Southern Cross (31 page)

“Then I musta really gone at him because he looked like hamburger, a bunch of broke bones, teeth everywhere but in his mouth, most of his hair yanked out, ear tore off. What I hate about someone pissing me off like that is later on I can’t remember a thing. I guess I must have a spell of some sort, like an epilepick.”

“I’m the same way,” Passman said.

“So, you live around here?”

“We’re over near Regency Mall.”

“Who’s
we?”
Meaney’s eyes got smaller and darker.

“Me and my boyfriend.” Passman lied out of self-defense.

“I had one once,” Meaney reminisced. “Then I was in lockup one day. I forget what for. And there was another girl in there with me.” Meaney nodded and lay on her back, hands behind her head, body spilling everywhere.

Passman was beginning to panic. She was going to kill
the bondsman Lucky Loving if he didn’t hurry up. She didn’t want to encourage Meaney, not in the least, but she had to know the rest of the story. She needed to get as much information as she could. Forewarned is forearmed, her mother always used to say.

“What happened?” Passman asked after a long, intense silence.

“The things we did. Ha!” Meaney grinned, enjoying the memory. “Let me tell you something, honey. There ain’t a thing a man’s got that you can’t find under your own hood, if you know what I mean.”

T
HE
O
LIVER
H
ILL
Courts Building was modern and full of light and Ayokunle Odeleye mahogany carvings. Brazil had never seen a court building that looked less like one, and it made him feel a little more optimistic when he walked in, Weed’s case file under his arm. It was five minutes before nine, and unlike other juvenile systems, this one had an exact time schedule docket.

If the arraignment was at nine, it would begin at nine, and that’s exactly what time it was when the intercom announced, “Weed Gardener, report to courtroom number two, please.”

Judge Maggie Davis was already on the bench, formidable and distinguished in her black robe. She was young to be a judge, and when the General Assembly had appointed her, she had charged in and made changes. Although she protected the confidentiality of juveniles who committed lesser crimes, she did not coddle or shield violent offenders.

“Good morning, Officer Brazil,” Judge Davis said as Brazil seated himself on the first row and the clerk handed the judge Weed’s file.

“Good morning, Your Honor,” said Brazil.

A deputy escorted Weed in from the back and positioned him in front of the judge, where he seemed even smaller in his ill-fitting blue jumpsuit and detention-issue black Spalding hightops. But Weed held his head up. He didn’t seem dejected or ashamed and in fact seemed to be looking forward to the arraignment, unlike Commonwealth’s Attorney Jay Michael or Sue Cheddar, the public defender on his heels, or Mrs. Gardener, who was at the door explaining to a deputy who she was.

“. . . yes, yes, my son,” Brazil heard Mrs. Gardener say.

“Mrs. Gardener?” Judge Davis inquired.

“Yes,” Mrs. Gardener whispered.

Weed’s mother had put on a crisp blue dress and matching shoes, but her face belied her neat facade. Her eyes were puffy and exhausted, as if she had been crying all night. Her hands shook. She had burst into tears and called herself a failure as a mother when Brazil had finally gotten her on the phone to tell her about Weed. She had told Brazil that she’d quit feeling or facing anything after Twister died.

“You can come up here,” the judge kindly said to Mrs. Gardener.

Mrs. Gardener came to the front of the courtroom and quietly sat in a corner of the first row, as far from Brazil as she could get. Weed did not turn around.

“Are you expecting any other family?” the judge asked Mrs. Gardener.

“No ma’am,” she barely said.

“All right,” Judge Davis said to Weed, “I’m going to tell you your rights.”

“Okay,” he said.

“You have the right to counsel, to a public hearing, to the privilege against self-incrimination, to confront and cross-examine witnesses, to present evidence, and the right to appeal a final decision of the court.”

“Thank you,” Weed said.

“Do you understand them?”

“No.”

“What this means, Weed, is you have a right to an attorney and you don’t have to say anything this morning that might incriminate you. Those other rights don’t apply unless you go to trial. Does that make sense, do you understand?”

“What does incriminalate mean?”

“For example, saying something that will be used against you.”

“How do I know what that is?” Weed asked.

“I’ll stop you if you start doing it, how’s that?”

