Come Away with Me

By m.e. Elzey

Come Away with Me, is the love story between Maggie Stewart and Jack Holt. An unlikely couple, who despite all odds fell madly in love. She taught him to forgive himself for his troubled past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Little House Press
• Release date: Jun 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781734054675

m.e. Elzey

We are all ultimately defined by the events in our lives, m.e. Elzey is no exception. Being raised in Gilbert, Arizona, during the fifties and sixties. It was an idyllic Southwest community of mid-twentieth century American. His love of reading and writing started by chance, in the seventh grade. He borrowed his older brother Ken's library book, J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye. He read it cover to cover. What stirred his interest was a conversation he overheard between his brother and mother as they discussed the use of the "F" word in the book. Keep in mind, this conversation took place in 1962. It wasn't a conversation that took place very often between anyone much less a parent and child. Good, bad, or indifferent, it was also the book that sparked his interest in reading and storytelling. He was already an established storyteller, just ask any of his childhood friends and classmates. Because of reading Catcher in the Rye, he read and eventually admired the skill of writers like Wallace Stegner, Norman Maclean, John Steinbeck and Dee Brown. While attending Arizona State University he developed a keen interest in the American politics and the counterculture of the late 1960s. At the request of several like-minded people, he began ghost writing political essays that highlighted the inequities of the times. As with everyone, the realities of life took center stage. In 1972 he went to work for Motorola Semiconductor Products in Phoenix, where he worked for the next thirty-three years. In the early 1990s, his job required that he travel extensively. The traveling rekindled his love of writing, especially fiction.His wife Jeannie 48 years live in Marana, Arizona, a northwestern suburb of Tucson. She's also his best friend, his squeeze, doubles as his editor, his most ardent fan and his most vocal critique.

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Come Away with Me

m.e. Elzey

Little House Press

Copyright © 2020 m.e. Elzey

Revision 2 February 2021

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locals is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Published by Little House Press

ISBN Hardcover 978-1-7340546-5-1

ISBN Paperback 978-1-7340546-6-8

Special thanks to Mercer Design Studios and KMALCO Public relations.

e-book formatting by bookow.com

Dedication

Blessed are those who understand everyone has their own demons and everyone is fighting their own battles. We are all on this journey together.

Acknowledgments

For Jeannie.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Jack

Chapter 2 - Joe

Chapter 3 - Juror #1

Chapter 4 - Jack

Chapter 5 - Joe

Chapter 6 - Juror #3

Chapter 7 - Jack

Chapter 8 - Joe

Chapter 9 - Juror #9

Chapter 10 - Jack

Chapter 11 - Joe

Chapter 12 - Juror #6

Chapter 13 - Jack

Chapter 14 - Joe

Chapter 15 - Juror #2

Chapter 16 - Jack

Chapter 17 - Joe

Chapter 18 - Juror #12

Chapter 19 - Jack

Chapter 20 - Joe

Chapter 21 - Juror #10

Chapter 22 - Jack

Chapter 23 - Joe

Chapter 24 - Jack

Chapter 1

Jack

The Love of My Life

She was like the first light of the rising sun. The purple night clouds slowly giving way to the warmth of her presence and the light of her character. Her stunning smile was all it took. At first, I was afraid of her until she looked at me; her smile put me at ease.

I fell madly in love with her quick wit, her fierce determination, and her genuine thoughtfulness. Her beauty had given her great opportunity and caused her great pain. She kept her emotional scars mostly to herself. The Maggie I fell in love with was kind, intelligent, and resilient.

I still don't understand why she loved me, but she did. She saw in me virtues I couldn't see or appreciate in myself. She helped me to live with my own scars and to forgive myself.

We had both fallen victim to opposite sides of the same coin. They always led her to believe her physical beauty was good fortune, but the abuse by powerful men made her beauty an inescapable curse.

We'd fallen madly in love, spending long hours discussing everything and nothing—hearing the softness of her voice, finally understanding her subtle wit, and understanding her vulnerabilities.

As I stood on the sidewalk watching her every move, I still found her mesmerizing. When I finally realized her love for me was real, she disappeared.

We first met by a chance encounter when I was walking to work through Homestead Park. It was a crisp fall morning when I first saw her; she took my breath away. I remember every detail: her olive complexion, how the sun made her light brown hair sparkle, how captivating her hazel eyes were. How her delicate hands caressed the glass of Cabernet. She spirit was infectious. No matter how often I dream of her, I still want more of her smile, her touch, and especially the warmth of her kiss. I love everything about her. How she sits alone in our booth, carefree, with a glass of Cabernet, reading the paper.

After taking a sip of wine, she folded the paper, then looked directly at me as if to say, 'get in here!'

