When Duane Deaver took the witness stand in 2003, I was struck by his arrogance.
Duane and Dicky lope backstage afterwards to “do some sniff,” as Dicky terms it.
Dicky catches sight of Duane and guffaws: “Hey, brother, you got coke all over in your muss-tache.”
Next week, the state is set to execute my client, Duane Buck.
Duane grabs a towel and mops his streaming face while Dicky spoons out the coke.
Euchre's reply rather chilled Duane's interest for the moment.
Duane was simply a blackguard, of a type better understood now than then.
Slowly I unfolded the paper that Duane had told me to keep in case we ever wanted it.
It pulled up in front of the house and stopped and Duane stepped out.
Euchre went on calling Duane's attention to other men, just as he happened to glance over them.