Inside the courthouse, a security guard brought them to a conference room where his partner, Skeeps; his boss, Lieutenant Fisk; and a few other agents were waiting.
Seeing them made Drew more relaxed. "Wow, what a great surprise." He extended his hand. "Thanks for coming. It's great to see you, Lieutenant."
"It's even better to see you. We're looking forward to having you back in the office soon. We had to come today. You better give Sandalio and Mr. Gangbanger a full load of hell."
"I'll do my best. I'm looking forward to coming back to work, too."
While they hugged, Drew clapped Skeeps on the back. "Are you surviving without me?"
Skeeps spoke softly. "Whistler Wilson is making me crazy. You have to get your ass back in the truck."
Drew hugged him a little tighter. "Nobody wants that more than me."
He moved down the rank and file, greeting everyone who'd come. At the end of the line stood a man who looked old and world-weary. Drew didn't recognize him. The guy seemed ready to jump out of his skin when Drew walked over.
"I'm sorry, but do we know each other?"
"Sorta. My name is Rufus Battonaire. I'm the feller who found you. I'm mighty glad to see you walking and talking. I had my doubts."
Drew had heard about the Vietnam vet, but never thought he'd meet him today.
Drew extended his hand.
Rufus looked uncertain, and then shoved his mitt into Drew's in an awkward handshake.
"Thank you for saving my life."
"Twern't nothing. I swear though, I ain't never heard such screaming since my days in 'Nam. I'm just glad me and Jess could help."
Drew frowned. "Jess?"
"My black Lab. He goes everywhere with me." He shot a sour look at the security guard. "Except today."
"I wondered why I kept remembering a dog, but couldn't connect it with anything concrete."
"He stayed by your side until the medics took ya. You were in terrible shape."
Rufus tapped the back of his own head. "You okay back there? What they did to you, no man, let alone a peace officer, should have suffered through."
"Time will tell, but at least I have a second chance because of you. If you ever need anything, please let me know."
"I'm kinda fond of my own company. Those months in 'Nam, well, they didn't do much for making me fun to be around. But thank you anyway." Rufus' eyes watered.
"You get back on your feet. That's thanks enough."
He pointed toward the closed doors. "Good luck in there. Make 'em pay for what they did to ya."
The reminder of his purpose today made Drew's nerves taut. He turned to see Luis observing him with a serious expression.
"Sir, before you leave, I'd like you to meet someone." He beckoned to Luis. "This is Luis Herrera. He's the other man who saved my life." Drew threaded his fingers with Luis'. "If we see each other again, he will be with me."
Rufus shook Luis' hand. "I'm not one to be poking at people for their choices. Jess is the only one that can stand me."
Luis chuckled. "Thanks for everything you did for Drew. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Drew returned his attention to Rufus. "Would you mind if I took a picture of us together? Everyone needs a hero."
Rufus blushed. "I suppose that would be all right, but then I need to get back to Jess."
Drew handed Luis his tablet. "Luis, would you mind, please?"
The battle-scarred soldier stood straight and tall next to the man he'd saved.
Sensing Rufus' discomfort over all the attention, Drew stood quietly next to him for the photo. After, he turned to Rufus and shook his hand again. "Thank you for serving our country, and for doing the right thing by helping me. Others might not have been as brave."
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Sheila Parsons. "Good morning, Drew, Luis. I see you've met Mr. Battonaire."
The imaginary blender in Drew's stomach turned on high. "Good morning. Are they ready for me?"
"They're taking a twenty-minute recess. If you'd like to come with me, we'll get you settled."
Drew felt like he was headed into surgery. Everyone lined up to wish him well, and then he was walking down the corridor with Luis and the D.A. When they turned the corner, they encountered Scorpion, aka Tommy Loushone, being lead into another courtroom by two uniformed officers.
The gang leader hadn't lost his defiant expression.
