Buckley, ever eager to stand and be heard, bounced to his feet and said, “That’s correct, Your Honor. I—”

“And after that it appears as though you and your associated counsel filed a boatload of motions, all to be considered here today. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Honor, and I would like to—”

“Excuse me. And Mr. Brigance has filed a motion objecting to your entry into this case based on your lack of experience, skill, and knowledge in these matters, correct?”

“A completely frivolous objection, Your Honor, as you can plainly see. A lawyer in this state is not required to—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Buckley. You filed your notice of entry, Mr. Brigance objected, and so that means I need to rule on his objection. I have not yet done so, and until then you are not properly recognized as an attorney of record in this matter. Follow me?”

“Your Honor, Mr. Brigance’s objection is so frivolous it deserves to be sanctioned. In fact, I am in the process of preparing a demand for sanctions.”

“Don’t waste your time, Mr. Buckley. Sit down and listen to me.” He waited until Buckley sat down. Judge Atlee’s dark eyes narrowed and the deep wrinkles in his forehead grew tighter. He never lost his cool but he could show a flash of anger that frightened every lawyer within fifty yards. “You are not properly before this court, Mr. Buckley, so neither are you, Mr. Sistrunk, nor you, Mr. Bost. However, you have assumed control of my courtroom by taking your positions. You are not the lawyers for this estate. Mr. Brigance is, duly and officially ordered by me. You may one day become the attorneys for the proponents of this will, but you’re not there yet.” His words were slow, pointed, harsh, and quite easy to follow. They echoed around the courtroom and had the complete attention of everyone who heard them.

Jake couldn’t suppress a smile. He had no idea his frivolous, obnoxious, even sophomoric objection to Buckley’s entry would prove to be so useful.

Judge Atlee went on at full throttle. “You’re not officially here, Mr. Buckley. Why have you assumed such a position of authority?”

“Well, Your Honor—”

“Please stand when you address the court!”

Buckley lurched upward, cracking a knee on the table ledge as he struggled for some dignity. “Well, Your Honor, I’ve never seen a case in which a duly licensed lawyer had his appearance objected to on such baseless grounds, and so I figured you would dispense with it on sight and we could proceed to much more pressing matters.”

“You figured wrong, Mr. Buckley, and you assumed you and your Memphis co-counsel could march in here and take control of the proponents’ case. I resent that.”

“Well, Chancellor, I assure the court—”

“Sit down, Mr. Buckley. Gather your things and have a seat over here in the jury box.” Judge Atlee was pointing a long bony finger in Jake’s general direction. Buckley didn’t move. His co-counsel, however, did.

Booker Sistrunk stood, spread his hands wide, and said in his deep, rich, booming voice, “Your Honor, if it please the court, I must say this is rather absurd. This is a routine matter that we can certainly dispose of in short shrift. It does not need this type of overreaction. We’re all reasonable people here, all trying to pursue justice. May I suggest we confront the initial question of Mr. Buckley’s right to enter this case as local counsel? Surely Your Honor can see that the objection filed by young Mr. Brigance here has no merit and should be summarily overruled. You can see this, Judge, right?”

Judge Atlee said nothing and gave nothing away with his eyes. After a few, heavy seconds, he looked down at a clerk and said, “See if Sheriff Walls is in the courthouse.”

That directive might have frightened Rufus Buckley, and it might have amused Jake and the lawyers on the other side, but it angered Booker Sistrunk. He stiffened his spine and said, “Your Honor, I have the right to speak.”

“Not yet, you don’t. Please sit down, Mr. Sistrunk.”

“I object to your tone, Your Honor. I represent the beneficiary of this will, Ms. Lettie Lang, and I have the duty to protect her interests at every turn.”

“Sit down, Mr. Sistrunk.”

“I will not be silenced, Your Honor. Not too many years ago, lawyers like me were not allowed to speak in this very courtroom. For years they could not enter, and once inside they were not allowed to speak.”

“Sit down before I hold you in contempt.”

“Don’t threaten me, Judge,” Sistrunk said as he stepped from behind the table. “I have the right to speak, to advocate for my client, and I will not be silenced by some arcane technicality in your rules of procedure.”

“Sit down before I hold you in contempt.”

Sistrunk took another step forward as the lawyers and everyone else stared in disbelief. “I will not sit down,” he snapped angrily, and Jake thought he was losing his mind. “This is the very reason I filed a motion asking you to recuse yourself. It’s obvious to me and many others that you have a racial bias in this case and there’s no way my client can get a fair trial. This is also the reason we filed a motion demanding a change of venue. Finding an impartial jury in this, this town here, well, it will be impossible. Justice demands that this trial be held in another courtroom in front of another judge.”

“You’re in contempt, Mr. Sistrunk.”

“I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes to fight for my client, and if I have to go to federal court to make sure we get a fair trial, then that’s what I’m willing to do. I’ll file a federal lawsuit against anybody who gets in my way.” Two courtroom deputies were slowly making their way toward Sistrunk. Suddenly, he spun and pointed a finger at one. “Don’t touch me unless you want to be named in a federal lawsuit. Stay away!”

“Where is Sheriff Walls?” Judge Atlee asked.

A clerk nodded and said, “Here.” Ozzie was coming through the door. He stormed down the aisle with Deputy Willie Hastings behind him. Judge Atlee rapped his gavel and said, “Mr. Sistrunk, I find you in contempt and order you into the custody of the Ford County sheriff. Sheriff Walls, please take him away.”

“You can’t do this!” Sistrunk yelled. “I’m a duly licensed lawyer, admitted to practice before the U.S. Supreme Court. I’m here on behalf of my client. I’m here with local counsel. You can’t do this, Your Honor. This is discriminatory and highly prejudicial to my client.” By then, Ozzie was within striking distance, and ready to pounce if necessary. He was also three inches taller, ten years younger, thirty pounds heavier, armed, and the look on his face left little doubt he would enjoy a good rumble in front of the home crowd. He grabbed Sistrunk’s elbow, and for a brief second there was resistance. Ozzie squeezed and said, “Hands behind your back.”

At that point, Booker Sistrunk was exactly where he wanted to be. With a fine effort at drama, he lowered his head, swung his hands behind his back, and suffered the indignity of being arrested. He looked at Kendrick Bost. Some of those nearby would later claim they saw a nasty little grin; others did not. Surrounded by deputies, Sistrunk was jostled through the bar and down the aisle. As he passed near Lettie, he said loudly, “I’ll get ’em, Lettie. Don’t you worry. These racists will never get your money. Just trust me.” They shoved him farther down the aisle and out the doors.