Judgment
“The judge could see it. So could the jury. His hatred was so strong you could almost touch it.
Tomas Cruz could feel it but dared not look over his shoulder. He sat still in his wheelchair, his head bandaged and his legs, in casts, sticking out straight in front of him. His facial swelling had gone down just enough so that he could see Dexter beside him, nervously adjusting his paisley tie and brushing imaginary dust off his red jacket.
Primo Manriquez was like a kid at a carnival. To him, this wasn't a murder trial but a big fuckin' joke. And the biggest laugh of all was sitting in the first row trying to look bad.
"Look at that stupid motherfucker," Primo said, playing with his thin mustache. "Hey, Esteban, look at him." Enrico Esteban stole a quick glance at Macklin. Suddenly he was glad there were armed officers in the room.
Primo laughed. "Oooooh, he's scaring me. Ooooh." Teobaldo "Baldo" Villanueva sat stoically.
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