ECLIPSE
CHAPTER FOUR
Although he didn't think anyone would suspect it, Johnny's ears were thudding with the rapid beat of his heart. Damned if it didn't make a spark of colors blow across his eyes making the faces impossible to read as he walked down the center aisle of the church. He didn't mind people staring—he never really even thought about it anymore—but he sure as hell didn't want all of Green River to see him trip on the steps up to the witness stand, falling face-first in front of the judge.
During the lunch break, the Lancers met with Uriah Banks in the private poker suite of the hotel. The prosecutor acknowledged that Jakes had punched a huge hole in the assault charges for Slate's attack on Dr. Poovy but felt they had a fair chance for a guilty verdict for Harrison's manhandling Mattie with Johnny's testimony and Scott and Murdoch's corroboration that Harrison was in the cabin. He'd given them all instructions, or just repeated what he'd said before, on how to respond, avoiding Jakes's attempts to undermine them.
Things had gone well for both Murdoch and Scott. Both confirmed that the three Meek brothers had been ranch hands at Lancer for about two months before the incidents that led to their arrest. They were gauged to be average workers who stayed to themselves and out of trouble. As for providing eyewitness testimony, they had literally caught Slate pouring oil on the fire he had set in Lem's cabin making arson hard to disprove. Banks also pressed on Slate's deliberate attempt to take Johnny's life given that the Lancers heard him shouting at Johnny and Mattie who were trapped in the hidden basement. Surprisingly, Jakes hadn't fought too hard to disprove it.
Despite everything Banks had warned them about, Jakes had avoided a full-bore attack against Murdoch and Scott as rich ranchers trying to ramrod the downtrodden accused for some undefined purpose, settling instead for suggestive volleys that didn't provide Banks with the grounds to object to the slow drip of creating doubt. It made Johnny edgy. He had faced enough underhanded pendejos in his time to know that the cagey attorney had loaded both barrels for him. He hoped once he could settle in the witness chair, the film in his eyes would clear allowing him to see the face of his enemy. He needed to know his tells so he could fire back before the man pulled his trigger.
When he came to the stairs, he felt the nakedness of his empty right hip intensifying the worry that his weaknesses would be exposed. He couldn't help but take a slight pause to study the distance through filtered eyes before mounting them quickly, keeping a shield of confidence around him. Only Johnny knew just how thin that protection was. Murdoch and Banks had insisted he wear a plain black suit with jacket cut to the waist but did allow him a bolero tie with a decorative silver slide inset with turquoise and matching aiguilettes at the tips. His spurs were back at the hotel; his gun checked in with Val at the front of the church. Johnny felt like a common rancher's son—exactly the image Banks insisted they needed. The derringer nestled in his back waistband and knife tucked in his boot gave him enough brashness to keep the swagger in his step, projecting at least a piece of the image he had honed for himself for years in the border towns, although he knew it was all for show.
Johnny was nervous.
He made a point of nodding to the judge as he took his seat before he gave Slate, Harrison, and Jakes a hard stare. He was nervous, but damned if he was going to let them know that.
His testimony under Banks was everything they discussed. Finding Lem at the line shack, watching a trio of men on horseback run off when he arrived at Lem's cabin, trailing them, being bushwhacked, and then escaping the men in Hard Luck Notch with Mattie and Dr. Poovy's help. Johnny accounted how the Meeks found him again at Lem Cable's cabin and questioned Mattie about where he was. Slate and Clint left hoping to catch him with plans to silence him for good. Banks spent time exacting details of Harrison Meek's attack on Mattie and Slate's threats as he planned to burn down the cabin with them trapped inside.
Johnny appeared relaxed in his chair as Yancy Jakes slowly ascended the steps to the chancel, eyes down, his hands clasped behind his back. In truth, he thought the air had been sucked out of the room and his heart wanted to claw its way out of his chest. As long as the man stood directly in front of him, Johnny could see him well. Sam's drops helped that much, although his eyes still stung. As much as he wanted to rub them, he forced his hands to rest on the arms of the chair, the fingers of his right doing a light dance against the wood.
"I am pleased to see you are recovering well, Mr. Lancer." Jakes gave a weak smile then turned away to face the jury. "They call you Madrid."
Whispers traveled throughout the gallery. Johnny didn't respond. Jakes turned back to look at the witness.
"But then, I suppose you'd prefer it if people forgot you are Madrid."
"I don't keep my name a secret, Jakes," Johnny drawled, his voice calm.