Drew bristled as they passed. You're going down, asshole. You fucked with the wrong guy. He knew if Rufus hadn't found him, everyone involved would likely have gotten off scot-free. Hiding bodies wasn't hard in Louisiana's swamplands. Finding them was.
They entered the dark-paneled courtroom steeped in seriousness and wisdom.
Looking around, Drew couldn't imagine how many sweaty palms had gripped these chairs over the years.
Sheila directed Drew to his spot and pointed to another. "Luis will sit behind you. After you're sworn in, take your seat."
She turned her attention to Luis. "Don't say a word. You're here to support Drew because of his medical condition and nothing more. If you have an outburst or any kind, you'll be escorted out. Do you understand?"
His expression solemn, Luis nodded.
Drew opened his tablet and turned it on, a behavior that seemed like a compulsion today. He flipped to the special page he and Luis had created of all the people involved in today's courtroom drama. He handed the tablet to Sheila Parsons.
Luis placed his hand on Drew's shoulder. "You're going to be fine. If you're feeling like you're going to crumble, look at me like we talked about."
Drew rubbed his face. "I need this to be over. I just want to sit here for a moment and collect what's left of my scattered thoughts."
Luis squeezed his shoulder.
A large photo of Henrique Sandalio was brought in a few minutes later. The picture Drew had of Sandalio on his tablet was scanned from the newspaper. Though that image wasn't as clear as Drew's recollections, seeing Sandalio in vivid color made Drew's heart race. To calm his jagged nerves, he closed his eyes and practiced the breathing techniques his therapist taught him.
The grand jury arrived next.
Drew was still on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. How in the Christly hell am I ever going to go back to work feeling this way?
"Agent Rothem?"
The sound of the District Attorney's voice got his attention.
"Please come to the witness stand."
He rose and walked to the witness stand to be sworn in, while the district attorney took care of Luis' oath of silence.
Drew made a point of staring at Henrique Sandalio's mug shot. Time to face the music, you evil bastard.
Sheila Parsons went through the usual drill of asking him to state his name and occupation for the record.
Drew's hands were sweating while he answered. He glanced at Luis, to draw some strength from his presence.
In their silent signal of solidarity, Luis joined his hands and tapped them against his chest.
"Agent Rothem, would you please tell us what happened on the afternoon of Sunday, September twenty-fifth?"
Drew described the events leading to his flat tire. "When I got out of the car, I guess I was so preoccupied with putting on the spare that I didn't hear the car pull up behind me or . . . . I can't remember the name of the man who snuck up on me."
"Do you need to refer to your tablet, Agent?"
"Yes, please." He looked down at his photos with nametags. "I didn't see Scorpion come up to me, either."
"You mean Tommy Loushone."
Drew looked down again to confirm the name. "Yes, that's his real name."
"Continue, please."
"He called me Agent Rothem. He knew who I was. They had to be following me, to get there so fast. Anyway, I started to get up, and he kicked me in the side of the knee. I rolled over, but by that time, two other guys were out of the car and on me. It must have taken them half a second to truss me up, and toss me i
n the trunk."
"Truss you?"
"Loushone stuffed his do-rag in my mouth while the other two put Flex-Cuffs, like police officers use, on my ankles and hands. They literally threw me in the trunk."
Drew recounted the fear and pain he endured while riding that way.
She pointed to Sandalio's photo. "Was that man one of the three who put you inside?"
"No. I didn't see him until they took me out." Drew recounted how they callously tossed him onto the ground, and the dread he experienced when he saw there were four men there. "Sandalio showed himself last. I had to roll over to see him. He told me to beg for my life; this was payback for sending his son to jail again."
"So, was it was clear to you that these people all knew you are an officer of the law, and that their intentions were premeditated?"
"Yes, on both counts. I don't think most people go for a Sunday drive and decide on the spur of the moment to kidnap a man, beat him half to death, and leave him as carrion."
"Is that what they did?"
