“Family Court. First he’d been taken back into Manhattan and booked, and that had been bad enough, because they’d called Mamacita in the middle of the night—she was missing a day of work because of him—and he’d had to sit there, chained to a table like a dog, as el policía explained to her he was being booked for felony arson. Mamacita had looked not only tired, but old, and he hadn’t had the nerve to ask her where Rosalita was. They asked him why he’d done it, and who he’d done it for, but even... then, scared and ashamed, he hadn’t been stupid enough to give up any names. He might be going to prison, but he knew what happened to tontos who said the padrone’s name where they shouldn’t. He could still keep his family safe. He’d thought being arrested, seeing Mamacita’s face, was the worst thing, but the worst thing had been when el policía had driven him back downtown again. There, he’d sat in a room with a kind-faced woman, Ms. Lyons—the Family Court judge—for his arraignment.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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