Swift Justice: The Southern Way (8 page)

The cops threw them into two cells, but there were only four metal beds that could be raised and lowered from the wall with an attached bracket. Deron, who was in the cell with his father and Mr. Stevens, gave them the makeshift beds, while he lay on the floor.

Junior and Sam Clark, both holding shotguns, were behind the Sheriff.

Leon thought for a brief moment that they might shoot him right there in the cell.

“Leon, get up. We need to talk to you.”

Leon immediately got up. His family and friends glanced over to him with concerned looks. Leon wasn’t sure if he should mention to the Sheriff that he had an attorney. He decided against it, at this point, because Leon wanted to tell his side of the story. After all, he had nothing to hide—well, except that he was the one that kicked the white men, but they were already dead, Leon justified to himself.

The Sheriff put handcuffs on Leon while Leon was still in the cell. Then, they swung open the cell door. Junior and Sam had their shotguns pointed at the other men in the cell to discourage them from making any moves.

On the way to the dreaded “interview” room, Leon saw a clock that showed that it was little past 10:15. Since it was still light out, Leon realized that he only slept for about an hour, and it was still morning. He wondered when his attorney, Howard Goldstein would get there, although he didn’t think Goldstein would be able to do anything in Dodge County. There was no
law
in Dodge County.

Junior guided Leon into the interview room with a black number one above the door. The room had no windows, and the walls were a dull gray. The floor was concrete with no tile. There was a hanging light from the ceiling similar to a light above a pool table. There were six fold up steel chairs spread around a rectangular table that was bolted to the concrete. On the table was an eyehook attached to the table with a chain permanently affixed to it. Junior took the chain and attached it to Leon’s handcuffs, so now Leon was cuffed to the table. There was no chance of escape—not that Leon even thought about escaping.

Leon hoped that this would all be over soon. He knew he didn’t do anything. The cops should be looking for the guy who actually killed Lucky and his men.

Leon noticed that the Sheriff remained standing while Sam and Junior sat across from Leon.

“Leon, Leon, Leon, you in a lot of trouble, boy,” the Sheriff began. “You are in a lot of fuckin’ trouble. You’re going to fry in that electric chair. What the fuck happened last night?”

Great, Leon thought. This was not starting well. “Look, sir, nothing happened. I mean I didn’t do anything. I was going to be hung … by Lucky and his two guys. And they actually had the rope around my neck. They handcuffed me. They put leg cuffs on me. And then they had the rope on me, and they were ready to lift me up. Then someone … some wonderful person comes out of nowhere—”

“Wonderful person?” asked the Sheriff with annoyance.

“Well, when you’re ready to die, anyone that saves you, in my opinion, is a wonderful person.”

“You better shut the fuck up, boy, about that,” the Sheriff interjected. “Don’t go saying a wonderful person when three of my best friends are dead. You shut the fuck about a wonderful person.” The Sheriff paused. “So go on with your stupid story.”

“Okay, this person comes—”

“What did he look like?” asked the Sheriff.

“I couldn’t see him. He was all covered. So he comes and shoots them all up. He shoots them up, kicks them, and then shoots ‘em twice. I thought he was going to shoot me for a moment, but then he takes the noose off from around my neck. Then he gives me the keys. My handcuffs are behind my back, though. He doesn’t undo the handcuffs for me, and then he runs away. I don’t know where the hell he went, but I never saw him again.”

“What did he say to you?” asked Junior.

Leon noticed that the Sheriff shot Junior a stern glare that probably meant for Junior not to say anything.

Leon paused to think about Junior’s question. “You know, I don’t think he said one word.”

“Did he have a car?” asked the Sheriff.

“You know, I don’t know. He must have had a car somewhere because it was a long walk. You know, I couldn’t imagine that he walked back.” Leon then realized that he, Leon actually
walked
and ran back. “I didn’t hear a car engine, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I just wanted to get out of there. If he had a car, he must have parked it far away.”

“Go on,” instructed the Sheriff.

“So then I got the hell out of there.” Leon decided not to mention the small inexpensive items that he took out of the car, which were the flashlight, water, and towel. Who knows, the police might press charges on him for stealing as an easier reason to keep him behind bars. “I walked back and headed home, and then I came here.”

