If my hands weren’t cuffed and my temper wasn’t eating its own tail, I might enjoy this.
“You,” Twila says, pointing at me with the folder, “are a pain in my ass.”
I lean back. “Deputy, you wound me.”
“You assaulted a man outside a county building while he was on his way into family services.”
“He should’ve walked faster.”
Whiskey closes his eyes for half a second like he is asking God for patience, which is funny because I’m pretty sure Whiskey and God only speak through lawyers.
Twila steps closer to the bars. “Next time you want to assault a man with a lawyer’s smile, do it where I don’t have to pretend I didn’t see it.”
I lift my brows. “That your way of saying thank you?”
“That’s my way of saying don’t make me arrest you twice in one week.”
“Week ain’t over.”
“Derby.”
The way she says my name has enough warning in it to make the drunk stop snoring for one second. Then he goes right back to fighting demons in his sleep.
Whiskey finally speaks. “Jeremy ain’t officially pressed charges yet.”
My head turns.
“Why?”
“Because he is weighing whether the assault charge helps him more.”
Twila’s mouth tightens. “And because if he makes a formal statement, I get to ask him formal questions.”
I smile.
It ain’t nice.
“Maybe I should have hit him again.”
Twila walks to the cell door. “Do you want to stay here?”
“No.”
“Then stop helping your own prosecution.”
Whiskey slides a look at her. “I told him the same thing.”
“I imagine he ignored you too.”
“Consistently.”
She unlocks the cell with more force than needed. “Your president made enough noise that my father got irritated. Your treasurer made enough calls that people with county pensions got nervous. And I don’t have time to babysit a grown man with fists where his brain should be.”
“I got a brain.”
“Then take it out of whatever dark place you store it and use it.”
Whiskey coughs into his hand.