As the jury walked down the hallway and into the jury room, Greg Tenorly knew he could no longer avoid interaction with Troy Blockerman. What if, during the heat of an argument about the case, he stood up in front of the entire jury and declared Troy a wife beater. He deserved it. Back to reality.

Alexander Littleton quickly seized the chair at one end of the long table. He was a short, wiry fellow. A humorless little man. After 25 years in public utilities, he was finally ready to assert himself. It had been his childhood dream to become Mayor of Coreyville. He directed himself to push, prod, control and outsmart the others. He must start from a position of power. Maybe someday he would dominate the city council the same way he was about to dominate this jury. Before everyone had a chance to sit, he said, “Okay, first we need to elect a foreman.”

Mary McJohnson and Judy McPhearson were sitting next to each other. ‘The Macs,’ as they would be remembered. They looked at each other as if to say: I don’t know who to nomi­nate. They were both 40-year-old stay-at-home moms who seemed more interested in exchanging parenting tips than deciding a man’s fate.

Elsie Olstead didn’t hesitate. “I nominate Mr. Littleton as foreman.” The widow had served on a several juries during her 69 years. She knew the drill.

“I second the motion. All in favor raise your hand,” said John Nihmbor. He was sick of looking at four walls. He had just retired after 40-plus years as an accountant for an oil and gas exploration company. The only place he wanted to be was on the golf course. Instead, he was stuck in a stinky little room that wasn’t fit for a janitor’s closet.

Most of the jurors raised their hands. Troy Blockerman had a better choice for foreman, but the majority had already spo­ken. The most important thing was to do it fast, and get out of there.

Alexander Littleton said, “Alright then. Why don’t we address each other by first names, if that is agreeable?”

“Fine with me, Alex.” Troy figured it would be over soon. He could pretend for a few minutes that this nerd reject actu­ally mattered.

“I prefer ‘Alexander.’”

They were already having second thoughts about electing him foreman. He saw himself as Alexander the Great. They saw Alex the Geek.

Ronnie Nalestorm just wanted to get back to his hardware store. “Could we go ahead and take a vote to see—”

“—let’s go ahead and take a vote to see where we stand,” Alexander said quickly, as though saying it faster would make everyone forget that Ronnie had just said it. “We each have slips of paper and a pen. We will vote by secret ballot, and then I will read the votes aloud.”

Each juror wrote down his vote and passed it to Alexander. Seven ‘Guilty,’ five ‘Not Guilty.’

Troy couldn’t believe five of the jurors were so stupid. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You know he did it!”

Sparky Biscayne chimed in. “That woman saw him leaving the scene of the crime. And he’s black. Probably in some gang.”

Greg couldn’t let that remark slide. “It doesn’t matter what color he is. And we don’t even have any gangs here in Corey­ville.”

Troy said, “Look, he’s poor. He wanted some money for drugs, or to buy a car or whatever. It doesn’t matter. He waited until it was late, and Sam was there alone. Then he went in to rob the place, and he and Sam got into a fight. You know how stubborn Sam was—he wouldn’t have given up the money eas­ily.

“So, the kid went off on Sam, and grabbed a bicycle chain, and strangled him with it. He’s going to prison. So, those of you who voted ‘Not Guilty’ might as well save us all a lot of time, and switch your vote right now.”

“I disagree.” Greg could see the fire in Troy’s eyes as Troy realized that he was one of the ‘bleeding-heart liberals’ who voted the wrong way. “Even if Mrs. Albertson did see Kantrell Jamison outside Sam’s shop that night, it still doesn’t prove he did it.”

“Yeah, right. He just happened to be out in front right after the murder.” Troy was ready to rumble. If he had a beer bottle in his hand, he would have cracked it across the edge of the table and…

“And that might not have even been him. We don’t know how well she could see at night,” said Greg.

“Are you telling me you believe that story about him being at home with his momma and his sister?” Troy had a talent for sarcasm. “They’re a wonderful little family, and they were just watching a heart-warming family film together. And, oh yeah —the DVD had not yet been released, so, no problem—they just got a friend to illegally download it off the internet. And, oh, by the way, they can’t remember the name of that friend. And they just don’t know what happened to that DVD. Yeah. That’s believable.”

“Okay, I’ll admit: that story about the DVD did sound fishy. But that could just be a mother trying to protect her son. It doesn’t prove he killed Sam.”

“It does kinda make you wonder why she’s lying for him, though.” Gail Silestone was reconsidering her ‘Not Guilty’ vote. At 30, she was still single, and had not dated in years. Gail was considered by most to be a tomboy. Some thought she was gay. The truth was she liked being alone. Besides, she wasn’t really alone. Hundreds of people came to see her every day at the Post Office. She had worked for the U.S. Postal Ser­vice since she was 19, and had extensive knowledge of postal regulations, as well as eleven year’s worth of daily dirt from people who couldn’t keep secrets.

Mary McJohnson spoke up for the mothers of the world. “A mother’s most important job is to protect her children. Of course his mother lied. You can’t fault her for that.”

By the end of the day, after a considerable amount of dis­cussion, everyone was eager to go home. The final vote for the day came in at: nine – ‘Guilty,’ three – ‘Not Guilty.’

But the day was not over for Greg. He hoped he could find enough energy to make it through choir rehearsal.