Sycamore Row

nothing wrong, so don’t get blamed for anything. Control the damage, then control the spin.”
    “Can I hire you? My office needs some help.”
    “You can’t afford me. I’m a schoolteacher.”
    Hanna was coughing. Carla went to check on her.

    The real damage control began about an hour later when Jake stormed into the Coffee Shop, ready to convince one and all that he was not the lawyer for Simeon Lang and never had been. So many rumors began there, over eggs and bacon. In the shower, Jake decided to go straight to the source.
    Marshall Prather was there in uniform behind a stack of pancakes, waiting, it seemed. He’d been up all night too and looked as bleary-eyed as Jake. During the lull that was caused by Jake’s entry, Marshall said, “Hey Jake, saw you at the hospital a few hours ago.” This was a deliberate effort to start the spin because Ozzie was also controlling damage.
    “Yeah, just awful,” Jake said somberly. At full volume he asked, “Did ya’ll take Lang to jail?”
    “Yep. He’s still sobering up.”
    “You his lawyer, Jake?” asked Ken Nugent from three tables over. Nugent drove the Pepsi truck and spent his days hauling cases of beverages into country stores. Dell had once said, in his absence, that no one spread more gossip than Nugent.
    “Never have been,” Jake said. “I don’t represent him, nor do I represent his wife.”
    “What the hell you doin’ in the case then?” Nugent fired back.
    Dell poured coffee into Jake’s cup and bumped him with her rear end, part of the routine. “Mornin’ sweetie,” she whispered. Jake smiled at her, then looked back at Nugent. Things went mute as all other conversations stopped. Jake said, “Under the law, I actually represent Mr. Seth Hubbard, who’s no longer with us, of course, but just before he died he selected me as the attorney for his estate. My job is to follow his wishes, present his last will, and protect his estate. My contract of representation is with the administrator of the estate, and no one else. Not Lettie Lang, and certainly not her husband. Frankly, I can’t stand the guy. Don’t forget he hired those Memphis clowns who tried to steal the case.”
    Dell, always loyal, piped in, “That’s what I tried to tell ’em.” She placed Jake’s toast and grits in front of him.
    “So who’s his lawyer?” Nugent asked, ignoring her.
    “I have no idea. Probably one appointed by the court. I doubt if he can afford his own.”
    “What will he get, Jake?” asked Roy Kern, a plumber who’d worked on Jake’s previous home.
    “A lot. Two counts of vehicular homicide at five to twenty-five a pop. Don’t know how it’ll go down, but Judge Noose is tough in these cases. I wouldn’t be surprised if he got twenty or thirty years.”
    “Why not the death penalty?” asked Nugent.
    “It’s not a death case because—”
    “The hell it ain’t. You got two dead kids.”
    “There was no deliberate effort to kill, nothing premeditated. A death penalty case requires murder plus something else: murder plus rape; murder plus robbery; murder plus kidnapping. This could never be a death case.”
    This was not well received by the crowd. When stirred up, the gang at the Coffee Shop could resemble the beginnings of a lynch mob, but it always settled down after breakfast. Jake sprinkled Tabasco on his grits and began buttering his toast.
    Nugent asked, “Can the Rostons get any of the money?”
    The money? As if Seth’s estate were now available and thus vulnerable.
    Jake laid down his fork and looked at Nugent. He reminded himself that these were his people, his clients and friends, and they just needed reassuring. They did not understand the ins and outs of the law and of probate, and they were concerned that an injustice might be in the works. “No,” Jake said pleasantly, “there’s no way. It will be months, probably years before Mr. Hubbard’s money is finally disbursed, and as of right now we really don’t know who’ll get it. The trial will help settle things, but its verdict will certainly be appealed. And even if Lettie Lang eventually gets all the money, or 90 percent of it, her husband doesn’t get a dime. He’ll be locked away anyway. The Rostons will not have the right to make a claim against Lettie.”
    He took a bite of toast and chewed quickly. He wanted to control the spin and not waste time with his mouth full.
    “He won’t get out on bond, will he Jake?” asked Bill West.
    “I doubt