Sycamore Row - John Grisham

Lettie walked away to find a restroom. As soon as she was gone, Portia said, “Ten years
ago I was fourteen and in the ninth grade, and I begged her to leave him. He was
hitting her back then. I saw it. I said, ‘Please Momma, let’s get away from him, go
somewhere else.’ I think maybe she tried but she’s always been afraid of him. Now look
what he’s done. What’ll happen to him, Jake?” She raked tears off her cheeks with the
back of her hand.
Barely above a whisper, Jake said, “Nothing good. Assuming everything is his fault,
and that he was drunk, he’s looking at vehicular homicide. One count, as of now.”
“What’s it carry?”
“Five to twenty-five. The judge has a lot of discretion.”
“And he can’t get out of it?”
“No. I see no way.”
“Hallelujah. He’ll finally be gone for a long time.” She cupped both hands over her
mouth and nose and sobbed harder. “Those poor boys,” she kept saying.
The crowd continued to grow around the waiting area on the hospital’s main wing.
Ozzie spoke to Jeff and Evelyn Roston, the parents, who were too stunned to say much.
He talked to one of the boys’ uncles and explained that Simeon Lang was in custody and
would be moved to the jail within hours. Yes, he was drunk, still is. I’m very sorry.
“You better get him outta here,” the uncle said, nodding to a group of men nearby.
Angry, distraught men, rural types raised around guns and rifles and upset enough to do
something drastic. Others joined them. The Rostons grew soybeans and chickens and
were active in their country church. They had many relatives and friends, and they had
never voted for Ozzie.
Every deputy on the payroll was at the hospital by 2:00 a.m. At three, they sneaked
Simeon out of the hospital and took him to jail. Ozzie informed the uncle.
Lettie and Portia used the same side door and left the hospital. Jake accompanied
them to their car. He returned to the main wing, avoided the waiting area, and found
Ozzie chatting with two of his men. Dumas Lee approached them, camera around his
neck, and they immediately went silent.
Dumas said, “Say, Jake, you got a minute?”
Jake hesitated, looked at Ozzie, who said, “No comment whatsoever,” then asked
Dumas, “What’s on your mind?”
“Just a couple of questions.”
They walked away, side by side, down a long corridor. Dumas asked, “Can you
confirm it’s Simeon Lang?”
It was senseless to deny it, so Jake said, “Yes.”
“And you’re his lawyer?”
“I am not.”
“Okay, but he’s had a drunk driving charge pending in city court for four months.
Your name’s on the docket as his lawyer.”
Careful, Jake warned himself. He breathed deeply and felt a thick knot in his
stomach. “I did that as a favor,” he said.
“I don’t care why you did it. Your name’s on the docket as his lawyer.”