The brothel owner looked like a snake who’d just eaten a dog. He had cold, calculating eyes and a comically round belly attached to an otherwise skinny frame. For his grand jury appearance, he wore three days’ worth of stubble, faded jeans, and a T-shirt with a picture of a tie on it. His graying hair was so stiff and spiky with product, it looked like he could use it to shred cabbage.The Superior Court grand jury was housed in a small room that looked like a classroom in an underfunded community college. The jurors sat at three ascending rows of orange Formica tables. There was no judge or defense attorney. Anna stood in front of the room, next to Ricardo’s witness chair. On the other side of Anna was a young pretty stenographer. Ricardo eyed her up and down, as if evaluating what he would charge for her. He’d done the same to Anna.She was amazed that he could be so lecherous after all he’d been through. He was just released from the hospital two days ago, with forty-six stitches closing up the machete wounds on his chest.
