The District Manager by Matt Minor

sorry, Keith!” I apologize, lifting my head up, in between swallows. This is not a burn that I savor. But my story isn’t finished yet. Still, I can’t bring myself to tell him the whole story as I stare at the exhausted walls.
    “So, what the hell, you hired this law firm and all they can tell you is nothing will happen to this fucker!” he asks. Tears descend his grooved and gray-whiskered cheeks. “What about your boss? What has he done to help?”
    “A lot, I think. He did hire the attorney.”
    “Who lost the case?”
    “Only on a criminal level. There’s still a civil case out there. I’m suing for damages.”
    “How did the press not pick this up?” he asks. He sparks up a joint.
    “They did…at least some obscure blogs and sites. Let’s be honest, no one in the mainstream media cares about a white person killed by the cops. There’s no riot potential there. And besides, white people love the authorities. Because they think it could never happen to them—because the media never reports it when it does! They’re played just like blacks are played: a twisted fuckin’ fiddle! Besides, Representative Crane forbade me to make any comments.
    “I can’t believe he hasn’t helped you more, Mason.”
    “People think elected officials have all this power, especially legislators. Truth be told, they’re terrified of pissing off local officials. The local officials have them by the nuts— particularly now. Shit, the damn Texas Legislature recently gave local district attorneys power over their respective offices. The D.A.s can now prosecute their own representatives and senators. Legislators are cowards, Keith.”
    “I don’t need a guy who works in your area to tell me that. Look at the country, that’s obvious.”
    We both sit there without a word between us for some time: Keith in his wheelchair, reeking of weed and me in my Lazy Boy, the taste of vomit on my tongue and lips.
    “One thing you haven’t told me, Mason, why did she get pulled over in the first place? You said ‘routine’ traffic stop…what do you mean by that?”
    “She was speeding; only ten miles over the speed limit. And when she went to pull over, from the tape, it looks like she erratically pulled to the shoulder. According to the police report, what happened was that a beer from the six-pack she’d brought for me had tumbled out somehow—presumably from the erratic stop—it busted open at the pop top. Beer had squirted all over the backseat of her car. When she rolled down her window the cop smelled it. That simple. From the dash cam video, after he asked her if she’d been drinking, she got irate. You can’t understand what she’s saying because his body cam wasn’t on, but it sounds a bit disrespectful.”
    “Ann always had a fiery temper, that’s for sure. I never thought it would get her killed,” Keith laments.
    “Anyway, after he has her step outside of the car, he remarks that she smells—of beer I presume. But that’s bullshit because the autopsy showed no alcohol in her blood. Besides, she never even liked beer. But him making that remark, that’s when she slaps him square in the face. It’s then that he tasers her.”
    “Where, where did he taser her?”
    “Right in the belly.”
    “Fuckers. And this is why you don’t ever drink beer anymore, isn’t it, Mason?”
    “Yes. You’re very observant.”
    “I’m high all the time. What do you expect? Stoned people drive under the speed limit for a reason.”
    We’re both laughing half-heartedly.
    “So how did she die? I mean…what caused the heart attack? People get tasered all the time and rarely die.”
    “It was later determined that she had a heart defect. One doc called it Long QT, another said it was some sort of myopathy or something. Basically, it was a ticking time bomb all her life. It could have happened while she was working out, or…having sex, whatever. It just so happened that she suffered it at the hands of Johnny