“Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”
(John 15:13)
Laredo is an American town, situated in Texas, in “the Wild West” on the very border of Mexico. Today, a part of this city is located on the territory of Mexico and separated from Texas with a border that runs along the Rio Grande river. Laredo’s history dates back to the early days of America. It was founded in 1755 by a Spaniard, Thomas Sanchez, as a small settlement that later grew into a city.
The story I want to tell you happened there in the middle of the 19th century, when Laredo was already quite a big city, that embodied traditions of Mexican caballeros, Texas cowboys, American Indians, honest (and not so honest) immigrants from Europe. Back then the laws were strict and specific. If a person was found guilty, their case was settled within one or two days.
John Higgins’s family moved to Laredo from Pennsylvania about twenty years before it all happened. When his wife died in childbirth leaving him with twin sons, John didn’t want to stay in his hometown and as soon as his children grew up a little bit, he moved with them to Texas. Her death caused John to shut down, he never married and devoted all his free time to his sons Chris and Jimmy. He worked as a footwear sales representative and bought wholesale shipments of leather for the shoe industry, so he often traveled to large ranches in the neighboring settlements and nearby towns. The kids grew up really well-behaved and brought a lot of joy to their father when he came back from business trips.
As it happens sometimes, the children, who were raised the same way, fed the same food, dressed in the same clothes, grew up to be absolutely different in terms of personality, wishes and habits. As a child Chris could spend hours reading books, was a straight “A” student in school and college, enjoyed going to church and became one of the youth leaders. When John went on another trip, Chris took no worse care of the house than his father.
However, things weren’t going so well with Jimmy. He could hardly finish school, even with the help of his twin brother Chris, who dragged him all the way through till graduation. He didn’t go to college and it was unclear where he was all the time and what he was doing. Often he could disappear and not come home for a couple of days and then come back, scruffy, dirty and smelling of alcohol.
John tried very hard to change the way his son was living. He took him on his business trips, urged him to change friends and continue studying, shamed him with his mother’s memory, when he did something wrong. It helped, but never for long. Jimmy would hold on for a while and then would start doing the same thing again.
Chris loved spending time with an old black man Tom, who lived next door, listening to his countless stories. All his life Tom had worked on cotton plantations. Having no family of his own, he treated the boys like they were his own grandchildren. Chris’s Christian upbringing was, to a large extent, due to old Tom’s influence.
Chris and Jimmy would spend long warm summer evenings on Tom’s veranda, listening to his stories about the lives of slaves on plantations, about joys and sorrows he experienced during that time. Tom sang old songs that slaves had sung, while they went back to their barracks tired after a long working day. These songs gave them strength to keep living.
Tom settled down in Laredo after working on a large plantation in Louisiana for over forty years. Tom’s owner, surprisingly for many, granted him freedom and a present of this little house that he had once very cheaply bought for reasons unknown. This shack was of no use to his owner and probably not wanting to abandon it, he gave it to Tom. In a couple of years Tom gradually managed to make this dilapidated house more or less habitable. But no matter how bad this house was, it was his own house.
A lot of his old friends couldn’t even dream of this. No one understood what Tom must have done to be suddenly favored by his owner in such a way. The most plausible explanation was that God, all of a sudden, made his owner’s heart convince him to do a good deed.
Tom had lived a very difficult life. His owner had several hundred black slaves, who lived and worked on plantations and in most cases died there. Tom was allowed to marry a slave woman named Susan, but his family happiness was fleeting. In a span of two years they had two children, but when the eldest was not yet five years old, a terrible epidemic took the lives of about half of the slaves. Susan and their children happened to be among them.
Numerous cotton ranchers of the American South never considered their slaves’ health to be a priority. In only three or four days Tom was left alone. Susan, the kids and all others were buried in a common grave. It was always covered with flowers, someone would water them and take care of the place in the memory of their loved ones, who had already been freed and dwelled in the divine palaces of the Kingdom of Heaven.
For the slaves of that time, death was, most often, the only chance to escape their horrible lives.
They also had faith in God, which was probably the sole benefit of coming to America all the way from Africa. Faith was a much more important part of their lives than anything else, for it gave them hope. Through faith they knew that God loved every one of them. They can be slaves today, but tomorrow He will accept them into His Heavenly Kingdom, where they will forget their sorrows for good and have true freedom. Faith gave them strength to live, or better to say, survive the inhuman conditions of the life of a slave.
