Sycamore Row

Sistrunk was on board by then and he fought them back, but they’re still calling. White lawyers, black lawyers, everybody’s got a better deal.”
    “You don’t need them.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “My job is to enforce the provisions of Mr. Hubbard’s last will, plain and simple. That will is under attack from his family, and that’s where the fight should be. When we go to trial, I want her to be sitting right there, at my table, with Mr. Quince Lundy, the administrator of the estate. He’s white and I’m white, and between us will be Lettie, looking pretty and happy. This is about money, Portia, but it’s also about race. We don’t need a courtroom that’s black on one side and white on the other. I’ll take the case all the way to the jury, and—”
    “And you’ll win?”
    “Only an idiot lawyer predicts what a jury might do. But I’ll swear that my chances of winning the case are far greater than Booker Sistrunk’s. Plus, I’m not getting a cut of Lettie’s inheritance.”
    “How do you get paid?”
    “You don’t mind asking questions, do you?”
    “Sorry. There’s just so much I don’t know.”
    “I’m working by the hour and my fees come from the estate. All reasonable and court approved.”
    She nodded as if she heard this all the time. She coughed and said, “My mouth is dry. Do you have a soft drink or something?”
    “Sure. Follow me.” They went downstairs to the small kitchen where Jake found a diet soda. To impress her, he took her into the smallconference room and showed her where Quince Lundy was currently doing his work and digging through the Hubbard records. Lundy had not yet arrived for the day. “How much of the money is in cash?” she asked timidly, as if she might be out-of-bounds. She stared at the boxes of records as if they were filled with cash.
    “Most of it.”
    She admired the shelves packed with thick law books and treatises, few of which had been touched in years. “You have a nice office here, Jake,” she said.
    “It’s a hand-me-down. It belongs to a man named Lucien Wilbanks.”
    “I’ve heard of him.”
    “Most people have. Have a seat.”
    She eased into a thick, leather chair at the long table as Jake closed the door. Roxy, of course, was nearby and on full radar alert.
    Jake sat across from her and said, “So, tell me, Portia, how do you get rid of Sistrunk?”
    In the best military tradition, she instantly blurted, “Keep his big ass in jail.”
    Jake laughed and said, “That’s only temporary. Your mother has to fire him. Your father doesn’t matter; he’s not a party.”
    “But they owe him money.”
    “They can pay him later. If she’ll listen to me, I’ll walk her through it. But, first, she has to tell Sistrunk he’s fired. And Buckley too. In writing. I’ll draft a letter if she’ll sign it.”
    “Give me some time, okay?”
    “There’s not much time. The longer Sistrunk hangs around the more damage he does. He’s a publicity hound and loves the attention. Unfortunately, he’s getting the attention of all the white people in Ford County. Those will be our jurors, Portia.”
    “An all-white jury?”
    “No, but at least eight or nine of the twelve.”
    “Wasn’t the Hailey jury all white?”
    “Indeed it was, and it seemed to grow whiter each day. But that was a different trial.”
    She took a sip from the can and looked again at the rows of important books covering the walls. “It must be pretty cool being a lawyer,” she said in awe.
    “Cool” was not an adjective Jake would use. He was forced to admit to himself that it had been a long time since he viewed his professionas something other than tedious. The Hailey trial had been a great triumph, but for all the hard labor, harassment, physical threats, and raw emotions, he had been paid $900. For that, he’d lost his home and almost his family.
    “It has its moments,” he said.
    “Tell me, Jake, are there any black female lawyers in Clanton?”
    “No.”
    “How many black lawyers are there?”
    “Two.”
    “Where’s the nearest black woman with her own law office?”
    “There’s one over in Tupelo.”
    “Do you know her? I’d like to meet her.”
    “I’ll be happy to make the phone call. Her name is Barbara McNatt, a nice lady. She was a year ahead of me in law school. Does primarily family law but also mixes it up with the cops and prosecutors. She’s a good lawyer.”
    “That’d be great, Jake.”
    She took another sip as they waited