Texas Heat

The short story of a true-crime writer and a murder trial.

He sat in the back of the courtroom, a blank notebook balancing on his knees; a cheap but presentable suit causing the Texas heat to feel even hotter.

The small room was packed with onlookers. The defendant's family, friends and acquaintances. Jury and attorneys. News reporters. Cameramen.

Tugging at his tie, he wiped away a trail of perspiration trickling down the side of his neck.

"Hell of a day for the air conditioning to go out in the building, huh?" A pretty, long-legged brunette to his left exclaimed.

"Exactly," the man replied, his eyes climbing discreetly up the stripes on her short skirt.

"I'm Daria Copeland," she offered a heavily jeweled hand.

"Gentry Awler," he responded with a hearty handshake.

"Gentry Awler?" Daria smiled widely. "The true crime writer? Oh my goodness! I am such a fan. I've read all your books." She began shoving long tendrils of hair behind her diamond-studded ears.

"All three of them?" Gentry giggled comfortably.

"Oh, yes," Daria gushed. "Not that I am a fan of crime, of course, but your writing is so, I don't know." She crossed and uncrossed her legs. "It's just like you were there when it happened."

"Well, I will take that as a compliment, ma'am," Gentry winked and opened his notebook lazily.

"So, do you go to trials to get ideas and stuff?" The young woman was intrigued. "I mean, in your first book, 'Indication', you were so descriptive. How do you do that?"

Gentry shrugged his shoulders playfully. As he opened his mouth to speak, he heard the bailiff's booming voice.

"All rise! The Honorable Henry Scheiner presiding!"

The trial had been long, boring and tedious. There wasn't much physical evidence but many witnesses had taken the stand, providing statements about what they "thought" they saw or didn't see. Those witnesses were very convincing.

It didn't look good for Willy Mullins.

Gentry Awler scooted toward the edge of his seat in anticipation.

"And in your second book, 'Out of Reach', the description of the victim not being able to reach the knife because of the killer's boot on his hand was just spine tingling," Daria continued on in a whisper.

Gentry grabbed the woman's wrist and squeezed; shushing her.

The jury, a diverse group of eight men and four women had spent four days in deliberation.

Judge Scheiner, an extremely large man with a kind face, peered over the top of black-framed bifocals at the foreman. "What say you?" Scheiner prompted.

"Guilty, your Honor."

Gentry squeezed Daria's wrist tighter as he watched Willy Mullins slump forward and heard the sobs escape his slight frame.

Daria began to shake violently. Wrenching herself from Gentry's grasp, she flung her hands over her mouth.

"Mr. Mullins, you will be remanded to the State Penitentiary for ninety-nine years for the shooting death of Alexis Glenn."

Murmurs and gasps waved throughout the courtroom.

Daria scrambled over the seat in front of her but Gentry grabbed her elbow.

"Hey, calm down. He did it. He needs to be punished." He yelled over the din.

"No, no, he didn't do it!" She sobbed. "He couldn't have!"

"And why not?" Gentry's eyebrows knitted together.

"He's my boss. I know him. He just couldn't." Wet mascara darkened her upper cheeks.

Judge Scheiner banged his big wooden gavel and ordered quiet. With a quick lift of his index finger, the robed man prodded the removal of Willy Mullins.

Raising his head, the convicted murderer began to wail. Kicking, shoving and profanity quickly followed. Deputies tightened their grip on the man.

"I didn't do it. I didn't do it," he screamed. "Please, I have a wife. I have children! I didn't even know that girl!"

Banging his gavel once again, Judge Scheiner chastised Willy for his outburst. "That's quite enough, Mr. Mullins. When you do something wrong, you have to pay the consequences."

Gentry scribbled the word 'consequences' into his notebook and circled it several times before he looked up.

Willy Mullins was being half-dragged across the tile floor toward a side door when he broke away.

"I beg you," he pleaded with the judge. "Don't do this to me. Don't do this to my family." His arms flailed wildly. "I didn't do it. Someone else did!" Willy turned toward the crowd. Anger filled his dark brown eyes. Those eyes stung as they scanned numerous faces.

"You!" He pointed. "It was you!" Willy Mullins took two steps forward but collapsed to the floor as bullets ripped through his torso.

Gentry Awler shoved his notebook under his arm and slipped from the room, undetected amongst the stifling chaos.

"Getting away with murder is easy," he smiled evilly as he walked down the cracked sidewalk in his dusty boots.

Author's Note

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