They stepped-, into the hall, away from the relatives. "How is she?" Lester asked.
"Better. Much better. Might go home this weekend."
Lester was relieved. When he left Chicago eleven hours earlier she had been near death, according to the cousin who had called and scared him from bed. He lit a Kool under the NO SMOKING sign and stared at his big brother. "You okay?"
Carl Lee nodded and glanced down the hall.
"How's Gwen?"
"Crazier than normal. She's at her momma's. You come by yourself?"
"Yeah," Lester answered defensively.
"Good."
"Don't get smart. I didn't drive all day to hear crap about my wife."
"Okay, okay. You still got gas?"
Lester smiled and chuckled. He had been plagued by stomach gas since the day he married the Swede. She prepared dishes he couldn't pronounce, and his system behaved violently. He longed for collards, peas, okra, fried chicken, barbecue pork, and fatback.
They found a small waiting room on the third floor with folding chairs and a card table. Lester bought two cups of stale, thick coffee from a machine and stirred the powdered cream with his finger. He listened intently as Carl Lee detailed the rape, the arrests, and the hearing. Lester found some napkins and diagrammed the courthouse and the jail. It had been four years since his murder trial, and he had trouble with the drawings. He had spent only a week in jail, prior to posting bond, and had not visited the place since his acquittal. In fact, he had left for Chicago shortly after his trial. The victim had relatives.
They made plans and discarded them, plotting well past midnight.
At noon Thursday Tonya was removed from intensive care and placed in a private room. She was listed as stable. The doctors relaxed, and her family brought candy, toys, and flowers. With two broken jaws and a mouthful of wire, she could only stare at the candy. Her brothers ate most of it. They clung to her bed and held her hand, as if to protect and reassure. The room stayed full o'f friends and strangers, all patting her gently and saying how sweet she was, all treating her as someone special, someone who had been through this horrible thing. The crowd moved in shifts, from the hall into her room, and back into the hall, where the nurses watched carefully.
The wounds hurt, and at times she cried. Every hour the nurses cleared a path through the visitors and found the patient for a dose of painkiller.
That night in her room, the crowd hushed as the Memphis station talked about the rape. The television showed pictures of the two white men, but she couldn't see very well.
The Ford County Courthouse opened at 8:00 A.M. and closed at 5:00 P.M. every day except Friday, when it closed at four-thirty. At four-thirty on Friday Carl Lee was hiding in a moi-iiuui icsiroom wnen tney locked the courthouse. He sat on a toilet and listened quietly for an hour. No janitors. No one. Silence. He walked through the wide, semidark hall to the rear doors, and peeked through the window. No one in sight. He listened for a while. The courthouse was deserted. He turned and looked down the long hall, through the rotunda and through the front doors, two hundred feet away.
He studied the building. The two sets of rear doors opened to the inside into a large, rectangular entrance area. To the far right was a set of stairs, and to the left was an identical stairway. The open area narrowed and led into the hall. Carl Lee pretended to be on trial. He grabbed his hands behind him, and touched his back to the rear door. He walked to his right thirty feet to the stairs; up the stairs, ten steps, then a small landing, then a ninety-degree turn to the left, just like Lester said; then, ten more steps to the holding room. It was a small room, fifteen by fifteen, with nothing but a window and two doors. One door he opened, and walked into the huge courtroom in front of the rows of padded pews. He walked to the aisle and sat in the front row. Surveying the room, he noticed in front of him the railing, or bar, as Lester called it, which separated the general public from the area where the judge, jury, witnesses, lawyers, defendants, and clerks sat and worked.
He walked down the aisle to the rear doors and examined the courtroom in detail. It looked much different from Wednesday. Back down the aisle, he returned to the holding room and tried the other door, which led to the area behind the bar where the trial took place. He sat at the long table where Lester and Cobb and Willard had sat. To the right was another long table where the prosecutors sat. Behind the tables was a row of wooden chairs, then the bar with swinging gates on both ends. The judge sat high and lordly behind the elevated bench, his back to the wall under the faded portrait of Jefferson Davis, frowning down on everyone in the room. The jury box was against the wall to Carl Lee's right, to the judge's left, under the yellow portraits of other forgotten Confederate heroes. The witness stand was next to the bench, but lower, of course, and in front of the jury. To Carl Lee's left, opposite the jury box, was a long, enclosed workbench covered with large red docket books.
Clerks and lawyers usually milled around behind it during a trial. Behind the workbench, through the wall, was the holding room.
