Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(99)

Tom started to turn back around when he noticed movement coming from the back of the tent. Two men were walking underneath. One was a lanky teenager whom Tom remembered from the trial. Next to the teen, another man held two crutches and propelled himself forward, his forehead gleaming with sweat from the effort it had taken in climbing the hill.

Without thinking, Tom rose and walked toward the man. “You OK?” Tom whispered.

Bocephus Aurulius Haynes gave a weary smile and winked at Tom. “Never better.”

“At this time,” the preacher bellowed from the front of the tent, “one of Mr. Pickalew’s friends would like to say a few words.” He paused. “Mr. Haynes . . .”

“Let me past now, Professor,” Bo said, and placed the crutches out in front of him, gracefully maneuvering the final ten feet to the front of the tent. T. J. walked with him and took the crutches from Bo, while Tom stayed glued to his spot in the back of the tent. He couldn’t believe Bo had made it. His kneecap was basically permanently ruined from the force of the shotgun blast, and the second shot had broken his collarbone. But despite his obvious pain, Bo was here.

“Thank you, Reverend,” Bo said. Tom noticed that everyone under the tent was now standing. Bo cleared his throat. “Ray Ray Pickalew was not my friend. He . . . was a flawed man and did some bad things in his life. But . . . I owe this man something, and I wasn’t able to tell him before he died, so I’ll tell him now.” Bo paused. “I spent forty-five years of my life chasing the truth behind something I saw when I was a little boy. Ray Ray, for all his warts, told that truth. If Ray Ray Pickalew hadn’t have come forward with the truth when he did, I probably would be in jail. Then if that weren’t enough, he took two bullets meant for me. But for Ray Ray Pickalew I’d either be in a jail cell for a crime I didn’t commit . . . or I’d be in this coffin.” Bo paused and looked at the casket, placing a hand on top of it. T. J. grabbed him under his other arm to keep him from falling.

“Thank you, Ray . . . Ray,” Bo said, his voice trembling with emotion. “Thank you.”



They said their good-byes at the Saturn. Bo gave Rick a bear hug and gripped him around the neck.

“You’re still my believer, kid,” Bo said. “My believer.”

“You know it, dog,” Rick managed, wiping tears from his eyes as they both laughed.

After shaking Bo’s hand, Rick climbed into the car and turned on the ignition.

As the Saturn coughed to life, Bo, using the hood of the car as a prop, walked around the vehicle to Tom. The two men gazed at each other for several seconds before Bo leaned in and gave Tom a hug. “You saved my life, Professor,” Bo said.

“You saved mine last year,” Tom said, feeling the heat behind his eyes. “I think we’re even now.”

For a moment neither man spoke. Then Tom put his hand on Bo’s forearm. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. The shoulder is still a little sore, and I’m probably going to be walking with a slight limp the rest of my life. But—”

“That’s not what I mean, Bo. Are you . . . all right? I mean—”

“I know what you mean,” Bo said, gazing off at the cemetery. The sun had begun its descent in the west, framing the graveyard with an orangish-red hue. “Truth?” Bo asked.

Tom nodded. “Truth.”

“Truth is I don’t know,” Bo said. “I’m”—he sighed and shook his head—“a little messed up by it all.”

“How are things with Jazz?”

Again, Bo sighed. “Complicated,” he said.

“She loves you, Bo. You know that.”

Bo nodded. “I know. There’s just . . . a lot of water under the bridge.”

“What about . . . what you learned about your father? Have you come to grips with that?”

Bo blinked his eyes and looked at the pavement as T. J. pulled the Sequoia to a stop next to them. “Ready, Dad?”

“Yeah, son.”

Then, turning to Tom, he shook his head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever come to grips with that, Professor. It’s just . . . impossible to really comprehend. But I’ll . . . tell . . . you this.” His voice now shook with emotion. “Since I was in law school, there’s only been one man in my life that I’ve looked to as a father.” Bo paused, the tears now flowing down his dark cheeks. “I named my boy after him.”

Not knowing what to say and feeling his own eyes growing wet, Tom turned his eyes to the young man behind the wheel of the Sequoia and nodded. Thomas Jackson “T. J.” Haynes smiled and nodded back.

“You finished it, Bo,” Tom said, turning and embracing his friend. “You finished it.”

Tom opened the door to Rick’s Saturn and climbed inside. He rolled the window down and yelled up at Bo, who had grabbed his crutches and taken a few steps backward. “So when are you going back to work?”

Bocephus Haynes smiled. “Tomorrow, dog.”

“Tomorrow?” Tom yelled as the Saturn edged forward. Tom saw Bo nod, and then just as the car moved out of earshot Tom heard the familiar words.

“Wide ass open.”





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


I outkicked my coverage when I married the beautiful Dixie Dale Davis fourteen years ago, and I’ve been counting my lucky stars ever since. Dixie has been my rock along this writing journey, as well as a tremendous sounding board for storylines, characters, and ideas. I am so blessed to be able to share this adventure with her.