Chapter Forty-FourLOS ANGELES HALL OF JUSTICE, FRONT STEPS,
March 28, 1931
“Miss DeVoe, can you tell us how you feel?” A reporter called.
How do you think I feel? I’m out of jail, for Christ’s sake.
“I feel like singing,” I said, looking up at blue sky for the first time in months.
Dang near every reporter in California had turned out to cover my release, and a lot of other curious people simply wanted to see what Jailbird Daisy looked like. The dress I’d been brought in wearing hung on me now, since I’d lost so much weight avoiding the Irish stew and worrying.
“What are you going to do if you have to go back?” another yelled.
“I won’t be back,” I called with an extra measure of bravado I wasn’t sure I felt. “We can’t lose!”
It had taken almost all of Tom Payne’s $5,000 to pay for
