Southern Discomfort

A perky black teenage girl bounced forward when Cyl called her name. First speeding violation and it was only for sixty-seven in a fifty-five zone.

'What's this contempt of court about?' I asked when she pleaded guilty. 'How come you didn't go ahead and just pay the magistrate last night?'

'I might've mouthed off a little last night,' she admitted sheepishly. 'Might've said a bad word or two.'

Mischief danced in her brown eyes and she was so engaging I couldn't help smiling back.

Gwen Utley had been last night's magistrate. She could be very nice, even sympathetic, as long as people were polite to her, but she wouldn't take rudeness from God nor curses from the devil.

'Don't pay to use cuss words in front of some magistrates,' I said. 'Twenty dollars for two bad words, plus court costs.'

She laughed and scampered over to Phyllis.

Cyl DeGraffenried was not amused. 'Lines a hundred seven, eight, and nine,' she said stoically. 'Franklin Ottis Webb. Speeding seventy-five in a fifty-five zone, driving while impaired, driving while his license was revoked, resisting and obstructing a public officer, giving fictitious information to that officer.'

Zack Young got up from the lawyers' bench and ambled over to the defense table. 'Your Honor, I represent Mr. Webb,' he said. 'He's suffering from Hodgkin's disease and is under a doctor's care. I'd like to ask that his case be continued.'

'Your Honor,' Cyl said coldly, 'this is the third time Mr. Webb's case has been calendared. The state would like to move on this.'

Zack pulled a piece of paper from the stack of dog-eared manila folders he had piled on the table. 'I have here a doctor's certificate—'

'If he's well enough to drive and drink and then strong enough to get out and take a swing at Trooper Harrold—' Cyl began.

'Alleged, Your Honor,' said Zack.

I read over the papers both were waving at me. Perry Byrd had given the last continuance, but a Raleigh doctor had scribbled a statement that he was indeed treating Webb for Hodgkin's.

'What's the state asking, Ms. DeGraffenried? Do you want me to issue a warrant for his arrest?'

She didn't like having to back down. 'No, Your Honor. We just want a firm deadline.'

'You've got it,' I said. 'I'll hold this over two weeks, Mr. Young, till—' I glanced at Phyllis.

Without missing a beat, she murmured, 'Till July seventeenth.'

'—till July seventeenth,' I echoed. 'If he's not here on that date, you'd better bring me his death certificate or sure as the sun comes up that morning, I will issue a warrant.'

'Thank you, Your Honor,' Zack said. He gathered up his messy stack of folders and ambled on out.

Zack's only a few years older than me, but he plays the good ol' country lawyer like Andy Griffith playing Matlock.

We got through some possessions of marijuana with intent to sell and some possession of drug paraphernalia, sent a klepto over to Mental Health for evaluation, and listened to a light-skinned seventeen-year-old boy explain that he really hadn't stolen that car, he'd just borrowed it for a few hours and he meant to fill it back up with gas and he would've, too, if that patrolman hadn't picked him up when he did.

When his aunt came forward to pay his fine, I said, 'You know, ma'am, you can keep on bailing him out and paying his fines, but he's just going to keep on getting in trouble till you make him face up to things himself.'

The old woman looked at her nephew, then she looked me straight in the eye and said, 'You prob'ly right, Judge honey, but I love this child and I believe in him, and me and the Lord'll keep praying over him till we'll get him walking straight in the end. You'll see.'

What could I say? Don't call me 'Judge honey'?

It was 4:15. I ruled on a couple of motions and then recessed till the next morning.

And the evening and the morning were the first day.

CHAPTER 3

MATERIALS AND SCAFFOLDING

'As the working level on a structure rises above the reach of men standing on the ground, temporary elevated platforms called scaffolds are erected to support the craftsmen, their tools and materials.'

Wednesday was a holiday—Fourth of July picnic at the Jaycee Park, fireworks over the river. Thursday was a duplicate of Tuesday, and I figured that if all the odds and ends left over from the week's calendar could be heard by noon on Friday, it would give me at least half a day to fritter before I had to start toting barrels and lifting bales for Lu Bingham on Saturday.

Which is how I wound up at my brother Herman's on Thursday evening. *      *      *

Make an X.

Nip off one of the stabilizing legs and what's left?

You got it, sugar: a lopsided Y, perpetually off-balance.

Every once in a while when my friends and I are skirmishing through yet another battle of the sexes, we