John Grisham - A time to kill

"Well," Ozzie drawled, "I would suggest pretty stiff bonds. These boys need to be in jail for their own safety. Black folk are restless out there. They might get hurt if they bond out. Better go high."

"How much money they got?"

"Willard's broke. Can't tell about Cobb. Drug money's hard to trace. He might could find twenty, thirty thousand. I hear he's hired some big-shot Memphis lawyer. Supposed to be here today. He must have some money."

"Damn, why don't I know these things. Who'd he hire?"

"Bernard. Peter K. Bernard," answered Childers. "He called me this morning."

"Never heard of him," retorted Bullard with an air of superiority, as though he memorized some kind of judicial rap sheet on all lawyers.

Bullard studied the trees outside the window as the sheriff and prosecutor exchanged winks. The bonds would be exorbitant, as always. The bail bondsmen loved Bullard for his outrageous bonds. They watched with delight as desperate families scraped and mortgaged to collect the ten percent premiums they charged to write the bonds. Bullard would be high, and he didn't care. It was politically safe to set them high and keep the criminals in jail. The blacks would appreciate it and that was important even if the county was seventy-four percent white. He owed the blacks a few favors.

"Let's go a hundred thousand on Willard and two hundred on Cobb. That oughtta satisfy them."

"Satisfy who?" asked Ozzie.

"Er, uh, the people, the people out there. Sound okay to you?"

"Fine with me," said Childers. "But what about the hearing?" he asked with a grin.

"We'll give them a hearing, a fair hearing, then I'll set the bonds at a hundred and two hundred."

"And I suppose you want me to ask for three hundred apiece so you can look fair?" asked Childers.

"I don't care what you ask for!" yelled the judge.

"Sounds fair to me," said Ozzie as he headed for the door. "Will you call me to testify?" he asked Childers.

"Naw, we don't need you. I don't guess the State will call anybody since we're having such a fair hearing."

They left the chambers and Bullard stewed. He locked the door behind them and pulled a half pint of vodka from his briefcase, and gulped it furiously. Mr. Pate waited outside the door. Five minutes later Bullard barged into the packed courtroom.

"All rise for the court!" Mr. Pate shouted.

"Be seated!" screamed the judge before anyone could stand. "Where are the defendants? Where?"

Cobb and Willard were escorted from the holding room and seated at the defense table. Cobb's new lawyer smiled at his client as the handcuffs were removed. Willard's lawyer, Tyndale, the public defender, ignored him.

The same crowd of blacks had returned from last Wednesday, and had brought some friends. They closely followed the movements of the two white boys. Lester saw them for the first time. Carl Lee was not in the courtroom.

From the bench Bullard counted deputies-nine in all. That had to be a record. Then he counted blacks-hundreds of them all bunched together, all glaring at the two rapists, who sat at the same table between their lawyers. The vodka felt good. He took a sip of what appeared to be ice water from a Styrofoam cup and managed a slight grin. It burned slowly downward and his cheeks flushed. What he ought to do was order the deputies out of the courtroom and throw Cobb and Willard to the niggers. That would be fun to

watch, and justice would be served. He could just see the fat nigger women stomping up and down while their men carved on the boys with switchblades and machetes. Then, when they were finished, they would collect themselves and all march quietly from the courtroom. He smiled to himself.

He motioned for Mr. Pate, who approached the bench. "I've got a half pint of ice water in my desk drawer," he whispered. "Pour me some in a Styrofoam cup."

Mr. Pate nodded and disappeared.

"This is a bail hearing," he declared loudly, "and I don't intend for it to last long. Are the defendants ready?"

"Yes, sir," said Tyndale.

"Yes, Your Honor," said Mr. Bernard.

"The State ready?"

"Yes, sir," answered Childers without standing.

"Good. Call your first witness."

Childers addressed the judge. "Your Honor, the State will call no witnesses. His Honor is well aware of the charges against these two defendants, since His Honor held the preliminary hearing last Wednesday. It is my understanding the victim is now home, so we do not anticipate further charges. The grand jury will be asked next Monday to indict the two defendants for rape, kidnapping, and aggravated assault. Because of the violent nature of these crimes, because of the age of the victim, and because Mr. Cobb is a convicted felon, the State would ask for the maximum bonds, and not a penny less."

Bullard almost choked on his ice water. What maximum? There's no such thing as a maximum bond.

"What do you suggest, Mr. Childers?"

"Half a million apiece!" Childers announced proudly and sat down.

Half a million! Out of the question, thought Bullard. He sipped furiously and glared at the prosecutor. Half a million! Double-crossed in open court. He sent Mr. Pate after more ice water.

"The defense may proceed."

Cobb's new lawyer stood purposefully. He cleared his throat and removed his horn-rimmed, academic, go-to-hell reading glasses. "May it please the court, Your Honor, my

name is Peter K. Bernard. 1 am irom jviempms, aim i uavt been retained by Mr. Cobb to represent him-"

"Do you have a license to practice in Mississippi?" interrupted Bullard.

Bernard was caught off-guard. "Well, uh, not exactly, Your Honor."

"I see. When you say 'not exactly,' do you mean something other than no?"

Several lawyers in the jury box snickered. Bullard was famous for this. He hated Memphis lawyers, and required them to associate local counsel before appearing in his court. Years before when he was practicing, a Memphis judge had kicked him out of court because he was not licensed in Tennessee. He had enjoyed revenge since the day he was elected.

"Your Honor, I am not licensed in Mississippi, but I am licensed in Tennessee."

"I would hope so," came the retort from the bench. More suppressed laughter from the jury box. "Are you familiar with our local rules here in Ford County?" His Honor asked.

"Er, uh, yes, sir."

"Do you have a copy of these rules?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you read them carefully before you ventured into my courtroom?"

"Uh, yes, sir, most of them."

"Did you understand Rule 14 when you read it?"

Cobb glanced up suspiciously at his new lawyer.

"Uh, I don't recall that one," Bernard admitted.

"I didn't think so. Rule 14 requires out-of-state unlicensed attorneys to associate local counsel when appearing in my courtroom."

"Yes, sir."

From his looks and mannerisms, Bernard was a polished attorney, at least he was known as such in Memphis. He was, however, in the process of being totally degraded and humbled before a small-town, redneck judge with a quick tongue.

"Yes, sir, what?" snapped Bullard.

"Yes, sir, I think I've heard of that rule."

"There is none, but I planned-"

"Then you drove down here from Memphis, carefully read my rules, and deliberately ignored them. Right?"

Bernard lowered his head and stared at a blank yellow legal pad on the table.

Tyndale rose slowly. "Your Honor, for the record, I show myself as associated counsel for Mr. Bernard for purposes of this hearing and for no other purpose."

Bullard smiled. Slick move, Tyndale, slick move. The ice water warmed him and he relaxed. "Very well. Call your first witness."

Bernard stood straight again. He cocked his head. "Your Honor, on behalf of Mr. Cobb, I would like to call his brother, Mr. Fred Cobb, to the stand."