“My name’s Dale Brannon,” he said. “Tyler’s my boy. I haven’t been much of a father to him, and I’m not going to sit here and tell you I was. But I know him. And I know he got out Tuesday, and I know he’s been saying things.”
“What kind of things?”
Dale rubbed the back of his neck. “He told his cousin you’re the reason he did eleven months instead of getting probation. Said you stood up in that courtroom and made him look like an animal.”
“He was an animal,” I said. My voice cracked when I said it, and I hated that it cracked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Dale said quietly. “He was. That’s why we’re here.”
He finished his coffee, screwed the lid back on the thermos, and stood up. He was even bigger standing than sitting. Then he walked down the steps, nudged one of the sleeping men with his boot, and said, “Rooster. Up. We’re burning daylight.”
