Let The Great World Spin: A Novel - By Colum McCann Page 0,129

you, Miss Henderson. As I understand it, counselors, this is still a complaint with a felony. Is it going to be acceptable to dispose of it as a misdemeanor?

—Your Honor, we already have a disposition here. I have discussed it with Mr. Feathers.

—That’s right, Your Honor.

—And …?

—The People are moving to reduce the charge from robbery to petty larceny in exchange for the defendant’s plea of guilty.

—Is this what you want, Miss Henderson?

—Huh?

—You are willing to plead guilty to this crime?

—He said it’d be no more’n six months.

—Twelve is your maximum, Miss Henderson.

—Long as I can see my babies …

—Excuse me?

—I’ll take anything, she said.

—Very well, for the purpose of this plea, the outstanding charges are reduced to petty larceny. Do you understand that if I accept your plea pursuant to this decision you’ve made, that I have the power, that I could sentence you to up to one year in jail?

She leaned over quickly to her Legal Aid lawyer, who shook his head and put his hand on her wrist and half smiled at her.

—Yeah, I understand.

—And you understand you’re pleading to petty larceny?

—Yeah, babe.

—Excuse me?

Soderberg felt a stab of pain, somewhere between the eyes and the back of the throat. A stunned flick. Had she really called him babe? It couldn’t be. She was standing, staring at him, half smiling. Could he pretend that he didn’t hear? Dismiss it? Call her up in contempt? If he made a fuss, what would happen?

In the silence the room seemed to shrink a moment. The lawyer beside her looked as if he might bite her ear off. She shrugged and smiled and waved back over her shoulder again.

—I’m sure you didn’t mean that, Miss Henderson.

—Mean what, Y’r Honor?

—We will move on.

—Whatever you say, Y’r Honor.

—Keep your language in check.

—Cool, she said.

—Or else.

—You got it.

—You understand that you are giving up your right to trial?

—Yeah.

The Legal Aid lawyer’s lips recoiled as they touched, accidentally, against the woman’s ear.

—I mean, yessir.

—You have discussed pleading guilty with your lawyer and you are satisfied with his services? You are pleading guilty of your own free will?

—Yessir.

—You understand that you’re giving up your right to trial?

—Yessir, you bet.

—Okay, Miss Henderson, how do you plead to petty larceny?

Again, the Legal Aid lawyer leaned across to school her.

—Guilty.

—Okay, so very well, tell me what happened here.

—Huh?

—Tell me what occurred, Miss Henderson.

Soderberg watched as the court officers moved to reduce the yellowback form to a blue-back for the misdemeanor crime. In the spectators’ section the reporters were fidgeting with the spirals on their books. The buzz in the room had died slightly. Soderberg knew that he would have to move quickly if he was going to pull out a good performance for the tightrope walker.

The hooker raised her head. The way she stood, he knew for certain she was guilty. Just by the lean of the body, he knew. He always knew.

—It’s a long time ago. So, I was, like, I didn’t want to go to Hell’s Kitchen, but Jazzlyn and me, well me, I got this date in Hell’s Kitchen, and he was saying shit about me.

—All right, Miss Henderson.

—Shit like I was old and stuff.

—Language, Miss Henderson.

—And his wallet just jumped out in front of me.

—Thank you.

—I weren’t finished.

—That’ll do.

—I ain’t all bad. I know you think I’m all bad.

—That’ll do, young lady.

—Yeah, Pops.

He saw one of the court officers smirk. His cheeks flushed. He lifted his glasses high on his head, pinned her with a stare. Her eyes, suddenly, seemed wide and pleading, and he understood for a moment how she could attract a man, even in the worst of times: some layered beauty and fierceness, some history of love.

—And you understand that by pleading guilty you are not being coerced?

She tottered close to her lawyer and then she turned, heavy-eyed, to the bench.

—Oh, no, she said, I ain’t being coerced.

—Mr. Feathers, do you consent to immediate sentence and waive your right to presentence report?

—Yes, we do.

—And, Miss Henderson, do you wish to make a statement before I give sentence?

—I want to be in Rikers.

—You understand, Miss Henderson, that this court cannot determine which prison you will be in.

—But they said I’d be in Rikers. That’s what they said.

—And why, pray tell, would you like to be in Rikers? Why would anyone like …

—Cuz’a the babies.

—You’ve got babies?

—Jazzlyn’s got.

She was pointing over her shoulder at her daughter, slumped in the spectators’ section.

—Very well, there is no guarantee, but I’ll make a note to the court officers