A Time to Kill (42 page)

Agee looked at her sadly. “I understand, Gwen, but—”

“And if you got six thousand dollars of our money in the bank, you’re wrong not to give it to us. We’ve got enough sense to spend it right.”

Carl Lee, Jr., and Jarvis stood next to their mother and comforted her. They stared at Agee.

“But it’s for Carl Lee,” the reverend said.

“Good,” Jake said. “Have you asked Carl Lee how he wants his money spent?”

The dirty little grin left Agee’s face and he squirmed in his chair. “Carl Lee understands what we’re doin’,” he said without much conviction.

“Thank you. That’s not what I asked. Listen to me carefully. Have you asked Carl Lee how he wants his money spent?”

“I think it’s been discussed with him,” Agee lied.

“Let’s see,” Jake said. He stood and walked to the door leading to the small office next to the conference room. The reverend watched nervously, almost in panic. Jake opened the door and nodded to someone. Carl Lee and Ozzie casually walked in. The kids yelled and ran to their father. Agee looked devastated.

After a few awkward minutes of hugs and kisses, Jake moved in for the kill. “Now, Reverend, why don’t you ask Carl Lee how he wants to spend his six thousand dollars.”

“It ain’t exactly his,” said Agee.

“And it ain’t exactly yours,” shot Ozzie.

Carl Lee removed Tonya from his knee and walked to the chair where Agee was sitting. He sat on the edge of the table, above the reverend, poised and ready to strike if necessary. “Let me make it real simple, preacher, so you won’t have trouble understandin’ it. You raised that money in my name, for the benefit of my family. You took it from the black folk of this county, and you took it with the promise that it’d go to help me and my family. You lied. You raised it so you could impress the NAACP, not to help my family. You lied in church, you lied in the newspapers, you lied everwhere.”

Agee looked around the room and noticed that everyone, including the kids, was staring at him and nodding slowly.

Carl Lee put his foot in Agee’s chair and leaned closer. “If you don’t give us that money, I’ll tell ever nigger I know that you’re a lyin’ crook. I’ll call ever member of your church, and I’m one too, remember, and tell them we ain’t got a dime from you, and when I get through you won’t be able to raise two dollars on Sunday mornin’. You’ll lose your fancy
Cadillacs and your fancy suits. You may even lose your church, ’cause I’ll ask everbody to leave.”

“You finished?” Agee asked. “If you are, I just wanna say that I’m hurt. Hurt real bad that you and Gwen feel this way.”

“That’s the way we feel, and I don’t care how hurt you are.”

Ozzie stepped forward. “I agree with them, Reverend Agee, you ain’t done right, and you know it.”

“That hurts, Ozzie, comin’ from you. It really hurts.”

“Lemme tell you what’s gonna hurt a whole lot worse than that. Next Sunday me and Carl Lee will be in your church. I’ll sneak him outta the jail early Sunday and we’ll take a little drive. Just about the time you get ready to preach, we’ll walk in the front door, down the aisle and up to the pulpit. If you get in my way, I’ll put handcuffs on you. Carl Lee will do the preachin’. He’ll tell all your people that the money they’ve given so generously has so far not left your pocket, that Gwen and the kids are about to lose their house ’cause you’re tryin’ to big-shot with the NAACP. He’ll tell them that you lied to them. He may preach for an hour or so. And when he gets through, I’ll say a few words. I’ll tell them what a lyin’, sleazy nigger you are. I’ll tell them about the time you bought that stolen Lincoln in Memphis for a hundred dollars and almost got indicted. I’ll tell them about the kickbacks from the funeral home. I’ll tell them about the DUI charge in Jackson I got dismissed for you two years ago. And, Reverend, I’ll tell—”

“Don’t say it, Ozzie,” Agee begged.

“I’ll tell them a dirty little secret that only you and me and a certain woman of ill repute know about.”

“When do y’all want the money?”

“How soon can you get it?” Carl Lee demanded. “Awfully damned quick.”

________

Jake and Ozzie left the Haileys to themselves and went upstairs to the big office, where Ellen was buried in law books. Jake introduced Ozzie to his law clerk, and the three sat around the big desk.

“How are my buddies?” Jake asked.

“The dynamite boys? They’re recuperatin’ nicely. We’ll keep them in the hospital until the trial’s over. We fixed a lock on the door, and I keep a deputy in the hall. They ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Who’s the main man?”

