Grass Roots (14 page)

“Larry,” John Morgan said, “I’m going to service Greenville out of the La Grange office until you’re out. I know you didn’t do this, and I’m not going to replace you.

I’m going to keep you on salary, too.” “Thanks, Mr. Morgan,” Larry said.

“That’s awful nice of you.”

Morgan shook Larry’s and Will’s hands and left. Charlene lingered at the rail.

“I’ll bring the bills to the jail, and you can sign checks,” she said to Larry, stroking his arm.

“Naw, that would be a lot of trouble,” Larry said.

“Just get one of those cards from the bank, and I’ll sign it so you can sign on my account.”

Charlene nodded.

“Larry,” Will said, “I’ve got to meet with the Judge now. I’ll come over to the jail when I’m finished.”

“Why didn’t you want the Judge to set a trial date a minute ago?” Charlene asked.

“I’ve got something I need to talk to him about first,” Will replied, avoiding her steady gaze.

“We’ll only be a few minutes.”

A deputy walked over.

“I’ll have to return him to his cell now, Mr. Lee.” Larry left with him, and Will made to leave, too.

“Wait a minute,” Charlene said, placing her hand on his arm.

“What’s going on?” “Hang around,” Will said.

“I’ll see you here in a few minutes. We’ll go see Larry together.” He left her and went to the Judge’s chambers, where Elton Hunter was waiting for him.

“What’s up. Will?” Elton asked.

“Let’s wait for the Judge; it’ll save me repeating it.”

The Judge strode in and settled himself behind the huge desk.

“All right. Will. What can I do for you?”

Will took a deep breath.

“Judge, a lot has happened since the preliminary hearing. The Senator has improved enough to make it known that he doesn’t intend to run for reelection.” He paused. He had the same feeling about this that he had had about the bail hearing.

“He has suggested that I run in his place.” He stopped and waited.

The Judge looked at him, interested.

“Yes, go on.”

“Judge, it must be clear to you that I cannot conduct the defense in a capital case and run for the Senate at the same time. If the man were to be convicted, he would have every right to ask for the verdict to be set aside on grounds of a less than competent defense.” “Well, you might be right, Will,” the Judge said amiably.

“I’m real sorry about your ambitions for the Senate.”

“What?” Will said, momentarily baffled by the response.

“If you can’t conduct a proper defense and run for the Senate at the same time, well, I guess you’ll have to run for the Senate another time.”

In spite of his expectations. Will was stunned.

“Now listen here. Judge,” he began.

“No!” said the Judge, pounding on the desk and rising to his feet.

“I told you when you signed on for this that you were in it for the duration, and now you’ve come to me twice and tried to beg off!”

“And with damned good reason!” Will shouted back, standing up to face the old man.

Elton Hunter leapt to his feet, his hands out before him.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, there’s no need for this. Let’s talk about this sensibly.”

“You shut up!” the Judge roared at him, then turned back to Will and shouted, “You’re in this to the finish, do you understand me?”

“Hell no, I don’t understand you!” Will shouted back.

“I’m giving you notice right now, before you set a trial date—I’m out of it!”

“In that case, goddammit, you can run for the Senate from a jail cell!”

The Judge turned toward the door.

“Bailiff!” he shouted, “get in here this minute!” He turned back to Will.

“I’ll hold you in contempt and postpone the trial until such time as you decide to continue!”

“shut up!!!”

Both Will and the Judge turned and stared at Elton Hunter, who was beet-red.

“Get out of here!” Elton shouted at the bailiff, who had just run into the room. The astonished bailiff stood and stared at the three men.

Elton banged his palm flat on the desk, making a noise like a bass drum.

“Now both of you sit down and get hold of yourselves” he demanded.

“I said, get out of here!” he shouted at the bailiff. The bailiff turned and fled, closing the door behind him.

“Now,” Elton said, more quietly, “let’s all sit down and discuss this calmly.”

Will and the Judge, both surprised at the ordinarily mild Elton’s outburst, sat down.

“Judge, this is completely unreasonable,” Will said.

“It may be unreasonable, but that’s the way it is, and you’re going to have to live with it,” the Judge said, clearly trying to maintain control of himself.

