see my client.”
“Who’s that?”
“Eddie Johnson.”
“Johnson, huh. Wait here.” He closed the window. Sally waited.
When the window opened again, she could see two men. One wore a correctional officer’s uniform. “You want to see Johnson?” he asked.
“That I do. I’m his attorney.”
“What’s your name?”
“Here.” She handed over the bar card and the window closed again. When it opened, the correctional officer handed the card back. “He says he doesn’t have an attorney.”
“His mother retained me. Look, I talked to the judge yesterday afternoon. He said I could see him today.”
“He didn’t tell anybody about it.”
“Lemme see him. He’ll straighten this out.”
“He isn’t here yet. Better catch him when he comes in.”
Sally took the card back. She knew better than to argue with such men. They had such minor status and power that when they could inflict a petty tyranny they seldom failed to do so. Moreover, she was an attorney championing a killer of their tribe member, and therefore, their enemy. Sally walked around the courthouse to the other side. Parking spaces were reserved by name or title. County Clerk, Sheriff A. Fernandez, Municipal Court Judge, Patricia Johnson, Judge of the Superior Court, A. Drury. Drury’s space was next to a blank door. The Judge would be inside within seconds. She didn’t want to miss him, so she waited next to the wall despite being baked in the hot morning sun as the minutes ticked away. Nine am came and went, then 9:15. Court convened at 10:00a.m. Damn! She would have so little time.
At 9:30, a dusty Buick pulled in, and Judge Drury got out.
Sally fell in step with him. “Your Honor.”
“Yes.” He kept walking.
“I saw you yesterday about seeing Johnson.”
“I remember. What’s the problem?”
“I need your authorization.”
“Come on.”
He led her through the courtroom. It was empty except for the Court Reporter and a Bailiff in the uniform of a deputy sheriff. The Judge told the Bailiff to take Miss Goldberg to the holding cells and let her see Mr Johnson until the court call.
The Bailiff led her down a narrow, windowless corridor behind the courtrooms. The corridor ended at a gate of bars, beyond which the floor was concrete and the walls were barred cages called bull-pens.
Instead of opening the gate, the Bailiff banged on the bars with a heavy key. From the other end, a deputy stuck out his head and waved. A moment later the deputy and two prison guards appeared with Eddie in handcuffs between them. Sally noticed that he did not affect the ghetto swagger common to most young blacks. He walked as erect as a West Point cadet. The deputy unlocked a cell and entered. A minute later, he motioned the Bailiff to bring Sally.
Eddie had one hand cuffed to the chair across the table.
“Okay,” said a prison guard. “No touching and no passing anything across the table. If you have to exchange papers, hold them up so the officer can make sure nothing is hidden within. Got it?”
“I know the drill,” Sally said.
“Then have a seat. You break it off when they call for Court.”
Sally sat down across from Eddie. The gate was locked and a deputy stood outside where he could watch but not hear what was being said.
“They said my mother sent you,” he said.
“Yes, she called us.”
“Did you take money from her?”
“No, of course not. I’m here because Huey Newton asked us to look into it.”
“I don’t know him except from the newspapers. Why would –”
“Because you’re on the same side. We’re all on the same side.
We
want some serious changes in America.”
“I don’t remember your name in Huey’s case.”
“Charley Kelly handled the courtroom work. He’s my partner. Here –” she held up a business card scissored between fore and index fingers. The guard at the gate nodded and she handed it over. Eddie looked it over. “Kelly, Romney and Goldberg.”
“I’m Goldberg. We’ve got a
“Who’s that?”
“Eddie Johnson.”
“Johnson, huh. Wait here.” He closed the window. Sally waited.
When the window opened again, she could see two men. One wore a correctional officer’s uniform. “You want to see Johnson?” he asked.
“That I do. I’m his attorney.”
“What’s your name?”
“Here.” She handed over the bar card and the window closed again. When it opened, the correctional officer handed the card back. “He says he doesn’t have an attorney.”
“His mother retained me. Look, I talked to the judge yesterday afternoon. He said I could see him today.”
“He didn’t tell anybody about it.”
“Lemme see him. He’ll straighten this out.”
“He isn’t here yet. Better catch him when he comes in.”
Sally took the card back. She knew better than to argue with such men. They had such minor status and power that when they could inflict a petty tyranny they seldom failed to do so. Moreover, she was an attorney championing a killer of their tribe member, and therefore, their enemy. Sally walked around the courthouse to the other side. Parking spaces were reserved by name or title. County Clerk, Sheriff A. Fernandez, Municipal Court Judge, Patricia Johnson, Judge of the Superior Court, A. Drury. Drury’s space was next to a blank door. The Judge would be inside within seconds. She didn’t want to miss him, so she waited next to the wall despite being baked in the hot morning sun as the minutes ticked away. Nine am came and went, then 9:15. Court convened at 10:00a.m. Damn! She would have so little time.
At 9:30, a dusty Buick pulled in, and Judge Drury got out.
Sally fell in step with him. “Your Honor.”
“Yes.” He kept walking.
“I saw you yesterday about seeing Johnson.”
“I remember. What’s the problem?”
“I need your authorization.”
“Come on.”
He led her through the courtroom. It was empty except for the Court Reporter and a Bailiff in the uniform of a deputy sheriff. The Judge told the Bailiff to take Miss Goldberg to the holding cells and let her see Mr Johnson until the court call.
The Bailiff led her down a narrow, windowless corridor behind the courtrooms. The corridor ended at a gate of bars, beyond which the floor was concrete and the walls were barred cages called bull-pens.
Instead of opening the gate, the Bailiff banged on the bars with a heavy key. From the other end, a deputy stuck out his head and waved. A moment later the deputy and two prison guards appeared with Eddie in handcuffs between them. Sally noticed that he did not affect the ghetto swagger common to most young blacks. He walked as erect as a West Point cadet. The deputy unlocked a cell and entered. A minute later, he motioned the Bailiff to bring Sally.
Eddie had one hand cuffed to the chair across the table.
“Okay,” said a prison guard. “No touching and no passing anything across the table. If you have to exchange papers, hold them up so the officer can make sure nothing is hidden within. Got it?”
“I know the drill,” Sally said.
“Then have a seat. You break it off when they call for Court.”
Sally sat down across from Eddie. The gate was locked and a deputy stood outside where he could watch but not hear what was being said.
“They said my mother sent you,” he said.
“Yes, she called us.”
“Did you take money from her?”
“No, of course not. I’m here because Huey Newton asked us to look into it.”
“I don’t know him except from the newspapers. Why would –”
“Because you’re on the same side. We’re all on the same side.
We
want some serious changes in America.”
“I don’t remember your name in Huey’s case.”
“Charley Kelly handled the courtroom work. He’s my partner. Here –” she held up a business card scissored between fore and index fingers. The guard at the gate nodded and she handed it over. Eddie looked it over. “Kelly, Romney and Goldberg.”
“I’m Goldberg. We’ve got a
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