Hard Row

10

HARD ROW

I could have increased the bail, but it was moot. He

wasn’t going to have an opportunity to hassle his ex

before Luther Parker saw him next week. Not if I had

anything to say about it.

“Ten days active time,” I told Braswell. “Bailiff, you

will take the prisoner in custody.”

“Now, wait just a damn minute here!” he cried; but

before he could resist, the bailiff and a uniformed offi-

cer had him in a strong-arm grip and marched him out

the door that would lead to the jail.

Macedo stood beside his attorney and his face was

impassive as he waited for me to pass judgment. I found

him guilty of misdemeanor assault and because he’d al-

ready sat in jail for eleven days, I reduced his sentence

to time served and no fine, just court costs.

He showed no emotion as the translator repeated my

remarks in Spanish, but his sister’s smile was radiant.

“Gracias,” she whispered to me as they headed out to

the back hall to pay the clerk.

“De nada,” I told her.

“State versus Rasheed King,” said Julie Walsh, calling

her next case. “Misdemeanor assault with a vehicle.”

A pugnacious young black man came to stand next to

his lawyer at the defendant’s table.

“How do you plead?”

“Hey, his truck bumped me first, Judge.”

“Sorry, Your Honor,” said his attorney.

“You’ll get a chance to tell your story, Mr. King,” I

said, “but for our records, are you pleading guilty or

not guilty?”

“Not guilty, ma’am.”

It was going to be one of those days.

11

C H A P T E R

2

It should be borne in mind that “home” is not merely a

place of shelter from the storms and cold of winter and the

heat of summer—a place in which to sleep securely at night

and labor by day. It is a place where the children receive

their first and most lasting impressions, those that go far in

molding and forming the character of the man and woman

in after life.

—Profitable Farming in the Southern States, 1890

% The year had turned and days were supposed to

be getting longer. Nevertheless, it was full dark

before I got home.

When things are normal, Dwight’s work day begins an

hour earlier than mine and ends an hour sooner, which