Sycamore Row

handwritten. Interesting, but of little value today. Too bad the fire didn’t destroy it all.”
    “When was the fire?”
    “Every courthouse burns at one time or another. Ours was severely damaged in 1948. A lot of records were lost.”
    “Can I dig through the old files?”
    “Why? It’s a waste.”
    “Because I love the legal history, Jake. I’ve spent hours in the courthouse reading old court files and land records. You can learn a ton about a place and its people. Did you know that in 1915 they hung a man in front of the courthouse one month after his trial? He robbed Security Bank, shot a man but didn’t really hurt him, made off with $200, then got caught. They tried him on the spot, then strung him up.”
    “That’s pretty efficient. I guess they didn’t worry about overcrowded prisons.”
    “Or congested dockets. Anyway, I’m fascinated with this stuff. I’ve read an old will from 1847 where some white guy gave away his slaves; talked about how much he loved and treasured them, then gave them away like horses and cows.”
    “Sounds depressing. You’ll never find a Brigance who owned a slave. We were lucky to have a cow.”
    “Anyway, I need written permission from a member of the bar to get into the old files. County rule.”
    “Done. Just do it after hours. You still digging for your roots?”
    “Sure. I’m looking everywhere. The Rindses abruptly left this county in 1930 without a trace, without a clue, and I want to know why.”

    Lunch in the rear of Bates Grocery was a selection of four vegetables chosen at random from a collection of ten pots and skillets simmering on a large gas stove. Mrs. Bates herself pointed, dipped, served, and commented as she loaded the plates and handed them over while Mr. Bates punched the cash register and collected $3.50, iced tea included, with corn bread. Jake and Harry Rex made the drive out once a month when they needed to eat and talk without being overheard. It was a rural crowd, farmers and farmworkers with a pulpwood cutter sometimesthrown in for balance. All white. Blacks would be served without incident but that had yet to happen. Blacks shopped up front in the grocery; in fact, Tonya Hailey had bought a sack of groceries there and was walking the mile back to her home when she was abducted three years earlier.
    The two lawyers huddled around a small table as far away as possible from the others. The table rocked and the ancient floor squeaked, and just above them a rickety fan spun unevenly, though it was still wintertime and the entire building was drafty. In another corner a potbellied stove radiated a thick, pungent heat that kept the narrow room comfortable. After a few bites, Harry Rex said, “Dumas did a good job, for him anyway. That boy loves a good car wreck as much as any lawyer.”
    “I had to threaten him, but, yes, he did us no harm. No more than was already done. Thanks for hauling in Arthur Welch for a cameo.”
    “He’s an idiot, but my kind of idiot. The stories we could tell. We once spent two nights in a county jail when we were supposed to be in law school. Almost got kicked out.”
    Jake knew better than to take the plunge but couldn’t help himself. “Why were you in jail?”
    Harry Rex shoveled in a load of collard greens and began, “Well, we’d been to New Orleans for a long weekend, and we were trying to get back to Ole Miss. I was driving, drinking, and somewhere down in Pike County we got lost. Saw blue lights, and I said, ‘Shit, Welch, you gotta take the wheel. Here come the cops and I’m drunk.’ Welch said, ‘I’m drunk too big ass, you’re on your own.’ But we were in his car and I knew for a fact he was not as drunk as I was. I said, ‘Hey Welch, you ain’t had but a coupla beers. I’m stopping this thing right now and you get your ass over here.’ The blue lights were getting closer. He said, ‘No way. I been drunk since Friday. Plus, I already got one DUI and my old man’ll kill me if I get another.’ I hit the brakes and slid to a stop on the shoulder. The blue lights were right behind us. I grabbed Welch, who was quite a bit smaller back then, and tried to pull him over to the driver’s side, and this really pissed him off. He fought back. He grabbed his door handle and stuck his feet into the floorboard and I couldn’t budge him. I was really mad by now so I backhanded him, slapped the shit out of him right across the nose and this jolted him so bad he let go for a second. I