"Sandalio gave Loushone the baseball bat and told him not to kill me. It was Loushone's idea to hit me in the head. He said he wanted me to have a Retribution gang tattoo."
"Let the record show that the gang's symbol is a broken skull. What did you do next?"
"I tried to reason with them by suggesting they'd be getting lighter sentences if they stopped right now and just left me there." Drew's hands trembled so hard he thought he might be having a seizure. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his emotions in check. "I knew I was going to be toast one way or the other."
Drew remembered seeing Sandalio smirk while his thugs took turns beating the daylights out of him.
At that moment, Drew decided his testimony was going to bury Sandalio and his sadistic friends.
"You're sure Henrique Sandalio was there? You have memory problems since your beating. Could you be mistaken?"
"I couldn't remember his face clearly for a few months. There were lots of things in my life that were foggy. Some still are. However, the day I remembered his face, and every day since, I've pictured him clearly. I am certain he was the person who ordered the gang members to beat me."
"Who hit you first?"
"Loushone hit me in the back of the head. I was still cuffed, hand and foot. I tried rolling to take the blow on my shoulder or back, but I wasn't fast enough."
"Then what?"
"I remember the sensation of my skull shifting, and I probably blacked out for a while. When I opened my eyes, my vision was blurred. People were talking, but their voices were coming and going. They sounded far away. Sandalio was crouching in front of me. He said he hoped I wasn't dead. He said he wanted the boys to break one bone for every year his son would be in prison."
"Did they accomplish their goal?"
He shook his head. "No, but they came very close." Drew mopped his forehead with a handkerchief.
Concern registered in Sheila's eyes. "Do you need to take a break, Agent Rothem?"
Hand shaking, Drew took a sip of water. "I'd like to get this over with, if you don't mind."
"Continue whenever you're ready."
"I don't know what else I can tell you. They took turns beating me with the bat.
My right forearm snapped like a twig. That hurt more than the skull fracture. Then one of them started laughing. I couldn't tell what was so funny; everything was kind of woozy in my mind. The next thing I knew, they were hauling me up and dumping me on a little hill. That hurt like hell because my arm was fractured. I remember screaming my head off. They laughed."
"Take your time. Do you know why they moved you?"
Drew closed his eyes, the terrifying memory coming back to him like a daytime nightmare.
"I soon realized they'd put me on a fire ant hill." His heart raced, his mouth felt like he'd been sucking on steel wool. He croaked the words out, needing to get this ordeal behind him. "The ants were everywhere—in my mouth, my ears. I squeezed my eyes shut to keep them out. I could feel them crawling in my skull. Red-hot bites everywhere. I started screaming like I was losing my mind. That really pissed off one of the gang members."
He took a ragged breath. "That same one started screaming, 'Shut up! Shut up, motherfucker!' But I couldn't. Every nerve in my body was jumping like electricity was pumping through me. I don't think setting me on fire at that moment could have hurt more."
Tears welled in Sheila's eyes. She'd heard this testimony before, and it still seemed to hit her hard. "That's when they left you."
"No. The one who was screaming at me hollered at another guy to give him the bat." Feeling like someone had just knocked the wind out of him, Drew stopped cold.
Luis looked alarmed. He tapped his chest again, silently urging Drew to remember their united strength. His love for him.
Drew steadied his nerves. "He laughed, and told the crazy one to make me shut up."
"What did he do?"
"He fractured my left ankle in three places with the bat. I don't know who was screaming louder, him or me." On the verge of tears, Drew inhaled a few times. "I think I passed out. My whole body was one mass of pain. I sort of remember the sound of car tires kicking up the gravel and thought, well, geez, at least I can die in peace. I didn't have the energy or desire to call for help. I had no idea where I was, or what good it would do anyway."
"You wanted to die."
"I thought I would. I knew I was badly hurt, and thought the ants were going to polish me off, one miserable bite at a time."
"Do you think Mr. Sandalio ever hit you?"