Amazingly, Tom’s tragedy didn’t make him detached from life. On the contrary, with all his soul he reached out to God. Heaven became so close and real to him that he was no longer bothered by any earthly mundane concerns.
Every day he waited for heaven. Everything he valued in life had made the journey there. His family, Susan and his little boys were there, waiting in heaven, and he was longing to see them. Right after their funeral, Tom imagined that they hadn’t died, but moved to a safe and much better place, and were now waiting for him there. He only had to wait a little, and he would be able to hold them in his arms, alive and happy, and then they would never part.
In this way, surprisingly, the bitterness of his loss quickly passed and was replaced by joyful anticipation. This feeling was with Tom when he woke up in the morning and went to sleep at night. So the words of Christ: “…store up for yourselves treasures in heaven…For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” came true for Tom. His treasure was indeed in heaven and he strove to be there with all his heart.
It was impossible to make Tom angry. He took any insult, humiliation or even beating with such joy on his face, that at first they thought he went crazy after the grief struck him. But over time they realized, Tom changed. He took great pleasure in talking about God. Whatever you started talking to him about, he changed the subject to heaven, salvation and eternal life.
At the end of his prayer he always asked God to say hello to Susan and the children. At first, people laughed at him, but he in earnest tried to convince skeptics that God is not God of the dead, but God of the living and kept sending greetings to them, not at all embarrassed. He said it with such confidence and faith in his eyes that nobody could argue.
On long summer evenings, sitting on his porch, John and his sons heard the endless songs Tom sang in a low voice. Once Chris asked him:
– Tom, who are you singing your songs for? Nobody except us can hear you.
Tom put his arm around Chris and slowly spoke in his deep husky voice:
– Oh, Chris, if you only knew how many angels are now listening to my songs… Many of the tunes I hum, I have never heard in my life, they just come to my heart and I sing them with no lyrics. But I know that I’m singing them for my Lord and I feel the warmth of God’s approval in my heart. I think He likes them. All the songs you hear in church were once sung by somebody for the first time, and they came from God. Chris, God loves it when we sing for Him.
And I think that my Susan can hear my songs too, and then it seems to me when I sing…angels, Susan and our Lord are all close. Oh, Chris, how beautiful it is in heaven. I want to get there so much. I’ve been waiting for it for a long long time…
On that fateful day, Tom was as usual sitting on his veranda, rocking in his creaky chair and humming melodies that only he knew. Chris with his legs tucked under him was sitting beside him, leaning against the warm wooden wall of the house. Tom was telling Chris one of the stories he heard over the decades of plantation work.
Tom’s story was interrupted by hasty steps. A few seconds later they saw Jimmy, who was running to the house, panting, cussing and taking no notice of Tom and Chris. On the run he tripped over a tree root and stretched out on the ground. He was clearly far from fine. He had frequently come home under the influence before, and on that day also seemed rather intoxicated. But what was he fleeing headlong from? The house was already near…
Chris was about to get up and help his brother, but Jimmy stood up, stumbled again and having brushed the fence with his shoulder, jumped on the veranda of their house.
Tom silently shook his head. He had known these boys since they were kids. Their yards were divided by a row of small bushes that could be stepped over by a child. It was common in Texas, people didn’t like fences. A few Colts in the family served as reliable protection from intruders. Everybody knew that, so very few would resort to a real fight, let alone burglary or robbery.
John hadn’t been home for three days then. He kept going from ranch to ranch looking for new leather suppliers. He had extensive experience and a strong customer network in surrounding towns, so it was worth his effort. His business became more and more successful each year and John hoped that very soon Jimmy would come to his senses and take over some of the customers. And then, after graduation Chris could handle all the office chores that John never especially liked or had time for.
Chris looked at Tom and shrugged: “He’s not being himself today. I don’t remember him ever running home like this. I’ll go and see what’s going on.”
When he came into the house he heard Jimmy’s voice calling him from the back room: “Chris, close the door and come here.”
When Chris walked into the bedroom, he was dumbfounded. All Jimmy’s clothes, his face and hands were covered in blood and dirt. He was frantically trying to take off his dirty shirt.
– Jimmy, what happened? – Chris cried out. Are you injured? Where did all this blood come from? Should we go to the hospital?
