"We will be available whenever you need us, Mr. Johnson. When do we start? Where shall we meet you?" He was dreading having to get his wife and daughter out of their beds.

"Would it be easiest if I came to your home?"

Pedro visibly relaxed. Their apartment was tiny, but clean, and he had already acknowledged the reality that Raymond Johnson was going to have to see his daughter if he was to help her. "Yes, that would be a great help."

"How about this evening, then? After you've had your supper?"

"We will be pleased to see you whenever you arrive."

"About seven-thirty, then." They stood up and shook hands, and Raymond put the contract back in his briefcase before departing.

"Well, look who's back so soon. Don't tell me Henry's shot up that last case already? It's been, what? Two weeks?" Henry looked self-conscious.

"No, Al, it's time for another gun. A friend of Max's lent Henry a Smith & Wesson to try, and he really liked it. Did some shooting with it I wouldn't have believed if I hadn't seen it firsthand. He deserves one of his own. It's a Model 17 with a six-inch barrel."

Al Goodman looked slightly pained. He suspected that Walter Bowman was unaware of some of the facts concerning his planned purchase. With most customers, Al would not have cared, but he truly liked Walter Bowman and his son Henry.

"The Model 17 is a very fine gun. Probably the best .22 revolver made. You going to try some of that aerial stuff with it, Henry?"

"He's already hitting wood blocks in the air with the one Max's friend lent him," Walter said proudly. "Do you have one here?"

"I think we have the Model 18-that's the one with a four-inch barrel. We can order a six-inch for you, and it will be here in about a week. While you're waiting for it to arrive, you can go get your letters done."

"Letters?" Walter Bowman asked with a puzzled look on his face.

"You're not familiar with Missouri law, are you, Mr. Bowman?"

"I guess not."

"In Missouri, before you can buy a handgun, you have to get two letters of good standing on business letterhead from two 'prominent' people that you know. Then you have to take those letters to the sheriff with the make, model, and serial number of the pistol you intend to purchase. If he approves it, you come pick up your gun."

"If he approves it?" Walter Bowman looked at Al Goodman in disbelief. The store-owner hurried to reassure his customer.

"He'll approve your application, oh, no question, I didn't mean it that way, Mr. Bowman. No, I was just explaining what the laws were. I'm sure you know several heads of St. Louis-based companies quite well. Of course the police chief will approve your application."

"But in order to buy this revolver, I'm supposed to get two -what?-company presidents? to write letters saying they know me and that I'm a good citizen?"

"Something like that."

"What do the people who don't happen to have company presidents for personal friends do?" Walter demanded. Al Goodman, normally unflappable, licked his lips. Walter waited for an answer. "Well, I suppose if you put that question to the sheriff, he'd say that was the whole point of the law, don't you think?" Al replied finally.

Walter Bowman was speechless. Henry saw that his father was genuinely upset, and kept quiet. "How long has this law been in effect in Missouri?" he finally said.

"I'm not sure of the answer to that one, Mr. Bowman, but it's been the law here as long as I can remember, and that goes back quite a ways. I do know that the law against carrying a pistol or revolver on you for protection has been in force here in Missouri since 1874.1 only know that because there was an argument about that in here a few months ago, and a customer who's a lawyer brought in a copy of the original statute."

"It's illegal for an honest adult to have a gun with him for protection in Missouri?" Walter was flabbergasted. He had forgotten all about the letters of good standing required for a purchase.

"Yes, and not just a gun. Illegal to carry any defensive weapon. Also illegal to have any one of those in your car, if it's easily accessible. Has been for almost ninety years." He shook his head as if to indicate that Walter was placing far too much significance on the issue. "But no one's going to arrest you if you're carrying a gun or have one in your car, Mr. Bowman. Be realistic."

Walter Bowman looked completely disgusted, but he said nothing.

"I don't understand, Dad. What's the matter?" Henry said finally.

"Son, you remember when you asked me that time last month why there weren't any negroes at the amusement park, the Forest Park Highlands, that you went to with your friends from school?" Henry nodded.

"I didn't really answer your question at the time, but I will now." Henry's father took a deep breath. He was not enjoying this.

"You didn't see any negroes at the Forest Park Highlands because they aren't allowed in there," Walter Bowman explained. "Even though they are honest residents of this area, just like we are, they can't go to that amusement park. They would be run off if they tried to get in. The Constitution of this country says that all honest people in America have the same rights, but many places, like the Forest Park Highlands, just ignore that." No one in the room knew it at the time, but in two months the owners of the Highlands would reap the bitter results of their whites-only policy.

"Why don't the negroes just go to the police?" Henry asked immediately. Both his father and Al Goodman smiled without pleasure.

"The police are the ones keeping them out." Henry looked baffled at this answer. Walter Bowman sighed. "I hadn't expected to be teaching history on a Saturday, but this is important." He looked at Al Goodman in apology, who made a dismissive gesture. His brother Harold was in that day, and there was only one other customer at the other end of the showroom.