Carl Lee stood, still as though handcuffed, and walked slowly through the small swinging gate in the bar, and was led through the first door into the holding room; then down the steps, ten of them, through the narrow, shadowy stairway; then he stopped. From the landing halfway down the steps, he could see the rear doors of the courthouse and most of the entrance area between the doors and the hall. At the foot of the stairs, to the right, was a door that he opened and found a crowded, junky janitor's closet. He closed the door and explored the small room. It turned and ran under the stairway. It was dark, dusty, crowded with brooms and buckets and seldom used. He opened the door slightly and looked up the stairs.
For another hour he roamed the courthouse. The other rear stairway led to another holding room just behind the jury box. One door went to the courtroom, the other to the jury room. The stairs continued to the third floor, where he found the county law library and two witness rooms, just as Lester said.
Up and down, up and down, he traced and retraced the movements to be made by the men who raped his daughter.
He sat in the judge's chair and surveyed his domain. He sat in the jury box and rocked in one of the comfortable chairs. He sat in the witness chair and blew into the microphone. It was finally dark at seven when Carl Lee raised a window in the restroom next to the janitor's closet, and slid quietly through the bushes and into the darkness.
"Who would you report it to?" Carla asked as she closed the fourteen-inch pizza box and poured some more lemonade.
Jake rocked slightly in the wicker swing on the front porch and watched Hanna skip rope on the sidewalk next to the street.
"Are you there?" she asked.
"No."
"Who would you report it to?"
"I don't plan to report it," he said.
"i mink you should."
"I think I shouldn't."
"Why not?"
His rocking gained speed and he sipped the lemonade. He spoke slowly. "First of all, I don't know for sure that a crime is being planned. He said some things any father would say, and I'm sure he's having thoughts any father would have. But as far as actually planning a crime, I don't think so. Secondly, what he said to me was said in confidence, just as if he was a client. In fact, he probably thinks of me as his lawyer."
"But even if you're his lawyer, and you know he's planning a crime, you have to report it, don't you?"
"Yes. If I'm certain of his plans. But I'm not."
She was not satisfied. "I think you should report it."
Jake did not respond. It wouldn't matter. He ate his last bite of crust and tried to ignore her.
"You want Carl Lee to do it, don't you?"
"Do what?"
"Kill those boys."
"No, I don't." He was not convincing. "But if he did, I wouldn't blame him because I'd do the same thing."
"Don't start that again."
"I'm serious and you know it. I'd do it."
"Jake, you couldn't kill a man."
"Okay. Whatever. I'm not going to argue. We've been through it before."
Carla yelled at Hanna to move away from the street. She sat next to him in the swing and rattled her ice cubes. "Would you represent him?"
"I hope so."
"Would the jury convict him?"
"Would you?"
"I don't know."
"Well, think of Hanna. Just look at that sweet little innocent child out there skipping rope. You're a mother. Now think of the little Hailey girl, lying there, beaten, bloody, begging for her momma and daddy-"
"Shut up, Jake!"
He smiled. "Answer the question. You're on the jury. Would you vote to convict the father?"
She placed her glass on the windowsill and suddenly became interested in her cuticles. Jake smelled victory.
"Come on. You're on the jury. Conviction or acquittal?"
"I'm always on the jury around here. Either that or I'm being cross-examined."
"Convict or acquit?"
She glared at him. "It would be hard to convict."
He grinned and rested his case.
"But I don't see how he could kill them if they're in jail."
"Easy. They're not always in jail. They go to court and they're transported to and from. Remember Oswald and Jack Ruby. Plus, they get out if they can make bail."
"When can they do that?"
"Bonds will be set Monday. If they bond out, they're loose."
"And if they can't?"
"They remain in jail until trial."
"When is the trial?"
"Probably late summer."
"I think you should report it."
Jake bolted from the swing and went to play with Hanna.
K. T. Bruster, or Cat Bruster, as he was known, was, to his knowledge, the only one-eyed black millionaire in Memphis. He owned a string of black topless joints in town, all of which he operated legally. He owned blocks of rental property, which he operated legally, and he owned two churches in south Memphis, which were also operated legally. He was a benefactor for numerous black causes, a friend of the politicians, and a hero to his people.
It was important for Cat to be popular in the community because he would be indicted again and tried again, and in all likelihood acquitted again by his peers, half of whom were black. The authorities had found it impossible to convict Cat of killing people and of selling such things as women, cocaine, stolen goods, credit cards, food stamps, un-taxed liquor, guns, and light artillery.
He had one eye with him. The other one was somewhere in a rice paddy in Vietnam. He lost it the same day in 1971 that his buddy Carl Lee Hailey was hit in the leg. Carl Lee carried him for two hours before they found help. After the war he returned to Memphis and brought with him two pounds of hashish. The proceeds went to buy a small saloon on South Main, and he almost starved before he won a whore in a poker game with a pimp. He promised her she could quit whoring if she would take off her clothes and dance on his tables. Overnight he had more business than he could seat, so he bought another bar, and brought in more dancers. He found his niche in the market, and within two years he was a very wealthy man.
