nothing.
However, the State of Mississippi will once again be thwarted and stymied and left in thorough and consummate degradation in its resolution to extract blood from Raymond T. Graney. For Ihave procured and retained the services of a young lawyer with astonishing skills, an extraordinary advocate judiciously chosen by me from the innumerable legions of barristers quite literally throwing themselves at my feet.
Another pause, another quick rereading. Inez was barely hanging on.
Not surprisingly, a lawyer of such exquisite and superlative yes even singular proficiencies and dexterities cannot labor and effectively advocate on my behalf without appropriate recompense.
“What’s recompense?” she asked.
“Spell it,” Butch said.
She spelled it slowly, and the three pondered the word. This exercise in language skills had become as routine as talking about the weather.
“How’s it used?” Butch asked, so she read the sentence.
“Money,” Butch said, and Leon quickly agreed. Raymond’s mysterious words often had something to do with money.
“Let me guess. He’s got a new lawyer and needs some extra money to pay him.”
Inez ignored him and kept reading.
It is with great reluctance even trepidation that I desperately beseech you and implore you to procure the quite reasonable sum of $1,500 which will forthrightly find application in my defenseand undoubtedly extricate me and emancipate me and otherwise save my ass. Come on, Momma, now is the hour for the family to join hands and metaphorically circle the wagons. Your reluctance yes even your recalcitrance will be deemed pernicious neglect.
“What’s recalcitrance?” she asked.
“Spell it,” Leon said. She spelled “recalcitrance,” then “pernicious,” and after a halfhearted debate it was obvious that none of the three had a clue.
One final note before I move on to more pressing correspondence—Butch and Leon have again neglected my stipends. Their latest perfidies concern the month of June, and it’s already halfway through July. Please torment, harass, vex, heckle, and badger those two blockheads until they honor their commitments to my defense fund.
Love, as always, from your dearest and favorite son, Raymond
Each letter sent to a death row inmate was read by someone in the mail room at Parchman, and each outgoing letter was likewise scrutinized. Inez had often pitied the poor soul assigned to read Raymond’s missives. They never failed to tire Inez, primarily because they required work. She was afraid she would miss something important.
The letters drained her. The lyrics put her to sleep. The novels produced migraines. The poetry could not be penetrated.
She wrote back twice a week, without fail, because if she neglectedher youngest by even a day or so, she could expect a torrent of abuse, a four-pager or maybe a five-pager with blistering language that contained words often not found in a dictionary. And even the slightest delay in mailing in her stipend would cause unpleasant collect phone calls.
Of the three, Raymond had been the best student, though none had finished high school. Leon had been the better athlete, Butch the better musician, but little Raymond got the brains. And he made it all the way to the eleventh grade before he got caught with a stolen motorcycle and spent sixty days in a juvenile facility. He was sixteen, five years younger than Butch and ten younger than Leon, and already the Graney boys were developing the reputation as skillful car thieves. Raymond joined the family business and forgot about school.
“So how much does he want this time?” Butch asked.
“Fifteen hundred, for a new lawyer. Said you two ain’t sent his stipends for last month.”
“Drop it, Momma,” Leon said harshly, and for a long time nothing else was said.
When the first car theft ring was broken, Leon took the fall and did his time at Parchman. Upon his release, he married his second wife and managed to go straight. Butch and
However, the State of Mississippi will once again be thwarted and stymied and left in thorough and consummate degradation in its resolution to extract blood from Raymond T. Graney. For Ihave procured and retained the services of a young lawyer with astonishing skills, an extraordinary advocate judiciously chosen by me from the innumerable legions of barristers quite literally throwing themselves at my feet.
Another pause, another quick rereading. Inez was barely hanging on.
Not surprisingly, a lawyer of such exquisite and superlative yes even singular proficiencies and dexterities cannot labor and effectively advocate on my behalf without appropriate recompense.
“What’s recompense?” she asked.
“Spell it,” Butch said.
She spelled it slowly, and the three pondered the word. This exercise in language skills had become as routine as talking about the weather.
“How’s it used?” Butch asked, so she read the sentence.
“Money,” Butch said, and Leon quickly agreed. Raymond’s mysterious words often had something to do with money.
“Let me guess. He’s got a new lawyer and needs some extra money to pay him.”
Inez ignored him and kept reading.
It is with great reluctance even trepidation that I desperately beseech you and implore you to procure the quite reasonable sum of $1,500 which will forthrightly find application in my defenseand undoubtedly extricate me and emancipate me and otherwise save my ass. Come on, Momma, now is the hour for the family to join hands and metaphorically circle the wagons. Your reluctance yes even your recalcitrance will be deemed pernicious neglect.
“What’s recalcitrance?” she asked.
“Spell it,” Leon said. She spelled “recalcitrance,” then “pernicious,” and after a halfhearted debate it was obvious that none of the three had a clue.
One final note before I move on to more pressing correspondence—Butch and Leon have again neglected my stipends. Their latest perfidies concern the month of June, and it’s already halfway through July. Please torment, harass, vex, heckle, and badger those two blockheads until they honor their commitments to my defense fund.
Love, as always, from your dearest and favorite son, Raymond
Each letter sent to a death row inmate was read by someone in the mail room at Parchman, and each outgoing letter was likewise scrutinized. Inez had often pitied the poor soul assigned to read Raymond’s missives. They never failed to tire Inez, primarily because they required work. She was afraid she would miss something important.
The letters drained her. The lyrics put her to sleep. The novels produced migraines. The poetry could not be penetrated.
She wrote back twice a week, without fail, because if she neglectedher youngest by even a day or so, she could expect a torrent of abuse, a four-pager or maybe a five-pager with blistering language that contained words often not found in a dictionary. And even the slightest delay in mailing in her stipend would cause unpleasant collect phone calls.
Of the three, Raymond had been the best student, though none had finished high school. Leon had been the better athlete, Butch the better musician, but little Raymond got the brains. And he made it all the way to the eleventh grade before he got caught with a stolen motorcycle and spent sixty days in a juvenile facility. He was sixteen, five years younger than Butch and ten younger than Leon, and already the Graney boys were developing the reputation as skillful car thieves. Raymond joined the family business and forgot about school.
“So how much does he want this time?” Butch asked.
“Fifteen hundred, for a new lawyer. Said you two ain’t sent his stipends for last month.”
“Drop it, Momma,” Leon said harshly, and for a long time nothing else was said.
When the first car theft ring was broken, Leon took the fall and did his time at Parchman. Upon his release, he married his second wife and managed to go straight. Butch and
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