– No, I don’t need to see a doctor. The blood is not mine. Remember this redheaded Irish guy, West District Sheriff’s son? The one always looking for trouble, trying to get to me?
So today at the bar he threw whisky in my face and called me a chicken. We got in a fight and I don’t remember how I stabbed him. He knocked me down and started beating me, that huge red-headed pig, but I could pull out a knife. I just wanted to scare him away, but probably accidentally cut an artery in his neck, because blood gushed out of him. When I got out from under him, I was drenched in his blood. What should I do, Chris? Everybody in the bar knows me, so I think they’ll find me. Have you locked the front door, Chris?
The house they lived in was rather small and consisted of two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room and a dining room. A large covered veranda surrounded the house on three sides, which is typical of southern regions in the US. There was another big advantage: every bedroom had its own separate bathroom. One of the bedrooms was occupied by John, in the other one Chris and Jimmy had lived since their childhood. Jimmy had already taken off his clothes and went to the bathroom. It was clear he had drunk plenty that day, he could hardly stand. Two minutes later he came back and was drying his face with a towel and said:
– Chris, I’m going to lie down for a while, if somebody asks, tell them I haven’t been home since yesterday.
Jimmy’s speech was already hard to understand. Alcohol and the shock he was experiencing brought him down, and if it wasn’t for the bed right next to him, Jimmy would have fallen down on the floor.
Chris closed the door and went out to the veranda. It was completely dark and Chris sat down on the steps. What Jimmy told him was more than serious, and if that guy is really dead, then Jimmy is in big trouble… On top of that, he is the sheriff’s son, which means his father will try to make a huge deal out of it. With every passing minute, Chris realized what a disaster came to their home.
Chris came back to the bedroom, but there was no point talking to Jimmy, he was sleeping in a deep drunken sleep. There was a big stinky puddle on the floor. Apparently, when Chris was on the veranda, Jimmy threw up. He was lying on his stomach, without a blanket or a pillow, facing the door and with his mouth open. His tousled hair fell over his face and the sheet. His left arm was limply hanging off the edge of the bed and his hand was lying on the floor. The clothes he took off in the bathroom were still there. Chris lifted them and his heart sank, they were heavy with blood.
“Lord, – Chris pleaded on the inside, – please let this guy live… Have mercy on Jimmy one more time. He has sinned a lot before You, but Your mercy is exalted over the judgment… Save him, Lord…”
Minutes dragged on like an eternity. What could he do? John was supposed to come home in no less than three or four days. Searching for him all over Texas would be useless. Nobody knows where his appointments are. He could go to Tom, but what would he say? All he can do is to pray for this guy. Maybe he shouldn’t disturb the old man… Maybe it’ll work itself out…
Thoughts swarmed inside Chris’s head, one replacing another, like in a nightmarish kaleidoscope… What if that Irish guy had killed Jimmy. It would have been terrible. Terrible that Jimmy’s life would end at its very beginning. And even more terrible that Jimmy would leave this earth without having been reconciled with God, which is the second death, the eternal one…
Jimmy liked to walk on the edge and now and then he seemed to have particularly enjoyed it. Many times he got in some kind of trouble and always got away with it. His friends dubbed him “Lucky Jimmy”. He very well knew about God and eternity, about salvation, but the same as many of his peers thought that his life had just begun and there would be plenty of time to settle it with God.
Even though some of his friends were already in the grave, Jimmy was not especially moved. The shock from the next funeral lasted for a few days and then everything went back to what it was before. Drinking, some obscure affairs, suspicious company, it went on day after day.
One couldn’t say Jimmy was a complete lost cause. Many times he promised himself and his father that he would quit. John needed an assistant, even more than one, his business was expanding. But he couldn’t hand over even a part of his affairs to Jimmy. Several times, he took his son on business trips with him or even sent him to run errands, but Jimmy managed to get drunk on these trips as well. It significantly spoiled John’s relationships with customers and later he had to turn the situation around himself anyway.
“Lord, help him one more time… – Chris again and again pleaded to the sky, going up and down the veranda. If that guy is dead, Jimmy is finished. Nothing will help him. “Tit for tat” – this principle was at the forefront of all litigation in Texas and it was hard to argue with. If you did somebody harm, you and only you will pay for your crime, to the same extent.
