Let the Great World Spin (42 page)

Soderberg made a split second of eye contact. Broke his own rule, but so what? The walker understood and half nodded. There was something gleeful and playful there in the walker’s eyes. What could Soderberg do with him? How could he manipulate it? After all, it was reckless endangerment, at the very least, and that could end upstairs, a felony, with the possibility of seven years. What about disorderly conduct? Soderberg knew deep down that it’d never go in that direction. It’d be kept a minor misdemeanor and he’d have to work it out with the D.A. He’d play it smart. Pull something unusual from the hat. Besides, the reporters were there, watching. The sketch artist. The TV cameras, outside the courtroom.

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He called his bridge over and whispered in her ear: Who’s on first? It was their little joke, their judicial Abbott and Costello. She showed him the calendar and he skimmed down quickly over the cases, flicked a quick look at the sin bin, sighed. He didn’t have to do them in order, he could juggle things around, but he tapped his pencil against the first pending case.

The bridge stepped away and cleared her throat.

—Docket ending six- eight- seven, she said. The People versus Tillie Henderson and Jazzlyn Henderson. Step up, please.

The assistant D.A., Paul Concrombie, shook out the creases in his jacket. Opposite him, the Legal Aid attorney brushed back his long hair and came forward, spreading the file out on the shelf. In the back of the court, one of the reporters let out an audible groan as the women stood up from the bench. The younger hooker was milky- skinned and tall, wearing yellow stilettos, a neon swimsuit under a loose black shirt, a baubled necklace. The older one wore a one- piece swimsuit and high silver heels, her face a playground of mascara. Absurd, he thought. Sun-bathing in the Tombs. She looked as if she had been around awhile, that she’d done her share of circling the track.

—Aggravated robbery in the second degree. Produced on an outstanding warrant from November 19, 1973.

The older hooker blew a kiss over her shoulder. A white man in the gallery blushed and lowered his head.

—This isn’t a nightclub, young lady.

—Sorry, Your Honor—I’d blow you one too ’cept I’m all blowed out.

A quick snap of laughter circled the room.

—I’ll have decorum in my court, Miss Henderson.

He was quite sure he heard the word
asshole
creeping out from under her tongue. He always wondered why they dug such pits for themselves, these hookers. He peered down at the rap sheets in front of him. Two il-lustrious careers. The older hooker had at least sixty charges against her over the years. The younger one had begun the quick portion of the slide: the charges had started to come with regularity and she would only accel-erate from here on in. He’d seen it all too often. It was like opening up a tap.

Soderberg adjusted his reading glasses, sat back a moment in the swivel chair, addressed the assistant D.A. with a withering look.

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—So. Why the wait, Mr. Concrombie? This happened almost a year ago.

—We’ve had some recent developments here, Your Honor. The defendants were arrested in the Bronx and . . .

—Is this still in the complaint form?

—Yes, Your Honor.

—And is the assistant D.A. interested in disposing of this on a criminal- court l evel?

—Yes, Your Honor.

—So, the warrant is vacated?

—Yes, Your Honor.

He was hitting his stride, getting it done with speed. All a bit of a magic trick. Sweep out the black cape. Wave the white wand. Watch the rabbit disappear. He could see the row of nodding heads in the spectators’ area, caught on the current, rolling along with him. He hoped the reporters were getting it, seeing the control he had in his courtroom, even with the wine at the corners of his mind.

—And what’re we doing now, Mr. Concrombie?

—Your Honor, I’ve discussed this with the Legal Aid lawyer, Mr.

Feathers here, and we’ve agreed that in the interests of justice, taking everything into consideration, the People are moving to dismiss the case against the daughter. We’re not going to go further with it, Your Honor.

—The daughter?

—Jazzlyn Henderson. Yes, sorry, Your Honor, it’s a mother- daughter team.

He flicked a quick look at the rap sheets. He was surprised to see that the mother was just thirty- eight years old.

—So, you two are related.

—Keeping it in the family, Y’r Honor!

—Miss, I’ll ask you not to speak again.

—But you axed me a question.

—Mr. Feathers, instruct your client, please.

—But you axed me.