“We still don’t know. Fingerprint tests haven’t come back yet. There may be no prints to match. He ain’t talkin’.”

“The other is a local boy, isn’t he?” asked Ellen.

“Yeah. Terrell Grist. He wants to sue because he got hurt during the arrest. Can you imagine?”

“I can’t believe it’s been kept quiet so far,” Jake said.

“Me neither. Of course, Grist and Mr. X ain’t talkin’. My men are quiet. That leaves you and your clerk here.”

“And Lucien, but I didn’t tell him.”

“Figures.”

“When will you process them?”

“After the trial we’ll move them to the jail and start the paperwork. It’s up to us.”

“How’s Bud?” Jake asked.

“I stopped by this mornin’ to check on the other two, and I went downstairs to see Ethel. He’s still critical. No changes.”

“Any suspects?”

“Gotta be the Klan. With the white robes and all. It all adds up. First there was the burnin’ cross in your yard, then the dynamite, and now Bud. Plus all the death threats. I figure it’s them. And we got an informant.”

“You what!”

“You heard me. Calls himself Mickey Mouse. He called me at home Sunday and told me that he saved your life. ‘That nigger’s lawyer’ is what he called you. Said the Klan has officially arrived in Ford County. They’ve set up a klavern, whatever that is.”

“Who’s in it?”

“He ain’t much on details. He promised to call me only if someone is about to get hurt.”

“How nice. Can you trust him?”

“He saved your life.”

“Good point. Is he a member?”

“Didn’t say. They’ve got a big march planned Thursday.”

“The Klan?”

“Yep. NAACP has a rally tomorrow in front of the courthouse. Then they’re gonna march for a while. The Klan’s supposed to show up for a peaceful march on Thursday.”

“How many?”

“The Mouse didn’t say. Like I said, he ain’t much on details.”

“The Klan, marching in Clanton. I can’t believe it.”

“This is heavy stuff,” Ellen said.

“It’ll get heavier,” Ozzie replied. “I’ve asked the governor to keep the highway patrol on standby. It could be a rough week.”

“Can you believe Noose is willing to try this case in this town?” asked Jake.

“It’s too big to move, Jake. It would draw marches, and protests, and Klansmen anywhere you tried it.”

“Maybe you’re right. How about your jury list?”

“I’ll have it tomorrow.”

________

After supper Tuesday Joe Frank Perryman sat on his front porch with the evening paper and a fresh chew of Red Man, and spat carefully, neatly through a small hand-carved hole in the porch. This was the evening ritual. Lela would finish the dishes and fix them a tall glass of iced tea, and they would sit on the porch until dark and talk about the crops, the grandchildren, the humidity. They lived out from Kara way on eighty acres of neatly trimmed and cultivated farmland that Joe Frank’s father had stolen during the Depression. They were quiet, hardworking Christian folks.

After a few discharges through the hole, a pickup slowed out on the highway and turned into the Perrymans’ long gravel driveway. It parked next to the front lawn, and a familiar face emerged. It was Will Tierce, former president of the Ford County Board of Supervisors. Will had served his district for twenty-four years, six consecutive terms, but had lost the last election in ’83 by seven votes. The Perry mans had always supported Tierce because he took care of them with an occasional load of gravel or a culvert for the driveway.

“Evenin’, Will,” said Joe Frank as the ex-supervisor walked across the lawn and up the steps.

“Evenin’, Joe Frank.” They shook hands and relaxed on the porch.

“Gimme a chew,” Tierce said.

“Sure. What brings you around here?”

“Just passin’ by. Thought about Lela’s iced tea and got real thirsty. Hadn’t seen you folks in a while.”

They sat and talked, chewed and spat, and drank iced tea until it was dark and time for the mosquitoes. The drought required most of their time and Joe Frank talked at length of the dry spell and how it was the worst in ten years. Hadn’t had a drop of rain since the third week of June. And if it didn’t let up, he could forget the cotton crop. The beans might make it, but he was worried about the cotton.

“Say, Joe Frank, I hear you got one of those jury summonses for the trial next week.”

“Yeah, afraid so. Who told you?”

“I don’t know. I just heard it around.”

“I didn’t know it was public knowledge.”

“Well, I guess I must’ve heard it in Clanton today. I had business at the courthouse. That’s where I heard it. It’s that nigger’s trial, you know.”

“That’s what I figured.”

