As usual, Jake worked Saturday morning, after breakfast at the Coffee Shop. He enjoyed the tranquility of his office on Saturday-no phones, no Ethel. He locked the office, iguuicu me pnone, and avoided clients. He organized files, read recent decisions from the Supreme Court and planned strategy if a trial was approaching. His best thoughts and ideas came during quiet Saturday mornings.
At eleven he phoned the jail. "Sheriff in?" he asked the dispatcher.
"Lemme check," came the reply.
Moments passed before the sheriff answered. "Sheriff Walls," he announced.
"Ozzie, Jake Brigance. How are you?"
"Fine, Jake. You?"
"Fine. Will you be there for a while?"
"Coupla hours. What's up?"
"Not much. Just need to talk for a minute. I'll be there in thirty minutes."
"I'll be waitin'."
Jake and the sheriff had a mutual like and respect for each other. Jake had roughed him up a few times during cross-examinations, but Ozzie considered it business and nothing personal. Jake campaigned for Ozzie, and Lucien financed the campaigns, so Ozzie didn't mind a few sarcastic and pointed questions during trial. He liked to watch Jake at trial. And he liked to kid him about the game. In 1969, when Jake was a sophomore quarterback at Karaway, Ozzie was a senior all-conference, all-state tackle at Clanton. The two rivals, both undefeated, met in the final game at Clanton for the conference championship. For four long quarters Ozzie terrorized the Karaway offense, which was much smaller and led by a gutsy but battered sophomore quarterback. Late in the fourth quarter, leading 44-0, Ozzie broke Jake's leg on a blitz.
For years now he had threatened to break the other one. He always accused Jake of limping and asked about the leg.
"What's on your mind, buddy?" Ozzie asked as they sat in his small office.
"Carl Lee. I'm a little worried about him."
"What way?"
"Look, Ozzie, whatever we say here is said in confidence. I don't want anyone to know about this conversation."
"You sound serious, Jake."
"I am serious. I talked to Carl Lee Wednesday after the hearing. He's out of his mind, and I understand that. I would be too. He was talking about killing the boys, and he sounded serious. I just think you ought to know."
"They're safe, Jake. He couldn't get to them if he wanted to. We've had some phone calls, anonymous of course, with all kinds of threats. Black folks are bad upset. But the boys're safe. They're in a cell by themselves, and we're real careful."
"That's good. I haven't been hired by Carl Lee, but I've represented all the Haileys at one time or another and I'm sure he considers me to be his lawyer, for whatever reason. I feel a responsibility to let you know."
"I'm not worried, Jake."
"Good. Let me ask you something. I've got a daughter, and you've got a daughter, right?"
"Got two of them."
"What's Carl Lee thinking? I mean, as a black father?"
"Same thing you'd be thinkin'."
"And what's that?"
Ozzie reared back in his chair and crossed his arms. He thought for a moment. "He's wonderin' if she's okay, physically, I mean. Is she gonna live, and if she does, how bad is she hurt. Can she ever have kids? Then he's wonderin' if she's okay mentally and emotionally, and how will this affect her for the rest of her life. Thirdly, he wants to kill the bastards."
"Would you?"
"It's easy to say I would, but a man don't know what he'd do. I think my kids need me at home a whole lot more than Parchman needs me. What would you be thinkin', Jake?"
"About the same, I guess. I don't know what I'd do. Probably go crazy." He paused and stared at the desk. "But I might seriously plan to kill whoever did it. It'd be mighty hard to lie down at night knowing he was still alive."
"What would a jury do?"
"Depends on who's on the jury. You pick the right jury and you walk. If the D.A. picks the right jury you get the gas. It depends strictly on the jury, and in this county you can. me ngrit lolks. People are tired of raping and robbing and killing. I know white folks are."
"Everbody is."
"My point is that there'd be a lot of sympathy for a father who took matters into his own hands. People don't trust our judicial system. I think I could at least hang a jury. Just convince one or two that the bastard needed to die."
"Like Monroe Bowie."
"Exactly. Just like Monroe Bowie. He was a sorry nigger who needed killing and Lester took a