As I entered the diner, she smiled. Well, if it isn’t Mister Jack. I was wondering if you'd make it here tonight. You realize I could see you out there on the sidewalk staring at me like some kind of perv. You know, some people could take that as a little creepy. She grinned as she poured me a glass of wine. How was the first day?

Boring as hell. If my life weren’t in jeopardy, I could have fallen asleep. You worry too much.

You bet I do. How can I not feel responsible for your situation?

All you did was make me the happiest guy in the world. You’re definitely guilty of that. I wouldn’t trade the time we had together for anything.

Are you happy with your lawyer? Are you aware he has a lousy reputation?

Yeah, he told me he had his share of enemies. In his defense, he’s trying hard to contain his personality. Besides, it doesn't matter, he’s all I can afford. I don’t have a penny to my name. I thought jury selection was mind-numbing, but it was nothing compared to today. Today my lawyer did nothing but talk to the judge and to the prosecutor. Sometimes they talked in the courtroom, and other times they went to the judge’s chambers. These proceedings are nothing like TV.

That’s all they did?

Yeah, that’s it.

I know I sound like a broken record, but please come away with me? We could be together again, asked Maggie as she tenderly stroked the left side of my face.

I’ve been thinking about that. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.

~

Hey, Holt, get your ass out of that bunk, said a guard as he approached my cell, waking me up.

It was near midnight at the Marsh County Detention Center. A guard leading a short man in handcuffs arrives at my cell.

Holt, are you deaf? Wake up. Get out of that bunk. You know the routine, go to the back wall and put your nose, both hands, and your junk on the wall. Don’t even think about turning around until I tell you to.

I hear ya, boss, I answered as I glanced through the darkened cell to see what was going on. I got out of my bunk and went to the back wall, putting my body as close to the wall as I could.

The guard opened the cell door and put the new prisoner in. You stand right where I put you. Don’t move or I’ll whack you upside your head. Did you hear me?

Yeah, I heard you.

Things will work out better if you follow the rules, said the guard as he closed the cell door.

What am I supposed to do?

When I tell you to do something, you always answer, ‘yes, boss,’ no exception.

Yes, patron.

In English!

Yes, boss.

Put your hands through the slot in the door and I’ll take your cuffs off.

Yes, boss.

The guard removed the inmate’s handcuffs. Hey, Holt, you got a drug-dealing wetback to keep you company for a few days. You guys behave yourselves. Sweet dreams.

We remained quiet for a few minutes, listening to the sound of the guard’s footsteps fade into the building.

My new cellmate walked toward me. Hey, man, my name is Leonardo Cota, but everyone calls me Leto. He extended his hand.

Nice to meet you, I’m Jack Holt, I answered, noticing the grimace on my new cellmate’s face.

Hey, brother, I don’t mean to sound like a pendejo, but what happened to your face?

When I was a kid, I was in a car accident and my face got banged up, I answered sitting back on my bunk.

Sorry to hear that, brother, that sucks. Leto sits down uncomfortably close and whispers, Listen, before you say anything more let me tell you something important so please listen. Some dude in the prosecutor’s office wants me to be a snitch. They want to lock your sorry ass up for the rest of your life. I got busted for selling pot to a gabacho kid from the suburbs. I’m a cholo for sure, but I ain’t no puto. They told me if I gave them something useful, they’d find it in their black little puto hearts to drop all the charges against me. So, hermano, say nothing to me about your case.

Thanks man, I answered. My head throbbed in pain.

Are you okay?

I get severe headaches and I have a big one tonight.

You should call the guard; he can help you out.

I did, three times. They ignored all three requests.

Fucking private prisons!

I'm fine. It will go away when I go to sleep.

When does the trial start?

Today was the first day.

That’s always the worst.

No offense, Leto, but I have a headache and I need to get some sleep. I’m hitting the sack.

Me too. I’ll get you some pain pills for your headache.

I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. It was the first day of my trial for first-degree sexual assault and first-degree murder. The past year had taken its toll on me. Since the district attorney filed charges, my life had fallen apart.

Chapter 2

Joe

Another Chance

I can't believe what I just heard. It has to be an awful dream. I sat on the edge of my bed in my boxers and tee shirt. Again, I held the phone to my ear, wondering if I had heard the message correctly. I felt nauseated as I listened to the voice mail a second time. It was real. I stood up and took several deep breaths to calm down. Is this some kind of cruel joke? Sitting back down on the bed, I listened for the third time while taking a gulp of Pepto-Bismol.

