He had done well; he always did well. This one was a no-brainer—he’d be on the stand with this prosecutor another day, two max, then the defense lawyer would take a whack at him, which would take a day, maybe spill over a little. The defense attorney wouldn’t lay a glove on him. He’d seen the fear in the man’s eyes from up on the witness stand. The poor bastard looked like a deer caught in the headlights. By the end of the week this would be over and done with. He was glad he was doing this trial. It was like a tune-up for the main event. He could feel the juices flowing, the blood rushing. You could get a hard-on doing this shit—there was a strong sexual component to it. Having Helena the DA sitting in the back of the room catching his act didn’t hurt with the sexual energy-flow. Her eyes had been riveted on him all day long. The infirmary closed down for the day. The male nurse locked all the cabinets and signed out. What that mincing little shit didn’t know was that Dwayne had found the duplicate keys, taped to the bottom of a desk drawer.
