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He liked the way tonight smelled, like smoked ribs and gasoline. Like oncoming snow.
Meanwhile, Noam had done . . . what, exactly? He’d hacked a few websites. Gone to some protests. Hadn’t made a bit of difference.
Noam was pretty sure he was more familiar with Carolinian law at this point than the man in the suit. He’d read quite a bit of it in the free library at juvie. “Carolinian law states every person is entitled to a public defender against federal charges. Every person, not just every citizen.” The man looked at him. “Let me rephrase: illegals are not entitled to government-funded lawyers for immigration-related charges.” His smile was thin, mean. “After all, who said anything about charging you with federal crimes?”
Calix says nothing. GLEESON: “I advise against it. Telepathy is a curse as much as a blessing. Far worse when you use it on a loved one and realize all the nasty things they think about you but would never say out loud.”
