Chapter 37
Day 5
“I’ll tell you everything.”
The next day, Johnnie was released on bail, just as her attorneys had promised. She was supposed to meet her attorneys at Walter Brickman’s for breakfast, but needed a long, hot bath first. She asked Cleo to take her home. After she bathed and put on a new outfit, they went to the restaurant to discuss legal strategy. Jay Goldstein and Dee Dee Wellington were already there waiting for them.
Cleo helped Johnnie to the table. It was still a struggle to walk because of the surgery she’d had four days ago. Neither woman could help noticing how much attention they were getting from the other patrons. It reminded Johnnie of the last time she’d been there with Lucas, the day Billy Logan had confronted them. Billy had sucker-punched Lucas and promised him he would be next to bed his girl; a promise he carried out, albeit via rape. She wondered how Lucas was doing as she eased into her seat. She had forgiven him for breaking off the relationship. She missed him and wondered if he missed her too.
Now that there was definitely going to be a trial, Johnnie was starting to feel the pressure. So much was at stake; the Mafia’s livelihood, her own life and the lives of those closest to her were on the line. She couldn’t wait to get out of town. As soon as the case was behind her, she and Sadie were leaving New Orleans—forever.
“Are you okay, Johnnie?” Goldstein asked.
Rather than complain or remind them of what happened to her, she forced a quick smile and said, “I’m okay. I’m just having a little trouble this morning, is all.”
“What are y’all havin’ this mornin’?” their waitress asked.
They all ordered and the waitress left them alone.
“Jay, I think we oughta make a motion to change venues,” Cleo said.
“No need. We’re going to get justice right here in New Orleans with the jury they want. That’s the one smart thing Jamieson did. He got the Fort Lauderdale people to let you be tried here instead of having you extradited down there. The Fort Lauderdale people know the case is a loser and refused to get involved. They told the district attorney here that if they wanted you to be tried, they’d have to try you here. I talked to the DA this morning, and even he doesn’t want to try the case, but that article in paper made it impossible to ignore. I don’t suspect he’ll put up much of a fight.”
Johnnie said, “Sir, do you really believe white men will believe I didn’t do this?”
“Of course they’ll believe you didn’t do it. The problem is getting them to vote not guilty when they get together in the jury room. We need to present a case that compels them to do the right thing. And we will.”
“I guess I have to trust you, Mr. Goldstein. My life is in your hands.”
Dee Dee said, “We’ll just need to know where you were the night Sharon Trudeau was murdered.”
Johnnie knew she couldn’t tell them the whole truth. Abortion was illegal. She didn’t want to be exonerated for Sharon Trudeau’s murder only to be rearrested for another crime she actually committed. She said, “I was in Bayou Cane, Louisiana, that night.”
“Can anybody corroborate that, Johnnie?” Cleo asked.
“What do you mean, ma’am?”
“Was anyone with you who could testify on your behalf?”
“Yes. My friend and next-door neighbor, Sadie. Madame DeMille can corroborate for me too.”
“Madame DeMille? Who’s that?” Cleo asked.
Before Johnnie could answer, Dee Dee said, “Have you ever been to Fort Lauderdale?”
“No, ma’am,” Johnnie said, ignoring Cleo’s question deliberately. She didn’t mean to mention Madame DeMille, but it slipped out. If it came down to it, she’d tell them she was there to get her fortune told like any other customer who visited a psychic.
“But you did have money invested with Sharon Trudeau, right?” Goldstein asked.
“Yes.”
“Where’d you get the money?” Goldstein asked. “We may not have to deal with that, but just in case, I’d like to know. Do you mind telling me?”
“I do mind, sir.”
The attorneys looked at each other, a little stunned.
“Why won’t you tell us, Johnnie?”
“Because it’s embarrassing.”
“We’re your lawyers,” Cleo offered. “You can tell us anything and it won’t go any further. Also, the district attorney may already have that information and use it against us. If you tell us how you got the money to invest, we can strategize and protect you if we have to put you on the stand. We believe you’re going to have to get on the stand and tell your side of the story and prove you didn’t commit the crime they’re accusing you of.”
After a long pause, Johnnie said, “It all started on Christmas Eve, when my mother sold my virginity to Earl Shamus.”
The attorneys looked at each other.
Dee Dee said, “Shamus, huh? What a fitting name for the bastard.”
Goldstein said, “Excuse me. How old did you say you were? Seventeen?”
“Yes, sir. I’m seventeen now, but I was only fifteen when he did it to me in my mother’s bed.”
Cleo lowered her eyelids and shook her head. “They’re still doing that shit down here? You’d think the bastards would just find a prostitute for that sort of thing. But I guess that’s asking too much. They have to go after innocent little girls and ruin their lives before their lives even begin.”
Goldstein said, “And you say your own mother sold you to him?”
“Yes, sir.”
The waitress came back with their breakfast and served them. “Enjoy,” she said. “Are you all comin’ to the meetin’ at the Sepia Theater tonight? There’s supposed to be some folks from up north talkin’ about makin’ things better for the Negro.”
“Yes, were planning to be there,” Cleo said. “Where’s the Sepia?”
“Right across the street. I hope to see y’all there tonight.”
The waitress left them alone again.
Dee Dee looked at Johnnie and with genuine curiosity asked, “Why did your mother sell you to him?”
