Killian said to Sherman, "We're going in through the side." Then to the driver: "Take the next right!"

"All the peeeoooople! Hahahaha."

"Just take the next right," said Quigley, "and don't worry about it."

Killian said to Sherman, "Duck down. Tie your shoe or something."

The car turned onto the street that ran along the lower edge of the great limestone building. But Sherman sat up straight in his seat. It no longer mattered. When would it begin? When would it begin? He could see blue-and-orange vans with wire mesh over their windows. The crowd had spilled off the sidewalk. They were looking up toward the 161st Street side. The voice harangued them, and the chants arose from the mob on the stairs. He could see blue-and-orange vans with wire mesh over their windows. The crowd had spilled off the sidewalk. They were looking up toward the 161st Street side. The voice harangued them, and the chants arose from the mob on the stairs.

"Hook a left," said Killian. "Right in there. See that red cone? That's it."

The car was heading in at a ninety-degree angle toward the curbing at the base of the building. Some sort of policeman was out there lifting up a Day-Glo rubber cone from the middle of a parking place. Quigley was holding a card up in the windshield with his left hand, apparently for the benefit of the policeman. There were four or five other policemen on the sidewalk. They wore short-sleeved white shirts and had tremendous revolvers on their hips.

"When I open the door," said Killian, "you get in between me and Ed and make tracks."

The door opened, and they scrambled out. Quigley was on Sherman's right; Killian on his left. People on the sidewalk stared at them but didn't seem to know who they were. Three of the policemen in white shirts sidled between the crowd and Sherman, Killian, and Quigley. Killian took hold of Sherman's elbow and steered him toward a door. Quigley was carrying a heavy case. A policeman in a white shirt stood in the doorway, then stepped aside to let them through into a lobby lit by dim fluorescent bulbs. On the right was a doorway to what looked like a utility room. Sherman could make out the black and gray hulks of people slumped on benches.

"They did us a favor by having their demonstration on the steps," said Killian. His voice was high-pitched and tense. Two officers led them toward an elevator, which another officer was holding open for them.

They entered the elevator, and the officer stepped inside with them. The officer pressed the b.u.t.ton for the ninth floor, and they began their ascent.

"Thanks, Brucie," Killian said to the officer.

"It's okay. You got Bernie to thank, though." Killian looked at Sherman, as if to say, "What did I tell you?"

On the ninth floor, outside a room marked Part 60, there was a noisy crowd in the corridor. A line of court officers was holding them back.

Yo!...There he is!

Sherman looked straight ahead. When does it begin? When does it begin? A man jumped out in front of him-a white man, tall, with blond hair swept back from a sharp widow's peak. He wore a navy blazer and a navy tie, and a shirt with a striped front and a stiff white collar. It was the reporter, Fallow. Sherman had last seen him when he was about to enter Central Booking A man jumped out in front of him-a white man, tall, with blond hair swept back from a sharp widow's peak. He wore a navy blazer and a navy tie, and a shirt with a striped front and a stiff white collar. It was the reporter, Fallow. Sherman had last seen him when he was about to enter Central Booking...that place...

"Mr. McCoy!!" That voice That voice.

With Killian on one side and Quigley on the other and the court officer, Brucie, leading the way, they were like a flying wedge. They brushed the Englishman aside and went through a door. They were in the courtroom. A crowd of people to Sherman's left...in the spectator seats...Black faces...some white faces...In the foreground was a tall black man with a gold earring in one lobe. He rose up from his seat in a crouch and pointed a long, thin arm at Sherman and said in a loud guttural whisper: "That's him!" Then in a louder voice: "Jail! No bail!"

The deep voice of a woman: "Lock him up!"

Yegggh!...That's the one!...Look at him!...Jail! No bail!

Now? Not yet. Killian held his elbow and whispered in his ear, "Ignore it!" Not yet. Killian held his elbow and whispered in his ear, "Ignore it!"

A falsetto croon: "Sherrrr-maannnn...Sherrrr-maannnn."

"SHUT UP! SIT DOWN!"

It was the loudest voice Sherman had ever heard. At first he thought it was directed at himself. He felt terribly guilty, even though he hadn't uttered a sound.

"ANY MORE OUTBURSTS-I CLEAR THE COURT! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"

Up at the judge's bench, beneath the inscription IN G.o.d WE TRUST IN G.o.d WE TRUST, a thin bald hawk-nosed man in black robes stood with his fists on top of his desk and his arms straight, as if he were a runner about to spring from the starting position. Sherman could see the white beneath the irises as the judge's blazing eyes swept the crowd before him. The demonstrators grumbled but grew still.

The judge, Myron Kovitsky, continued to stare at them with his furious gaze.