—Well, I will
axe
you, yes, young lady.

—Oh, she said.

—Okay. Miss . . . Henderson. Zip it. Do you understand that? Zip it.

Now. Mr. Concrombie. Go on.

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—Well, Your Honor, after studying the file, we don’t believe that the People will be able to sustain our burden of proof. Beyond reasonable doubt.

—For what reason?

—Well, the identification is problematic.

—Yes? I’m waiting.

—The investigation revealed that there was a matter of mistaken identity.

—Whose identification?

—Well, we have a confession, Your Honor.

—Okay. Don’t bowl me over with your certainty about this, Mr. Concrombie. So you’re dropping the case against Miss, uh, Miss Jazzlyn Henderson?

—Yes, sir.

—And all parties are agreed?

A little nodding field of heads around the room.

—Okay, case dismissed.

—Case dismissed?

—You serious? said the young girl. That’s it?

—That’s it.

—Done and dusted? He’s cutting me loose?

Under her breath he was sure he could hear her say: Getdefuckoutta-here!

—What did you say, young lady?

—Nothing.

The Legal Aid lawyer leaned across and whispered something vicious in her ear.

—Nothing, Your Honor. Sorry. I said nothing. Thanks.

—Get her out of here.

—Lift the rope! One coming out!

The younger hooker turned to her mother, kissed her square on the eyebrow. Strange place. The mother, beaten down and tired, accepted the kiss, stroked the side of her daughter’s face, pulled her close. Soderberg watched as they embraced. What sort of deep cruelty, he wondered, allows a family like that?

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courtroom—the raw edge it gave to life, the sight of lovers embracing after beating each other up, or families glad to welcome back their son the petty thief, the surprise of forgiveness when it shone in the core of his court. It was rare, but it happened, and like everything, the rarity was necessary.

The young hooker whispered in the mother’s ear and the mother laughed, waved over her shoulder again at the white man in the spectators’ section.

The court officer didn’t lift the rope. The young hooker did it herself.

She swayed as she walked, as if she was already selling herself. She brazened her way down the center of the aisle toward the white man with graying flecks at the side of his hair. She took off the black shirt as she went, so that only her swimsuit could be seen.

Soderberg could feel his toes curl at the sheer audacity of it.

—Put that shirt back on, right now!

—It’s a free world, ain’t it? You dismissed me. It’s his shirt.

—Put it on, said Soderberg, leaning close into his microphone.

—He wanted to dress me up nice for court. Didn’t you, Corrie? He got it sent down to me in the Tombs.

The white man was trying to drag her across by the elbow, whispering something urgently in her ear.

—Put on the shirt or I’ll pull you up on contempt. . . . Sir, are you related to that young woman?

—Not exactly, said the man.

—And what does
not exactly
mean?

—I’m her friend.

He had an Irish accent, this gray- haired pimp. He raised his chin like an old- fashioned boxer. His face was thin and his cheeks were sunken.

—Well, friend, I want to make sure that she keeps the shirt on at all times.

—Yes, Y’r Honor. And, Y’r Honor . . . ?

—Just do what I say.

—But, Y’r Honor . . .

Soderberg slammed the gavel down: Enough, he said.

He watched the younger hooker as she kissed the Irishman on the cheek. The man turned away, but then took her face gently in his hands.

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sizes and packages. Truth was, the women were victims of the men, always were, always would be. At the essential core, it was idiots like the pimp who should’ve been jailed. Soderberg let out a sigh and then turned toward the assistant D.A.

An eyebrow raise was language enough between the two of them.

There was still the matter of the mother to take care of, and then he’d get to the centerpiece.

He flicked a quick look across at the tightrope walker sitting at the benches. A befuddled gaze on the walker’s face. His own crime so unique that he surely had no idea what he was even doing here.

Soderberg tapped the microphone and those in the courtroom perked up.

—As I understand it, the remaining defendant, the mother here . . .

—Tillie, Y’r Honor.

—I’m not talking to 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 pur-suant 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.

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—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 yellow-McCa_9781400063734_4p_04_r1.w.qxp 4/13/09 2:39 PM Page 272

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back 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.