The sheriff, DiIoia says with venom, is "not half the man my dad is." And then he adds: "You know, my mom tells me not to hate anyone. But it's hard not to hate someone who is destroying you."
It's near closing time and DiIoia rises from his seat, heading into the cool winter night to grab a cigarette. Leaning up against the brick wall, he stares into the distance and, for a moment, his eyes glisten as furls of smoke rise into the air. He doesn't look big or menacing or anything, really, other than sad. "I may get my job back and I may work the rest of my life on the street as a deputy," he says. "But I'll never go anywhere."