Media Nacogdoches."' He glides it through the air to Lally's face. 'Mr Ledesma – is this your business card?'

'Oh p-lease,' hooshes Lally. He's like an ole-fashion train all of a sudden.

Brian gives him his hardest stare. 'A witness will testify that you presented this card as your own. I ask again – is this your card?'

'I said no.'

'Your honor, if I may be allowed to append a witness to this examination, for the purpose of identification…?'

'Go ahead,' says the judge.

My attorney nods to the back of the court. The double doors creak open, and two orderlies guide a little ole Mexican lady into the room. Brian waits until she's tottering at the top of the stairs, then he closes in on Lally.

'Mr Ledesma – is this your mother?'

'Don't be ridiculous,' growls Lally.

'Lally! My Lalo!' cries the lady. She breaks free of the orderlies, but her foot catches a railing in the aisle, and she tumbles to the ground. The judge rises out of his seat, frowning as the lady is helped to her feet. She bawls, and tries to pinpoint Lally's voice. He stays quiet. His cheeks pucker double-time.

Brian lets the hush return before calling to the ole lady. 'Mrs Gutierrez, please tell the court – is this your son?'

'It's him.'

She pulls her helpers down the aisle, then her foot misses another step, and she dangles suspended in their arms. The judge pulls back his lips like he just stepped on a spleen. He squints at the ole woman, then shakes his head.

'Ma'am – can you point to your son?'

Breathing is canceled across the world. 'Lalo?' she calls. 'Eu-lalio?' He doesn't answer. Just then, one of the attorneys folds his arms, and at that nano-rustle of his sleeves, the ole woman flinches and points to the prosecutor. 'Lally!'

The prosecutor throws out his arms in despair. The judge's eyes fall to my attorney. 'Time out – am I to understand this witness is visually impaired?'

'Every woman knows her child's voice, your honor.'

'Lalo?' sniffs the woman, now reaching for the stainographer.

The judge sighs. 'Just how in God's name did you figure to get a positive identification?'

'Your honor,' starts Brian, but the judge slams down his glasses and spreads his hands wide.

'Counsel – the good lady can't see.'