Bocephus Haynes had witnessed a brutal murder when he was five years old. He’d been beaten and kicked and abused by the men who had perpetuated this race crime. As an adult, he’d seen his wife gunned down by an assassin’s bullet and had been covered with her blood when she was pronounced. He’d also learned truths about his own background and heritage that would make most people go insane. This man, her attorney, knew pain. He rode in the cockpit with it. He bathed in it every morning and night.
