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    I woke up on the damp, cold concrete floor of the county jail.  My face covered in dried blood and dirt.  I tried to speak, but suddenly felt the electric jolt of the raw nerves of my broken teeth.  I rolled over and saw an old black man looking down in my face.
    “Ooooooh weeeeee.  Yo sho got a messed up face, boy.  Bless yo soul, did the police do that to you?”  His compassion was evident as he helped me sit up.  My clothes were covered in blood.  The collar of my shirt was torn loose and one of my shoes was missing.  The first thing I thought was what Mama would say about ruining my good shirt.  Then, I thought what she was going to say about me and Woody stealing a truck.  Then, I thought about Woody.
    “My God!  Woody’s dead!  He killed Woody!”  Blood poured from my mouth as I spoke.
    “Hush, son.   Don’t be talkin’.  Them police hear you and they’ll kill you, too.  You best not remember nuthin’, you hear me?  You best keep yo mouth shut.”  He had a serious look on his old grizzled face.  A week’s growth of white beard hid most of the wrinkles on his tar-black face.  He had on a dirty blue denim baseball cap, stained white shirt and faded overalls.  Then he began to smile a little and I could see most of his teeth were missing.
    “I’m tellin’ you he killed my cousin Woody.  I saw Hannon shoot him in the back.”  Holding my tears back I whispered as best that I could.  The pain in my mouth was excruciating.
    “Lawd son, don’t say that again.  That man be in here and kill you and me both.”  The old black man helped me up onto the steel bed frame that was bolted onto the back wall of the cell.  I looked around and saw a few more black guys in the cell.  They all looked to be in their early twenties.  I had seen one of them uptown before.  As I leaned back against the wall, I wished this was all a bad dream and I would wake up soon.  I couldn’t bear the thought of Woody being dead.  He couldn’t be dead.  He just couldn’t be dead over a stupid stunt like this.  I sat there and ran the scene over and over in my mind.  Why did Hannon shoot him?  I know why he shot him.  Woody was a Povine and Hannons hate Povines.  Hell, everybody hates Povines.  I’ve lived with that fact all my stupid life.
    “Povine!  Coy!  Get your sorry ass front and center…NOW!” a sawed-off runt of a jailer stood at the cell door waiting to unlock it.  I got up and started to walk toward the door.  “I said NOW! You little bastard!” the jailer gave me a cold stare and opened the door.  I stepped out timidly, wary of being hit again.
    “Take care of that mouth of yours like I said, son.”  The old black man winked as he looked at me through the bars.  Another jailer opened a door at the end of the hall and let me through.  He stopped me and pushed me against the wall, placing his forearm against the back of my neck.
    “Get your hands behind you.  PUT ‘EM BEHIND YOU OR I’LL BREAK YOUR NECK!”  He was pressing against the back of my neck crushing my face against the cinder block wall.  The broken teeth were cutting through my cheek.  As soon as I put my arms behind me, I could feel the cold handcuffs being squeezed tightly around my wrists.  “There you go boy, you’re learning fast,” the short jailer said with a grin in his voice.  They let me stand up away from the wall and then pushed me toward another door.  I walked through the door and into a small room.  The room had two wooden chairs and a table in it.  A light hung overhead.  I thought to myself that this was just like a movie.  As I stepped inside, the jailer yanked my arms up and took the cuffs off my hands.  He shoved me forward and then I heard the door close behind me.
    “You know what boy?  You are going to jail for a long time.  As a matter of fact, you might be headed to Parchman.”  I instantly recognized the voice to be Deputy Hannon.  I was too scared to speak.  “How many cars have you stolen THIS week?”  Hannon turned the chair backwards and sat down, motioning me to sit in the chair across the table from him.  I did as I was told.
    “I didn’t steal that truck!” I shrieked a little instead of yelling.  I am sure my fear was obvious.
    “Come on, Povine.  I know you stole the truck.  I got a witness.” He leaned down and rested his chin on his arm that was across the back of his chair.
    I thought about what the old man had told me, keep my mouth shut.  “I didn’t steal that truck I tell you,” I spoke softly.  He sat up and quickly, reached across the table and backhanded me in the face.  The pain was becoming unbearable and I wanted to cry.  I could tell this was not going well and I was probably never going to get out.  “I want to call my folks.  I need to call my father.”  I did not want to call Daddy, but it was obvious that I was not in control of the situation.
    “Call your father?  Why call him?  I got him in a cell right now.  You want me to go get him? I’ll tell you what, I’ll let you call your mother, how about that?”  He picked up a telephone from the shadowy floor and slammed it onto the table.  I hesitantly took up the phone receiver, my hands shaking like an old man, as I tried to dial.
    About that time the door opened and I heard someone tell Hannon to come there.  He grabbed the phone from my hand and slammed it down.
    “Povine…I’ll be right back.  You just sit tight.”  He was leaning right into my face and I got a strong whiff of his bad breath.  It smelled like onions and eggs.  He walked out of the room and I sat there wondering what would happen next.  I wanted to call home, but figured he would come back and hit me again.  I also couldn’t understand why my Daddy would be in jail.  But I sure hoped it wasn’t for something that I had done.
    I sat there for a good twenty minutes.  I was completely exhausted and wanted to go home like I had never wanted anything before.  But the way things looked I might never go home again.  Woody was dead and I began to wish I were too.  I heard the door open behind me and braced for what I thought was going to happen next.
    “Come on Coy Jr.…let’s go home,” it was Daddy’s voice.  The most wonderful sound I had ever heard.  I jumped up and turned around.  There he stood…Uncle Lonnie, Woody’s Daddy, by his side.  I hung my head and walked out the door.  I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes.
    “Son…looks like we better get you to the doctor,” he put his hand under my chin, pushing it up and looked at my face, grimacing.  “Hannon, you are going to learn a lesson from this one.  I promise you.  And it will be one you never forget.” Daddy was pointing his finger at Deputy Hannon who now was standing in the Sheriff’s office.  It was both the best and worst moment of my life.