Ditch Rider by Judith Van Gieson Page A

judge.
    â€œI shot Juan Padilla and caused his family pain and suffering.”
    â€œWhat were the circumstances of the shooting?”
    â€œ I … I was holding the gun in my hand. The gun went off.”
    â€œDid you act alone?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWas it your intent to shoot Juan Padilla?” He stared down at her from the height of the bench, making my client appear very small, very young and very scared.
    She shook her head. “No. It was an accident, Your Honor.”
    â€œWhere did you get the weapon?”
    â€œI found it.”
    The judge took his eyes off Cheyanne for a moment and appraised me. “Are you satisfied with your legal representation, young lady?” he asked her.
    â€œYes,” my client answered.
    â€œAnd with your guilty plea?”
    She’d had the option of taking an Alford Plea, which doesn’t admit guilt, only that the prosecutor can prove guilt, but that hadn’t been my client’s wish. My client had wanted to stand up before the judge and the Padillas and plead guilty. The time had come to do so.
    â€œYes, Your Honor,” she whispered.
    The judge stared at her for a long time. He closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them he said, “I am taking your plea under advisement and will schedule a hearing when I have made my decision.”
    â€œWhen will that be, Your Honor?” asked Cheyanne.
    â€œWhen I have given the matter due consideration,” he snapped. Considering the age of the defendant, Judge Joseph would be expected to take a long, hard look at this case, which would include reports from a psychiatrist and a probation officer. But his sour expression indicated he’d made up his mind.
    He set bail at an amount Sonia Moran couldn’t possibly meet and remanded Cheyanne to the D Home until the plea hearing. Maybe he thought the D Home would be the best place for her. Maybe he thought she would be a menace out on the street. He pounded his gavel and dismissed us.
    Juan’s women sobbed while the attendant led Cheyanne—hiding behind her hair—back to the D Home. It was all the state could do, but it would never be enough for the Padillas. Leo hurried Sonia and Danny outside. The newscasters headed for the door and the cameramen began hauling away their equipment. For them the drama was over.
    I watched Patricia step across the divide and walk up to the guy in the black hat, who was talking to one of his homeboys. His back was to me and I could read the inscription on his turned-backward hat. B ROWN P OWER , it said in white Old English letters. The guy didn’t know Patricia was behind him until she tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around like he was getting ready to take a swing, but when he saw it was Patricia he stopped himself, looked her up and down and smiled smoothly.
    â€œLooking baaad today, Patricia,” he said. “Real bad.”
    â€œTake your breath away,” she replied.
    â€œDon’t count on it.” His smile turned cold and hard.
    One of Juan’s young women, a girlfriend or a sister, grabbed Patricia’s arm. “Your girlfriend’s gonna rot in jail, bitch,” she hissed.
    â€œChill out, Laura,” Black Hat said.
    Patricia shook the girl off, turned her back and walked away.
    Black Hat held the girl in check until Patricia was out the door. I’d been standing by the bench watching and the girl turned toward me. “That goes for you, too,” she said.
    â€œJust doing my job,” I replied.
    â€œIt’s a hoe’s job.”
    Whores get paid better than me, I thought, but I let my feet do the talking. I walked out of the courtroom, down the hallway, out the door and onto the street, where I encountered the cloud of smoke that hovers outside every professional building. My buddy and adversary, Anthony Saia, was standing in the middle of it puffing on a Camel.
    â€œGive me a hit,” I said.
    â€œJust