The King of Torts, John Grisham
The King of Torts, John Grisham
DANIEL & NATASHA
COMM. 333
THE KING OF TORTS, JOHN GRISHAM..
The police found their man an hour later. His name was Tequila Watson, black male, age twenty, with the usual drug-related police record. No family to speak of. No address. The last place hed been sleeping was a rehab unit on W Street. Hed managed to ditch the gun somewhere, and if hed robbed Pumpkin then hed also thrown away the cash or drugs or whatever the booty was. His pockets were clean, as were his eyes. The cops were certain Tequila was not under the influence of anything when he was arrested. A quick and rough interrogation took place on the street, then . . .
he was handcuffed and shoved into the rear seat of a D.C. police car.
They drove him back to Lamont Street, where they arranged an impromptu encounter with the two witnesses. Tequila was led into the alley where hed left Pumpkin. “Ever been here before?” a cop asked.
Tequila said nothing, just gawked at the puddle of fresh blood on the dirty concrete. The two witnesses were eased into the alley, then led quietly to a spot near Tequila.
“Thats him,” both said at the same time.
“Hes wearing the same clothes, same basketball shoes, everything but the gun.”
“Thats him.”
“No doubt about it.”
Tequila was shoved into the car once again and taken to jail. He was booked for murder and locked away with no immediate chance of bail. Whether through experience or just fear, Tequila never said a word to the cops as they pried and cajoled and even threatened. Nothing incriminating, nothing helpful. No indication of why he would murder Pumpkin. No clue as to their history, if one existed at all. A veteran detective made a brief note in the file that the killing appeared a bit more random than was customary.
WISEGUY, BY NICHOLAS PILEGGI
DANIEL & NATASHA
COMM.333
1…HEY JIMMY I’VE BEEN LOOKING ALL OVER FOR YOU BABY, JIMMY CAN I TALK TO YOU FOR A SECOND JIMMY JIMMY OVER HERE, FUKK HIM I WANT MY MONEY, I MASTERMINDED THE WHOLE THING, HE WOULD BE UP THE CREEK WITHOUT A PADDLE IF IT WASN’T FOR ME
2…MAUREY, ALRIGHT
1…….FUKK HIM I WANT MY MONEY, HENRY I WANT MY MONEY I’VE HAD IT UP TO HEAR, THAT CHEAP CIGARETTE SMUGGLING ASS
2……ALRIGHT ALRIGHT