This kid needed to learn manners, and proper pronunciation. He was on the autism spectrum, but that was no excuse. Anna Maria frowned, said nothing.
“But I’m going to get Chuy out,” I said, emphasizing, perhaps over-emphasizing the Spanish pronunciation.
“What’s going to happen to my Chuy?” Anna Maria asked.
She had asked the same question about his father, Jesus Villalobos, so many years ago. My answer was different this time. Before, I would have said I didn’t know. Now my first words were “Do you have the retainer?” Five thousand dollars sure sounded good right now that I had my own son to support.
“Banks aren’t open yet to get a cashier’s check. We’ll get you all five-grand right after district court.”
Anna Maria went on about how her son’s evil baby mama, Penny the Puta, was setting him up, and how this puta wasn’t going to show. Maybe they didn’t need me after all.
“I can go then,” I said.
“Nah, you’ve always been there for us. I’ll wait for you inside the courtroom. We gotta be there when they bring out my Chuy. We gotta be there for my son.”
After Team Chuy went inside the courtroom, Marley looked at me. “I shoplifted an action figure and my mom makes me go to a Christian military boarding school to be hazed. Anna Maria’s son kidnaps a girl, beats her up a few weeks later, then has an illegitimate child that he doesn’t support, and he’s like a hero.”
“Welcome to my world,” I said. “I represented Anna Maria’s baby daddy, Jesus, and made a vow to her that I would do whatever I could for him. After he died, she transferred her love for her baby daddy onto their baby and has held me to my vow. It’s kinda creepy.”
“Her daughter is hot.”
“Do I have to give you the birds and the bees speech before court?”
“The birds I like,” he said. “The bees I don’t care for.”
We went into the crowded courtroom. I had once called this place Micro court because the rooms were so cramped. Things hadn’t changed. In fact, the court was even more crowded because of Team Chuy in the gallery, relatives with “Team Chuy” t-shirts took over the entire back row.
I was nearly tackled by the prosecutor, a gigantic man with the unlikely name of Doug Douglas. That was his real name. He had only been a lawyer for two years, but Mr. Douglas was famous for “doug-ing” defense lawyers. Getting doug-ed was like being mugged, but the state was doing the mugging.
Douglas towered over me like a red-headed Ivan Drago towering over Rocky in Rocky IV. He offered me a deal on the spot: Chuy admits to the DV and pleads to five years in prison on the probation violation. Marley sat in the front row and pretended not to listen.
“Five years?” I asked. “That’s a lot. He was hoping he’d be reinstated to probation and get out today.”
“Take the deal now,” Douglas said. “If the alleged victim shows in this hearing in Metro Court, it will be very bad for your boy in District Court. He has an eighteen-year suspended sentence.”
He didn’t say “I must break you,” as Drago had said to Rocky. But with his stare, he might as well have.
I felt intimidated in spite of myself. “I’ll convey the offer to my client.”
“Don’t trust him,” Marley said after Douglas went away.
“I got this under control,” I said. I wouldn’t get doug-ged.
The guards brought Chuy into the courtroom and sat him in the jury box, which had become the resting place for today’s defendants. At eighteen, and already heavily tattooed with glasses, with the shackles he looked exactly like his father did when I represented him so many years ago. But, there was a softness about this boy. His mother had spoiled him. He was very thin, maybe one-hundred twenty pounds soaking wet in the jail shower.
And, he wasn’t in an orange jump suit; he was in high risk red. That meant he had either tried to commit suicide or was a security risk because of fame. In my orange tie, we didn’t match. His red jumpsuit was the same color as Marley’s tie. I almost wanted to borrow my son’s tie just for aesthetics, or empathy.
Anna Maria waved at Chuy furiously, as if he was one of the Beatles. Even Jaylah waved. “We love you, Chuy!” she shouted.
Marley pouted, jealous that Jaylah was ignoring him for her brother, the convict.
I walked to the jury box and conveyed the plea to Chuy. “Five years if you plead now.”
“Five years in like, prison?”
“Prison, but you’d be out in about two and a half.”
“I’d be like twenty-one. I’d miss my first legal drink.”
Hopefully the police were out in force when this kid had that first legal drink. “Maybe we can get you a furlough for your birthday,” I lied.
“Penny won’t show,” he said. “They’ll have to dismiss all my cases then. I’ll get out in a few moments, no?”
“This is just the domestic violence case here in Metropolitan court. We still have the probation violation next door. This is a PV-DV.”
“But you said they’d dismiss that if this case gets dismissed.”
“I hope so.” I was about to explain that even if the new charge was dismissed, he still had a technical violation of picking up a new crime. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“Let me think about it,” he said.
“We have a few minutes,” I said. “Then again, we might have eighteen years. Take your time.”
I don’t know if Marley worked some magic on the clocks, because everything moved quicker that morning. Judge Manning took the bench a minute early. She was an African-American woman in her fifties who had led the UNM Lady Lobos to a conference championship on a last second three-pointer, all while using her last year of athletic eligibility to start law school. Thus, she was famous for time management. She called our case first, even though we were last on the docket.