"You know about how there used to be slavery in part of this country-in the southern states?" Walter asked. Henry nodded assent. "Well, after the North won the Civil War, and slavery was ended, many of the people living in southern states hated the idea that former slaves could now vote and do the other things that whites could. So they passed what we now call 'Jim Crow' laws.

"These were laws which said that you had to be able to read, or pass a test, or pay a tax before you could vote. The law looked like it applied to everyone, but most former slaves couldn't read, and if they could, they didn't have enough money to pay the poll tax. If they had the money, then the sheriff would give them a test to pass. And they'd fail."

"What kind of test?" Henry asked.

"Shall I tell him the standard story?" Al Goodman asked Henry's father.

"Go ahead."

Al Goodman raised himself to his full five-foot, five-inch height, and began. "A colored man in Georgia went to go vote, and was told he had to go to the sheriff's office to prove that he could read," Al said in his monotone. "The sheriff handed him a newspaper and said, 'Can you tell me what that says, boy?' The sheriff was laughing because the newspaper was written in Chinese. The colored man said, 'Why yas, suh, ah kin tell you 'zactly what it says.'" Al Goodman's attempt at dialect was appalling. Walter Bowman was astonished, but he remained silent as Al delivered the final line. '"Hit says th'ain't goin't'be no niggers votin' in Georgia this year.'"

Henry looked at his father. He was beginning to understand that no white man would have been sent to the sheriff's office in the first place, let alone handed a Chinese newspaper. Walter Bowman continued the history lesson.

"Missouri was on the dividing line between the states that wanted to have slavery and the states that didn't. There were a lot of people in Missouri that wanted the South to win the war, and who believed in slavery. That's why we still have some movie theaters and restaurants here with special sections for negroes, just like in the deep south. Where your aunt lives, up in New Hampshire, they don't have that."

"But the Civil War was a hundred years ago!" his son protested. Henry was embarrassed that he had not realized there were segregated establishments in St. Louis. He would later realize that his parents avoided them on principle.

"Time doesn't always change people's minds, Son." Walter Bowman took a deep breath. "And it isn't just about negroes. For a long time in California during the last century, there was a law that made it illegal for any Chinese person to testify against a white man. That meant that any white person could rob or kill a Chinese person, and the only way he could be arrested is if another white person complained about it."

"That was legal?" Henry exclaimed. Al Goodman looked startled also. He was learning some new things today as well.

"It violated our Constitution, but many states have passed laws that violate the Constitution. Even the Federal Government does it sometimes. That's why we have lawyers, like your grandfather, to defend us and get those illegal laws thrown out by the Supreme Court." Walter changed the subject back to the original purpose for their trip to Goodman's.

"What Mr. Goodman was telling us is that before I can buy this revolver for you, I have to go get two business owners to sign letters recommending me. Then I take them to the sheriff and hope he says okay. Mr. Goodman says there won't be any problem, and he's probably right, but the whole point is that the sheriff can do whatever he wants. Just like the story about voting. Henry, we still have laws written so that the police can deny negroes, or anyone else, their ability to protect themselve s, and arrest them if they carry personal protection. Or arrest me, for that matter. It depends on if they like you or not."

Henry was horrified at the idea of his father being arrested. "Would they arrest Sadie?" he asked immediately. Sadie was a black woman who came in twice a week to help Henry's mother with housecleaning, and had done so before Henry was even born. Henry had always liked her. Sadie had come in two weeks earlier, badly bruised and with a cut over her eye. Two young men had knocked her down and taken her money as she was walking from the bus stop to her apartment in north St. Louis.

"I don't know, Henry. Maybe."

The boy thought of something else. "But you didn't have to get any letters with my rifle. And most rifles and shotguns are a lot more powerful than pistols." Al Goodman spoke up to address Henry's statement.

"You love to shoot for fun, Henry, but a lot of people that want to buy a pistol aren't like you, especially the women. They want a pistol to protect themselves in case someone attacks them. No one is going to carry a rifle or a shotgun around for protection. They're too big. Handguns were designed to be carried for selfdefense."

Now Walter broke in. 'That's why bigoted people passed the laws about voting and about guns, Henry. These bigots don't want negroes being able to protect themselves. They didn't want them voting for legislators that had their interests in mind, and they didn't want them having guns in their pockets when the lynch mob was coming." He thought a moment. "The law Al just described also gives the police an excuse to stop negroes on the street and check them for guns. Actually, it gives them the excuse to do that to anyone, but they don't do it to whites, as a rule." Yet Walter Bowman added silently to himself.

"Since Henry brought up the subject of long guns, I assume you know that the St. Louis police have requested that gun dealers not sell firearms of any kind to colored people," Al interjected. "And that's pretty much the standard police policy throughout the state."

