Just something random . . .comments appreciated

“Mr.Adams, are you quite done?”

The room remained silent. John Adams sat quietly in the witness’ box, still breathing heavily after his long, vengeful speech. The defendant, sitting in a crisp blue suit, had tears in his eyes. Steven Tanner, the defense attorney, kept his eye on the judge. The judge, on the other hand, couldn’t take his eyes off of the prosecutor’s hands. Clasping the edge of the wooden table, they were not simply trembling. They were spasming with the power of a California earthquake; it was as if all of the poor man’s fear, anguish, hatred, anger, had centered itself in his palms, and was forcing it’s way out via his fingers. The entire table was trembling along with them.

Adams turned his eyes to the jury. Twelve men and women, a healthy mixture of colors and creeds, looked back at him. The five women sitting in that box were trembling as well. All but the most well-reserved men had a look on their face that they would like to hand John Adams the death penalty right there. Tanner allowed himself an internal congratulation; he had won this case with nothing more than his opening statement—the defendant had dug his own grave, and whistled a tune while he was at it.

Tanner used his Trick, the skill that granted him the power of words. Part prayer, part intellect, and part instinct, he only used his Trick when he wanted his name on the front page of the Meridian Times, and he kept that down to once a year at most. His Trick, more than worthy of the capitol letter, consisted of him picturing all of the words he knew in his mind, seeing them float before him, in a broad spectrum of colors and textures. He then let his natural talent select the ones that had the perfect color, and just the right flavor; he had a respect for words, knew just where to use each one to bring out its full power. Words were, he had learned years back, the most powerful thing a man could use, no matter the circumstance.

Right now, he looked at interest at what his subconscious had laid out for him. It was good, he had to admit. Hell, it was fantastic. It was a closer, and that was perfect, too. This trial would go no more than tomorrow, and that was only because one of the men, a fat, balding teacher, would try to squeeze a free dinner out of the court.

Tanner took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and gave a reassuring smile to his client. It was a curvature of the lips that conveyed quite plainly We don’t just have him beat, we’ve got him gutted, roasted and steaming on the table. Now we get to carve him up.

With that, he began.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’m not entirely sure I heard what the defendant said properly. If I did—and that is a terrifying prospect—than I’m not sure what I can say to ya’ll to drive my point home any further. The only thing he did not say perfectly clearly was that he did try to hang Mr. Richards here. Only because he did not say those exact words am I talking to you now.

“This is a man who has given his entire reasoning, and it is a dark page turned, rest assured. He stated, in front of you all, that he believed those of African descent to be inferior to the white man. I’m not gon’ repeat the exact terms used—“ he paused here for a moment, to purse his lips and thicken his light Southern accent ever so slightly, “because there are women present in this courtroom, and I pride myself on being a gentleman. But I want you to think over what Mr. Adams just said, and try to get past the shock of just hearing it. I know that’s difficult, but try, because once you do that, you’ll see what he means. This is a man who believes he is justified to…exterminate, I believe? Yes, exterminate those he finds somehow ‘inferior’ to himself. Now, Mr. Adams here should be able to keep that number to a pretty low figure, considering his education, his career, or lack thereof, and his total failure to leave any lasting impression on the world around him, and yet this man with a third-grade education, a man who willingly dropped out of elementary school, somehow deems himself intellectual enough to damn an entire race of human beings to hang, and that bothers me. That gets my blood boiling, but he took the pot and flung it across the room when he justified his actions.

Mr. Adams here claims that he is a “good Miss’ippi Baptist” who was simply “doing his duty to the land.” That bothers me just as much, and I’ll let you know why.” He risked another pause, and saw that every eye, save Adam’s, was filled with the same zeal that he was preaching right now. He had the entire courtroom in the palm of his hands, and he knew that this was the time to play his trump card. He calmly reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a silver dollar. He began to roll it across his knuckles, first one way, then the other. He continued.

“I was born in this city. I was born in bad times, and I think most of us remember. People taught us some wrong things, and we were young, so we listened just like when our parents told us about anything. They didn’t know better, but most of us found out firsthand. We learned, and we learned quick. Mr. Adams apparently thought that being born here gives him a reason to hang a man who’s done more good for this city than Adams could ever do for himself. That hurts me, because I’m proud of where I’m from. I was born on Miss’ippi soil, I was raised on that soil, and I plan to be buried in that soil—but not too soon. We were all born here, and I don’t think there’s a decent mind among us that feels a calling to hang a man because of that. There is no excuse to kill a man, but there are some damn bad ones, and using good soil to justify a dark crime is an insult and an injury to all of us tied to that land. I’ve talked long enough in this room, and I think you of the jury have heard enough to make a decision.” The silver dollar was pin wheeling across Tanner’s right hand now, adding an extra bit of hypnosis to his closing speech. “I just want you to think hard about it. The only reason he gave for what he did is the ground that we are all standing on right now. Go in that room, and ask amongst yourselves: do any of you feel the calling to kill from that soil. I’ve said enough; I rest my case, Your Honor.” The silver dollar disappeared into the jacket, and the judge gave a barely visible nod to Tanner.

The lawyer, now out of breath, sat down next to his defendant, who held the zealous blaze in his eyes more than anyone in the courtroom. He reached under the table to grasp the man’s hand; just one more reassuring sign that they had emerged victorious.