Free Jackie Brown by Elmore Leonard

that's when you think about making a deal with the law, get your charge dismissed if you help them, not just reduced. Hear what I'm saying?"

    They got mad, Jackie told her, when she wouldn't talk to them, cooperate. Ramona said, "They ain't your worry. What you need to think about is if you put it on the man, you want to know he don't have friends he can set after you. That's the tricky part. You have to put it on him without him knowing it. The worse thing that can happen, say you don't tell on the man or cop to the deal? You might do, oh, three months county time, something like that. Six at the most and that's nothing."

    Jackie said, "Terrific. I'll be starting my life over at forty-five."

    She remembered Ramona, who she thought was old enough to be her mother, smiling at her with gold crowns, saying that's how old she was and asking, "When's your birthday, dear?"

    She would sleep and wake up and remember looking out Tyler's office window at West Palm fading in the dusk and remember Nicolet's boots on the desk and the sound of his voice, Nicolet telling about the Jamaican found in the trunk of an Oldsmobile.

    At noon the next day, Thursday, Jackie was handcuffed to a chain with Ramona and four other women from the holding dorm. They were brought outside and marched past a crew of male prisoners on a cleanup detail to board the Corrections bus. Jackie stared at the pavement, at bare heels in front of her. A prisoner leaning on his push broom said, "The ladies from the slut hut." Jackie looked up as Ramona said, "Watch your mouth, boy." The prisoner with the broom said, "Come over here, I let you sit on it." Ramona said, "Now you talking." They laughed and the women on the chain with Jackie came to life, moving their hips with the shuffle step, turning to grin at the men watching them. One of them cupped his crotch and said, "Check this out." Jackie glanced at him-a white guy, shirt off sweating in the sun, twenty years younger than she was, at least-and looked away. She heard him say, "Gimme that blond-haired one, I'll stay here forever," and Ramona, next to her, say, "Listen to that sweet boy, he's talking about you."

    The First Appearance courtroom reminded her of a church with its wide center aisle and benches that were like pews. Male prisoners in dark blue outfits like scrubs, brought over from the county jail, sat in the first few rows. The women were unshackled, directed to sit behind them, and the men turned to look and make remarks until a deputy told them to shut up and face the front. When the judge entered they rose and sat down again. Still nothing happened. Court personnel and police officers would approach the judge and exchange words with him, hand him papers to be signed. Jackie said, "How long do we have to wait?"

    Ramona said, "Long as they want us to. It's what you do in jail, dear, you wait."

    From the time the bailiff began calling defendants, an hour and a half went by before Jackie was brought up to the public defender's table. He turned to her
    looking at a case file and asked how she wanted to plead.

    "What are my choices?"

    "Guilty, not guilty, or stand mute."

    Nicolet and Tyler were here, off to one side. They lounged against the wall watching her.

    Jackie said to the public defender, "I'm not sure what I should do."

    He was young, in his early thirties, clean-cut, moderately attractive, wearing a pleasant after shave. . . . For some reason it gave her hope, a guy who appeared to have it together.

    He said, "I can get it down to simple possession if you're willing to tell FDLE what they want to know."

    And hope vanished.

    Jackie said, "My cleaning woman can get me a better deal than that," and saw her public defender's startled look. Not a good sign. "Tell those guys they'll have to do a lot better before I'll even say hi to them."

    Nicolet and Tyler, over there acting like innocent bystanders.

    "Well, that's the state's offer," the public defender said. "If you plead to