"Is that the policy of this store?" Walter Bowman asked sharply. Al Goodman looked him in the eye, and when he replied, his voice carried an uncharacteristic edge to it.

"Goodman's has an ironclad rule that we have to know something about each and every customer. We turn away anyone that we do not know anything about. We turn away a lot more whites than coloreds. If your question is do we have any colored people for customers, the answer is yes. We do not have many, but we have some. It is not a policy I am particularly fond of, but it is one that my conscience can live with, and that the police accept." He paused before delivering his last statement.

"My brother and I are well aware of the horror of unchecked government, as I'm sure you can appreciate." Al waited for a response. Walter Bowman felt slightly abashed for being short with Al Goodman.

"Of course I am. Please forgive me for being rude." He decided to end the conversation on a more positive note before leaving with his son.

"Well, President Kennedy has been doing a lot of serious talking about civil rights. This time next year, maybe these kinds of unfair restrictions will all be gone."

As it turned out, Walter Bowman was half right.

April 29, 1963 "It's looking better, Pedro." Raymond Johnson had started using the more-familiar form of address with his client shortly after he had taken on the case. "We've found some documentation that Allied was aware of potential risks of chemical exposure in the plant. For several years they've had a wr itten company policy in force limiting the number of consecutive hours employees may spend inside the plant itself."

"My wife never mentioned that."

"She may not have known about it. Her job was such that she never was in the plant for that many hours at one time. But the fact that there was such a policy shows that Allied was well aware that prolonged exposure to chemicals was a serious health risk. It is also well-documented that Allied knew your wife was pregnant. I think we can show that common sense would dictate that pregnant women be shielded from a hostile environment to a greater extent than other employees. Which she of course was not." Pedro Gutierrez nodded, but said nothing.

"It never came up before," Raymond continued. "There weren't any women at all working in the plant before Rosa. The man they put in charge of telling the cleaning crew about the forced layoff was new. He made the decision on his own about drawing the names out of a hat for the position of inventory checker, and he didn't think about pregnant women when he did it."

"Then it is his fault, not the company's." Gutierrez had a strong sense of personal responsibility.

"He was acting on behalf of the company. If he had come over to your house and thrown chemicals in your food, he would have been acting on his own, and you would be right, Allied would not be responsible. But since it was his job to hire and fire employees in that division, it was the company's responsibility to see that he followed company policy and safeguards in the performance of his duties. They slipped up, and they are now responsible."

"How much money are you going to ask for?" It was a question Raymond had been expecting a week ago, and he was glad it had not come up until now, when he had a better feel for their chances in the case.

"Before I answer that, I want to remind you of some things I told you when we first talked about your problem. First, this is a gamble. It is possible that a jury will decide you and your wife have no claim against Allied whatsoever, and we'll all walk away with nothing.

"However, industrial accidents happen every day, and workmen's compensation generally helps with medical bills on job-related injuries. People know that. They expect it. They assume the company's insurance will cover whatever tragedy befalls a worker on the job. That never happened with you. No one connected your wife and daughter's condition with Rosa's working environment at Allied. That's good for us. It makes it look like Allied abandoned one of its loyal employees, and a pregnant one at that."

"But they thought they were helping us! The government wouldn't let them keep her at her old job for the same pay, which is what we wanted."

Raymond smiled without humor. "That doesn't matter. You can't sue the government, no matter what they do. Allied could have paid the new government-mandated wage to the cleaning crew. They chose instead to subcontract the work to an outside firm. That would have been fine if they had just laid your wife off with the rest of the maintenance staff." Gutierrez said nothing.

"Anyway, to get back to your question, it is almost certain that we will not get the amount of money that we ask for, unless we actually get in front of a jury, which is unlikely, because then we might get nothing. I intend to demand considerably more than we expect to get, and negotiate downwards from there." The lawyer took a deep breath. "I have not yet determined exactly how much Allied could be expected to pay, but I am going to file suit for at least one million dollars."

Gutierrez was speechless. He can't even imagine such a sum of money Ray thought.

"That's the starting figure. The real question is, if they come to the table with a counteroffer, and we get into negotiations to avoid a trial, what will you be willing to accept? If they lowball us, and threaten to let a jury decide if we hold out for more, what do we do? I get paid a third of the settlement, but I don't have a wife and daughter who need full-time care. Losing this case entirely will be a much greater hardship on you than it will be on me, Pedro. How low are you willing to go and not feel you were cheated or that I let you down?"

The older man stared at the lawyer and licked his lips nervously. It was obvious to Ray that Gutierrez had been hoping, these past few weeks, that a miracle would happen and he and Rosa would get enough money to help out with Rosita. The older man had been ashamed to find himself imagining that a check for ten thousand dollars would be coming in the mail. What Raymond Johnson was now telling him was entirely beyond his comprehension, and he saw how woefully unprepared he was to answer the lawyer's question.