We went up to the podium. Douglas stayed behind, scouring the gallery for his missing victim.
“Penny Pacheco?” Douglas asked the gallery.
No answer. I heard Anna Maria say, “I told you so.”
Douglas had to walk up to his table alone. “The state is not ready to proceed at this time. Unless the defense wishes to plead straight up.”
I looked at Chuy, who shook his head. “Not even,” he whispered.
“Your honor, since the state is unable to proceed,” I said. “We move to dismiss for lack of prosecution.”
Judge Manning didn’t even have to think about it. “Case is dismissed. Is anything else holding your client in custody?” she asked.
“He still has a district court probation violation,” Douglas said.
“I’ll be taking care of that next door,” I said.
Douglas frowned. “We’ll see about that.”
“One down, one to go,” I said to Chuy as we walked away from the podium.
“They’ll dismiss the other case, right?” Chuy asked as he sat back down in the jury box. “When she don’t show again?”
“I hope so,” I said. Despite the pinging in my head, I was optimistic. I gave Marley a high five on the way out.
“You’re a great lawyer in metro,” he said.
“Wait until after the next court before you thank me,” I replied.
Anna Maria, Jaylah, the grandmother, and the infant had already exited the courtroom. It was after nine. The banks were open now, right?
“Are they going to pay you now?” Marley asked. “And you can buy me that VR console?”
“Not before round two,” I said. “Time for the PV, the probation violation.”
Marley and I crossed the six speeding lanes of Lomas Boulevard over to the Second Judicial District Courthouse. If Metro was minor leagues, district court was like playing in the big leagues, but playing in a half-empty stadium during the dog days of summer. The building was older and dirtier t
han Metro court. The defendants were facing harsher sentences, and so their lawyers were older and more cynical. There was still hope for people in Metro, less so in district.
I spent more time in district court these days.
A car making a right turn nearly side-swiped Marley when he wasn’t paying attention. There were cops everywhere, all walking between courthouses, but none of them looked up from their phones to make a reckless driving arrest.
I grabbed my son’s hand and held it, tight. He looked as if he wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed or glad. His hand was sweaty. I let go when we made it safely to the other side.
“That’s an ugly building,” Marley said about the district courthouse. “I like micro court better. It looks like they brought in another architect for a rewrite. The bottom of the courthouse is adobe, but the top is like a flying saucer.”
They brought in another architect for a rewrite? I liked his metaphor. Still, the ungainly building had a special place in my heart. “The district courthouse is where I married your mother.”
“Well that changes everything. Maybe you and mom can get back together,” Marley said.
“Well, we can at least be a family again. I’d like that.”
In front of the courthouse was a sculpture of two eagles that were either fighting or flirting. After passing by another sign that warned that all district courts would be closed on a day in September for computer retrofitting, we entered the building and passed through yet another metal detector. The PV hearing was on the third floor, in the ceremonial courtroom. It was before Judge Comanche, the judge who married Luna and me.
He had also signed our divorce decree. Talk about mixed emotions.
This courtroom was twice the size of micro court, but it was almost empty. On the walls were portraits of long dead judges dating back to territorial days. There were more ghosts than people in the courtroom gallery.
Anna Maria, Jaylah, the grandmother, and the infant sat alone in the first row of hard, wooden benches. The rest of Team Chuy was in the back. Chuy himself was already in the jury box, as if he had been beamed over. They kept signaling to him, like coaches telling a baseball player to pass third base and head home. A bailiff told them not to wave, or they would be arrested in contempt of court.
Douglas came over to me before I had even made it all the way through the door. “Let’s make a deal,” he said.
“Will you dismiss the probation violation now that the other case is gone?” I asked.
“Almost,” he said. “Since the DV case in metro was dismissed, your client can admit to the technical violation of picking up a new charge. We are not opposed to him being reinstated to probation.”
“Not opposed” was as good as a signed, sealed, and delivered contract, right? That almost sounded too good to be true. So much for me and my client getting “doug-ged.”
I still had a nagging hesitation, a reasonable doubt. “Can I get that in writing?”
“I don’t put anything in writing on probation violations. That’s company policy, I mean office policy. You have my word that I am not opposed to him being reinstated to probation. All he has to do is plead straight up.”
“Suppose we ask for a full-fledged probation violation adjudication hearing? Could we do that today?”
“Well, that means we’d come back in a few weeks for the actual adjudication hearing. But this way, your client could get out today if the judge approves the agreement. You have my word, I am not opposed to him getting out today.”
He gave me a tight handshake and then walked away very quickly. He looked back at me, his rapid nod indicating that I should talk to my client before he changed his mind.
Marley must be pinging me. My head was pounding. “Don’t do it! Don’t do it,” he said out loud to me, pleading with me with his big brown eyes. “Don’t trust that guy!”
I told Marley to be quiet and walked to the jury box to convey the plea offer to Chuy. “All you have to do is admit to the violation and the whole thing goes away,” I said. “The state is not opposed to your being reinstated to probation.”
