Page 21 of The Devil's Advocate

Harry and I followed on her heels.

Outside, the sun had somehow gotten stronger, I felt the back of my neck start to sweat.

‘Goddamn piece of shit,’ said Sandy, and kicked the rear panel of her car. It left a dent and sent chips of rust into the air like confetti.

‘Harry, there’s no way that tow truck is coming all the way out here,’ I said.

I walked toward the rusting car, saw that it had a Volkswagen badge on the back. The bodywork may be shot but a VW engine will keep going until doomsday.

‘Hey, Sandy. Sorry about that,’ I said.

Shielding her eyes from the sun, Sandy said, ‘Oh, it’s not your fault. Gus has been looking for an excuse to get rid of me for weeks. Maybe it’s for the best.’

‘Say, we need a car. You need money. How much do you want for this … automobile?’

‘A thousand dollars,’ she said, faster than I expected.

‘It would cost two-fifty to junk it. What do you say to four hundred?’

‘Five and it’s yours,’ she said, dangling the keys. Any misconceptions I’d had about rural folk in the South being slow was quickly disappearing. If I didn’t close the deal now, I had a feeling I would end up losing my shirt.

I counted five one hundred-dollar bills, put them in Sandy’s palm and took the keys.

‘What model of Volkswagen is this?’ I asked.

Sandy was already ten feet away, but she turned and smiled and said, ‘It’s not a VW. It’s got a nice VWbadge. I don’t rightly know what kind it is. But good luck to you.’

Harry snatched the keys, got into the car and started it up. It started just fine. Then a loud bang came from the engine, followed by smoke, but it was still running.

‘I need a break from this town. I’ll go get us some food and two tires for the mule. What are you going to do?’ he asked.

I looked down the street toward the Sheriff’s Department.

‘I’m going to talk to our client,’ I said.

CHAPTER NINE

EDDIE

Berlin had told me Andy was being held in the county lock-up. This is not the norm, even for Alabama. Once the defendant has been charged and brought to court, and bail denied, they head for the state penitentiary like everyone else, to await trial.

Except Andy.

The county lock-up was in the Sheriff’s Department headquarters and wasn’t much more than a cage. No exercise yard. Little or no sunlight. Surrounded by drunks, junkies and the cops who were trying to get Andy executed.

This couldn’t have been worse for him. I tried to think of why Andy would’ve been denied due process, and why his former lawyer, Cody Warren, hadn’t managed to move him out of there.

Then I remembered the warm welcome Harry and I were receiving and didn’t much wonder after that. Berlin had warned me to be careful. As I walked toward the Sheriff’s Department building, I took out my phone, typed the name of the town into the search bar and hit enter. The first dozen news articles didn’t make good reading. They were all about a bomb that had failed to detonate in a gospel hall on the edge of town about a year ago. It was an African American church mostly, although like in all good churches, everyone was welcome no matter the color of their skin. The reverend found the device one Sunday morning under a stack of Bibles and magazines at the back of the church.

Someone upstairs was looking after that church, but it put a bad taste in my mouth. So far, the inhabitants of Buckstown that I’d seen on the street were all white. I didn’t hold out much hope for an impartial jury. The rest of the articles were on the convictions of various individuals, and their death sentences. I put the phone away and wiped a layer of sweat off my forehead.

I passed a small law office with the name ‘Cody Warren’ on the shingle outside. There was a middle-aged lady sitting behind a desk in the window. I decided I would pay a visit on the way back. First, I needed to talk to Andy Dubois.

A small set of steps led up to the public entrance to the Sheriff’s Office. Inside, it was a welcome respite from the sun, but not much cooler. Two large desk fans blew at the enquiry desk, but none were pointed at the public area. A thin deputy with a fat red moustache stood behind a tall enquiry desk, the fans trained on his face. His name badge said his name was Leonard. Although he was slim, his arms and chest bulged in all the right places. The moustache helped soften a cruel mouth.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ he asked, politely, the moustache smiling.

‘My name is Eddie Flynn. I’m a lawyer, here to see Andy Dubois.’