Harvey Black crept up to Leland and whispered into his ear.
Leland asked for permission to approach the bench.
A short discussion of heated whispers, the lawyers returned to their seats.
The judge told me to go back to my seat.
Olley Stokes immediately motioned for dismissal.
Judge Winlong shot a long, ill-tempered look at Leland, dropped his gavel and dismissed the case. The boys were free to leave.
There were whoops and hollers and pats on the back. The judge's call for order was ignored. There was a general push of spectators to empty the hot courtroom as quickly as possible.
"What the hell just happened," Heck asked Leland. "I can't believe that Leah's testimony . . ."
"It wasn't that, Heck," Leland said. "Our two star witnesses failed to show. Clancy, or one of his men, got to George. He's hopped a train to who knows where. Able Powell's dead."
"Dead!" said Heck. "Clancy got to him too?"
"Poisoned," Leland said flatly.
"Murder!" said Heck.
"No. Bad hooch. Able had a few friends over for a card game last night. Drank way too much. Nerves, probably. He's in a coma. Docs don't give him much hope."
Leland patted Heck's shoulder.
"Sorry, Honcho," he said. "Win some. Lose some."
YOU ARE READING
Five Miles to Paradise
Historical FictionEvil lives in the back woods and swamps of the Deep South. From the dark corner of a decadent plantation mansion to the soggy decay of a one-room swamp shack, it breeds and festers, grows and blooms. It lies in the recesses of small town ignorance a...