“Did you go to your house?” asked the Sheriff.

Leon regretted saying that he was going home. He should have said that he was going straight to the police station to report the crime. Leon had to recover.

“No, I actually never did go home. But when I say home, I went to my neighborhood.” Damn, Leon was pissed at himself again for saying that he went to his neighborhood, which would not be a direct route to the police station.

“Why didn’t you just go straight here if you were so concerned with telling everyone what happened?”

What Leon wanted to say was that a straight route would have taken him through white neighborhoods, which was dangerous for Negroes at night, but he couldn’t tell the Sheriff the obvious.

“Well, you know, I wanted to get home. I almost died.”

“This is a bunch of bullshit. You expect us to believe that some mystery person came out of nowhere and shot them up? You sure it wasn’t your brothers? Your papa? This is not a job of one person. Three people died, and they were all armed.”

The Sheriff pressed both of his hands on the table and moved his face closer to Leon’s. “I think it was you and your fuckin’ brothers.”

“Sir, I’m telling you it wasn’t. Look, I was working earlier during the day, and Lucky and his guys kidnapped me. My brothers didn’t know that I was kidnapped. They weren’t around. I forgot to tell you about that. Lucky captured me at the construction site. No one saw that.”

Leon was thinking of shutting his mouth from now on because the cops were twisting things he said.

“So, let me get your fuckin’ story straight,” said the Sheriff. “You were supposedly kidnapped by Lucky at the construction site. They take you to the woods and were trying to hang you. Then out of nowhere, a mystery person shoots them all up—but not you. He gives you the keys, and he flees the area. You use the keys to release yourself and come here, eventually.”

Leon was pleased that the Sheriff, at least, had listened to his story. He decided that he would keep talking. “Yes, that’s exactly how it happened.”

