He was astonished at the betrayal, and the look he gave me was filled with outrage. “You called the cops? Why’d you do that?”

“Because I didn’t believe you’d turn yourself in.”

“Why should I?”

“See what I mean? You got an attitude. Like somehow the rules don’t apply to you. Well, guess what?”

“Guess what yourself. I don’t have to take any crap from you.” He got up from the chair, grabbing his wallet from the top of the TV as he passed. He reached the door and opened it. A sheriff’s deputy, a white guy, was standing on the threshold, his hand raised to knock. Brian wheeled and moved rapidly toward the sliding glass door. A second deputy, black, appeared on his patio. Frustrated, Brian flung his wallet to the floor with such force that it bounced like a football. The first deputy reached for him, and Brian wrenched his arm away. “Get the fuck off me!”

The deputy said, “Son. Now, son. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

Brian was breathing heavily again, backing up, his gaze raking the air from face to face. He was hunched over, and he had his hands out as if to ward off attacking animals. Both deputies were big, made of dense flesh and tough experience, the first in his late forties, the other maybe thirty-five. I wouldn’t have wanted to truck with either one of them.

The second deputy had his hand on his gun, but he hadn’t drawn it. These days a confrontation with the law ends in death, pure and simple. The two officers exchanged a look, and my heart began to bang at the specter of sudden violence. The three of us were immobilized, waiting to see what the next move might be. The first deputy went on in a low tone. “It’s all right. Everything’s cool. Let’s just keep calm here and everything’s going to be fine.”

Uncertainty flickered in Brian’s eyes. His breathing slowed, and he regained his composure. He straightened up. I didn’t think it was over, but the tension evaporated. Brian tried a deprecating smile and allowed himself to be handcuffed without resistance. He avoided my gaze, which suited me just fine. There was something embarrassing about having to watch him submit. “Bunch of dumb fucks,” he murmured, but the deputies ignored him. Everybody has to save face. No offense in that.

Dana appeared at the jail while Brian was being processed through booking. She was dressed to the teeth, in a gray rayon-linen-blend power suit, the first time I’d seen her wearing anything other than jeans. It was eleven o’clock at night, and I was standing in the hall with another cup of bad coffee when I heard the snapping of her high heels down the corridor. I took one look at her and knew she was furious, not with Brian or the cops, but with me. I had followed the sheriff’s car over to the jail, parking in the lot while they drove into the sally port. I had even put the call through to Dana Jaffe myself, thinking she should be informed about her little boy’s arrest. I was not in the mood to take shit from her, but it was clear she intended to spew.

“You have caused trouble since the moment I laid eyes on you,” she spat. Her hair was pulled back in a shiny chignon, not a strand out of place. Snowy blouse, silver earrings, her eyes lined with black.

“Do you want to hear the story?”

“No, I don’t want to hear the story. I want to tell you one,” she snapped. “I have a fucking restraining order on my bank accounts. Every cent I have is inaccessible. I have no money. Do you get that? None! My kid is in trouble, and what the hell can I do? I can’t even get through to his lawyer.”

Her linen suit was immaculate, not a wrinkle on it anywhere; tough with linen, I’ve heard, even in a blend. I stared down at the contents of my cup. The coffee was cold by now, the surface bespeckled with little clots of powdered milk. I was really hoping I wouldn’t fling it all in her face. I watched my hand carefully to see if it would move. So far, so good.

In the meantime, Dana was going on and on, heaping invective at me for God knew what offenses. I pushed the mute button with my internal remote. It was just like watching some silent TV show. Some part of me was listening, though I tried not to let the sound penetrate. I noticed my coffee-flinging inclination was picking up momentum. I used to be a biter in kindergarten, and the impulse was the same. When I was a cop, I’d had to arrest a woman once for flinging a drink in another woman’s face, which the law regards as assault and battery. California Penal Code 242: “A battery is any willful and unlawful use of force or violence upon the person of another.” Battery is a consummated assault and is a necessarily included offense where battery is charged. “The force or violence necessary to constitute a battery need not be great nor need it necessarily cause pain or bodily harm, nor leave a mark,” I recited to myself. Except maybe on her suit, I added. Tee hee.