A time to kill

They sat for hours on the porch, saying little, watching as darkness surrounded the town below and ushered in the mosquitoes. The heat wave had returned. The soggy air clung to their skin and moistened their shirts. The sounds of a hot summer night echoed softly across the front lawn. Sallie had offered to cook. Lucien declined and ordered whiskey. Jake had no appetite for food, but the Coors filled his system and satisfied any hunger pangs stirring within. When things were good and dark, Nesbit emerged from his car, walked across the porch, through the front screen door, and into the house. A moment later he slammed the door, walked past them with a cold beer, and disappeared down the driveway in the direction of his car. He never said a word.

Sallie stuck her head through the door and made one last offer of food. Both declined.

"Jake, I got a call this afternoon. Clyde Sisco wants twenty-five thousand to hang the jury, fifty thousand for an acquittal."

Jake began shaking his head.

"Before you say no, listen to me. He knows he can't guarantee an acquittal, but he can guarantee a hung jury. It just takes one. That's twenty-five thousand. I know it's a lot of money, but you know I've got it. I'll pay it and you can repay me over the years. Whenever, I don't care. If you never repay it, I don't care. I've got a bankful of C.D.'s. You know money means nothing to me. If I were you I'd do it in a minute."

"You're crazy, Lucien."

"Sure I'm crazy. You haven't been acting so good yourself. Trial work'll drive you crazy. Just take a look at what this trial has done to you. No sleep, no food, no routine, no house. Plenty of booze, though."

"But I've still got ethics."

"And I have none. No ethics, no morals, no conscience. But I won, bubba. I won more than anybody has ever won around here, and you know it."

"It's corrupt, Lucien."

"And I guess you think Buckley's not corrupt. He would lie, cheat, bribe, and steal to win this case. He's not worried about fancy ethics, rules, and opinions. He's not concerned about morality. He's concerned with one thing and only one thing-winning! And you've got a golden chance to beat him at his own game. I'd do it, Jake."

"Forget it, Lucien. Please, just forget it."

An hour passed with no words. The lights of the town below slowly disappeared. Nesbit's snoring was audible in the darkness. Sallie brought one last drink and said good night.

"This is the hardest part," Lucien said. "Waiting on twelve average, everyday people to make sense of all this."

"It's a crazy system, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. But it usually works. Juries are right ninety percent of the time."

"I just don't feel lucky. I'm waiting on the miracle."

"Jake, my boy, the miracle happens tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes. Early tomorrow morning."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"By noon tomorrow, Jake, there will be ten thousand angry blacks swarming like ants around the Ford County Courthouse. Maybe more."

"Ten thousand! Why?"

"To scream and shout and chant 'Free Carl Lee, Free Carl Lee.' To raise hell, to scare everybody, to intimidate the jury. To just disrupt the hell out of everything. There'll be so many blacks, white folks will run for cover. The governor will send in more troops."

"And how do you know all this?"

"Because I planned it, Jake."

"You?"

"Listen, Jake, when I was in my prime I knew every black preacher in fifteen counties. I've been in their churches. Prayed with them, marched with them, sang with them. They sent me clients, and I sent them money. I was the only white radical NAACP lawyer in north Mississippi. I' filed more race discrimination lawsuits than any ten firms in Washington. These were my people. I've just made a few

phone calls. They'll start arriving in the morning, and by noon you won't be able to stir niggers with a stick in downtown Clanton."

"Where will they come from?"

"Everywhere. You know how tracks love to march and protest. This will be great for them. They're looking forward to it."

"You're crazy, Lucien. My crazy friend."

"I win, bubba."

In Room 163, Barry Acker and Clyde Sisco finished their last game of gin rummy and made preparations for bed. Acker gathered some coins and announced he wanted a soft drink. Sisco said he was not thirsty.

Acker tiptoed past a guardsman asleep in the hall. The machine informed him it was out of order, so he quietly opened the exit dqpr and walked up the stairs to the second floor, where he found another machine next to an ice maker. He inserted his coins. The machine responded with a diet Coke. He bent over to pick it up.

Out of the darkness two figures charged. They knocked him to the floor, kicked him and pinned him in a dark corner beside the ice maker, next to a door with a chain and padlock. The large one grabbed Acker's collar and threw him against the cinder block wall. The smaller one stood by the Coke machine and watched the dark hall.

"You're Barry Acker!" said the large one through clenched teeth.