Sycamore Row - John Grisham

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.
For reasons no one would ever understand, Rufus Buckley felt compelled to say
something. He stood in the deathly silent courtroom and said, “Your Honor, if it please
the court, I must say this puts us at a distinct disadvantage.”
Judge Atlee looked at one of the remaining deputies, pointed at Buckley, and said,
“Take him too.”
“What?” Buckley gasped.
“I find you in contempt, Mr. Buckley. Please take him away.”
“But why, Your Honor?”
“Because you are contemptuous, along with presumptuous, disrespectful, arrogant,
and a lot of other things. Leave!”
They slapped the handcuffs on Rufus, who had turned pale and wild-eyed. He, Rufus
Buckley, former district attorney and symbol of the highest standards of law abidance,
morality, and ethical conduct, was being hauled away like a common criminal. Jake
fought the urge to applaud.