Lay Down My Sword and Shield (Hackberry Holland 1)

She remained immobile in the light.

“I’d like to meet some of the people in your union,” I said.

“What for?”

“Because I don’t know anybody in this town and I might need a little help.”

“There’s nothing we can do for you.”

“Why don’t you give me a chance to see?”

“You’re wasting your time, man.”

“I’d like to see Art out in the next light-year, and from what I understand so far I can’t expect any help from his lawyer, the court, or the clerk of records. So I can either wander around town a few more days and talk with people like the deputy in there or cowboys in the beer joint, or I can meet someone who’ll tell me what happened on that picket line.”

“We told what happened.”

“You told it in a local trial court that was prejudiced. I’m going to take the case to the Court of Criminal Appeals in Austin.”

“What’s your thing with Art?”

“We were in Korea together.”

“You can’t do any good for him. The A.C.L.U. has had our cases in Austin before.”

“Maybe I’m a better lawyer,” I said.

“Believe it, man, you’ve got a bum trip in mind.”

“I believe in the banzai ethic. At least I’ll leave a dark burn across the sky when I go down.”

&nbs

p; “You ought to find a better way to pay back army debts.”

“I was a Navy corpsman, and I paid off all my debts before I was discharged.”

She turned back into the light to walk outside.

“Do you want a ride?” I said.

“I’ll walk.”

“You don’t want to miss a good experience with the most arrested driver in Texas. Besides, I need some directions.”

“Stay away from our union headquarters if you want to help Art.”

“I don’t expect that we’ll all end up in the penitentiary if I drive you home.”

We walked down the courthouse sidewalk under the shade of the oak trees to my automobile. The sun had risen high in the sky, and the tar surfacing on the street was hot and soft under our feet. The heat shimmered off the concrete walk in front of the hotel.

We drove into the Negro and Mexican section back of town. The dirt roads were baked hard as rock, and clouds of dust swept up behind my car. The unpainted wood shacks were pushed into one another at odd angles, the ditches strewn with garbage, and the outhouses were built of discarded boards, R.C. Cola signs, and tar paper.

“I have to see Art’s lawyer after I drop you off, but I’ll come back a little later,” I said.

“I thought you didn’t expect any help from him.”

“I don’t, but maybe I can use inadequate defense as a reason for appeal.”