A Time to Kill

"Am I supposed to know?" asked Carl Lee.

"One thousand dollars," Jake shouted. "One thousand dollars. Where can you find a thousand dollars?"

"I gave you all the money I got. I even offered-"

"I don’t want the deed to your land. Why? Because nobody wants to buy it, and if you can’t sell it, it’s no good. We’ve got to have cash, Carl Lee. Not for me, but for the psychiatrists."

"Why?"

"Why!" Jake repeated in disbelief. "Why? Because I’d like to keep you away from the gas chamber, and it’s only a hundred miles from here. It’s not that far. And to do that, we’ve got to convince the jury that you were insane when you shot those boys. I can’t tell them you were crazy. You can’t tell them you were crazy. It takes a psychiatrist. An expert. A doctor. And they don’t work for free. Understand?"

Carl Lee leaned on his knees and watched a spider crawl across the dusty carpet. After twelve days in jail and two court appearances, he had had enough of the criminal justice system. He thought of the hours and minutes before the killings. What was he thinking? Sure the boys had to die. He had no regrets. But did he contemplate jail, or poverty, or lawyers, or psychiatrists? Maybe, but only in passing. Those unpleasantries were only by-products to be encountered and endured temporarily before he was set free. After the deed, the system would process him, vindicate him, and send him home to his family. It would be easy, just as Les-ter’s episode had been virtually painless.

But the system was not working now. It was conspiring to keep him in jail, to break him, to make orphans of his children. It seemed determined to punish him for performing an act he considered unavoidable. And now, his only ally was making demands he could not meet. His lawyer asked the impossible. His friend Jake was angry and yelling.

"Get it," Jake shouted as he headed for the door. "Get it from your brothers and sisters, from Gwen’s family, get it from your friends, get it from your church. But get it. And as soon as possible."

Jake slammed the door and marched out of the jail.

Carl Lee’s third visitor of the morning arrived before noon in a long black limousine with a chauffeur and Tennessee plates. It maneuvered through the small parking lot and came to rest straddling three spaces. A large black bodyguard emerged-from behind the wheel and opened the door to release his boss. They strutted up the sidewalk and into the jail.

The secretary stopped typing and smiled suspiciously. "Good mornin’."

"Mornin’," said the smaller one, the one with the patch. "My name is Cat Bruster, and I’d like to see Sheriff Walls."

"May I ask what for?"

"Yes ma’am. It’s regardin’ a Mr. Hailey, a resident of your fine facility."

The sheriff heard his name mentioned, and appeared from his office to greet this infamous visitor. "Mr. Bruster, I’m Ozzie Walls." They shook hands. The bodyguard did not move.

"Nice to meet you, Sheriff. I’m Cat Bruster, from Memphis."

Chapter Ten

"Yes. I know who you are. Seen you in the news. What brings you to Ford County?"

"Well, I gotta buddy in bad trouble. Carl Lee Hailey, and I’m here to help."

"Okay. Who’s he?" Ozzie asked, looking up at the bodyguard. Ozzie was six feet four, and at least five inches shorter than the bodyguard. He weighed at least three hundred pounds, most of it in his arms.

"This here is Tiny Tom," Cat explained. "We just call him Tiny for short."

"I see."

"He’s sort of like a bodyguard."

"He’s not carryin’ a gun, is he?"

"Naw, Sheriff, he don’t need a gun."

rair enougn. wny aon t you and liny step into my office?"

In the office, Tiny closed the door and stood by it while his boss took a seat across from the sheriff.

"He can sit if he wants to," Ozzie explained to Cat.

"Naw, Sheriff, he always stands by the door. That’s the way he’s been trained."

"Sorta like a police dog?"

"Right."

"Fine. What’d you wanna talk about?"

Cat crossed his legs and laid a diamond-clustered hand on his knee. "Well, Sheriff, me and Carl Lee go way back. Fought together in ‘Nam. We was pinned down near Da Nang, summer of ’71. I got hit in the head, and, bam!, two seconds later he got hit in the leg. Our squad disappeared, and the gooks was usin’ us for target practice. Carl Lee limped to where Fs layin’, put me on his shoulders, and ran through the gunfire to a ditch next to a trail. I hung on his back while he crawled two miles. Saved my life. He got a medal for it. You know that?"

"No."

"It’s true. We laid next to each other in a hospital in Saigon for two months, then got our black asses outta Vietnam. Don’t plan to go back."

Ozzie was listening intently.

"And now that my man is in trouble, I’d like to help."

"Did he get the M-16 from you?"

Tiny grunted and Cat smiled. "Of course not."

"Would you like to see him?"

"Why sure. It’s that easy?"

"Yep. If you can move Tiny away from that door, I’ll get him."

Tiny stepped aside, and two minutes later Ozzie was back with the prisoner. Cat yelled at him, hugged him, and they patted each other like boxers. Carl Lee looked awkwardly at Ozzie, who took the hint and left. Tiny again closed the door and stood guard. Carl Lee moved two chairs together so they could face each other closely and talk.

Cat spoke first. "I’m proud of you, big man, for what you did. Real proud. Why didn’t you tell me that’s why you wanted the gun?"

"Just didn’t."

"How was it?"

"Just like ‘Nam, except they couldn’t shoot back."

"That’s the best way."

"Yeah, I guess. I just wish none of this had to happen."

"You ain’t sorry, are you?"

Carl Lee rocked in his chair and studied the ceiling. "I’d do it over, so I got no regrets about that. I just wish they hadn’t messed with my little girl. I wish she was the same. I wish none of it ever happened."

"Right, right. It’s gotta be tough on you here."

"I ain’t worried ’bout me. I’m real concerned with my family."

"Right, right. How’s the wife?"

"She’s okay. She’ll make it."

"I saw in the paper where the trial’s in July. You been in the paper more than me here lately."

"Yeah, Cat. But you always get off. I ain’t so sure ’bout me."

"You gotta good lawyer, don’t you?"

"Yeah. He’s good."

Cat stood and walked around the office, admiring Oz-zie’s trophies and certificates. "That’s the main reason I came to see you, my man."

"What’s that?" Carl Lee asked, unsure of what his friend had in mind, but certain his visit had a purpose.

"Carl Lee, you know how many times I been on trial?"

"Seems like all the time."

"Five! Five times they put me on trial. The federal boys. The state boys. The city boys. Dope, gamblin’, bribery, guns, racketeerin’, whores. You name it, and they’ve tried me for it. And you know somethin’, Carl Lee, I’ve been guilty of it all. Evertime I’ve gone to trial, I’ve been guilty as hell. You know how many times I been convicted?"

"No."

"None! Not once have they got me. Five trials, five not guilties."

Carl Lee smiled with admiration.

"You know why they can’t convict me?"

Carl Lee had an idea, but he shook his head anyway.

"Because, Carl Lee, I got the smartest, meanest,