Hunting Justice

Justin George: In his black SUV, he rolled through the darkness before dawn. He drove past shuttered buildings and fried fish shacks, toward the housing projects of West Tampa and Robles Park, to a row of subsidized rental duplexes shaded by oak trees and overpasses. He had done this scores of times, scanning the corners for drug dealers and dropouts, for anyone who might know something about the men who murdered his son. On this morning, he looked out his window and saw only empty streets. Just a few old people, stirring early. He felt like a circling shark who had driven everyone inside. He killed the stereo, parked his Suburban in plain sight, rolled down his tinted window, lit a cigar.…