“How are things at the jail?” John asked.
“Fine,” Pete said, stone-faced. “I’ve seen worse.”
“I hear you’re pretty much running things over there.”
A slight grin, nothing more. “Nix made me a trusty, so I’m not always confined.”
Russell smiled and said, “I hear the prisoners are getting fat, thanks to Florry.”
“The food has improved,” Pete said as he reached for a cigarette.
John and Russell exchanged glances. Russell got busy lighting his own cigarette, leaving John alone with the unpleasant business. He cleared his throat and said, “Yes, well, look, Pete, we’ve never had a conversation about attorneys’ fees. Our firm is putting in a lot of hours. The trial is three weeks away and between now and then we’ll work on little else. We need to get paid, Pete.”
Pete shrugged and asked, “Have you ever sent me a bill that didn’t get paid?”
“No, but then you’ve never been charged with murder.”
“How much are you talking about?”
“We need $5,000, Pete, and that’s on the low side.”
He filled his lungs, exhaled a cloud, looked at the ceiling. “I’d hate to see the high side. Why is it so expensive?”
Russell decided to enter the ring. “Hours, Pete, hours and hours. Time is all we have to sell, and we’re not making money here. Your family’s been with this firm forever, we’re old friends, and we are here to protect you. But we have office expenses and bills to pay too.”
Pete flicked his ashes into a tray and took a quick puff. He wasn’t angry or surprised. His expressions conveyed nothing. Finally, he said, “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”
Well, what you can do is write us a damned check, John wanted to say, but let it go. The issue had been addressed and Pete would not forget it. They would discuss it later.
Russell reached for some papers and said, “We have some stuff for you to read, Pete. They’re preliminary motions for your trial, and before we file them you need to read them and sign off.”
Pete took the papers, and after glancing at them said, “There’s a lot of stuff here. Why don’t you just summarize, preferably in layman’s terms?”
John smiled and nodded and took the lead. “Sure, Pete. The first motion is a request to the court to change the venue of the trial, move it somewhere else, as far away as possible. We’ve come to believe that public sentiment is fairly strong against you, and we know it will be difficult to find sympathetic jurors.”
“Where do you want the trial?”
“The judge has complete discretion in that matter, according to the case law. Knowing Judge Oswalt, he’ll want to retain control over the trial without having to travel too far. So, if he grants our motion, which, by the way, Pete, is a long shot on a good day, he’ll probably keep it somewhere in this judicial district. We’ll argue to the contrary, but, frankly, any place will be better than here.”
“And why do you believe that?”
“Because Dexter Bell was a popular preacher with a large congregation, and there are eight other Methodist churches in this county. In numbers, it’s the second-largest denomination behind the Baptists, which present another problem. Baptists and Methodists are first cousins, Pete, and they often stick together on tough issues. Politics, whiskey, school boards. You can always count on those two clans to march to the same drum.”
“I know that. But I’m a Methodist too.”
“Right, and you have some supporters, old friends and such. But most people view you as a cold-blooded murderer. I’m not sure you realize that. The people in this county think of Pete Banning as a war hero who, for reasons known only to himself, walked into the church and murdered an unarmed preacher.”
Russell added for emphasis, “Pete, you don’t have a dog’s chance in hell.”
Pete shrugged as if that was okay with him. He did what he had to do; damn the consequences. He took a long drag as smoke swirled around the room. “What makes you think things will be different in another county?”
John asked, “Do you know the preachers at the Methodist churches in Polk, Tyler, or Milburn Counties? Of course not. Those counties are right next door yet we know very few folks who live there. They will know neither you nor Dexter Bell personally.”
Russell said, “We’re trying to avoid the personal relationships, Pete. I’m sure a lot of those folks have read the newspapers, but they’ve never met you or Dexter Bell. Without the personal knowledge, we stand a better chance of getting by the raw feelings and planting doubt.”
“Doubt? Tell me about this doubt,” Pete said, gently surprised.
“We’ll get to that in a minute,” John said. “Do you agree that we need to ask for a change of venue?”
“No. If I have to do it, I want my trial to be right here.”
“Oh, you have to, Pete. The only way to avoid a trial is to plead guilty.”
“Are you asking me to plead guilty?”
“No.”
“Good, because I’m not, and I will not ask for a change of venue. This is my home, always has been, same for my ancestors, and if the people of Ford County want to convict me, then it’ll happen across the street in the courthouse.”
John and Russell looked at each other in frustration. Pete laid the papers on the coffee table without having read the first word. He lit another cigarette, casually crossed his legs as if he had all the time in the world, and looked at John as if to say, “What’s next?”
John took his copy of the brief and dropped it loudly on the coffee table. “Well, there goes a month of fine legal research and writing.”
Pete replied, “And I guess I’m supposed to pay for that. If you’d asked me up front I could’ve saved you all that work. No wonder your fees are so high.”
John seethed as Russell fumed and Pete puffed away. After a pause, Pete continued, “Look, boys, I don’t mind paying legal fees, especially since I’m in a jam like this, but $5,000? I mean, I farm almost a thousand acres that require backbreaking work for eight months by thirty field hands, and if I’m lucky and the weather cooperates and the spot price stays high and the fertilizer works and the boll weevils stay away and enough labor shows up to pick, then every three or four years I get a decent crop and maybe I’ll clear, after all bills, $20,000. Half goes to Florry. That leaves me with ten and you want half of that.”
“Your numbers are low,” John said without hesitation. His family raised more cotton than the Bannings. “Our cousin had a very good crop and so did you.”