The Juror [antikvár]

EDDIE, in the spectators' gallery, leans forward. Prospective Juror 224 has just said something that he couldn't hear. That in fact nobody in this courtroom could hear. Judge Wietzel asks her to move the mike closer.Juror 224 takes the neck of the mike and pulls it up to her. Then gives it a quick choke. Strong rough scratched-up farmwife hands she's gotthey don't match the rest of her. They don't match her gentle gray eyes, which now sweep softly across the courtroom, and light upon the defendant, Louie Boffano.She says, "I don't think so. No.""Are you sure?" says Judge Wietzel. "You've never seen Mr. Boffano? In the newspapers? On TV?""No sir."Wietzel casts her a withering look. "Do you read newspapers, ma'am?"This gets him a chuckle from his toadies up front. Fuckin Wietzel, thinks Eddie. Shit on toast he thinks he is. That look he's giving the juror. The arrogant way he flicks his gavel to quiet the laughter.But Juror 224 doesn't rattle. She says softly, "I read the paper when I have the time.""How often is that?"