“And you’re not a lawyer, Mr. Sheriff. But thanks for the legal advice anyway. It’ll be forgotten by the time I get back to my cell.”

Ozzie rocked back and flung his feet upon his desk, his cowboy boots impressive with a new shine. He gazed at the ceiling, frustrated, and said, “You’re makin’ it easy for the white folks to hate Lettie Lang, you know that, Booker?”

“She’s black. They hated her long before I came to town.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve been elected twice by the white folks in this county. Most of them are good people. They’ll give Lettie a fair shake, or at least they would have until you showed up. Now it’s black versus white and we don’t have the votes. You’re an idiot, you know that, Booker? I don’t know what kinda law you do up in Memphis, but it ain’t workin’ down here.”

“Thanks for the coffee and doughnuts. Can I go now?”

“Please go.”

Sistrunk stood and walked to the door, where he stopped and said, “By the way, I’m not sure your jail complies with federal law.”

“Sue me.”

“A lot of violations.”

“It might get worse.”

Portia was back before noon. She waited and chatted with Roxy while Jake finished a long phone call, then she went up the stairs. Her eyes were red, her hands shook, and she looked like she hadn’t slept in a week. They managed some small talk about the dinner the night before. Finally, Jake asked, bluntly, “What’s going on?”

She closed her eyes, rubbed her forehead and began talking. “We were up all night, one big nasty fight. Simeon was drinking, not bad, but enough to get himself riled up. Momma and I said that Sistrunk had to go. He, of course, didn’t like that, and so we fought. A houseful of people, and we’re fighting like a bunch of idiots. He finally left and we haven’t seen him since. That’s the bad news. The good news is that my mother will sign whatever it takes to get rid of the Memphis lawyers.”

Jake walked to his desk, picked up a sheet of paper, and handed it to her. “It just says that she fires him. That’s all. If she signs it, then we’re in business.”

“What about Simeon?”

“He can hire all the lawyers he wants, but he’s not named in the will; therefore, he’s not an interested party. Judge Atlee will not recognize him, nor his lawyers. Simeon’s game is over. This is between Lettie and the Hubbard family. Will she sign it?”

Portia stood and said, “I’ll be right back.”

“Where is she?”

“Outside in the car.”

“Please ask her to come in.”

“She doesn’t want to. She’s afraid you’re upset with her.”

Jake couldn’t believe it. “Come on, Portia. I’ll make some coffee and we’ll have a chat. Go get your mother.”

Sistrunk was reading and resting comfortably on his lower bunk, a stack of motions and briefs balanced on his stomach, his cellie sitting nearby with his nose stuck in a paperback. Metal clanged, the door unlatched, Ozzie appeared from nowhere and said, “Let’s go Booker.” He handed him his suit, shirt, and tie, all on one hanger. His shoes and socks were in a paper grocery bag.

They sneaked out a rear door where Ozzie’s car was parked. A minute later they stopped behind the courthouse and hustled inside. The halls were empty and no one suspected anything. On the third floor they entered Judge Atlee’s cramped outer room. His court reporter doubled as his secretary. She pointed to another door and said, “They’re waiting.”

“What’s going on?” Sistrunk mumbled for at least the fourth time. Ozzie did not reply. He pushed open the door. Judge Atlee sat at the end of a long table, in his standard black suit, minus the robe. To his right sat Jake, Lettie, and Portia. He motioned to his left and said, “Gentlemen, please have a seat.” They did, with Ozzie sitting as far away from the action as possible.

Sistrunk glared across the table at Jake and Lettie. It was difficult for him to hold his tongue, but he managed to do so. His habit was to shoot first and ask questions later, but common sense told him to take it easy, hold his fire, and try not to anger the judge. Portia, in particular, seemed ready to pounce on him. Lettie studied her hands while Jake scratched on a legal pad.

“Please review this,” Judge Atlee said to Sistrunk as he slid over a single sheet of paper. “You’ve been fired.”

Sistrunk read the one short paragraph, then looked at Lettie and said, “Did you sign this?”

“I did.”

“Under duress?”

“Absolutely not,” Portia said boldly. “She has made the decision to terminate your services. It’s right there in black and white. Do you understand?”

“Where’s Simeon?”

“Gone,” Lettie said. “Don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“I still represent him,” Sistrunk said.

“He’s not an interested party,” Judge Atlee said. “Thus, he will not be allowed to take part, nor will you.” He picked up another sheet of paper and passed it over. “This is an order I just signed lifting the contempt citation. Since you are no longer involved in this matter, Mr. Sistrunk, you are free to go.” It was more of a command than an observation.

Sistrunk looked angrily at Lettie and said, “I’m allowed to be paid for my time and expenses, plus there is the matter of the loans. When can I expect the money?”

“In due course,” Jake said.

“I want it now.”

“Well, you’re not getting it now.”

“Then I’ll sue.”

“Fine. I’ll defend.”

“And I’ll preside,” Judge Atlee said. “I’ll give you a trial date in about four years.”

Portia could not suppress a chuckle. Ozzie said, “Judge, are we finished? If so, I need to drive Mr. Sistrunk back to Memphis. Seems he’s stranded down here. Plus, he and I have a few things to discuss.”

“You’ll hear from me again. This is not the last word,” Sistrunk growled at Lettie.

“I’m sure of that,” Jake said.

“Take him away,” Judge Atlee said. “Preferably to the state line.”

The meeting was adjourned.

21

The Law Offices of Jake Brigance had never used an intern. Other lawyers around the square occasionally allowed them in; they were usually local college kids who were considering law school and looking for something to stick on a résumé. In theory, they were good sources of either free or cheap labor, but Jake had heard more bad stories than good. He had never been tempted, until Portia Lang came along. She was bright, bored, unemployed, and talking about law school. She was also the most sensible person now residing in the old Sappington house, and her mother trusted her implicitly. And, obviously, her mother was still on track to become the richest black woman in the state, though Jake saw formidable hurdles ahead.

He hired Portia for $50 a week and gave her an office upstairs, away from the distractions of Roxy, Quince Lundy, and especially Lucien, who by Thanksgiving was showing up every day and warming up to his old habits. It was, after all, his office, and if he wanted to smoke a cigar and fog up everybody’s space, then so be it. If he wanted to walk around the reception area with a late-afternoon bourbon and harass Roxy with dirty jokes, then so be it. If he wanted to pester Quince Lundy with questions about Seth Hubbard’s assets, then who could stop him?

Jake was spending more and more time refereeing among his expanding staff. Two months earlier he and Roxy had existed quietly in a rather dull but productive manner. Now, there was tension, sometimes conflict, but also a lot of laughs and teamwork. Overall, Jake was enjoying the noise, though he was terrified Lucien was serious about returning to the practice. On the one hand, he loved Lucien and treasured his advice and insights. On the other, he knew any new arrangement wouldn’t last. Jake’s trump card was a key provision in Mississippi law that required a disbarred lawyer to take the bar exam before being reinstated. Lucien was sixty-three years old, and from around 5:00 p.m. each day, and sometimes earlier, until late in the night, he was under the influence of Jack Daniel’s. There was no way such an old drunk could study and pass the bar exam.