“Poor Jimmy, it can’t be the end…” – looking at Jimmy’s blood-soaked clothes, Chris became increasingly convinced of this. He understood: only a miracle could save that poor fellow’s life.
A few hours later tormented Chris still couldn’t sleep. If you imagine the worst, will Jimmy have time to repent? Will he be able to pray? Oh no, no, I can’t imagine Jimmy, my brother Jimmy, who has been here with us all these years… parting from us…Oh Lord! Have mercy… Save him and have mercy…
At the beginning of the street from the city side, came noise and flickering lights. Chris’s blood ran cold. Are they coming after Jimmy? It means that the guy hadn’t survived and his brother’s fate would shortly be decided. Even if he’s not going to be killed right there, the judge won’t hesitate to sentence him to the same punishment.
What should he do? What is there to do? Oh, Jimmy! If you only knew what is coming for you… My poor confused brother… But you are drunk and sleeping, not knowing that your life is on the line now. A few minutes later, you’ll leave this house for good; Papa John will never see you again… And he wanted to see you become an honorable man so much. Old Tom, who loved you as his own grandson and prayed for you, will never see you again either. Oh, Jimmy! I love you… I can’t believe it’s over… Can it be that nothing will save him now?
And suddenly it seemed like lightning flashed through Chris’s mind. Words of Christ from the Bible that he had recently read with Tom suddenly burned in his heart: “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”
What is it? Lord! Why have those words come to me? Of course, if I tell them that I’m Jimmy, they won’t be able to tell us apart. Even Papa John sometimes confuses us, let alone other people. It’s true; this is the only way for Jimmy to stay alive and get another chance for eternal life. If I take the blame, I’ll take Jimmy’s fate, but he will be able to find God and be saved through repentance. I know that if my life ends today, I will be with God, but for Jimmy it could be eternal death.
The decision was made. Chris took a piece of paper and hastily wrote: “Jimmy, I love you. Today I decided to take the responsibility for something you did in your ignorance, and what can’t be changed. There’s only one way for you to stay alive and return to God. I’ll go there instead of you and wait for you, Jimmy, in the bright abodes of heaven. God bless you, Jimmy. Your brother, Chris.”
Chris put the letter on the kitchen table and held it down with a mug lest the wind would blow it away. Having latched the front door, he put the blood-soaked shirt on, climbed out through the back window and standing on the veranda watched how their yard was filling up with people.
“This is him, Jimmy, – several voices said. “Can you see his shirt? It’s covered in Michael’s blood.” A few pistols were pointed in his direction, while a couple of lamps illuminated hats and faces of the people in the crowd and made their eyes glow.
Head lowered, Chris slowly stepped off the veranda and let the sheriff tie his hands. The procession went back, and soon Chris was locked in the city jail. It was already around midnight, so the sheriff just put him in a separate cell from others as if he was a particularly dangerous criminal. In the morning he was supposed to see the judge.
Chris couldn’t even think of falling asleep. He was sitting with his head in his hands, silently and incessantly praying to God: “Give me strength, Lord, help me not lose heart and to fulfill what Your word and my heart have called me to do to the end. Strengthen me, Lord, and if Your will is somehow in all this, give me the courage to fulfill it to the end… Give repentance to Jimmy… Give papa John strength to survive this misfortune… And me, Lord, if this is my destiny, accept me to Your eternal abodes… Lord, Lord… I love You… ”
In the morning Chris was taken to the judge. Judge Louis was an exceptionally honest and true judge for the time. No one saw any indulgence or bias on his part. He put justice before all else. White for him was white and black was black. Everything in his decisions was exact and clear.
All witnesses were present. The interrogation was short:
– Who saw how this guy, – the judge pointed to Chris, – stabbed Michael?
A few people stood up and raised their hands. The judge turned to Chris.
– Are you the man who did it? – he asked.
Chris lowered his head, nodded slightly and said:
– Yes, Your Honor.
There were no further questions. The judge pounded his gavel and delivered the verdict: “Guilty.” It meant that Chris had only a couple of hours left to live.
Back then most executions were carried out through hanging, but Michael’s father, the sheriff of Laredo’s West District, raised his hand and asked for the floor.
– Your Honor, this guy spilled my son’s blood and I’m asking you to replace the gallows with shooting. I think it will be fair, if his blood is spilled on the ground. I’m ready to personally carry out your sentence.
