Ditch Rider by Judith Van Gieson Page B

one?”
    â€œThat’s all.”
    He handed over the cigarette. “Remember when these things used to be called coffin nails?” he asked me.
    â€œI remember.” I took one deeply satisfying drag, coughed and handed the cigarette back. Saia finished it off, dropped it to the sidewalk and rubbed it out. Then we walked to the corner, where we intended to go our separate ways—he back to the DA’s office, me to the underground parking lot where I’d left my Nissan. “Don’t let it get to you,” he told me while we walked.
    â€œIt’s not,” I replied, pulling my dark glasses out of my purse. The sun and the wind were making their presence felt in the canyons of downtown, causing me to put on my sunglasses and making Anthony Saia squint. One side of the street was in sunlight. The other was in shadow. Both sides were feeling the wind, which picked up trash and swirled it around.
    Saia did not accept my denial. “What’s the problem?” he asked.
    â€œIt’s hard to watch a teenage client plead guilty to manslaughter.” And not that easy to confront the friends and family of a fifteen-year-old victim.
    â€œHappens every day,” he said.
    â€œ Not to my clients.”
    â€œThat’s because you’ve been going for the big-buck negligence cases.” He laughed.
    â€œHa, ha,” I replied. “Cheyanne will stay on suicide watch, I hope.”
    â€œI’ll look into it. If you ask me, she’s better off in the D Home than she is in her own home if the mother’s hanging out with Chuy Ortega.” The wind tugged at Saia’s hair and whipped mine across my face.
    â€œDo you mean Leo?” I asked.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œHe’s the father of Sonia’s son.”
    â€œWhen I read the police report for the night your client was assaulted I didn’t realize I knew him. There are a lot of Ortegas out there. Your client pled guilty and refused to cooperate in the assault investigation, so it went no further. I didn’t put it together until I saw Ortega in court today. I knew him by his gang name of Chuy. He was a violent son of a bitch back then.”
    â€œWhat’d he do?”
    â€œAggravated battery. I prosecuted him about ten years ago.”
    â€œYou’ve been prosecuting that long?”
    â€œThat long.”
    â€œMaybe you’re getting stuck, Anthony.”
    â€œMaybe one day a new DA will come along and kick me out. I am getting tired of seeing the same faces over and over again.” He looked tired. Squinting was deepening the wrinkles around his mouth and lengthening the bags beneath his eyes.
    â€œHow much time did Leo do?” I asked him.
    â€œA year.”
    â€œHe seems devoted to his son. Maybe being a father has straightened him out.”
    â€œIt’s a tough job,” Saia said, “but somebody’s got to do it. It’s getting to be too much for parents all alone. Maybe Hillary was right when she said it takes a village, only we don’t have villages anymore. The city is swallowing them up.”
    â€œWe do have streets,” I said.
    â€œTrue. Don’t go beating yourself up over this case, Neil. If Joseph does accept your client’s plea and sends her to the Girls’ School, it’s not exactly a dungeon.”
    â€œThere are going to be Four O’s or their girlfriends inside who can make it hell for my client if they want to. They were showing their colors in the courtroom.”
    â€œI guess we’ll find out then whether our justice is their justice, whether they believe your client is guilty or not.” The wind had pried one lock of graying hair loose, and it danced across Saia’s forehead.
    My own hair was blowing into my face. I brushed it away. “Who was the kid in the black hat?” I asked.
    â€œNolo Serrano. Good-looking kid, huh?”
    â€œNot bad.”
    â€œHe should have been a movie star or