His office was above one of his clubs just off South Main between Vance and Beale, in the roughest part of Memphis. The sign above the sidewalk advertised Bud and breasts, but much more was for sale behind the black windows.
Carl Lee and Lester found the lounge-Brown Sugar- around noon, Saturday. They sat at the bar, ordered Bud, and watched the breasts.
"Is Cat in?" Carl Lee asked the bartender when he walked behind them. He grunted and returned to the sink, where he continued his beer mug washing. Carl Lee glanced at him between sips and dance routines.
"Another beer!" Lester said loudly without taking his eyes off the dancers.
"Cat Bruster here?" Carl Lee asked firmly when the bartender brought the beer.
"Who wants to know?"
"I do."
"So."
"So me and Cat are good friends. Fought together in 'Nam."
"Name?"
"Hailey. Carl Lee Hailey. From Mississippi."
The bartender disappeared, and a minute later emerged from between two mirrors behind the liquor. He motioned for the Haileys, who followed him through a small door, past the restrooms and through a locked door up the stairs. The office was dark and gaudy. The carpet on the floor was gold, on the walls, red, on the ceiling, green. A green shag ceiling. Thin steel bars covered the two blackened windows, and for good measure a set of heavy, dusty, burgundy drapes hung from ceiling to floor to catch and smother any sunlight robust enough to penetrate the painted glass. A small, ineffective chrome chandelier with mirror panes rotated slowly in the center of the room, barely above their heads.
Two mammoth bodyguards in matching three-piece black suits dismissed the bartender and seated Lester and Carl Lee, and stood behind them.
The brothers admired the furnishings. "Nice, ain't it?" Lester said. B.B. King mourned softly on a hidden stereo.
Suddenly, Cat entered from a hidden door behind the marble and glass desk. He lunged at Carl Lee. "My man! My man! Carl Lee Hailey!" He shouted and grabbed Carl Lee. "So good to see you, Carl Lee! So good to see you!"
Carl Lee stood and they bearhugged. "How are you, my man!" Cat demanded.
"Doin' fine, Cat, just fine. And you?"
"Great! Great! Who's this?" He turned to Lester and threw a hand in his chest. Lester shook it violently.
iuia ucie s my orother, Lester," Carl Lee said. "He's from Chicago."
"Glad to know you, Lester. Me and the big man here are mighty tight. Mighty tight."
"He's told me all about you," Lester said. Cat admired Carl Lee. "My, my, Carl Lee. You lookin' good. How's the leg?"
"It's fine, Cat. Tightens up sometimes when it rains, but it's fine."
"We mighty tight, ain't we?"
Carl Lee nodded and smiled. Cat released him. "You fellas want a drink?"
"No thanks," said Carl Lee.
"I'll take a beer," said Lester. Cat snapped his fingers and a bodyguard disappeared. Carl Lee fell into his chair and Cat sat on the edge of his desk, his feet dangling and swinging like a kid on a pier. He grinned at Carl Lee, who squirmed under all the admiration.
"Why don't you move to Memphis and go to work for me?" Cat said. Carl Lee knew it was coming. Cat had been offering him jobs for ten years.
"No thanks, Cat. I'm happy."
"And I'm happy for you. What's on your mind?"
Carl Lee opened his mouth, hesitated, crossed his legs and frowned. He nodded, and said, "Need a favor, Cat. Just a small favor."
Cat spread his arms. "Anything, big man, anything you want."
"You remember them M-16's we used in 'Nam? I need one of them. As quick as possible."
Cat recoiled his arms and folded them across his chest. He studied his friend. "That's a bad gun. What kinda squirrels you huntin' down there?"
"It ain't for squirrels."
Cat analyzed them both. He knew better than to ask why. It was serious, or Carl Lee wouldn't be there. "Semi?"
"Nope. The real thing."
"You talkin' some cash."
"How much?"
"It's illegal as hell, you know?"
"If I could buy it at Sears I wouldn't be here."
Cat grinned again. "When do you need it?"
"Today."
The beer arrived and was served to Lester. Cat moved behind his desk, to his orange vinyl captain's chair. "Thousand bucks."
"I got it."
Cat was mildly surprised, but didn't show it. Where did this simple small-town Mississippi nigger find a thousand dollars? Must have borrowed it from his brother.
"Thousand for anyone else, but not for you, big man."
"How much?"
"Nothin', Carl Lee, nothin'. I owe you somethin' worth much more than money."
"I'll be glad to pay for it."
"Nope. I won't hear it. The gun's yours."
"That's mighty kind, Cat."
"I'd give you fifty of them."
"Just need one. When can I get it?"