The Furthest City Light Read Online Free PDF Page B

you?” As if I were someone who’d been courting her for months but she still couldn’t quite believe it.
    “I do. And I don’t want you thinking this is even tolerable. I want you to claw your way out of here.”
    Emily gazed down at her hands, and then back up at me, her blue eyes as impenetrable as ever. “What if my nails aren’t sharp enough?”
    “Uh-uh. You’ve already done it once, you can do it again.”
    And then, without any warning, my client disappeared. We were still facing each other, but she wasn’t there; it was as if I were sitting across from a hologram. She’d left like this before and I never tried to stop her. After three or four minutes, she always came back looking calm and somewhat resigned, as if she’d considered the possibility of remaining where she was and decided, once again, to return.
    “Hey,” was all I said when I knew she was back.
    We sat quietly for a while, listening to the sounds of the jail, of too many people living against their will in tiny inhospitable quarters originally meant to house less than half of them. Eventually, Emily broke the silence. “You want me to make a decision, don’t you?”
    It never ceased to amaze me how well she could read my mind. There was no point waffling. “Yes, it’s time.”
    Somewhere outside the room, a female inmate began yelling. A few seconds later, we heard the sound of running feet and a couple of guards ordering her back into the day room.
    “No!” the inmate screamed. “I have to see the nurse tonight!”
    “About what, Maria?” one of the guards demanded.
    “None of your fucking business. Let go of me! Fuck you!”
    “Okay, calm down, Maria. You can see a nurse tomorrow.”
    “No! You’re a bunch of fucking liars!”
    “All right, Maria, that’s it. Let’s go.”
    We heard them dragging her down the hall, still screaming and cursing. When they reached the steel door, it sounded as if she was kicking it. One of the guards yelled at her to cut it out. Finally we heard the door open and then clang shut. After that, it was quiet again.
    “So what’s it going to be?” I asked.
    Emily sighed. “You know, it’s not the food or the tedious routine that gets to me. It’s not even the violence or the palpable unhappiness of the place. It’s the noise.” She paused. “What are my chances at trial?”
    I looked at her soft, kind face. She was as pale now as all the other inmates. “It’ll depend on you. If you do well on the stand, they’re better than fifty-fifty.”
    “And if I don’t do well?”
    I didn’t answer.
    “Have you talked to the district attorney?”
    I nodded, keeping my face impassive. “He’ll offer second-degree murder and he’s willing to stipulate to a number in the low thirties.”
    “What’s the range for second?” she asked, sounding like a seasoned pro, which broke my heart. She’d been talking to the other inmates, of course.
    “In your case, twenty-four to forty-eight.”
    Emily stood up and began to pace in front of me. “Will he go below thirty?”
    “I don’t think so. Not now, anyway.”
    “How much time would I really do if I was sentenced to thirty years?”
    “I’m not going to plead you to thirty years.”
    “But let’s just say I was.”
    Her pacing was beginning to annoy me. “I don’t know exactly,” I said. “It’s hard to predict. You’d be parole eligible after twelve or thirteen years, but you could do closer to twenty.”
    She was nodding to herself. “So, worst-case scenario, I’d be fifty-seven when I got out.”
    I kicked at her empty chair. “Okay, that’s it, Emily. Stop pretending to be some kind of gun moll. This isn’t a movie. It’s your real life. Sit down.”
    She stopped pacing, put her hands on her hips, and tried to look indignant. “I thought I was being very tough, very...Barbara Stanwyck.”
    “More like Judy Holliday,” I said, patting her chair. “Try to imagine getting out of prison after eighteen years. You think