"In this courtroom you speak when the court asks you to speak. You pa.s.s judgment on your fellow man when you are selected for a jury and the court asks you to pa.s.s judgment. You stand up and render your obiter dicta when the court asks you to stand up and render your obiter dicta. Until then-YOU SHUT UP AND SIT DOWN! AND I...AM THE COURT! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR? Is there anyone who disputes what I have just said and holds this court in such contempt that he would like to spend some time as a guest of the state of New York contemplating what I have just said? DO-I-MAKE-MYSELF-CLEAR DO-I-MAKE-MYSELF-CLEAR?"

His eyes panned the crowd from left to right and right to left and left to right again.

"All right. Now that you understand that, perhaps you can observe these proceedings as responsible members of the community. So long as you do so, you are welcome in this courtroom. And the moment you don't-you'll wish you hadda stood in bed! Do-I-make-myself-clear?"

His voice rose again so suddenly and to such an intensity the crowd seemed to recoil, startled at the thought that the wrath of this furious little man might descend upon them again.

Kovitsky sat down and spread his arms. His robes billowed out like wings. He lowered his head. The whites still showed beneath his irises. The room was now still. Sherman, Killian, and Quigley stood near the fence-the bar-that separated the spectators' section from the court proper. Kovitsky's eyes settled on Sherman and Killian. He appeared to be angry at them, too. He breathed what seemed to be a sigh of disgust.

Then he turned to the clerk of the court, who sat at a large conference table to one side. Sherman followed Kovitsky's gaze, and there, standing beside the table, he saw the a.s.sistant district attorney, Kramer.

Kovitsky said to the clerk, "Call the case."

The clerk called out: "Indictment number 4-7-2-6, the People versus Sherman McCoy. Who is representing Mr. McCoy?"

Killian stepped up to the bar and said, "I am."

The clerk said, "Please give your appearance."

"Thomas Killian, 86 Reade Street."

Kovitsky said, "Mr. Kramer, you have a motion to make at this time?"

This man, Kramer, took a few steps toward the bench. He walked like a football player. He stopped, threw his head back, tensed his neck, for some reason, and said, "Your Honor, the defendant, Mr. McCoy, is currently free on ten thousand dollars' bail, an insignificant sum for a person with his particular advantages and resources in the financial community."

Yegggh!...Jail! No bail!...Make him pay!

Kovitsky, his head down low, glowered. The voices died down to a rumble.

"As Your Honor knows," Kramer continued, "the grand jury has now brought in an indictment against the defendant on serious charges: reckless endangerment, leaving the scene of an accident, and failure to report an accident. Now, Your Honor, inasmuch as the grand jury has already found sufficient evidence of the defendant's abandonment of his responsibilities to indict him, the People feel there also exists the substantial possibility that the defendant might ignore and abandon his bond, given the small amount of that bond."

Yeah...That's right...Unh-hunh...

"So, Your Honor," said Kramer, "the People feel it is inc.u.mbent upon the court to send a clear signal not only to the defendant but to the community that what is at issue here is in fact regarded with the utmost seriousness. At the heart of this case, Your Honor, is a young man, an exemplary young man, Mr. Henry Lamb, who has become a symbol to the people of the Bronx of both the hopes they have for their sons and daughters and the callous and deadly obstacles that they face. Your Honor is already aware of the pa.s.sion with which the community is following every step of this case. Were this courtroom larger, the people of this community would be here at this moment by the hundreds, possibly the thousands, just as they are even now in the corridors and on the streets outside."

Right on!...Jail! No bail!...You tell him!

KAPOW!.

Kovitsky brought his gavel down with a tremendous explosion.

"QUIET!"

The rumble of the crowd sank back to a low boil.

His head down low, his irises floating on a sea of white, Kovitsky said, "Get to the point, Mr. Kramer. This isn't a pep rally. It's a hearing in a court of law."

Kramer knew he was staring at all the usual signs. The irises were floating on that foaming sea. The head was down. The beak was out. It wasn't going to take much more to set Kovitsky off. On the other hand, he thought, I can't back down. Can't give in. Kovitsky's att.i.tude so far-even though it was nothing but standard Kovitsky, the usual yelling, the usual belligerent insistence on his authority-Kovitsky's att.i.tude so far established him as an adversary of the demonstrators. The Office of the District Attorney of Bronx County was their friend. Abe Weiss was their friend. Larry Kramer was their friend. The People were...truly the People the People. That was what he was here for. He would just have to take his chance with Kovitsky-with those furious Masada eyes that now bore down on him.

His own voice sounded funny to him as he said, "I'm mindful of that, Your Honor, but I must also be mindful of the importance of this case to the People, to all the Henry Lambs, present and future, in this county and in this city-"

Tell him, bro!...Right on!...That's right!