I was so keyed up I couldn’t concentrate. I hoped this would be the opportunity to practice law again. I wondered if someone got wise to Eric Warren. Did they find out he wasn’t as honest as he claimed to be? I couldn't imagine the judges who disbarred me were giving me an opportunity like this. My career as one of the best prosecutors taught me to expect the unexpected. While taking a shower, I began weeping. It had been the worst two years of my life. Within a six-month period, a combination of terrible choices and internal politics had destroyed my career and my personal life. After being disbarred, my wife of fourteen years filed for a divorce, citing irreconcilable differences.

In the two years since the state judicial review board disbarred me I had lost forty pounds, developed an ongoing upset stomach, and almost never slept through the night. It started when all five judges on the state’s judiciary review board voted to disbar me.

Eric Warren, the district attorney, asked me to convict a suspected drug dealer named Miguel Acosta. On the advice of some dumbass public defense lawyer, Acosta pleaded guilty and agreed to twenty years in prison. I got the conviction the DA needed to help his re-election as a tough-on-crime district attorney. Six months later, a paralegal proved I knowingly withheld evidence that would have exonerated Miguel Acosta. Eric Warren denied having any knowledge of my actions. To illustrate his commitment to law and order, the DA petitioned the judicial review board to disbar me. It was the most humiliating experience of my life. It was especially painful since one judge on the judiciary panel, Judge William Horton, was my former mentor. Working for the judge was my first job out of law school. Twenty-one years later, my former mentor voted to disbar me. The event not only destroyed my confidence, but my entire life.

Not long after being disbarred, my wife filed for divorce and hired a divorce lawyer named Penelope Bergdorf. Bergdorf was not only a former law school classmate, but I dated her until she told me she was a lesbian. She was a spiteful divorce lawyer who made it her practice to only represent women. She developed a reputation for being ruthless toward the soon-to-be ex-husband. She was good, too good. Somehow, she knew every woman with whom I’d had an extramarital affair. During the divorce negotiations, Penelope made it impossible for me to argue my side of the story. I had no choice but to agree to the terms she dictated. I lost everything but five thousand dollars and a sixteen-year-old rusted-out Dodge Durango. As awful as the divorce was, it wasn’t a surprise—I’d never been faithful.

I spent the next two years trying to figure out what I would do with the rest of my life. I tried to ease my pain by lubricating my depression with daily doses of cheap whiskey. In time, I learned to accept my lot and start building a new life. I spoke to several law firms trying to get a job as a legal assistant or legal researcher. Not only was I a disbarred lawyer, I was a pariah among my peers. My former colleagues refused to consider me working for their firms in any capacity.

I ended up taking a job in the paint department at Hector’s Home Improvement Center. Every evening after returning from work, I’d check my voice mail. In the nine months since I began my job at Hector’s, I’d received two voice mails asking to speak to a woman named Bernice.

When I woke up, I stared at the phone, trying to remember if I checked my voice mail from the night before. Still in my boxers, I checked on the off-chance that someone might have called. To my surprise, there was one new message. It was from Becky McCarthy, Judge William Horton’s assistant. She asked if I could call her at my earliest convenience. She left her direct phone number. What could my former boss and one-time mentor want? As I got ready for work, I kept speculating why Judge Horton’s assistant would be calling. Later, while on my morning break at the home improvement center, I returned her call.

Hello, Judge Horton’s office, how can I help you? answered Becky McCarthy.

This is Joe Hammer. I’m returning your phone call.

Hello, Mr. Hammer. How are you this morning?

I’m fine, thank you. How are you?

I’m doing well, thank you. The reason I called is Judge Horton and the judiciary panel reinstated you to the bar. Meaning you’ll be able to practice law again. Are you interested in practicing law again?

I don’t know what to say. Yes, I’m interested, I cleared my throat, trying my best not to sob on the phone.

Mr. Hammer, just so you know there are a few caveats with this reinstatement. Judge Horton would like to meet you to discuss the details. Can you meet with the judge at the Old Union Club at 5455 N. Rosemont Avenue at five-thirty tomorrow evening?

I will be there. I can’t tell you how happy I am you called. Thank you so much.

My pleasure, Mr. Hammer. Good luck tomorrow.

I was happy for the opportunity, but soon worried. Why would they vote to reinstate me to the bar? I became obsessed with why Judge Horton changed his mind. What happened? Did they figure out that Eric Warren set me up? Wouldn’t that be great? I’d love to see that son-of a-bitch go to prison, especially after the crap he pulled on me. My mind kept playing these situations over and over.

~

I arrived at the Old Union Club fifteen minutes early. I had had over thirty hours to contemplate every scenario why the judge reinstated me to the bar. By the time I parked the car, I began having difficulty breathing. I sat in my car taking deep breaths, trying to calm my nerves. Finally, I was calm enough to meet my old mentor. I walked into the half-light of the Old Union Club a few minutes early. I hadn't slept since I heard the news from the judge's assistant. The time had arrived to meet my mentor, Judge William Horton, face to face. The place looked much the same as I remembered back when I was a clerk for the judge.