“Reinstated to probation? On the outs? That sounds better than five years in prison,” he said. “Guaranteed?”
I hesitated. I felt more pinging in my head. “Almost. Since we were pleading without a written plea agreement, you could still technically get eighteen years. But as I said, the State’s not opposed to you getting out on probation. That’s as good as it gets.”
“If I don’t take the plea bargain, what’s gonna happen?”
“This judge only has time to take a plea, not for a whole adjudicatory hearing. We’d have to come back in a few weeks.”
“But if I admit, do I get out today?”
“If the judge follows the recommendation of the parties, the DA and myself, you’d be out of custody by lunchtime. They might not even take you back.”
Guards brought in some bigger inmates, who sat right behind us. Now all twelve seats of the jury box were filled with inmates. And yet the gallery was empty except for Team Chuy. The inmates’ families had given up hope, but Team Chuy had not.
Chuy waved at his family. They waved back at him. “We love you Chuy!” Anna Maria yelled in that sing-song lilt. “I’m making enchiladas tonight.”
Even his little son waved at him.
I could hear Chuy’s stomach growling from a diet of bad jailhouse baloney sandwiches.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to get out for dinner tonight,” he said.
I turned around and walked over to talk to Anna Maria and Jaylah.
“What’s going to happen? Is he gonna get out?” Anna Maria asked.
“The prosecutor just gave me his word that he’s not opposed to putting Chuy back on probation. What can possibly go wrong?”
“He gets out today?” Anna Maria asked.
“I think so,” I said.
“Do it!”
So much for my reasonable doubts about getting doug-ged. We were going to plead. The five-grand was as good as mine.
Marley must have gone out to the bathroom because he vanished before I could run the deal by him. The boy returned just as the case was called by Judge Comanche. I had to go up to the podium and meet Chuy. Marley had to stay behind in the gallery.
I could hear the pinging in my head. Not an SOS, but a rapid repetition of a beep. Was Marley trying to warn me? It was too late, I couldn’t turn around.
Doug stayed behind at the State’s table. I didn’t like that. Was he up to something?
“Do we have a resolution of this matter?” Judge Comanche asked after we entered our appearances. He gave me a harsh look. The judge must have taken my divorce personally, as if he had been overruled by a higher court. He used to wear bolo ties with bears on them, but now his bolo was an eagle, as if he was above it all.
“We will admit to the technical violation of picking up a new charge, even though that charge was dismissed this morning,” I said. “We are pleading without an agreement, but the state is not opposed to him being reinstated to probation.”
The judge banged his gavel. “Well, let’s get through the plea first and deal with sentencing in a moment.”
Judge Comanche went through the rigmarole of a plea to a “technical probation violation” and reminded us that he didn’t have to take the parties’ recommendation and had the authority to give Chuy the full eighteen years just for admitting the technical violation.
Chuy smiled. “But my lawyer said—”
I whispered in his ear. “Don’t worry about it. The State’s not opposed to you being reinstated to probation.”
“Do you understand that I can un-suspend the suspended eighteen years in the Department of Corrections?” the judge asked again.
“I understand that you can give me eighteen years in the joint,” Chuy said. “But that’s probably not goin
g to happen because the State is not opposed to probation. I trust my lawyer.”
I smiled. It would all work out. The pinging, that repetition of a single beep in my head grew worse. It probably didn’t mean anything.
“Then I will accept your plea to the technical violation as free and voluntary,” the judge said. “Are we ready for sentencing?”
I didn’t hesitate, even though the state normally goes first. “Your honor, we ask that he be reinstated to probation. The State is not opposed to reinstatement.”
“It’s all good,” I said to myself. But was it really?
Douglas smiled when he stood up at the State’s table. “Your honor, the state is not opposed to reinstatement to probation.”
“Thank God!” Anna Maria said. She held her grandson in her arms. “There’s daddy, he’s getting out!”
But Douglas wasn’t done. “However, someone wishes to address the court. The alleged victim, Penny Pacheco, is present.”
I turned around. Penny Pacheco, aka Penny the Puta, the alleged victim herself, appeared as if from a trap door. Her heels were six inches high, and her hair was even higher above her head. She had i love chuy tattooed on her neck in red over a heart, as if mimicking “I Love Lucy.”
Unfortunately, there was now a big black “X” tattooed over the word “Chuy” on her neck.
“Sorry, I’m late,” she said. “Did I miss anything?”
Douglas took out a piece of paper. “The alleged victim has a statement." He then read a typed statement that was far too articulate to be composed by Miss Puta. The complaint listed a series of violations that Chuy had made, all in chronological order. Technically, their child was a result of a violation of conditions of his release.
“Is that your statement?” the judge asked her.
Douglas put his powerful hand on her petite shoulder. “I guess so,” she said.
“Can you cross-examine her?” Chuy yelled. “It’s all bullshit.”
I was about to stand up, but the judge held up his hand like a crossing guard. “This isn’t like a trial,” the judge said. “You already had your chance.”
“It’s like an execution,” Chuy said.
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