“What if you don’t stop me quick enough?”

“I will, don’t worry.”

“You promise?”

“Yes,” Judge Davis answered. “Now.” She looked at Weed. “The purpose of this arraignment is to determine whether I should keep you locked up in detention before your trial date or let you go.”

“I wanna stay locked up,” Weed said.

“We’ll talk about that as we proceed,” said the judge.

She looked at the petition Brazil had signed.

“Weed, you’ve been charged with 18.2-125 of the Virginia code,
Trespass at night upon any cemetery
, and 18.2-127,
Injuries to churches or church property, cemeteries, burial grounds, etc.,
and 18.2-138.1,
Willful and malicious damage to or defacement of public or private facilities.”
She leaned forward. “Do you understand the seriousness of these charges?”

“I only know what I did or didn’t do,” Weed said.

“Do you believe you’re guilty or not guilty?”

“Depends on what happens if I say one or another,” Weed said.

“Weed, it doesn’t work that way.”

“I just wanna have my say.”

“Then plead not guilty and you can have your say at the trial,” she told him.

“When’s that?”

“We’d have to set a date.”

“Could we do it tomorrow?”

“Twenty-one days from now.”

Weed looked crushed.

“But the Azalea Parade’s Saturday,” he explained. “Can’t I have my say now so I can march in it and play the cymbals?”

Judge Davis seemed to find this juvenile a little more interesting than most. Commonwealth’s Attorney Michael was befuddled. Public Defender Cheddar had a blank expression on her face.

“If you want to have your say, Weed, then plead not guilty.” The judge tried to make him get the drift.

“Not unless I get to be in the parade,” he stubbornly told her.

“If you don’t plead not guilty, the alternative is guilty. Do you understand what a guilty plea means?” Judge Davis asked with surprising patience.

“Means I done it.”

“It means I have to sentence you, Weed. Maybe I’ll put you on probation, maybe I won’t. You may lose your freedom, go back to detention, in other words, and if that’s the case, there’s absolutely no chance of your being in any parade anytime soon.”

“You sure?” Weed asked.

“Sure as I’m sitting here.”

“Not guilty,”
he said, “even if I am.”

Judge Davis looked at Mrs. Gardener. “Do you have an attorney?”

“No, ma’am,” Mrs. Gardener replied.

“Can you afford to hire one?”

“How much would it cost?”

“It could be expensive,” said the judge.

“I don’t want an attorney,” Weed piped up.

“I’m not talking to you,” the judge warned.

“Don’t hire one, Mama!” he said.

“Weed!” the judge sternly said.

“I’m gonna defend myself.” Weed wouldn’t stop.

“No, you’re not,” Judge Davis replied.

She appointed Sue Cheddar to defend Weed, and Cheddar moved to Weed’s side and smiled at him. She wore a
lot of makeup, her mascara so thick it reminded Weed of asphalt right after they put it down. Little gold stars had been painted on red nails so long her fingers never touched anything first. Weed wasn’t impressed.

“I don’t want her,” he said. “I don’t need nobody to talk for me.”

“I’ve decided you do,” said the judge. “Mr. Michael, please present evidence to the state for continued custody,” she said to the commonwealth’s attorney, who looked over at Brazil and passed the baton.

“Your Honor, I think the arresting officer is better able to do that at this time,” Michael said. “I haven’t really looked at anything yet.”

Weed didn’t like the way Sue Cheddar was handling things. Every time he tried to say what was what, Cheddar told him to hush. He didn’t understand how the truth ever got out if people weren’t allowed to tell it because they might get in trouble when they ought to be in trouble anyway.

After a while, when Brazil was leading up to the crime, Weed got tired of Cheddar basically telling him to shut up. He was insulted and indignant. She didn’t seem to object to anything except Weed, and she was supposed to be on his side. So he took over. He decided that if Officer Brazil was going to tell Weed’s story, Weed would object for himself all he wanted, even if he agreed with Brazil.

“About two o’clock Tuesday morning, Weed climbed over the Hollywood Cemetery fence, trespassing on private property,” Brazil was standing before the judge and summarizing.

“We didn’t even get there until after three,” Weed corrected him again.