Kramer hastened to continue, in an even louder voice, before Kovitsky detonated: "-and therefore the People pet.i.tion the court to increase the defendant to a significant and credible amount-to one million dollars-in order to-"

Jail! No bail!...Jail! No bail!...Jail! No bail! The demonstrators erupted into a chant. The demonstrators erupted into a chant.

That's right!...Million dollars!...Yaggghh!...The voice of the crowd rose in a cheer laced with exultant laughter and then crested with a chant: Jail! No bail!...Jail! No bail!...Jail! No bail!...Jail! No bail! Jail! No bail!...Jail! No bail!...Jail! No bail!...Jail! No bail!

Kovitsky's gavel rose a full foot above his head and Kramer flinched inwardly before it hit.

KAPOW!.

Kovitsky gave Kramer a furious glance, then leaned forward and fastened upon the crowd.

"ORDER IN THE COURT!...SHUDDUP!...DO YOU DOUBT MY WORD?" His irises surfed this way and that on the furious boiling sea.

The chanting stopped, and the cries lowered to a rumble. But little riffs of laughter indicated they were just waiting for the next opening.

"THE COURT OFFICERS WILL-"

"Your Honor! Your Honor!" It was McCoy's lawyer, Killian.

"What is it, Mr. Killian?"

The interruption threw the crowd off stride. They quieted down.

"Your Honor, may I approach the bench?"

"All right, Mr. Killian." Kovitsky beckoned him forward. "Mr. Kramer?" Kramer headed for the bench also.

Now he was standing next to Killian, Killian in his fancy clothes, before the bench, beneath the glowering brow of Judge Kovitsky.

"Okay, Mr. Killian," said Kovitsky, "what's up?"

"Judge," said Killian, "if I'm not mistaken, you're the supervising judge of the grand jury in this case?"

"That's correct," he said to Killian, but then he turned his attention to Kramer. "You hard of hearing Mr. Kramer?"

Kramer said nothing. He didn't have to answer a question like that.

"You intoxicated by the sound of this bunch"-Kovitsky nodded toward the spectators-"cheering you on?"

"No, Judge, but there's no way this case can be treated like an ordinary case."

"In this courtroom, Mr. Kramer, it's gonna be treated any f.u.c.king way I say it's gonna be treated. Do I make myself clear?"

"You always make yourself clear, Judge."

Kovitsky eyed him, apparently trying to decide if there was any insolence in the remark. "All right, then you know that if you pull any more of that arrant bulls.h.i.t in this courtroom, you're gonna wish you never laid eyes on Mike Kovitsky!"

He couldn't just take take this, with Killian standing right there, and so he said, "Look, Judge, I have every right-" this, with Killian standing right there, and so he said, "Look, Judge, I have every right-"

Kovitsky broke in: "Every right to do what? Run Abe Weiss's reelection campaign for him in my courtroom? Bulls.h.i.t, Mr. Kramer! Tell him to hire a hall, call a press conference. Tell him to go on a talk show, f'r Chrissake."

Kramer was so angry he couldn't speak. His face was flaming red. Between his teeth he said, "Is that all, Judge?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heels and started away.

"Mr. Kramer!"

He stopped and turned around. Glowering, Kovitsky motioned him back to the bench. "Mr. Killian has a question, I believe. Or do you want me to listen to him by myself?"

Kramer just clenched his teeth and stared.

"All right, Mr. Killian, go ahead."

Killian said, "Judge, I am in possession of important evidence that bears not only upon Mr. Kramer's application concerning bail but upon the validity of the indictment itself."

"What kind of evidence?"

"I have tapes of conversations between my client and a princ.i.p.al in this case that make it appear highly likely that tainted testimony was presented to the grand jury."

What the h.e.l.l was this? Kramer broke in: "Judge, this is nonsense. We have a valid indictment from the grand jury. If Mr. Killian has any quarrel-"

"Just hold it, Mr. Kramer," said Kovitsky.

"-if he has any quarrel with the grand-jury proceedings, he has the customary avenues-"

"Just hold it. Mr. Killian says he has some evidence-"

"Evidence! This isn't an evidentiary hearing, Judge! He can't come walking in here and dispute the grand-jury process, ex post facto! ex post facto! And you can't-" And you can't-"

"MR. KRAMER!"

The sound of Kovitsky raising his voice sent a growl through the demonstrators, who were all at once rumbling again.

Eyes surfing on the turbulent sea: "Mr. Kramer, you know your problem? You don't f.u.c.king listen, do you! You can't f.u.c.king hear! hear!"

"Judge-"

"SHUDDUP! The court is gonna listen to Mr. Killian's evidence."

"Judge-"

"We're gonna do this in camera."