“He deserves to suffer,” someone yelled.
“Maybe, but let’s be decent about this and get it over with,” Grant said. He saw a few heads nodding.
“What about Brittany?” Grant asked. She and Ronnie were still in the makeshift jail. “They’ve served more time in our jail than they would in any jail in Frederickson. Are we going to keep them in our jail for even more days, weeks, and months while we debate whether things are really so bad that there are no courts in Frederickson? Is that fair to them?”
Snelling sensed that this argument was working, so he whispered something to his wife. She stood up and said, “Crystal deserves a mom,” referring to Josie.
“Not that mom,” Grant shot back. “And how does turning Josie over to the non-existent police and courts in Frederickson help Crystal?”
Silence.
Grant was done. He wouldn’t start making the same old arguments from the previous nights. He realized that tonight’s meeting wasn’t about arguments. It was about people coming to grips with what had gone on. To get their heads around the fact that everything had changed. The idea of having a homemade trial and executing people was an extremely disturbing thing for most people and they needed to mentally process it. This meeting was part of that. Hopefully the last part of it.
“What do people think of all this?” Grant asked, knowing that he was intruding on Rich’s role as the leader of the meeting. Rich motioned to the audience that they should stand up and talk.
They did. One after another, they told about how hard it was to come to the point where they could actually vote to hold a trial and authorize the death penalty for a person they knew like Frankie. “I remember when he was riding his bike by our house,” one of them said of Frankie, and then he started crying. “Oh, God,” he sobbed. “it’s come to this.” He left the room.
“I’m a Christian,” Betty Norris, the old hippy chick said. “I’m not a church person, but I believe in forgiveness.”
“But turning them over to Frederickson isn’t forgiving them,” Mark said. “They’ll be in an overcrowded jail at best,” he said, “and, at worst…” he didn’t finish the sentence.
“I know,” Betty said with her head hung low. “I know. But all these choices are just so bad. There is no happy ending.”
“That’s right,” Grant said. “And that’s what people here need to understand. There are no happy endings. We have to make decisions that we don’t want to make.”
“I’m ready to vote to have the trial,” Mary Anne said, unexpectedly. Fellow fence-sitters had been looking to see what direction she would go. She was a very fair person and people respected her. “There are no happy endings. Things will never be back to normal. We have to do something. Let’s do it.”
Seizing on that momentum, Grant said to Rich, “I move to have a vote.”
“OK,” Rich said. “Anyone disagree?”
Snelling stood up. He was different. He wasn’t Mr. Apple Pie and politeness anymore. He was angry. He felt like things were out of control. “There will be consequences for this,” he said ominously. “You will regret this.”
“What does that mean?” Grant shot back. Rich put his hand up to stop Snelling and Grant.
“Enough, gentlemen,” Rich said. “We’re having a vote.”
Chapter 150
A Simple and Fair System
(June 5-6)
That night, Pierce Point voted 85 to 22 to have the trial. On the way out to the parking lot, Snelling came over to Grant. Grant looked at the Team who motioned that they’d shoot Snelling if he tried anything.
“This isn’t over,” Snelling yelled at to Grant. “Your little hillbilly police force of macho thugs won’t rule this place.”
“Is that what this about?” Grant asked sarcastically. “Ruling this place? Gee, Snelling, I thought this was about due process and America. Did I get that wrong?”
“Fuck you,” Snelling said coldly and calmly. That’s what scared Grant: Snelling’s calm.
Then Grant started thinking how immature this was. They were acting like two teenage boys talking shit in a parking lot. Grant was worried that he was turning this political disagreement into a blood feud. He didn’t need that. There had been way too many killings and feuds lately. Grant wanted things to be normal, where political disagreements didn’t get people killed.
Be careful, the outside thought said, referring to Snelling.
I just want normal, Grant thought. I don’t want this. I want normal.
“I can’t wait to see you in a real jail,” Snelling said. “Where you belong.”
“Whatever, man,” Grant said, trying to de-escalate the situation. Besides, he was tired of all this parking lot shit-talking. He wanted to go home and get ready to judge a trial the next morning.
“You can’t do this,” Snelling said. “I will make sure of it.”
Grant knew he should take this threat seriously – especially when the outside thought told him to be careful – but he kept thinking that he was overreacting. He wanted normal.
“Thanks for stoppin’ by,” Grant said sarcastically to Snelling. He turned and helped Lisa get into the rear cab of Mark’s truck.
The Team piled into the back, travelled toward Over Road, and they were soon home. After hanging up his gear and kissing Lisa, Grant promptly fell asleep in his bed.
He woke up in the morning fully rested and glad the parking lot stuff was over. He’d won the vote, now it was time to get on with business, and that was conducting a trial.
Grant and Lisa got on their mopeds and headed to…work. Yes, they were going to work. That was normal, he thought. Thank God for normal.
On the quiet ride to the Grange, Grant took stock of what had happened over the month or so since they got out there.
They were lucky. Really, really lucky. They had a secure area and an amazing collection of people who were keeping it that way. They essentially had unity and cooperation, although there was the Snelling faction. But Pierce Point was basically pulling in the same direction. For now.
Food. That was always a big concern. They had enough food for a while though it wouldn’t last forever and there would be fighting over it if people got hungry. But they had far more than most. They just might make it through this.
Grant thought about why he was on that moped heading to work: he would be a judge. That was remarkable. They were organized enough at Pierce Point to have a makeshift court. They elected a judge and had a jury system. They voted – finally – to hold homemade trials, which was a huge mental step toward declaring their independence from the government.
Another sign Pierce Point was humming along pretty well was that they caught some criminals in a rather effective raid. Ah, alleged criminals, Grant corrected himself. It was hard to be totally impartial when you were on the raid that captured the alleged criminals, but it was for the jury to decide their guilt, not Grant. He was there to make sure the Constitution was followed. He wasn’t deciding who lives and dies.
Well, Grant thought as they were pulling into the Grange, you always wanted to be a judge. Now you are. Kind of.
Then it hit him: the setting didn’t matter. In the past, he had wanted to be a judge to make sure the Constitution was followed and things were done fairly. That bullies didn’t pick on people. That wolves didn’t hurt the sheep.
That’s exactly what he was doing today, it just was in a setting he hadn’t imagined. He was there to make sure the Constitution was followed. He had just always assumed he would be doing so in a traditional “real” courthouse.