Others, from the court and from the attorney general's office, eased down, too, and Clete was thrilled with the mob that was quickly gathering in front of his podium.

The cop returned with reinforcements, and just as Clete was about to give his speech, he was confronted by the officers. "Sir, we're gonna have to ask you to leave."

"Hang on, boys, I'll be through in ten minutes."

"No, sir. This is an illegal gathering. Disband it now, or else."

Clete stepped forward, chest to chest with the much smaller officer, and said, "Don't show your ass, okay? You got four television cameras watching everything. Just be cool, and I'll be outta here before you know it."

"Sorry."

With that, Clete strode to the podium, and a wall of volunteers closed ranks behind him. He smiled at the cameras and said, "Good morning, and thanks for coming. My name is Clete Coley. I'm a lawyer from Natchez, and I'm announcing my candidacy for the supreme court. My opponent is Judge Sheila McCarthy, without a doubt the most liberal member of this criminal-coddling, do-nothing supreme court."

The volunteers roared with approval. The reporters smiled at their good fortune.

A few almost laughed.

Paul swallowed hard at this unbelievable volley. The man was loud, fearless, and colorful and was loving every second of the attention.

And he was just warming up. "Behind me you see the faces of one hundred and eighty-three people. Black, white, grandmothers, babies, educated, illiterate, from all over the state and from all walks of life. All innocent, all dead, all murdered. Their killers are, as we speak, preparing for lunch up at Parchman, on death row. All duly convicted by juries in this state, all properly sent to death row to be executed."

He paused and grandly waved at the faces of the innocents.

"In Mississippi, we have sixty-eight men and two women on death row. They're safe there, because this state refuses to execute them. Other states do not. Other states are serious about following their laws. Since 1978, Texas has executed 334 killers.

Virginia, 81; Oklahoma, 76; Florida, 55; North Carolina, 41; Georgia, 37; Alabama, 32; and Arkansas, 24. Even northern states like Missouri, Ohio, and Indiana. Hell, Delaware has executed 14 killers. Where is Mississippi? Currently in nineteenth place.

We have executed only 8 killers, and that, my friends, is why I'm running for the supreme court."

The capitol police now numbered almost a dozen, but they seemed content to watch and listen. Riot control was not a specialty, and besides, the man was sounding pretty good.

"Why don't we execute?" Clete yelled at the crowd. "I'll tell you why. It's because our supreme court pampers these thugs and allows their appeals to drag on forever.

Bobby Ray Root killed two people in cold blood during the robbery of a liquor store.

Twenty-seven years ago. He's still on death row, getting three meals a day, seeing his mother once a month, with no execution date in sight. Willis Briley murdered his four year old stepdaughter." He stopped and pointed to the photo of a little black girlat the top of the display. "That's her, cute little thing in the pink dress. She'd be thirty years old now. Her murderer, a man she trusted, has been on death row fortwenty-four years. I could go on and on, but the point is well made. It's time to shake up this court and show all of those who have committed murder or who might do so that, in this state, we're serious about enforcing our laws."

He paused for another boisterous round of applause, one that obviously inspired him.

"Justice Sheila McCarthy has voted to reverse more murder convictions than any other member of the court. Her opinions are filled with legalistic nit-pickings that warm the soul of every criminal defense lawyer in the state. The ACLU loves her. Her opinions drip with sympathy for these murderers. They give hope to the thugs on death row.

It is time, ladies and gentlemen, to take away her robe, her pen, her vote, her power to trample the rights of the victims."

Paul considered scribbling down some of this, but he was too petrified to move. He wasn't sure his boss voted so often in favor of capital defendants, but he was certain that virtually all of their convictions were affirmed. Regardless of shoddy police work, racism, malice by prosecutors, stacked juries, and boneheaded rulings by presiding judges, regardless of how horribly defective the trial was, the supreme court rarely reversed a conviction. Paul found it sickening. The split was usually 6-3, with Sheila leading a vocal but overmatched minority. Two of the justices had never voted to reverse a capital conviction. One had never voted to reverse a criminal conviction.

Paul knew that privately his boss was opposed to capital punishment, but she was also committed to upholding the laws of the state. A great deal of her time was spent on death cases, and he had never once seen her substitute her personal beliefs for a strict following of the law. If the trial record was clean, she did not hesitate to join the majority and affirm a conviction.

Clete did not yield to the temptation of speaking too long. He'd made his points.

His announcement was a fabulous success. He lowered his voice, grew more sincere, and finished by saying: "I urge all Mississippians who care about law and order, all who are sick of random, senseless crimes, to join with me in turning this court upside down. Thank you." More applause.

Two of the larger officers moved in close to the podium. The reporters began to throw questions. "Have you ever served as ajudge? How much financial support do you have?

Who are these volunteers? Do you have specific proposals to shorten the appeals?"

Clete was about to begin with his answers when an officer grabbed his arm and said, "That's it, sir. Party's over."

"Go to hell," Clete said as he yanked his arm away. The rest of the police contingent scurried forward, jostling through the volunteers, many of whom began yelling at them.

"Let's go, buddy," the officer said.

"Get lost." Then to the cameras he boomed, "Look at this. Soft on crime but to hell with the freedom of speech."

"You're under arrest."

"Arrest! You're arresting me because I'm making a speech." As he said this, he gently, and voluntarily, placed both hands behind his back.

"You don't have a permit, sir," one officer said as two more slapped on the handcuffs.

"Look at these supreme court guards, sent down from the fourth floor by the very people I'm running against."

"Let's go, sir."

As he moved from the podium, Clete kept yelling, "I won't be in jail long, and when I get out, I'll hit the streets telling the truth about these liberal bastards. You can count on that."

Sheila watched the spectacle from the safety of her window. Another clerk, standing near the reporters, relayed the news via cell phone.

That nut down there had chosen her.

Paul lingered until the display was removed and the crowd drifted away, then he raced up the steps to Sheila's office. She was at her desk, with the other clerk and Justice McElwayne. The air was heavy, the mood somber. They looked at Paul as if he might by chance have some good news.

"This guy's crazy," he said. They nodded their agreement.

"He doesn't appear to be a pawn for big business," McElwayne said.

"I've never heard of him," Sheila said softly. She appeared to be in shock. "I guess an easy year just became very complicated."

The idea of starting a campaign from scratch was overwhelming.

"How much did your race cost?" Paul asked. He had just joined the court two years earlier, when Justice McElwayne was under assault.

"One point four million."

Sheila grunted and laughed. "I have $6,000 in my campaign account. It's been there for years."