Sycamore Row

his car. A couple around the office, and several others. His hunting rifles had gone up in the fire, but Jake was slowly rebuilding his collection.
    He stepped outside, onto the small brick porch, and filled his lungs with the cool air. On the street, directly in front of the house, there was a Ford County sheriff’s patrol car, and behind the wheel sat one Louis Tuck, a full-time deputy who worked the graveyard shift and whose primary responsibility was to be seen in the neighborhood throughout the night and, specifically, to be parked near the mailbox at precisely 5:45 each morning, Monday through Saturday, when Mr. Brigance stepped onto the porch and waved hello. Tuck waved back. The Brigances had survived another night.
    As long as Ozzie Walls was sheriff of Ford County, which would be at least three more years and probably much longer, he and his office would do whatever possible to protect Jake and his family. Jake had taken Carl Lee Hailey’s case, worked like a dog for peanuts, dodged bullets, ignored real threats, and lost almost everything before delivering a not-guilty verdict that still resonated in Ford County. Protecting him was Ozzie’s highest priority.
    Tuck eased away. He would circle the block and return in a few minutes after Jake left. He would watch the house until he saw lights in the kitchen and knew Carla was up and moving around.
    Jake drove one of two Saabs in Ford County, a red one with 190,000 miles on it. He needed an upgrade but couldn’t afford one. Such an exotic car in a small town had once been a cool idea, but now the repair costs were brutal. The nearest dealer was in Memphis, an hour away, so every trip to the shop killed half a day and cost a thousand bucks. Jake was ready for an American model, and he thought about this every morning when he turned the ignition key and held his breath as the engine rolled over and came to life. The engine had never failed to start, but in the past few weeks Jake had noticed a delay, an extra turn or two that evoked an ominous warning that something bad was about to happen. Paranoid, he was noticing other noises and rattles, and he was checking the tires every other day as the treads grew thinner. He backed onto Culbert Street, which, though only four blocks from Adams Street and their vacant lot, was clearly in a lesser part of town. The house next door was also a rental. Adams was lined with homes much older and statelier and with more character. Culbert was a hodgepodge of suburban-style boxes thrown up before the city got serious about zoning.
    Though she said little, Jake knew Carla was ready to move on, to somewhere.
    They had actually talked of moving away, of leaving Clanton altogether. The three years since the Hailey trial had been far less prosperous than they had hoped and expected. If Jake was destined to slog through a long career as a struggling lawyer, then why not struggle somewhere else? Carla could teach school anywhere. Surely they could find a good life that did not include weapons and constant vigilance. Jake may have been revered by the blacks in Ford County, but he was still resented by many of the whites. And the crazies were still out there. On the other hand, there was a certain safety living in the midst of so many friends. Their neighbors watched the traffic and a strange car or truck was noted. Every cop in town and every deputy in the county knew the safety of the little Brigance family was of the highest importance.
    Jake and Carla would never leave, though it was sometimes amusing to play the old game of where-would-you-like-to-live? It was only a game because Jake knew the brutal truth that he would never fit in a big firm in a big city, nor would he ever find a small town in any statethat was not already brimming with hungry lawyers. He was looking clearly at his future, and he was okay with it. He just needed to make a buck.
    He drove past the empty lot on Adams, mumbled vile words in condemnation of the cowards who torched his home and managed a few choice ones for the insurance company as well, then sped away. From Adams he turned onto Jefferson, then Washington, which ran east and west along the north side of the Clanton square. His office was on Washington, across from the stately courthouse, and he parked in the same spot each morning at 6:00 a.m. because at that hour there were plenty to choose from. The square would be quiet for two more hours, until the courthouse and the shops and offices around