“You’re so full of shit!” yelled the Sheriff. “Junior, get his ass out of here. Take him back to his cell. Bring me one of his stupid brothers.”

~~~~

The Sheriff remained at the police station all morning questioning the suspects and fielding numerous phone calls. Word had traveled fast, and the whole town practically knew about the murders. People were scared that a race riot was starting. They were concerned that the Negroes were going to shoot up the whole neighborhood.

The Sheriff tried to calm the people down. He assured them that they would take swift action and arrest the people responsible for the crimes.

The Sheriff was disrupted as two new visitors walked briskly to the counter. It was a state trooper and some stranger, a short stocky man, that the Sheriff did not recognized. The Sheriff was not expecting a state trooper.

The Sheriff asked them, “What can I do for you, boys?”

“I am Howard Goldstein. I am an attorney for the ACLU, which stands for the American Civil Liberties Union. I’m here to see my client, Leon Brooks. I believe you have him here.”

The Sheriff was startled that Leon had already obtained an out-of-town attorney so quickly. How did he arrange that? The Sheriff wondered. And then what was the state trooper doing there? This day was getting worse by the minute, thought the Sheriff.

The Sheriff paused before he responded. “Really, how do you know he is locked up here?”

“Never mind how I know. Again, I need to speak to my client.”

“Your client is in a lot of trouble, and you can’t speak to him right now.”

“Excuse me? I
am
his attorney. Are you refusing for a person from speaking to his attorney? Am I understanding that right?”

“Yeah, you’re understanding that fuckin’ right. You can’t speak to him. He’s fuckin’ killed some people.” The Sheriff wanted to smack the Jew lawyer. He could tell that he was Jewish, with his name ending in “stein.”

“So have you arrested him?”

The Sheriff hesitated, as he wasn’t sure how to answer this question. He hadn’t formally booked him in yet, but he had certainly detained him. “Yes, we have arrested him.”

“Did you press charges?”

Again, the Sheriff felt like smacking Goldstein, but the imposing state trooper was hovering around. “No, we did not press charges.”

“I am demanding that I speak to my client, Leon Brooks.”

The Sheriff had enough. “First of all, motherfucker, you don’t demand anything in this county. I am the sheriff in this county, and you don’t fuckin’ come in here and tell me what to do. You don’t bring your Jew ass over here and think you can boss me around with your fancy talking.”

Goldstein was undeterred. “Look, I am telling you right now that I am not leaving here until I speak to my client, Leon Brooks. Now, he has his rights under the United States Constitution to have counsel. And the fact that you have already spoken to him without offering him counsel is concerning.”

“We offered him the public defender, but he refused it,” the Sheriff lied. The Sheriff just realized that this Goldstein character has no idea that they also arrested Leon’s family and friends. The Sheriff chuckled to himself to think how Goldstein was going to react on discovering that new development.

“Oh, he was, huh?”

“Yeah.” The Sheriff was happy to see that Goldstein had a look of surprise on his face. The Sheriff must have thrown him a curve ball.

“Okay, the state trooper and I are going to sit in your little lobby area and wait to see my client.”

“Why do you have the state trooper with you?” the Sheriff asked. The Sheriff noticed that the state trooper, a tall muscular man who looked to be in his early thirties, appeared awkward and seemed reluctant to be there.

“Well, for my safety, and the safety of my client. Your county has a bad reputation—”

The Sheriff interrupted. “There’s nothing wrong with our county. Our county has a great reputation. Don’t you come over here and criticize our county.”

“All right, I’m going to sit over here.” Goldstein pointed to the five chairs that laid against a wall. “I am not leaving until I see my client. So you go ahead and talk to whomever you need to talk to, but I am seeing my client. I can assure you that if you check the law, Leon Brooks is entitled to see his attorney.”

“You’re walking on dangerous water, mister fuckin’ Jew boy.” The Sheriff sighed. He figured that he might have to give in and let Leon speak to his client. This attorney seemed connected. “Okay, motherfucker, I’ll see what I can do. Have a seat.”

“Wake up, Leon!” yelled the Sheriff. “You have a visitor.”

Leon woke up from a deep sleep. He had no idea how long he had slept.

“Come on boy, I’m not going to ask you again. Get up.”

Leon jolted up and walked up to the cell entrance to get his hands cuffed as before. He hoped that Goldstein was the visitor.

The cops escorted Leon to the same interrogation room as before, sat him down, and cuffed him to the eye bolt as before.

“Wait here,” barked Junior.

A few minutes later, Junior led Goldstein into the room.

“Take those cuffs off my client while I speak to him,” ordered Goldstein.

“No fuckin’ way,” said Junior. “He’s fuckin’ dangerous.” Before Goldstein could continue his objection, Junior left the room and closed the door.

Goldstein shook his head in disapproval and sat down across from Leon. “Hello. I’m Howard Goldstein. We spoke over the phone. How are you?”

Leon sighed. “I’m really tired and sore from the beatings.”

“Beatings from last night when they tried to hang you?”

“Yes, and the beatings from when we turned ourselves in.”

“Wait, you were the only one who was supposed to turn yourself in.”

“Oh, you don’t know,” said Leon. “They have arrested my papa, my brothers, and a friend of ours.”

“They’re in jail with you, right now?”

“Yes.”

“Why do they have them in jail?”

“They think we all did it to the three white men.”

Goldstein sighed heavily. “Go on and tell me everything that happened.”

Leon told Goldstein everything except for the part of him kicking the white guys after they were dead.

Goldstein sat there pondering Leon’s story.

“Mr. Goldstein.”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask you why you are helping me? I mean there aren’t
any
white people that I know that are willing to help a Negro.”

“Why do I help you? I’m glad you asked that question.” Goldstein paused. “Well, I’m a holocaust survivor. I was a Jew in Germany during World War II. I came home one day and I saw my father hung, certainly by the Germans. Before I even had a chance to mourn my father’s death, my mother took me and my siblings to try to escape. I was only eight years old. They cornered us in an alley. There was a small opening in a brick wall. I was the only one who could fit, so I crawled through the opening.”

To Leon’s shock, Goldstein started to cry. Leon regretted asking the question.

With his eyes completely moist with tears, Goldstein continued
his
nightmare. Goldstein paused and tried to compose himself. “Then … I heard the machine guns blasting. I heard bodies drop—my family’s bodies.” Goldstein paused. He continued to cry. He struggled to continue but appeared to force himself to fight through it.