Johnnie kind of laughed and said, “You know, I asked her that myself one day. And she told me she was trying to show me how men were.” She stopped laughing and became suddenly serious. “The sad thing about it all is how right my mother was.”
“Surely you don’t believe that?” Cleo asked.
“Can I ask you a question, ma’am?” Johnnie said, looking at the black woman sitting next to her. “I don’t mean no harm, but there’s something I have to ask you. Were you serious yesterday when you told me you were a real lawyer like them?”
Cleo smiled. “Yes, I am. You may find what I’m about to say difficult to believe, but the first female lawyer in the country, black or white, was a Negress named Lutie A. Lytle in 1897. She graduated from Central Tennessee College that year. She didn’t practice, though. She taught criminal law, evidence, real property, and domestic relations at her alma mater.”
Upon hearing that, Johnnie was positively beaming with pride. She couldn’t restrain the bright, wide smile that burst forth. “For real?”
“For real,” Cleo said, smiling, understanding how shocking that must have seemed to the young woman who had once been in sexual bondage. “That’s one of the reasons we came down here, Johnnie—to free your mind, to make that which was thought to be impossible not only possible, but tangible. I am the personification of this.”
Completely overwhelmed by what she had just learned, Johnnie’s eyes welled. Tears fell. She now knew and had evidence of a better life, where a Negro woman didn’t have to sell herself or compromise herself to be somebody as she, Sadie, and perhaps hundreds of thousands of Negro women had done, even in 1953 New Orleans. It was at that critical moment that she began to realize she could’ve been something more, but she still thought, still believed it was too late, having made so many mistakes already.
Cleo put her hand on Johnnie’s shoulder. “Are you okay, Johnnie?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m just happy to know what you told me. We don’t have many Negro women examples where I live. Not good examples anyway. Most give the white man what he wants, just so they can live a good life. It’s good to know you didn’t have to do it, is all.”
Goldstein cut back in. “Johnnie, I hate to ask, but is there any truth to the article I read about you and the Beauregard family?”
“Mr. Goldstein, I keep hearing about that article, but I haven’t read it. If it says I’m related to them, I am. And I have proof of it. My white granddaddy died and left me and my brother five thousand dollars each.”
“You mean he put you in his Will?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you actually seen this Will?”
“No, I haven’t, but here’s my check.” She opened her purse, pulled it out, and handed it to him.
Goldstein looked the check over then handed it to Dee Dee, who then passed it on to Cleo after looking at it. Goldstein was already planning to work this information into the case he would build to get Johnnie acquitted. “So what happened at the mansion before the killing began?”
Before she could answer, Detective Meade came up to their table, sat down, and slammed the day’s Sentinel on the table. The newspaper was open to an article with a headline that read: WHAT DID BILLY LOGAN DO TO DESERVE THIS? On the same page was a picture of a severely beaten Logan, his face and head battered and swollen. He was nearly unrecognizable. In fact, if the caption didn’t tell the reader it was Logan, perhaps his mother might recognize him, but few others would.
“Billy Logan raped you, didn’t he, Johnnie?” Meade screamed so loudly the entire restaurant stood still, frozen in time, looking, listening.
“Don’t answer that, Johnnie,” Goldstein said.
“And who the hell are you?” Meade said.
“We’re her attorneys. Who the hell are you?”
Meade flipped open his wallet, showing his badge. “I’m a detective with the New Orleans Police Department. People around your client tend to die, counselor.”
“Are you here to arrest my client?”
“Not at this time, but I would like to ask her some questions.”
“Go ahead.”
“Did Logan rape you?”
“Don’t answer that,” Goldstein said, smiling broadly at the detective.
“He did, didn’t he? And you had him killed, didn’t you?”
“You’re being absurd, detective,” Goldstein said forcefully.
“Am I, counselor? Let me paint a picture for you. Sharon Trudeau steals her money, and she ends up dead. Richard Goode probably killed her mother and he ends up dead. She gets raped, and Logan ends up dead, beaten with bats, the coroner says, and he had a cue stick stuck up his ass. This . . . a couple days after Miss Wise here is raped.”
“So what, detective? My client was in jail last night. She can barely walk, let alone beat a man Logan’s size to death. Even if she could walk, or run, for that matter, there’s no evidence of my client doing anything to this man. Judging by the picture, it would’ve taken several men to do that to him. Only the men who killed him know why they did it. For all you know, he could have been having an affair with a married woman and her husband found out. He and a couple of friends could have found him and exacted revenge.”
Meade pointed his finger in Johnnie’s face, nearly touching her nose. “I’m gonna get you. I know you had something to do with this.”
“That’s it, detective. Unless you have a warrant for her arrest, please leave. And, detective, you’ve threatened my client in front of a restaurant full of people. Anything happens to her, we’ll be coming after you.”
Meade stood up. Looking down at Johnnie, he said, “You can keep the paper. I don’t know how you live with yourself.” Then he turned and walked toward the door.
Angry, Johnnie called out to him, “I don’t know how you can live with yourself, detective, after blackmailing my friend Sadie into sucking your dick two nights ago. Only God knows what else you made her do.”
Meade pretended he didn’t hear her blistering comments and continued out the door.
Cleo said, “Johnnie, you need to tell us absolutely everything that’s been going on down here so we can help defend you.”
Still angry, she said, “I will, Cleo. I’ll tell you everything.”