“I’ve arranged this trial so that both the prosecution and the defense are conducted by the best lawyers available. If either one of you should drop out and I replaced you with anybody else, then we’d have a lopsided trial, and I intend to see that both the defendant and the people get a fair trial. Now,” he said, opening his desk calendar! “Will, if you want some more time to prepare, I’ll give it to you. How about the sixteenth of February?”

“The sixteenth is fine with me. Judge,” Elton said.

“Mr. Lee?” the Judge asked, an edge in his voice.

Will gritted his teeth and nodded.

“All right. I apologize for my outburst.” “Good,” the Judge said.

“Now this meeting is adjourned.

I will see you both on February sixteenth at ten o’clock sharp.”

will found Charlene waiting for him in the courtroom.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s go see Larry.” Five minutes later, he was seated in the interview room with the two of them.

“I may as well tell you,” Will began, “I’ve just tried to get out of representing you again.” “Why?” asked Larry, looking hurt.

“It’s nothing against you or your case, Larry. It’s just that my boss.

Senator Carr, is ill and is not going to run for reelection, and I’m going to run for his seat. I really don’t see how I can represent you properly and run for the Senate at the same time.”

“What did the Judge say about this?” Charlene asked.

“He refused to let me resign from the case. That’s why I wanted to talk with you two. Larry, I know we’ve been over this before, but I think you should tell the Judge you want another lawyer.”

“But why? I don’t understand.” Larry looked like a little boy who had been told he couldn’t go to Disneyland.

“I’ve just explained it to you, Larry.” He turned to Charlene.

“Help me here, will you? Surely you can see that this is not good for Larry’s case. If he asks the Judge for a new lawyer, then the Judge will have to give him one.”

Charlene looked at him evenly for a moment, then shook her head.

“This is between you and Larry,” she said.

“I want you, Mr. Lee,” Larry said earnestly.

“I don’t care about you running for anything.” He folded his arms.

“I won’t have anybody else,” he said stubbornly.

Will rested his elbows on the metal table and massaged his temples.

This was insane. This case was a tar baby, and he was Br’er Fox.

Neither Larry nor Charlene said anything.

“Larry, do you know what the maximum penalty for first-degree murder is in this state?” he asked wearily. There was no reply.

“It’s death,” Will said.

“It’s the electric chair in this state. That’s what you get if I lose this for you. You’re gambling with your life, do you understand that?”

Larry Moody nodded his head.

“I’ll take my chances with you.”

on Saturday morning, as he waited for Jack Buchanan and Kitty Conroy to arrive from Washington, Will sat at the computer in the lake cottage and tried to write a campaign plan. It wasn’t coming very quickly, because he had never done it before. Running a campaign for the reelection of Benjamin Carr, which he had done, was an entirely different thing from running a campaign for the election of a little-known Senate assistant, and as he labored, it became increasingly clear to Will how difficult his position was. He was contemplating withdrawing from a race he had not yet entered when he heard a car pulling into the gravel parking area a few yards from the cottage. Will looked at his watch. It was too early for Jack and Kitty, who were driving down from the Atlanta airport. He got up and went out onto the front porch.

Two men and a woman were getting out of a station wagon. Led by the shorter of the men, they walked up the gravel path to the cottage. The second man and the woman were carrying camera equipment. The short man, who seemed to be in his early twenties, reached the porch and stuck out his hand.

“Hi, I’m Tom Black, from Hank Taylor’s office,” he said.

Will shook his hand.

“Hello, I wasn’t expecting you until next week.”

“I wanted to get an early start,” Black said.

“This is Jim and Betty—they’re free-lancers out of Atlanta. I want to get some footage of you and how you live down here.”

“Well, sure. I guess it’s a good time for you to come.

My first two staffers will be here in an hour or so, so you can sit in on our very first campaign meeting.” “Good,” Black said.

“I’d like that.” He looked around him at the cottage and the lake.

“This is nice,” he said.

“It’ll look good on film. Can I see the inside of the house?” “Oh, sure, come in,” Will said.

“There’s coffee or tea, if you’d like.” He led the people into the cottage.

Jim and Betty immediately started shooting pictures, the man with a video camera, the woman with a 35mm flash camera. Black wandered into the kitchen and out again.

