Reasonable Doubt ✔ | Open Novella Contest 2020 | Complete

Thirty - Colt

"And did you knowingly arrive to the rendezvous point with Mr. Rios with the gun?" The prosecution asks.

Alex starts to quiver. I grip his hand more tightly.

"I had the gun, but I wasn't looking for him specifically," Ramilla replies nonchalantly.

I'm amazed at how calm and cool he seems on the stand. Ain't a single ounce of remorse or guilt on his face. This could be a day like any other.

I glance at the defense, note the tense shoulders of his lawyer, the blasé look of a few of the jurors. I add them to my notes, delineate implications. Finch and Sharron's attention are elsewhere. It's my task to observe the courtroom, use the skills honed from prison. Extort weakness and emotion.

Sharron continues, "And was your intention to use the gun?

"I didn't go there to kill him, if that's what you mean."

"Then what was your motive?"

Ramilla looks at Alex. I swear my heart stops. It's like pulling the drawstring on a bow. Tighter, and tighter still. Alex is practically humming beside me with fury, jaw tight.

"Mr. Ramilla?" Sharron steps in front of him, breaking the eye contact. "What was your motive in bringing a gun to the rendezvous?"

"Just to scare them a bit," he reasons with a smirk that makes my skin crawl. "It's the industrial side of Hamilton. I need something to ward off low-lives."

"With a loaded gun?"

"Yeah."

"And then what happened?"

I know the story after this. The replay of that crime scene footage, Alex on his knees cradling what's left of his brother's face. I squeeze his hand, notes forgotten. I can feel him starting to splinter. I need to hold him together.

Ramilla takes a moment, eyes finding Alex once more. Though it's an attempt to appear contrite, I see it for what it is: mockery.

I bite down on my temper. He shouldn't get to look at Alex. He shouldn't be alive while Javier is dead. He shouldn't be free when Alex endured months behind bars.

That's why we're here. Getting justice for both of them.

I lean in, lips against his ear, try and staunch the hemorrhage from old wounds. "There's nothing he's saying you haven't already seen or pictured."

Ramilla's angry tone slams into us like a cinder block. "I told him the price was wrong, that I wasn't going to be ripped off like that. He told me to calm down."

"How did the gun go off?"

Alex's breathing is jagged, hand vicelike in mine. He's so brave, trying to temper the fallout. Those soft green eyes are fixated on Ramilla, the events unfolding. I can see the heartbreak clear as a searchlight.

"I don't know." Ramilla replies.

"You don't know?"

"I was holding it, just to make a show, y'know." He mimes the action, mirrors the grainy footage. "Then it went off."

Sharron doesn't waste a moment, hurtling into leading questions. "Did you fire the gun?"

"No! It was an accident! It went off on its own!"

I grit my teeth. The shift of his eyes. The slight inward cave of his shoulders.

Finch glances to me. I give a subtle nod: the defense is lying. I've seen it before, pray it doesn't work. If there's a seed of doubt the murder was accidental, Ramilla could walk away without any time served.