I introduced myself to the receptionist who was expecting me. She escorted me to a small private meeting room where Judge Horton waited.

Would you like anything to drink? she asked.

A glass of water would be fine.

I’ll bring it to you.

Just off of the public lounge were small private meeting rooms where people could talk. She opened the door and extended her arm, inviting me to enter.

It took me back to when I first worked for Judge Horton. He had become an elderly man. He immediately stood up with the help of a cane. I had forgotten about his smile until that moment. It reminded me how kind he was as a person and as a judge. He was fair-minded, dedicated to the rule of law, and brutally straightforward on issues of the law. Most smart lawyers heeded the judge’s not-too-subtle advice.

I’ll be right back with your water, Mr. Hammer, said the woman as she closed the door behind her.

It’s good to see you again. Thank you for this opportunity, I said, extending my hand.

The judge smiled. Please have a seat, Joe. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again. You’re looking good.

Thank you, you’re looking good yourself. How have you been?

I’m doing fine, thank you, answered the judge as he took a drink of scotch. He stared at me as if he were studying, What have you been doing since we disbarred you?

Surviving.

I heard your wife divorced you. Is that true?

Yeah, she sure did.

Remind me. Did you have any kids?

No, no kids, sir.

Sounds like you’ve been having a tough time. How long has it been since you lost your license?

Almost two years.

It’s been a while, huh, said the judge, taking another drink of scotch. You seem more unassuming than you used to be.

It’s been a humbling experience. On top of being disbarred, my wife filed for divorce. All of this in a six-month period.

I suppose that would surely knock the wind out of your sails. Well, Joe, who knows, maybe something good will come from your experience. I suspect you didn’t come here to chitchat. We’d better get down to business. When you clerked for me, you had the potential of being one of the best legal minds in the business. The fact is, you didn't take advantage of everything you worked for. You squandered everything for petty office politics and feeding your ego, said Judge Horton.

I understand.

When I brought up reinstating you to the bar, the four other judges on the judiciary panel didn’t like the idea. The rule set up to reinstate a lawyer is by a simple majority. I needed two other judges to vote to reinstate you. It took a little arm twisting, but I prevailed with a three to two vote.

I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve done.

Like I said, you had great potential. I also have to say you were a wonder. Like most of your colleagues, I’m surprised that someone you’ve belittled along the way didn’t cut your damn tongue out. You were good. In fact, you were damn good, but being good at something doesn’t give you a license to be so disagreeable, and make no mistake, Joe, you have an offensive personality. You got disbarred not only because of prosecutorial misconduct. Eric Warren filed a motion to have you disbarred for knowingly convicting a low-level drug dealer you knew was innocent. I just reviewed the evidence in your disbarment and it’s obvious the DA's motion to disbar you was correct. You ignored evidence and intentionally sent an innocent man to prison. It looks like Mr. Acosta’s public defender failed his client. I did some checking, and the defense attorney for the public defender’s office had eighty-two open cases. Our judicial system failed Mr. Acosta. You discredited all prosecuting attorneys by your illegal prosecution to bolster the DA’s re-election bid. We knew Eric’s reputation when we reviewed his petition to have you disbarred. We also knew your reputation. I’m giving you an opportunity to redeem yourself. Joe, I’ll be honest. For me disbarring you was easy, you broke the public trust and committed an illegal act. Our system is equally at fault. The legal system denied Mr. Acosta due process. He was the low-hanging fruit that made a conviction almost certain only to get Eric Warren re-elected. All lawyers do the best they can to pursue justice. You built your career prosecuting many people who didn’t have the means to defend themselves. You blatantly branded them as the leaches of our society. You took too much pride in prosecuting those people who didn’t have a chance in hell of getting a fair trial. Your job was to protect our society by pursuing justice. Instead, you played politics to boost your ego. You used those who had no ability to fight back to inflate your convictions record. Counting convictions was much more important than serving justice. Let’s be clear, you got disbarred because you were a top-notch prick.

It was difficult to listen without talking. I knew the judge was telling the truth. I had never had someone as calm and collected as Judge Horton tell me what a son-of-a-bitch I was.

Besides you being a prick, we also know that Eric Warren played to your big ego and set you up. There was a paralegal you didn’t even know, who despised you so much she risked her future to report you to the authorities. If you’re looking for someone to blame for the mess you’ve been in, look in the mirror.

I understand.

"I was curious why the DA’s office didn’t bring criminal charges against you. A few months after we disbarred you, I asked a confidant to do a little undercover investigation. I wanted to know how many of the cases you prosecuted the DA’s office investigated. My confidant