Reprisal Read Free

like this here,” Zehra said. “Do you want to talk about your case or religion? ‘Cause if it’s religion, I’m leaving.”
    He leaned back and refused to speak. His nostrils flared as if he smelled something.
    Zehra took a deep breath. Most defendants were desperate to get out of custody. Not this one. And the bullshit about Muslims really set her on edge.
    As an American-born Muslim, she knew the difficulties faced by people like her—trying to be good Americans and good Muslims at the same time. It was the discrimination and the crap suffered by Muslim women that upset her and had led to law school. Most Americans knew more about micro-breweries than Islam and how close its theology related to Judeo-Christianity. Along with other females in the United States, Zehra was passionate to modernize the role of Muslim women.
    And here she faced the very problem they all faced—a radical, extremist who probably hated all women and had probably killed an innocent young man.
    She thought to herself, Is there a way I can dump this case? Can I beg a male, Christian colleague to take this bronco?
    “Okay. Let’s look at the Complaint,” Zehra sighed. She pulled out a document written by the prosecutor that alleged facts to make the defendant guilty of the charge of first-degree murder.
    “It says that on March 19th a witness was standing on an open porch at the back end of the Horn of Africa deli on Cedar Avenue. The witness saw a young black man come out of the patio next to the deli through a wooden gate in the fence below the witness.
    “Just as the guy got through the gate, another dark man, wearing a mask of some sort and identified as you, came up behind the younger one, grabbed his forehead with the left hand. With the right hand, he cut the younger one’s throat with a knife. Then the killer fled.”
    Zehra glanced at El-Amin. His expression remained frozen.
    “A week later,” she continued reading, “a confidential, reliable informant, a CRI, reported to police you were at a coffee shop near the crime scene and bragged about a knife you had. You bragged that you ‘brought a little lamb to Allah.’ When police executed a search warrant at your apartment, they found a knife and a shirt. Both had been cleaned, but forensics later determined the victim’s blood showed on both items.”
    Under brows hooded low, his eyes moved from the paper to Zehra’s eyes again. He crossed his muscled arms over his chest.
    A creepy feeling crabbed its way up her back. At this point, after reading all the accusatory facts, most defendants raved about how they were “all lies” and insisted they were innocent.
    Still, Zehra’s training as a defense lawyer asserted itself, and she started to see holes in the state’s case. “When the cops did that line-up with the witness and he picked you, it’s highly suggestive. The light was bad during the crime and after, as well. I don’t know if it it’ll stand up to cross—”
    “It is not important. There are bigger things.”
    “What things? You think a murder one case isn’t important?”
    “You are not qualified.”
    “Damn right. If I could pull the plug on you, I would so fast”
    “I have a right to a lawyer, don’t I?” His lips lifted above white teeth.
    “You got one.”
    “You … are a woman and an infidel.”
    “Aw … shit.” Zehra moved her chair back. It felt hard to breathe around El-Amin, as if there were a vacuum sucking the air out of the room. She wanted to get out of this case. Besides, he made her feel uneasy.
    Mostly, he stood for all she hated and fought against.
    El-Amin raised his arm with a finger pointed up in the air. “Men have authority over women because Allah has made the one superior to the other,” he quoted from the Qur’an.
    Zehra felt a drop of sweat course down her neck. The stuffy room became claustrophobic. She breathed faster. “Don’t quote me that crap. I know the Qur’an.”
    He interrupted her. “I have the right