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Rocky Mountain Spring water guy cameup to me and said that he had just delivered some bottled water to a house five doors down and across the street. He said he went in the back door because there was a pit bull chained up out front. On a daybed at the back of the house he saw a child hog-tied. That’s the way he put it, ‘hog-tied’.”

Chapter Thirteen
    The blood started to pound behind my eyes. I looked over at Johnny Wayne. His chin was up as if proud of all the attention he now received, as if he were some sort of Al Capone who derived respect from his criminality.
    â€œHis hands and feet were bound together behind his back. He was facedown on a dirty sheet that was bloody. The Rocky Mountain Water guy said it was real hot inside, and he didn’t know if the kid was even breathing.
    â€œBecause there was a dire threat to a human life, I immediately advised dispatch, asked for a patrol unit to assist code-three, and went to the house.”
    â€œLieutenant, did you go by yourself?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you alert some of your men?”
    I knew why. Robby also carried the BMF tattoo and he knew it was going to get ugly. He knew he wasn’t going to want witnesses.
    â€œThere wasn’t time to alert my men. From the description the bottle water guy gave me, the child was in imminent danger. Besides, my men were still securing the house for the high-risk dope search warrant. To pull even one of them away would have jeopardized the operation and their safety.”
    â€œWhat did you do next?”
    â€œI went to the location. And because there was a threat tothe safety of a child, I didn’t knock. I drew my service weapon and went in the back door.”
    â€œAnd what did you find?”
    â€œA six-year-old boy hog-tied facedown in a stifling room. It was at least a hundred and twenty inside the house. He was bleeding profusely from his mouth and nose. It looked like his arm was broken, and he was in shock.”
    â€œWhat happened next?”
    â€œThe defendant,” Robby pointed to Johnny Wayne, “without provocation charged me. I was forced to defend myself.”
    â€œHe’s a liar!” Two pews back a sketchy speed-freak woman in a dingy-white tank top and greasy jeans, stood up. I knew her as Dora Bascombe. “He’s a liar. He attacked my Johnny and beat the livin’ shit out of him. Pistol-whipped his ass until he was a bloody pulp. Look at his face, Judge. Christ, look at his face.”
    The judge banged his gavel. The bailiff moved into the audience, took the screaming woman by the arm, and tugged and pulled her out of the courtroom.
    I looked back at Johnny Wayne. He smiled, happy that his woman had stood up for him. Her misplaced loyalty meant a lot in his world. Johnny didn’t have any front teeth, courtesy of Robby Wicks, which gave his smile a sunken look, as if the vacant space where his brain should have been sucked and puckered his lips and skin into an empty vortex.
    When the courtroom was again under control, the deputy DA turned back to Robby, “Please, Lieutenant, continue.”
    â€œLike I said, before I could render aid to the child, the defendant attacked me. I had no alternative but to use the force necessary to subdue and take the suspect into custody.”
    â€œThank you, Lieutenant. Now, I would like to show you some photos of—”
    â€œYour Honor,” the public defender stood and spoke for thefirst time, a diminutive man dressed in a worn JCPenney’s suit. “For the purposes of this hearing we will stipulate to the injuries of the child.” He sat back down.
    The judge looked at the Deputy DA. “Do you have anything further?”
    â€œProsecution rests.”
    â€œMr. Howard.”
    The public defender again stood and moved to the podium. “Your Honor, the State has not proved that my client was the one who committed these crimes. The mere fact that he