"I can't be sure. The way he kept himself hidden in the car until I was on the ground, and how he ordered the others around, gave me the impression he wasn't going to get his hands dirty. But I don't know if I was conscious through all of it. The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital about a week later."
The District Attorney listed the extent of Drew's injuries. "You were also soaked in urine."
The statement made Drew shudder. "I know, but don't ask me who pissed on me, because I don't remember a thing about it. I think I blocked that out."
"Tell the grand jury how you're doing now, and about your prognosis."
"I've had a number of surgeries on my arm and ankle. They are healing. I have memory issues, mostly in short-term recall, which may clear up. And I have seizures and tremors. Medication is controlling the seizures better, and it'll take time to see if they ever stop. Who knows how long?"
She spoke in a soft tone. "Do you intend to go back to work again, Agent Rothem?"
His throat felt like cotton balls filled it. "I'd like to, but I don't know if I ever will be able to. I can't live alone yet, either. If it weren't for my friend, Luis, taking me in, I'd be in a memory care center somewhere, stuffed away until I recovered. If I ever recover."
At the end of his testimony, Drew gripped the witness box and pulled himself to his feet. He was spent and weak. Perspiration soaked his underarms.
Luis stood and asked the District Attorney, "May I help him?"
"Certainly."
Luis rushed to Drew. He put his arm around Drew for support. "Let's go home."
Drew nodded and concentrated on telling his feet to move.
Luis took Drew into an ancillary room, then helped him sit down. "I think we should take you out in a wheelchair. You're too exhausted to make it under your own steam."
Drew couldn't argue. "How'd I do?"
"You kicked ass. I'm so proud of you."
Drew could barely muster a smile. "Thank you for being here. I hope he, and the rest of those sons of bitches, burn in hell. State prison hell."
* * * * *
The following afternoon, Drew sat in his recliner, working on one of his memory games. Truth be told, his mind wasn't really on the task. He was exhausted from his daylong grand jury testimony and anxious over what the verdicts might be. He'd checked his cell phone a zillion times to be sure he hadn't missed a call from the district attorney. He hadn't.
>
Yesterday's late afternoon session hadn't been as difficult for Drew as the morning had been. Nevertheless, he'd wanted to wipe the smug look off Tommy Loushone's pockmarked face. He looked like a jackass, with his patchwork crop of hair sticking out helter-skelter from his head, instead of hiding under his do-rag, making him look tough and angry.
Do-rag. Just thinking of the word conjured up the horrible taste of having that vile thing stuck in his mouth.
Like they say on the street, "haters gonna hate." Loushone was a hater, and by the time Drew finished his testimony, Loushone's disregard for human life was palpable in the courtroom. Glimpsing the jury members' disgusted expressions, Drew couldn't fathom this guy getting away.
The sound of a key in the apartment door lock made Drew turn off his electronic tablet. That must be Luis.
He'd barely gotten out of the chair when Luis opened the door. His expression told a story of frustration and weariness.
"Hi. How'd it go?"
Luis put his keys on the bar, then reached for a crystal tumbler and the bottle of Grey Goose from the cabinet.
"That good, huh?"
Ice cubes clinked into his glass. Luis topped them with vodka.
Drew waited, knowing Luis' behavior didn't signal anything good.
After he took a few gulps, Luis added more vodka. He looked at Drew over the top of his glass. "I have to go back to work."
"I'm not that surprised, but you seem to be."
Luis polished off his drink and slammed the glass down on the counter. "Not entirely, but I'm pissed. I won't be able to come with you to Minnesota for the wedding."
Drew's heart sank. "Really? Why?"
"It's too close to Mardi Gras. The Flamin' Dames contacted our CEO and insisted that I ride on their float. It's a great design, and an up-and-coming group. I've got to be there." Luis explained about the other obligations he would have over the coming weeks. He'd been working remotely most of the time they'd been living together, and going into the office half-days since the new year started. "I can't tell the company to shove it; I'll be fired."
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