Sycamore Row - John Grisham

so much, and with such authority, that it was now accepted fact, established and well
known. The money was there and Lettie was all set to collect 90 percent of it. At one
point, though, Darias couldn’t resist. When he and Rontell were alone by the grill, he
asked, “You see the paper this morning?”
“Yep,” Rontell replied. “Don’t see how that can help much.”
“That’s what I was thinkin’. But it sure makes Booker Sistrunk look good.”
“I’m sure he called the newspaper, planted the story.”
Front page, Mid-South section of the Memphis morning paper. A nice, gossipy story
about Mr. Hubbard’s suicide and his unusual will, with the same photo of Lettie all
dressed up in her courtroom best with Booker Sistrunk and Kendrick Bost pawing at her.
“They’ll be comin’ out of the woods,” Darias said.
Rontell grunted and laughed and waved his arm. “They already here,” he said. “Lined
up, just waitin’.”
“How much you reckon Sistrunk’ll take?”
“I asked her but she ain’t tellin’.”
“He won’t get half, will he?”
“Don’t know. He ain’t cheap.”
A nephew stopped by to check on the ribs, and the two uncles changed the subject.
Late in the afternoon, Simeon was removed from the drunk tank and led by a deputy
to the small windowless room used by the lawyers to huddle with their clients. He was
given an ice pack for his face and a cup of fresh coffee. “What now?” he asked.
“You got a visitor,” the deputy said.
Five minutes later Ozzie walked in and sat down. He was wearing blue jeans and a
sports coat, with a badge on his belt and holster on his hip. He said, “Don’t think we’ve
ever met.”
“I voted for you twice,” Simeon said.
“Thank you, but they all say that after you win.” Ozzie had checked the records and
knew damned well Simeon Lang was not registered to vote.
“I swear I did.”
“Got a call from Tank; said stay away, okay? No more trouble out of you.”
“They cleaned my pockets.”
“It’s a tough place. You know the rules because there are no rules. Just stay away.”
“I want my money back.”
“You can forget that money. You wanna go home or you wanna stay here tonight?”
“I’d rather go home.”
“Let’s go.”
Simeon rode in the front seat of Ozzie’s car, no handcuffs. A deputy followed in
Simeon’s pickup. Nothing was said for the first ten minutes as they listened to the
squawking on the sheriff’s radio. Ozzie finally turned it down and said, “None of my
business, Simeon, but those Memphis lawyers got no business down here. Your wife’s