In Alabama, that’s a felony. Property crimes are strictly enforced. The law of FAFO. Fool around, find out.
“Mr. Wagner, you’ve been charged with seven counts of the Class C felony of unlawful breaking and entering a vehicle. Are you withdrawing your plea of not guilty and entering a plea of guilty to these charges?”
“Yes, Judge.” He sounded sulky, resentful. Bad attitude. I made a mental note.
“And you are pleading guilty because you are guilty?”
“Yeah.”
The public defender nudged the defendant, whispered something. Likely advising him to speak respectfully in court.
“Mr. Wagner, please describe for the record what happened on the thirty-first of August of last year.”
His eyes rolled up to the ceiling, as if he was asking the Lord to give him strength. That man should have started praying some years back. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen him in my courtroom.
“So me and a friend was hanging at his place. We didn’t have no money, wasn’t doing nothing. He thought we ought to go out, bip some cars. Maybe make some cash.”
Make some cash. Like he was engaging in honest work. “You used an expression: bip. Tell us what that means. For the record.”
“Bip. Bipping cars. You bust out the window. So you can open the door, get in there, and get what’s inside.”
“How many cars did you ‘bip’ on the early morning of August 31?”
“I don’t know. A lot.” The attorney whispered in his ear again. “Seven. We hit seven cars.”
I folded my hands on the bench. Asked a follow-up question, to check all the boxes. “When you broke the car windows and entered into those seven vehicles on August 31, did you do so with the consent of the owners of those vehicles?”
“Huh?”
“The people who owned those cars. Did they consent to you breaking the windows, getting inside to steal? They give you permission to do it?”
“Oh. Nah, no. We didn’t have nobody’s consent.”
I looked at the DA. “Is there a plea bargain agreement in this case?”
Reeves was present. His mood had improved in recent days; he wasn’t sending me any deadly looks. He stood up, holding a legal pad. “There is, Your Honor. In exchange for his plea of guilty to counts 1 to 4, the State has agreed to dismiss counts 5 to 7 and recommends a three-year sentence of imprisonment.”
The door behind the bench opened. No way to ignore it—that was my chambers door. I glanced over. Luna was leaning out, peering at me. Which is not something I’d usually see. Luna doesn’t interrupt court proceedings. She knows better.
I turned my attention back to Reeves. “What is the State’s position on probation?”
“We stand silent, Your Honor. The State takes no position.”
So. It would be up to me. Without any argument from the prosecution, one way or another. I’d ultimately decide whether the man would go to prison or go home. But there were preliminary procedures in this situation. I would need to order a pre-sentence investigation by the Office of Probation and Parole.
I heard a whisper.
“Judge Mary!”
I swiveled in the chair. “Luna? What on earth?”
She grimaced with embarrassment, gripping the edge of the wooden door. “You have a phone call!”
I dropped my voice; no need to shout at my clerk in front of the whole courthouse. “Luna. I’m in the middle of a felony guilty plea. Take a message.”
I swiveled back, facing the courtroom. The attorneys were exchanging a look. I saw the DA shrug, as if askingWho knows?
That whisper again. “It’s the governor!”
