‘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 told her stubbornly.
‘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 said sternly.
‘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.’