"Mr. Mad…Lancer, you will use respect in my courtroom," Judge Ames interjected.
Johnny glanced at the judge. "Fine by me, your honor. But it sounds like in your courtroom I'm expected to show it but not get it. S'alright. Betcha I can flip that should Mr. Jakes and I end up standing in the middle of the street." Johnny cut his eyes onto the defense attorney. No one needed to ask who he was then. Silence descended.
Ames cleared his throat. "Mr. Jakes. You will address Mr. Lancer by his given name. Do not attempt to intimidate the witness."
Johnny scoffed loudly, the sound carrying to the street. "He's got to do a lot more than mess with my name if he was thinkin' to intimidate me, your honor." Johnny's infectious smile caused laughs throughout the room, breaking the tension.
Jakes positioned himself to the left of Johnny's seat giving everyone in the room a clear view of the witness. He folded his hands in front of him and looked directly at the judge.
"Your honor, with all due respect, I must ask that Mr. Lancer's testimony be stricken from the record, and he be disallowed from any further testimony in this trial."
The whispers roared throughout the room. Johnny saw Murdoch start to jump to his feet until Scott took his arm and pulled him back to his seat in the front pew. Banks leaned forward in his chair but waited for the defense counsel to conclude his remarks.
Judge Ames removed his glasses, dropping back in his seat. "Please share your reasoning for this request, Mr. Jakes."
"It is not my wish to prevent Mr. Lancer's participation in this important trial; however, the California Practice Act of 1850 forbids it. Based on the circumstances of his birth, the law states he shall not be allowed to give evidence in favor of, or against, a white man. Both Mr. Slate Meek and Mr. Harrison Meek are white men. Mr. Ma…Lancer is not." Jakes waved his hands toward each of the men as he said their names.
Johnny's vision remained impaired, but the smug grins of the accused and their attorney flashed his way telegraphing their anticipation. Jakes expected Johnny to react, to flare. He wanted Madrid on the stand—at least the Madrid touted in the dime novels. Johnny complied with the true face of Madrid. Fire blazed in his eyes, but he did no more than return their grins—although his brother recognized the predatory smile for the threat that it was and nodded his blond head with approval at his little brother. Johnny's smile deepened. He appreciated his older brother's concern for his feelings, but Johnny had dealt with these kinds of cobardes his entire life—cowards who used the excuse of treating mestizos, half-breeds, mixed blood people like so much shit. And one of the reasons Mattie must have left him. She had troubles enough without being stuck with him. As a child, he drifted through the shadows, hiding from their attacks. As a man—as Madrid—he dared them to face him. Jakes couldn't outdraw him that easily. Johnny stared silently at the attorney; his eyes cold.
No, Jakes couldn't force Johnny's hand, but it proved what he always knew and had allowed himself to forget. The good people of Green River and the rest of the San Joaquin Valley might treat him as Johnny Lancer to his face or around his father and his family, but once he turned away, he would always be no more than a mestizo. He would always be Madrid. Never good enough for them. In that moment, Johnny was fine with that. If the law didn't handle Slate and Harrison Meek, he would. He almost laughed when both of those white bastards paled under his glare.
The clamor of the crowd increased. The gavel pounded but the sound did little to break through the noise. Bailiff DuPont stood and moved in the direction of the gallery, his face stern.
"Quiet. Quiet! QUIET!" the judge resorted to a shout. "I will have this court cleared!" The noise level went down but continued as an on-going buzz. Uriah Banks was on his feet, facing the jury from the floor. Following Johnny's example, he remained calm, a man who had no concerns about the explosion unleashed by the defense.
"Your honor, the prosecution is certainly aware of the legal code my esteemed colleague wishes to invoke but I fear he must reeducate himself on the edict he quotes. The law as written applies to Indians, negros, mulattoes—negroes of mixed blood. Mr. Lancer is a white man who shares the heritage of our proud Mexican neighbors to the south. But have no fear. I will do my best to prevent any further egregious misstatements of the truth on the part of the learned counselor."
The judge harrumphed as he stated, "Mr. Banks, you are Overruled." He then turned to the twelve men seated to his right. "The jury will disregard any suggestion that Mr. Lancer's testimony should be discounted or ignored." Even as the judge said the words, a few of the men nodded, some glanced nervously about, and a few, including the farmer Bert Smith, crossed their arms with a sour look on their faces. "Mr. Jakes, are you done, or do you have questions for this witness?"
"Indeed, I do."
