nigger, sheriff? Or you gonna believe three white men?”
The sheriff dropped his cigarette and stepped on it. He then walked over to BJ and took off his sunglasses. Looking directly into BJ’s eyes, he said, “Officer Dooley, if any one of these three fools moves, shoot ‘em all.”
“You got it sheriff.”
“Turn around, son. I’m going to cuff you up.”
BJ started screaming. “You gonna believe a bunch of niggers over me? What kind of county is….”
Before BJ could finish the sentence, the sheriff, with lightning speed, holstered his big pistol and put two inches of the barrel in BJ’s mouth. No white man had ever pointed a gun at him before.
“You’re allpowered right I am. I ain’t your normal redneck sheriff. I sorta think the law should apply the same to everybody. We don’t cotton to no outsiders coming in here and stirring up trouble. Now, you gonna cooperate? Or am I gonna bust your head open with this pistol like you did that boy’s? You decide.”
BJ held up his hands like he was surrendering and the sheriff reholstered his pistol. BJ turned around and the sheriff put on cuffs behind BJ’s back. “Get down on your belly there and wait for these other two.”
Hatred filled BJ’s eyes but he did as he was told. The sheriff did the same with Wallace and Luke. By that time the ambulance was heard in the distance. The sheriff turned to Shotgun, “Luther, you get these children to the hospital. I’ll take these crackers in and lock them up. All right?”
Shotgun looked at the sheriff. The intensity in his eyes was frightening but he finally let out a sigh and said, “All right, sheriff.”
The sheriff stepped toward Luther and said in a kind voice, “I know it’s hard. I promise you – I’ll take care of this.”
Luther nodded. “I know you will, sherrif.”
“Dooley, let’s take these fools in.”
The three were put in the back of the patrol car while the injured teenagers were put in the ambulance. When the patrol car rolled into the small town, the sheriff turned and spoke to them.
“You boys made a big mistake. I don’t stand for that kind of cracker hijinks in my county.”
BJ decided to keep his mouth shut. This sheriff was obviously a nigger lover. He looked at Wallace and saw he was scared. His one good eye was darting back and forth like a trapped animal and the strong smell of urine filled the car. Luke was crying.
There were already people standing around waiting to see who the sheriff arrested. The patrol car parked in front of the jail and Officer Dooley and the sheriff got out. The sheriff opened the door where BJ sat and Dooley opened the other one. The sheriff knew that if there was trouble, it was comming from BJ Walker.
When Dooley and the sheriff got the three men out of the patrol car, the sheriff led them through the door to the jailhouse. He put BJ in a cell by himself and Luke and Wallace in the other cell.
Dooley locked the doors with a key from a steel ring the circumference of a basketball and said, “You boys just cool your heels. We’ll get you something to eat in about an hour.”
BJ suddenly reached out for Dooley through the bars. Dooley stepped back and put his right hand on his pistol. “What do you think you’re doing, fool?”
“What are you doing taking sides against white men? What kind of a man are you?”
“I’m a man who does my job. And Sheriff Rawlins is right. Everybody in this county tries to get along. And we don’t need no trouble from redneck s like you. Ya’ll made a big mistake bringing that cracker garbage around here.”
Three days later, they were brought before a circuit judge. They each had handcuffs on as Dooley and Sheriff Rawlins led them in the court and made them remain standing until the judge told them to sit. There was a man in solid red pants and a red madras sports jacket seated at the table next to them. He had a white shirt and a wide bright red tie. He had Elvis Presley hair and a toothpick in his mouth.
“Morning, boys,” he said in a thick Mississippi accent. “I’m Holley Watkins, appointed by this here court to be your attorney. So, ya’ll just keep your mouths shut and let me do the talking.”
Before BJ could answer him, the bailiff said, “All rise for the honorable Judge Mason LaBrie of the seventh circuit court of the great state of Mississippi.” Mississippi was pronounced Miss-sipp.
The judge brought the gavel crashing down and yelled, “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Everyone in the court sat and the bailiff read the charges and said, “You three boys stand up.” The sheriff and Dooley stood up and pulled the three accused to their feet. Lawyer Watkins also stood, toothpick poised and hair in place.
The judge, a slender man with white hair, said, “Luke Johnson, Wallace Killibrew, and BJ Walker of Biloxi, Mississippi, you are hereby charged with assault with a deadly weapon, battery, unlawful detainment, and attempted rape of a minor. How do you plead?”
Lawyer Watkins leaned over and whispered, “I assume you crackers want to plead not guilty. Right?”
BJ spat back, “What kind of crazy court is this? How can you hold…”
Before BJ could finish his sentence, Lawyer Watkins said, “Not guilty, your honor.” After that, he leaned back over to BJ and hissed, “Shut your ugly mouth less’n I ask you a question.”
The judge said, “Very well. Is the prosecution ready to proceed?”
For the first time, BJ noticed a Black man immaculately dressed in a tan suit sitting at the next table. The Black man stood up and said, “We are, your honor.”
BJ couldn’t contain himself. He shot up and yelled, “A nigger lawyer? You got a nigger lawyer here?”
The judge slammed down his gavel, leaned over his bench, and pointed his finger at BJ. “One more outburst like that, Mr. Walker, and I will have you in chains and gagged with a dirty sock. Do you understand?”
The prosecuting attorney continued. “Your honor, we would like to call as our first witness Mrs. Ruth McCallum.”
A Black woman stood and came forward. BJ looked behind him and saw the three men who had rifles pointed at him and the two teenagers they saw walking down the road. The boy had a white bandage wrapped around his head and the girl, when BJ looked at her, turned and buried her head in a Black woman’s arm.
From the beginning, BJ knew he was doomed. The prosecuting attorney brought one witness after another to testify about what they saw. Lawyer Watkins never asked one question, nor uttered so much as a how-dee-do.
Finally, the prosecution rested, and it was time for the defense to state its case. Lawyer Watkins stood up, took out his toothpick and put it on the table.
“Your honor, and ladies and gentlemen occupying this here courtroom, I ain’t going to stand here and tell you my clients didn’t do all the things they are accused of, because they did. They whacked young Johnny Rose on the back of his head with a baseball bat for no other reason than he was Black. They were fixing to