“I’m sorry it’s a bit messy,” Will said.

“No matter,” Black said, strolling into the bedroom.

“You mind if I take a look at your clothes?” Without waiting for an answer, he began pulling suits out of the closet and rummaging in the shirt drawers.

“Uh-huh,” he was muttering to himself. He came out of the bedroom and flopped down in an easy chair.

“I was just working on a campaign plan,” Will said, indicating the computer.

“We’ll talk about that later,” Black said, surreptitiously nodding at the two camera people.

“Have a seat at the computer; let’s get some shots of you working. Roll up your shirt sleeves, will you?” Will did as he was asked, while the photographers circled him.

“Jim, Betty, get some shots of the house from across the lake, will you?” Black asked. When they had gone, the young man went back to the easy chair.

Will looked him over. He had sandy hair and a smooth face and was dressed in a bush jacket and desert boots, like something out of a Banana Republic catalog. He couldn’t be more than twenty-five. Will thought. This was one of Hank Taylor’s best people?

Black seemed to read Will’s mind.

“Just so we’ll get off on the right foot,” he said, “I’m thirty-one; I know I don’t look it. I got my start in national politics with Jimmy Carter’s campaign in ‘76 as an advance man. I was nineteen.

In the ‘80 campaign I was in charge of all the advance people in the eastern half of the country. In between I was a press assistant in the White House. After Carter lost, I followed Hank into the political consultancy business, and since then I’ve done eleven campaigns and won eight.”

“Okay,” Will laughed, “so I underestimated you right off.”

“It’s an easy mistake to make.” Black smiled.

“In fact, it’s one of my chief weapons. I get quite a lot done by managing not to look like an important person. Who’s coming to this meeting today?”

“Jack Buchanan, who was chief legislative aide in Carr’s office, and Kitty Conroy, who was deputy press secretary.”

“I know about them both,” Black said.

“Anybody else?”

“My mother and father, and my Aunt Eloise. They’ve all had a lot of experience in political campaigns, and they want to help.”

“Good,” Black said.

“It’s good to have a lot of family around, especially since you aren’t married. You got a fiancee, maybe, or even just a girl?”

Will hesitated for a moment.

“No, neither,” he said.

“Nobody special. My job has taken up most of my time.”

“Uh-huh,” Black said noncommittally.

“How come you buy all your clothes in London?”

“My mother’s Irish, she and my father met during World War Two, and we still have her father’s house over there, so I’ve spent a lot of time on that side of the water. I’ve been going to my father’s tailor and shirt maker since I was in law school.”

“Uh-huh,” Black responded.

“Well, your old man has great taste in tailors, but that stuff won’t do for this campaign.”

“Why not?”

“Too slick. You’re back in Georgia now, not in Washington.

Side vents and bold shirts aren’t going to work.

There’s a guy named Ham Stockton in Atlanta has a men’s store.”

“I know Ham.”

“It’s just right. Not as square as Brooks Brothers, but nice, quiet stuff. I want you to go up there and get two each of suits in navy blue, dark blue pinstripes, and gray pinstripes, and two navy blazers, plain buttons. Get yourself a couple dozen white button-down shirts, no short sleeves. In hot weather, I like rolled-up sleeves. Get some regimental-stripe ties, lots of red. No bow ties, we’ll leave that to Paul Simon. Get yourself a couple pair Weejuns-penny loafers—and two pairs of black wingtips.”

“Wingtips?”

“I’m not kidding. They’re coming back, anyway. You’re going to be spending a lot of time on your feet, and you need heavy shoes with thick soles. I don’t want you crippled in the middle of the campaign.

Get a tan, single-breasted raincoat with a zip-out lining. It’s the only overcoat you’ll need, and it’ll keep you from looking like a banker. The Rolex watch you’re wearing is fine. A Swiss watch is all-American. You wear glasses?”

“No.”

“You object to wearing them for appearance’s sake?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. But if you find yourself going blind, check with me, and I’ll pick the frames. Very important. You need a haircut. Is your barber here or in Washington?”

“In Washington.”

“Call a guy in Atlanta named Ray Brewer, make an appointment, tell him I sent you. He’ll know what I want.