“How do you feel about that nigger shootin’ them boys like he did?”

“I don’t blame him,” inserted Lela.

“Yeah, but you can’t take the law into your own hands,” explained Joe Frank to his wife. “That’s what the court system is for.”

“I’ll tell you what bothers me,” said Tierce, “is this insanity crap. They’re gonna say the nigger was crazy and try to get him off by insanity. Like that nut who shot Reagan. It’s a crooked way to get off. Plus it’s a lie. That nigger planned to kill them boys, and just sat there and waited on them. It was cold-blooded murder.”

“What if it was your daughter, Will?” asked Lela.

“I’d let the courts handle it. When we catch a rapist around here, especially a nigger, we generally lock him up. Parchman’s full of rapists who’ll never get out. This ain’t New York or California or some crazy place
where criminals go free. We’ve got a good system, and old Judge Noose hands down tough sentences. You gotta let the courts handle it. Our system won’t survive if we allow people, especially niggers, to take the law into their own hands. That’s what really scares me. Suppose this nigger gets off, walks out of the courthouse a free man. Ever body in the country will know it, and the niggers will go crazy. Evertime somebody crosses a nigger, he’ll just kill him, then say he was insane, and try to get off. That’s what’s dangerous about this trial.”

“You gotta keep the niggers under control,” agreed Joe Frank.

“You better believe it. And if Hailey gets off, none of us will be safe. Ever nigger in this county’ll carry a gun and just look for trouble.”

“I hadn’t really thought about that,” admitted Joe Frank.

“I hope you do the right thing, Joe Frank. I just hope they put you in that jury box. We need some people with some sense.”

“Wonder why they picked me?”

“I heard they fixed up a hundred and fifty summonses. They’re expectin’ about a hundred to show up.”

“What’re my chances of gettin’ picked?”

“One in a hundred,” said Lela.

“I feel better then. I really ain’t got time to serve, what with my farmin’ and all.”

“We sure need you on that jury,” said Tierce.

The conversation drifted to local politics and the new supervisor and what a sorry job he was doing with the roads. Darkness meant bedtime for the Perrymans. Tierce said good night and drove home. He sat at his kitchen table with a cup of coffee and reviewed the jury list. His friend Rufus would be proud. Six
names had been circled on Will’s list, and he had talked to all six. He put an okay by each name. They would be good jurors, people Rufus could count on to keep law and order in Ford County. A couple had been noncommittal at first, but their good and trusted friend Will Tierce had explained justice to them and they were now ready to convict.

Rufus would be real proud. And he had promised that young Jason Tierce, a nephew, would never be tried on those dope charges.

________

Jake picked at the greasy pork chops and butterbeans, and watched Ellen across the table do the same thing. Lucien sat at the head of the table, ignored his food, fondled his drink, and flipped through the jury list offering comments on every name he recognized. He was drunker than normal. Most of the names he didn’t recognize, but he commented on them anyway. Ellen was amused and winked repeatedly at her boss.

He dropped the list, and knocked his fork off the table.

“Sallie!” he yelled.

“Do you know how many ACLU members are in Ford County?” he asked Ellen.

“At least eighty percent of the population,” she said.

“One. Me. I was the first in history and evidently the last. These people are fools around here, Row Ark. They don’t appreciate civil liberties. They’re a bunch of right-wing knee-jerk conservative Republican fanatics, like our friend Jake here.”

“That’s not true. I eat at Claude’s at least once a week,” Jake said.

“So that makes you progressive?” asked Lucien.

“It makes me a radical.”

“I still think you’re a Republican.”

“Look, Lucien, you can talk about my wife, or my mother, or my ancestors, but don’t call me a Republican.”

“You look like a Republican,” said Ellen.

“Does he look like a Democrat?” Jake asked, pointing at Lucien.

“Of course. I knew he was a Democrat the moment I saw him.”

“Then I’m a Republican.”

“See! See!” yelled Lucien. He dropped his glass on the floor and it shattered.

“Sallie!”

“Row Ark, guess who was the third white man in Mississippi to join the NAACP?”

“Rufus Buckley,” said Jake.

“Me. Lucien Wilbanks. Joined in 1967. White people thought I was crazy.”

“Can you imagine,” Jake said.

“Of course, black folks, or Negroes as we called them back then, thought I was crazy too. Hell, everybody thought I was crazy back then.”

“Have they ever changed their minds?” Jake asked.