The judge shrugged and said that he didn’t object to replacing the gallows with a few bullets. After all, the result would be the same. That ended the trial.
A couple of hours later, when the court order was recorded so that the sentence could be read to the convict before the execution and the body and a copy of the sentence could be sent to the relatives, the sentence was carried out. Chris went to the eternal abode of heaven with Michael’s blood on his shirt mixed with his own.
Jimmy woke up at noon. He looked around and with difficulty began to recall what happened the previous day. Through a terrible headache, he went to the kitchen. Everything inside him felt like it was on fire, his tongue could hardly roll in his dry mouth, he urgently needed to drink some water. Having quenched his thirst, he called for Chris, but didn’t get an answer. It wasn’t unusual: Chris could be in school or at Tom’s.
Unsteadily walking, Jimmy came back to his bedroom and with the help of a bucket of water cleaned up yesterday’s puddle by the bed. The noise in his head made him want to lie down motionless. Consciousness gradually returned to him.
“I’m home and nobody came for me, – he said to himself. “Maybe everything worked out and the Irish guy is alive. I definitely need to quit. I can’t live like this anymore, or I’ll be finished.”
He sat down and thought: the first thing Chris and I will do is go to old Tom. He always urged Jimmy to dump his friends and start a new life. Tom will be heartily happy and his prayers will serve Jimmy as serious support. He had liked listening to Tom before, about his experiences and hardships and the Bible, but now he would listen to them differently.
Blinking from the bright daylight, he stepped out onto the veranda. In his condition fresh air was quite helpful and with pleasure Jimmy sat down in the chair, stretched his legs and closed his eyes. A warm spring day made him drowsy and slowly he dozed off again. In this state, he didn’t notice that the sheriff arrived, got off his horse and came to the veranda.
– Hey, amigo! – he called out to him with this common Mexican word. – Is this John Higgins’s house?
– Yes, it is. – Jimmy jumped up. – But father is not home. He’ll be back the day after tomorrow or later. Can I take a message?
– Tell him, he can take his Jimmy or we’ll bury him at the prisoners’ cemetery.
With that, he handed Jimmy a large envelope with an official state seal of Texas.
– Here is the court record and the certificate that indicates that the sentence was carried out. Also a doctor’s and notary’s death certificate.
Jimmy felt like he was having a nightmare and couldn’t wake up. “What is it, – he thought in confusion. – What sentence? Whose funeral? What records and certificates? What’s he talking about?” With trembling hands he slowly opened the envelope. The letters blurred before his eyes and with great difficulty he read line after line…
“The City Court of Laredo, in the presence of such and such, with the testimony of witnesses and full confession of guilt… sentence Jimmy Higgins, guilty of the murder of Michael Stepton, to death…”
The next piece of paper was signed by a doctor certifying that Jimmy Higgins is dead. Another document, signed by a notary, was Jimmy’s death certificate.
Jimmy’s legs became weak and unstable. Gradually, he started to realize the terrible reality of what had happened. Unable to utter a word, he shuffled and turned over the papers again and again…
“They say that Jimmy Higgins is dead. But I’m alive, I’m sitting on our veranda and reading these horrible lines… What’s wrong with me? I think I’m going crazy.”
“Chris! – he called softly and didn’t recognize his voice. All of a sudden, Jimmy felt like a tiny, helpless insect in this enormous and ruthless world around him. He sat on the veranda floor, leaning against the wall. His limply lowered hands were holding the sealed envelope. Jimmy realized that Chris was gone.
But how could it happen? Why did they take Chris? Why didn’t he tell them that the real Jimmy was sleeping drunk in his bedroom? Oh, Chris! I can’t believe that you are now waiting for your funeral, and I’m, a scumbag, safe and sound, sitting on the veranda?! He dropped his face into his hands.
Jimmy didn’t remember how long he was sitting like that before he got up with difficulty and came back into the house. On the kitchen table, he saw a piece of paper with an empty mug on it. It was a note from Chris. He was obviously in a hurry when he wrote it. Having read his brother’s final letter, Jimmy sobbed out loud.
