Sycamore Row

already here,” he said. “Lined up, just waitin’.”
    “How much you reckon Sistrunk’ll take?”
    “I asked her but she ain’t tellin’.”
    “He won’t get half, will he?”
    “Don’t know. He ain’t cheap.”
    A nephew stopped by to check on the ribs, and the two uncles changed the subject.

    Late in the afternoon, Simeon was removed from the drunk tank and led by a deputy to the small windowless room used by the lawyers to huddle with their clients. He was given an ice pack for his face and a cup of fresh coffee. “What now?” he asked.
    “You got a visitor,” the deputy said.
    Five minutes later Ozzie walked in and sat down. He was wearing blue jeans and a sports coat, with a badge on his belt and holster on his hip. He said, “Don’t think we’ve ever met.”
    “I voted for you twice,” Simeon said.
    “Thank you, but they all say that after you win.” Ozzie had checked the records and knew damned well Simeon Lang was not registered to vote.
    “I swear I did.”
    “Got a call from Tank; said stay away, okay? No more trouble out of you.”
    “They cleaned my pockets.”
    “It’s a tough place. You know the rules because there are no rules. Just stay away.”
    “I want my money back.”
    “You can forget that money. You wanna go home or you wanna stay here tonight?”
    “I’d rather go home.”
    “Let’s go.”
    Simeon rode in the front seat of Ozzie’s car, no handcuffs. A deputy followed in Simeon’s pickup. Nothing was said for the first ten minutes as they listened to the squawking on the sheriff’s radio. Ozzie finally turned it down and said, “None of my business, Simeon, but those Memphis lawyers got no business down here. Your wife’s already lookin’ bad, at least in the eyes of the rest of the county. This all comes down to a trial by jury, and ya’ll are pissin’ everybody off.”
    Simeon’s first thought was to tell him to butt out, but his brain was numb and his jaw was aching. He didn’t want to argue. Instead, he thought how cool it was, riding shotgun in the big car and being escorted home.
    “You hear me?” Ozzie asked. In other words, say something.
    “What would you do?” Simeon asked.
    “Get rid of those lawyers. Jake Brigance will win the case for you.”
    “He’s a kid.”
    “Go ask Carl Lee Hailey.”
    Simeon couldn’t think quick enough for a response, not that there was one. For blacks in Ford County, the Hailey verdict meant everything.
    Ozzie pressed on. “You ask what I would do. I’d clean up my act and stay out of trouble. What you mean drinkin’ and whorin’ and losin’ money at cards on a Saturday mornin’, or any other day for that matter? Your wife’s gettin’ all this attention. White folk already suspicious, and you’re lookin’ at a jury trial down the road. Last thing you need is your name in the paper for drunk drivin’ or fightin’ or whatever. What’re you thinkin’?”
    Drinking, whoring, and gambling, but Simeon fumed without speaking. He was forty-six years old and unaccustomed to being reprimanded by a man who was not his boss.
    “Clean your act up, okay?” Ozzie said.
    “What about the drunk drivin’ charge?”
    “I’ll put it off six months, see how you behave. One more screwup and I’ll have you in court. Tank’ll call the minute you walk through his door. Understand?”
    “I got it.”
    “There’s somethin’ else. That truck you been drivin’, from Memphis to Houston and El Paso, who owns it?”
    “Company in Memphis.”
    “This company got a name?”
    “My boss got a name, I don’t know who his boss is.”
    “I doubt that. What’s in the truck?”
    Simeon went quiet and gazed through the side window. After a heavy pause he said, “It’s a storage company. We haul a lot of stuff.”
    “Any of it stolen?”
    “Of course not.”
    “Then why is the FBI askin’ questions?”
    “I ain’t seen no FBI.”
    “Not yet, but they called me two days ago. They had your name. Look, Simeon, you get your ass busted by the Feds, and you and Lettie can forget about a jury trial in this county. Can’t you see this, man? Front-page news. Hell, everybody in town is talkin’ ’bout Lettie and Mr. Hubbard’s will anyway. You screw up, and you get no sympathy from any jury. I’m not even sure the black folk’ll stick with you. You gotta think, man.”
    The Feds, Simeon almost said, but he held his tongue and continued looking through the window. They rode in silence until they were