“That’s immaterial,” Judge Davis said as she had numerous times before.

“Shhhhh . . .” Cheddar hissed.

“Apparently he was with a gang and was coerced . . .” Brazil went on.

“No, I wasn’t,” Weed objected. “I was just with Smoke and Divinity. Dog, Sick and Beeper wasn’t there.”

“Immaterial,” said the judge.

“Point is,” Brazil went on, “Weed carried paints into the cemetery with the intention of defacing Jefferson Davis’s statue.”

“I didn’t know who it was,” Weed cut in. “And I didn’t de-face him. He still has a face. You go look.”

“Your Honor.” Public Defender Cheddar’s voice was tight and high. “I don’t think my client understands the bit about self-incrimination.”

“He said he did,” Judge Davis replied.

“Yeah,” Weed told Cheddar.

“Please continue, Officer Brazil,” said the judge.

“Weed painted a Spiders basketball uniform on the statue and at or around five
A
.
M
. left the cemetery by climbing over the fence again.”

“It wasn’t that early,” Weed protested. “I know, ’cause the sun was starting to show up and that always happens after six ’cause that’s when I get up, too, ’cause I gotta make my own toast and jelly before I go to school ’cause my mama works too late to get outta bed that early.”

Mrs. Gardener bent her head. She hid her face, wiping tears.

“Immaterial,” said Judge Davis.

“And besides,” Weed declared, “it’s just poster paint. You go look. A hose will get it off, but they been so busy studying what to do about it they never even wet their finger and touched it to see if it would stick. First rain’s gonna ruin it,” he concluded with a trace of disappointment.

No one spoke for a moment.

Papers shuffled.

The C.A. was staring off, not present.

Brazil was amazed.

It took several synapses before Cheddar got it.

“Then it’s not really defaced,” Cheddar announced as if her voice was a gavel.

“How do you know?” Weed objected to his attorney. “Anybody looked at it today?”

Nobody had.

“Then don’t be telling . . .” he started to say before Cheddar clamped her hand over his mouth.

“How many times I gotta tell you to keep your mouth shut so I can do my job!” Cheddar exclaimed.

Weed bit her.

“Lord in heaven!” Cheddar exclaimed. “He bit me!”

“Not hard,” Weed said. “But she started it. What if she cut me with those nails? You seen them things up close?” He rubbed his mouth with his sleeve.

“Order!” Judge Davis declared.

“What if I clean up the statue?” Weed said. “If you want me to, I will.” It was a big sacrifice for Weed to make, but he knew Twister’s monument couldn’t last forever. “All I want is to be locked up except for Saturday when the Azalea Parade is.”

“We’re not there yet, Weed,” Judge Davis firmly told him. “I can’t decide anything until I’ve heard the evidence. And please refrain from biting your counsel again.”

“What if I promise to fix the police computer? Would you let me play my cymbals in the parade?” Weed went on.

“He’s referring to what the press has been calling ‘Fishsteria,’ ” Brazil told her.

Cheddar was visibly alarmed. “He has that?” she asked, her face stricken.

“He caused it,” Brazil said.

“Your Honor, may I approach the bench?” Cheddar panicked.

She lunged forward and grabbed the edge of the bench, standing on her tiptoes, leaning as close to the judge as she could.

“Your Honor,” she whispered excitedly, but everyone could hear. “If what’s being said here is my client’s the one spreading that fish sickness, then I need to know if others are in danger of catching it!”

Cheddar shot Weed a menacing look.

“Others meaning me,” Cheddar went on. “He bit my hand, Your Honor.”

“I don’t think we’re talking about that sort of disease,” Judge Davis told her with a glint of irritation.

“Your Honor,” Cheddar said in a more demanding tone, her nails flashing as she gestured. “How do I know for an absolute true fact that he doesn’t have some sort of bug of some type that all of us should be concerned about! Especially me because his teeth made contact with my skin!”

She held up her hand like the Statue of Liberty.

“Doesn’t look like he broke the skin,” the judge observed.

“Then you’re saying you’re not going to send him to mental health or someplace where they can do tests?” Cheddar’s voice rose to a shriek.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Judge Davis said.

“Then I quit!” Cheddar threw her hands up, red and gold flashing.