bail."
Jennifer told her she'd heard of it now.
"You sure? The done the hearing? Yeah, 'course they have. Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. How old your boy?"
"Matt. He was seven. They tell me they're going to ask for the death penalty."
"For you? Well, you lucky there." The news seemed to pluck her up. Jennifer stared at her, uncomprehending, and Clara explained. "You the wrong color for that, girl. The don't give no gas to no white woman look like you."
* * * * *
At breakfast there was Clara and the other new white woman, Rhea (grand theft). And Mercedes (murder) and Rosie (aggravated assault) and Jennifer. All of the men and women on the seventh floor were either awaiting trial or, convicted, waiting for their trip to state prison or another facility.
Mercedes was going to trial in a couple of weeks and had been in jail for four months. She had finally stabbed her no good husband because he'd been running around on her. Rosie, who had beaten her boyfriend with a rolling pin, didn't have two thousand dollars for bail. Her trial was in six days and she was sure no jury would convict her.
Rhea was about Jennifer's age, size, hair color, but all the beauty had been used out of her. She was telling them how her husband had been pimping her out and they'd gotten lucky (or unlucky) with a john who'd lost his wallet with nearly a thousand dollars in it. "That's why they went for the grand theft."
"They always lookin'," Clara said.
"What's you bail?" Jennifer asked. She had been giving more thought to bail lately. If she had three-hundred-thousand dollars and could get out of jail for a third of that, she could take the other two-hundred-thousand and disappear for a long time. Forever. Why did she want to spend it on David Freeman, just give it to him? It didn't seem right somehow.
"Five thousand," Rhea answered. "So it's takin' Jimmy a day or two to get it together. It's cool. We talked about it."
"You mean you boyfriend, he'll bring in five thousand dollars and you'll just go home tonight or tomorrow and that's it?"
"This girl got no bail." Jennifer was Clara's story and she wanted to tell it. "No bail at all."
Rhea, ignoring Clara, seemed to smell something. Something with Jennifer. "You got no bail? Is that true? Don't you want out of here?"
"Amen to that," Mercedes said, "Everybody want out of here."
"'Cept me." Rosie, who had nearly killed her boyfriend, was the youngest of them, a diminutive, sweet-faced Hispanic. "I stay in here as long as they let me."
"You want that?"
Rosie's black eyes shone at Jennifer. "I want to be where I don't get hit no more."
"Amen," Mercedes said. "Amen amen."
"I get out of here," Rosie continued, "next day somebody's going to be hitting me. Next time he hit me I think I keel that son-of-a-bitch. So here" — and her face brightened — "I'm safe. Nobody hit me. I can't hit nobody back. I stay a while here. I think."
One of the guards, with a tag on her chest that read "Jessup," was moving their way. The talking stopped.
She came over to them. "You ladies having a nice time? Sure sounds like it." She tapped the table gently with her nightstick, her mouth becoming a thin line, nearly invisible. "Finish it up, now. Let's eat up."
Jennifer heard her name called over the loudspeaker.
* * * * *
Freeman was not sitting. Nor was Hardy. Jennifer looked defiantly up at them both. Freeman, who had obviously been through this sort of thing many times before, spoke matter-of-factly. "Typically, a full-scale murder trial will run to between half-a-million and a million in legal fees, so yes, I'd say your retainer will be spent."
"Then what?"
"Then what what, Jennifer?"
"After it's gone."
"Then we go to the court and get paid by the state."
"Couldn't they still just pick a public defender then?"
Freeman nodded. "They
Jennifer told her she'd heard of it now.
"You sure? The done the hearing? Yeah, 'course they have. Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. How old your boy?"
"Matt. He was seven. They tell me they're going to ask for the death penalty."
"For you? Well, you lucky there." The news seemed to pluck her up. Jennifer stared at her, uncomprehending, and Clara explained. "You the wrong color for that, girl. The don't give no gas to no white woman look like you."
* * * * *
At breakfast there was Clara and the other new white woman, Rhea (grand theft). And Mercedes (murder) and Rosie (aggravated assault) and Jennifer. All of the men and women on the seventh floor were either awaiting trial or, convicted, waiting for their trip to state prison or another facility.
Mercedes was going to trial in a couple of weeks and had been in jail for four months. She had finally stabbed her no good husband because he'd been running around on her. Rosie, who had beaten her boyfriend with a rolling pin, didn't have two thousand dollars for bail. Her trial was in six days and she was sure no jury would convict her.
Rhea was about Jennifer's age, size, hair color, but all the beauty had been used out of her. She was telling them how her husband had been pimping her out and they'd gotten lucky (or unlucky) with a john who'd lost his wallet with nearly a thousand dollars in it. "That's why they went for the grand theft."
"They always lookin'," Clara said.
"What's you bail?" Jennifer asked. She had been giving more thought to bail lately. If she had three-hundred-thousand dollars and could get out of jail for a third of that, she could take the other two-hundred-thousand and disappear for a long time. Forever. Why did she want to spend it on David Freeman, just give it to him? It didn't seem right somehow.
"Five thousand," Rhea answered. "So it's takin' Jimmy a day or two to get it together. It's cool. We talked about it."
"You mean you boyfriend, he'll bring in five thousand dollars and you'll just go home tonight or tomorrow and that's it?"
"This girl got no bail." Jennifer was Clara's story and she wanted to tell it. "No bail at all."
Rhea, ignoring Clara, seemed to smell something. Something with Jennifer. "You got no bail? Is that true? Don't you want out of here?"
"Amen to that," Mercedes said, "Everybody want out of here."
"'Cept me." Rosie, who had nearly killed her boyfriend, was the youngest of them, a diminutive, sweet-faced Hispanic. "I stay in here as long as they let me."
"You want that?"
Rosie's black eyes shone at Jennifer. "I want to be where I don't get hit no more."
"Amen," Mercedes said. "Amen amen."
"I get out of here," Rosie continued, "next day somebody's going to be hitting me. Next time he hit me I think I keel that son-of-a-bitch. So here" — and her face brightened — "I'm safe. Nobody hit me. I can't hit nobody back. I stay a while here. I think."
One of the guards, with a tag on her chest that read "Jessup," was moving their way. The talking stopped.
She came over to them. "You ladies having a nice time? Sure sounds like it." She tapped the table gently with her nightstick, her mouth becoming a thin line, nearly invisible. "Finish it up, now. Let's eat up."
Jennifer heard her name called over the loudspeaker.
* * * * *
Freeman was not sitting. Nor was Hardy. Jennifer looked defiantly up at them both. Freeman, who had obviously been through this sort of thing many times before, spoke matter-of-factly. "Typically, a full-scale murder trial will run to between half-a-million and a million in legal fees, so yes, I'd say your retainer will be spent."
"Then what?"
"Then what what, Jennifer?"
"After it's gone."
"Then we go to the court and get paid by the state."
"Couldn't they still just pick a public defender then?"
Freeman nodded. "They
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