He was never even called up. The defense and the prosecution grilled his brother, they went even harder on the other punk that had outed him, and the defense went especially hard on officer Johnson, who kept to his story and implicated the piece of shit sitting on the defense side, who looked like he love nothing more than to put another bullet in the officer’s skull. He could have sworn that he saw a look of thanks from Jones during his questioning, but it could have been nothing more than recognition for being there in the first place.
By the time the judge reached his decision, which would be up for appeal no doubt if Nick knew anything at all about the legal process, he handed down a ten-year sentence without parole to the shooter, and a six-month sentence for Nick’s brother and the other douchebag, who’d both been asked to stand and be remanded into custody shortly after the judge had deemed the case closed.
Nick had sat where he was, resisting the urge to grin as his brother had looked at him in shock, as though he hadn’t at least anticipated what the penalty for giving false information might be. The two men would be forced to pay a $1,000 fine apiece, and there was no doubt that they would do their time in county and be glad to get out in less than a year. But for now he felt like karma had bitch-slapped them hard enough to be satisfied for a while. Had he been a younger man still he would have wanted to get his licks in too. But he had something better than revenge waiting for him back home.