Judge Ames interrupted the attorney with a raised hand as he glanced down at his bailiff who was showing him an open pocket watch. "Quite right. As my astute bailiff so accurately points out, the afternoon is blending into evening and given the excitement of our day, I agree that it is time to adjourn, Thank you Bailiff DuPont." The large man nodded, snapping the watch closed and sliding it into his vest. We will resume these proceedings at 9 AM sharp. Mr. Lancer," he looked at Johnny, "you are free to leave but I expect you here on time to continue your testimony. You will still be under oath. Mr. Meek and Mr. Meek, under Mr. DuPont's watchful eye, you will wait while the courtroom is cleared and then the sheriff and his deputy will escort you back to your accommodations. The rest of you, remain where you are and Bailiff DuPont will release you by rows to allow for a smooth departure to claim your weapons, find your dinner and whatever other else may occupy you through the night." The gavel pounded on the block of wood on the table. "Court is adjourned."
"All rise!" DuPont ordered. The judge made a smooth exit back into the vestiary. Johnny didn't wait for a signal from the bailiff but strolled down the center aisle as if he owned the place. What he really wanted was to grab his rig and be in his hotel room before he had to maneuver through a crowd made dangerous by his burning eyes and pounding head.
Johnny barely paused at the row of barrels rolled into the vestibule as Val laid the familiar leather belt in his hands and gave him his easily recognizable dark hat with the silver concho hatband.
"Ya held yer own against that asshole," Val whispered. "Proud of ya, hijo."
"Thanks for havin' my back up there, amigo." Johnny tilted his head toward the inside of the church as he deftly fastened his holster onto his narrow hips. "Notice ya even shaved for court today. You do that for me?" Val handed him his Colt which twirled on Johnny's finger before slipping smoothly into its place.
The sheriff chuckled. "Whether I did or I didn't, ya know it's gonna cost ya a beer when ol' Uri lets me sit with ya again."
"I gotta sit with you?" Johnny's lip lifted into a half-smile as his eyes twinkled for the first time in days. "Sounds like you need to buy me two."
"Get outta here, smartass. Crowd's comin' out. And stay outta trouble, will ya?"
Johnny fingers graced the edge of the hat's brim as he pulled it down against the evening sun. He blinked quickly and walked as fast as he dared with the light directly in his face, traveling out of the church yard into the dusty street before an unfamiliar voice hailed him. With the sound of running coming up behind him, Johnny spun, his hand on the butt of the Colt.
"Umm, I didn't mean to startle you Mr., umm, Lancer." A man about Johnny's age skid to a stop, his hands raised in surrender. "M.H. de Young of the Daily Dramatic Chronicle out of San Francisco. I am reporting on this trial and would like to ask you some questions."
"I've had a long day puttin' up with questions, Mr. de Young. The only other and last question I intend to answer today is 'Whadda ya want for dinner?'" Johnny turned to continue his walk to the hotel seeing the crowd begin to gush out of the large double doors of the church. M.H. fell into step beside him.
"Well, I just happen to be headed your way, sir. Perhaps we can meet over a piece of that fine pie I had at the diner last night."
"Mrs. Davis does make a mighty fine pie. Cake, too. Something tells me she'd be happy to natter your ear off to keep ya company."
"Mr. Lancer, you may not realize it, but you and your family are quite well known…."
"Is that so?" Johnny couldn't help but cut an obvious 'you're kidding' look at the man.
"…why yes, and our readers are anxious to know more about you and how you feel about this trial."
"I feel like a good man is dead and not many folks seem to remember that Mr. de Young. Tell your readers about him."
"Of course, I will do that, too, but it is you they want to read about."
"Me? I'm just a rancher who right now is gonna find some food and go to bed. G'night, Mr. de Young." Johnny had to take his time to gauge the hotel steps as the sun wreaked havoc with his vision. He wondered if he should have Scott learn how to put in those drops now instead of waiting. Concentrating on making his way through the hotel without giving away his vision difficulties, Johnny didn't notice M.H. de Young take note of Damocles Tucker, the hotel owner and current desk clerk, hand Johnny the key to Room 204.
M.H. tapped his pencil against his notebook as he planned the lead paragraph in today's article: Johnny Madrid stared down yet another opponent as defense attorney, Yancy Jakes, unsuccessfully attempted to throw the famous Mexican pistolero, from the courtroom.
He could get by without an interview for now. He had all he needed to sell newspapers. A lot of newspapers.