“Chris! Why did you do it? Chris, my brother, forgive me! I should have died today. It should have been me, me, despicable, worthless drunkard. Oh, Chris… Oh, Chris… My brother…”
Judge Louis and a few sheriffs had just returned to City Hall after a good couple of hours over a hearty Texas lunch of heavy pieces of grilled veal, potato salad and a couple servings of red wine. One half of City Hall was the courtroom and the other half was occupied by sheriffs. There was also a small city jail, consisting of a few cells for pre-trial detention.
After entering the courtroom and having not yet sat at his table, Louis heard some noise and loud voices at the front door. He looked up and saw Ben, one of the courtroom sheriffs.
“Ben, what’s going on? – Louis asked. – What’s that noise?”
“Judge, there’s a crazy young man who wants to tell you something. But he seems to be hysterical, and I think he needs a doctor now more than a judge. He’s begging to let him in for a minute. He says he needs to confess to you something important.”
Sounds of sobbing were heard from behind the door.
– Okay Ben, – said Louis, – let him in and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.
Accompanied by Ben and wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, a young man came into the aisle between two rows of benches. He came up to the table and lifted his tear-stained face.
“Judge, I’m Jimmy Higgins. It was me who stabbed Michael at the bar on Sixth Street last night… I should have been executed this morning… I’m the filthy pig that got my brother executed today… Judge, kill me… I’m a real bastard… You won’t believe how much I hate myself…”
Jimmy’s bitter sobbing spilled out. Covering his face with his hands and his whole body shaking, he couldn’t speak anymore and just repeated: “Oh, Chris… oh, my brother… oh, Chris… forgive me…oh, Chris… oh, Chris…forgive me…”
Louis was surprised by almost nothing, but he had never come across such a thing in the thirty years of his legal practice.
The judge was silently looking from Ben, shocked and dumbfounded, to Jimmy, sobbing and his shoulders shaking, not knowing what to do in this situation.
A whirlpool of thoughts were swirling in Louis’s head. What should he do now? If it’s true that this guy killed Michael, how did it happen that in the morning everybody recognized the murderer in another guy?
How did it happen that the poor fellow, who got four bullets from a Winchester this morning, was wearing a shirt drenched in Michael’s blood and pleaded guilty? Several witnesses unambiguously and without hesitation confirmed this…
Could they have been tragically confused? This guy indeed very closely resembles the executed who turned out to be his brother… After a minute of hesitation Louis asked:
– What’s your name?
– Jimmy… Jimmy Higgins.
– And who was it that we arrested last night?
– My brother Chris. We’re twins and look very similar to each other.
Jimmy had trouble choosing his words.
– I came home from the bar last night very drunk… I went to bed and don’t remember anything else, and when I woke up this afternoon the sheriff brought me this envelope from the court, and then I found… this note from Chris… on the table…
Jimmy handed the note to the judge and tears started to drown his words again: “Oh, Chris… forgive me… Oh, Chris… forgive me.”
Louis looked through the note, then read it out loud and looked at Ben. Ben shrugged and made a helpless gesture. His eyes expressed complete bewilderment. Louis couldn’t imagine what to do. Handcuff him and lock him in the cell? And then what? And what to do with the guy, whose body is lying under the awning in the other half of City Hall and waiting for the burial because of the crime he didn’t commit?
On the other hand, the real criminal showed up in court. The person who is guilty must pay for the crime. This is what the law requires. The cost is already known. But the fact is that the debt has been paid.
One thought was quickly replaced by another, and Louis, looking at Jimmy’s shuddering shoulders, nervously fiddled with Chris’s last note.
It’s now clear that the guy was executed by mistake. But it was his choice. He had plenty of time to say he wasn’t Jimmy Higgins: at night, in court, even before the execution, when the sentence was read to him. He didn’t do it…
Eventually, the judge decided: the guy standing in front of him can’t be executed. The law has been fulfilled and the debt has been paid one hundred percent. The crime committed has received retribution. Besides, the sacrifice made this morning should not be, cannot be meaningless. Even out of respect for the person executed, on whose grave we’ll always take our hats off, I can’t repeat this execution for his brother. Even though, it’s clear now that in fact he is responsible.
After such contemplation, Louis nodded his head towards Jimmy.
– Ben, get him out of here.
And turning to Jimmy he said:
– You can go. This crime has already been paid for.
He watched thoughtfully, how Jimmy, hunched over and covering his face with his hands, slowly walked towards the exit.
Two sheriffs standing at the exit, involuntary spectators of this drama, silently stepped aside to make way for him….
