To tell the truth, even lawyers like plea bargaining in the appeal court. Things go nice and quickly, and everyone goes happily back to their offices, or wherever it is they want to go. But I didn’t say that to Pupuccio.

“And if we plea bargain, how long will I get, Avvocato?”

“Well, I think we can try and get it down to two and a half years. It won’t be easy, because the public prosecutor is a tough nut, but we can try.”

I was lying. I knew the assistant public prosecutor who’d be in court the next day. He’d plea bargain down to two months if it meant he could get away quickly and not have to do a fucking thing. He wasn’t what you’d call a hard worker. But I couldn’t say that to Pupuccio il Nero, or people like him.

The way it works, in cases like this, is as follows. I say the public prosecutor is a tough nut. I say I could try plea bargaining but it won’t be easy and I can’t guarantee anything. I mention a sentence I think I can get with plea bargaining, a sentence that’s quite a bit higher than the one I’m sure I’ll actually be able to get. Then I plea bargain down to the sentence I’ve been thinking of from the start, confirm my reputation as a reliable lawyer who’s really on the ball, and collect the rest of the fee.

“Two and a half years? Is it worth plea bargaining, Avvocato? We might as well go through with the trial.”

“Of course we can try,” I said in a calm, even tone. “But if they uphold the four-year sentence, you go back inside. As long as you know that.”

A professional pause, before I went on.

“Below three years, there’s the possibility of probation. Think about it.”

His turn to pause.

“All right, Avvocato, but try to get me less than two and a half years. It’s not as if I killed anyone. Two or three cons is all I did.”