“All rise for the judge.”

All got around to it, and Judge Bovine smiled to herself as she entered the courtroom and spotted Hammer and West. The judge knew that the press had been tipped not to waste their time hanging around here this day. Batman and Robin would be back on Monday. Oh yes they would. The judge sat and put on her glasses, looking important and godlike. A.D.A. Pond stared at the docket as if he had never seen one before this morning. He knew he had a battle on his hands but was determined he would prevail.

“The court calls the case of the State of North Carolina versus Johnny Martino,” he said with confidence he did not feel.

“I’m not ready to hear that now.” Judge Bovine sounded bored.

West nudged Hammer, who was thinking about Seth and not sure what she would do if he died. It did not matter how much they fought or drove each other crazy or proved irrefutably that men and women could not be soulmates or friends. Hammer had a tragic look on her face, and A.D.A. Pond took it as a slight to his knighthood and professional future. He had failed this wonderful, heroic woman whose husband was shot and in the hospital. Chief Hammer did not need to be sitting here with all these cretins. Judge Bovine saw the look on Hammer’s face, too, and also misinterpreted, and was further aroused. Hammer had not supported Bovine in the last election. Bovine would see how big and important Hammer was now.

“When I call out your name, please stand. Maury Anthony,” announced A.D.A. Pond.

Pond scanned despondent faces. He searched people slumped back, pissed off, and sleeping. Maury Anthony and his public defender rose near the rear. They came forward and stood before the A.D.A.’s table.

“Mr. Anthony, how do you plead to possession with the intent to sell cocaine?” the A.D.A. asked.

“Guilty,” Mr. Anthony spoke.

Judge Bovine stared out at the defendant who was no different than all others. “Mr. Anthony. You realize that by pleading guilty you have no right to appeal,” she stated rather than asked.

Mr. Anthony looked at his public defender, who nodded. Mr. Anthony returned his attention to the judge. “Yes, sir,” he said.

Laughter was scattered among those awake and alert. Mr. Anthony realized his egregious error and grinned sheepishly. “I’m sorry, ma’am. My eyes ain’t what they once was.”

More laughter.

Judge Bovine’s big flat face turned to concrete. “What says the state,” she ordered as she sipped from a two-liter bottle of Evian.

A.D.A. Pond looked over his notes. He glanced at Hammer and West, hoping they were attentive and impressed. This was his opportunity to be eloquent, no matter what a dog of a case it was.

“Your Honor,” the A.D.A. began as he always did, “on the night of July twenty-second, at approximately eleven-thirty, Mr. Anthony was drinking and socializing in an establishment on Fourth Street near Graham . . .”