Arizona Allspice (11 page)

His eyes grew wide. “No! If I was, I wouldn’t dare expect any help from you. Hi, Elaine’s brother. I’m an angry unstable druggie. Could you give me a hand?” he laughed softly.

Still suspicious, Emanuel didn’t laugh. He only wondered if Joey even knew his sister. And if Elaine and Joey never hung out, which he was fairly sure of, why was Joey mentioning her?

“I’m not a druggie. The angry part is true, but like I said, I’m working on that.
Starting now.”

Emanuel sat impatiently, not following where Joey was going. “Let’s get back to the win-win situation you were talking about.”

“Right, right.
I’m turning this into a therapy session or something. Sorry. You, uh, want to go off to college, right?”

“Well, yeah, but”

“But you don’t want to leave Elaine and your dad.”

Emanuel
nodded,
concerned his inner thoughts were transparent.

“And you definitely don’t want Elaine to be with Raul if you go.”

“No, but I have to respect my sister’s choice in who she”

“But don’t you agree that Raul is a snake who’s not treating her the way she should be treated?” Joey’s gaze became direct and intense. “So, what if I told you we could both get what we want? You could get your degree and I’ll know Elaine is alright.”

“Don’t you mean that
I
would know Elaine was alright?” Emanuel studied Joey.

Joey looked down at the table and rubbed nervously at the nape of his neck. He shook his head ‘no’. Finally, his blue eyes lifted.
“Manny, before I tell you everything, could you tell me what Elaine’s middle name is?”

Emanuel shook his head, thinking Joey had gone crazy, but he answered. “It’s Frankie, after her uncle. Why?”

Joey’s mouth hung open. Then he laughed and glanced up at the sky. His smiling eyes then met his again. “Manny, I”

 “Roberts!” the jail guard’s booming voice snapped him out of his recollection, “You’ve got a phone call from Frank
Merjoy
.
You taking
it?”

“Yes sir.”

The barred door was buzzed open and Emanuel was led to the telephone.

“Hello? Uncle Frank?”

“Emanuel, my boy!
Do we need to talk or what?”

******

Licking the sweet maple syrup from my lips, I winced. My bottom lip was still sore. Before I’d walked into the courthouse I’d impulsively wolfed down the leftover breakfast as I sat in the truck in the parking lot. The urge to eat was an attempt to feel satiated. My strategy only satisfied my hunger, not my need for control at a time when I felt helpless. My stomach gurgled as my nervousness grew.

In Courtroom B, I took a seat on the left and waited for Manny and his lawyer to walk in. I held my breath as my brother was escorted into the room by an officer. Even though I anticipated him wearing an orange jumpsuit with handcuffs around his wrists, the sight was still alarming. Manny nodded upon seeing me and sat at the table reserved for the defendants in front of where I sat. That’s…not
Tammi
Goldman, I thought as his lawyer walked out and sat with Manny at the table. A man of short stature and big presence, Manny’s lawyer wore a perfectly tailored navy suit with a vibrant red ascot tucked proudly into the neck of his jacket. His thinning brown hair appeared even sparser slicked down with a handful of gel. I smiled inwardly. Uncle Frank obviously brought Manny around to the idea of a competent defense lawyer.

In comparison to the lawyer, the judge seemed unkempt.  His bushy eyebrows and five o’clock shadow as well as his expansive waistline did nothing to create an air of honorability. His hirsuteness expressed itself not just at his face, but also at the tops of his pudgy hands. Sticking out of the sleeves of his black judge’s gown, it almost looked like he was wearing black woolen mittens. He sat down without looking at who was in the courtroom and began reading the paper in front of him.

“Case number 5D13-567, Roberts vs. the state of Arizona.” Judge
Pitrelli
peered over his glasses at the prosecuting attorney. “There’s been a change in the charges counselor?”

 “Charges have been dropped from assault with a deadly weapon, to the charge of misdemeanor battery following the retraction of false statements made by a Mr. Raul Campos,” the prosecutor yawned behind his table at the right side of the room.

“Is there a plea?”

“Guilty,” Manny’s lawyer answered.

I shook my head and restrained my urge to cry.

“Does the defense have any complaints?”

“Joseph Kinsley and my client are good friends and both are victims of a horrible accident caused by a misunderstanding. As best friends, they understand each other and can forgive one another. I am positive that when Joseph Kinsley gains consciousness he will articulate the fact that it was an accident and ask the court to have mercy on Mr. Roberts as well. We ask that sentencing be held off until Joey is taken from his coma.”

“Yes, I will allow that. Hopefully he will wake up with enough faculties intact to make such a statement.” His gaze fell on Manny. “Mr. Roberts,” his voice rose sternly, “I see boys like you every day in this courtroom. My word choice is deliberate. Every day I see
boys
in this courthouse, not men. They injure, they maim,
they
kill other human beings. You were too small to walk over to your best friend, Mr. Kinsley, and actually have a conversation with him. That’s what a man would have done; talk it out. Instead you put him in the hospital. You beat him up like a bully. Let me guess, you never knew your daddy and your momma and her boyfriends whooped you every day?”

“No, your honor,” Manny responded calmly.

“Well then! You really have no excuse at all. I find that the defense makes a valid point. The court should first attain a thorough assessment of Joseph Kinsley’s medical condition which can only be evaluated upon him waking from his coma. Therefore, on the count of misdemeanor battery: No bond. As long as Joseph Kinsley has been, in a sense, removed from the freedoms of life, so should Roberts. Mr. Roberts will remain in jail without bond until Kinsley is evaluated. Once that is done, the sentencing date should be scheduled. Joseph Kinsley’s physical damages and a probation presentence report made up of interested parties’ suggestions for Mr. Roberts’ punishment will contribute to the defendant’s sentencing. Are all in agreement?”

“Yes, your honor,” answered the prosecutor.

“Uh, your honor, no,” smirked Manny’s lawyer. “The defense appreciates that you’ve taken into account that Mr. Kinsley will have a statement regarding the unfortunate accident, once he is out of the coma. However, I feel that it is highly unnecessary for bond to be withheld from my client seeing as he is of no flight risk. He has no criminal history and has admitted fault. All of that should be grounds to soften your decision.”

Judge
Pitrelli
cut his eyes at the defense lawyer. “Should I wait until the second time he puts someone in the hospital to withhold bond?”

The lawyer chuckled lightly in disbelief. “Your honor sir, I feel that you are being judgmental, no pun intended, in regards to my client. Mr. Roberts was raised in a loving home with an involved and encouraging father and mother, may she rest in peace. I don’t see what the other young men that have traipsed through your courtroom have to do with the unique case you have in front of you. What moral point can you make while offending and
profiling
my client?” The lawyer gave a challenging look at the judge, waiting for his reply.

The judge blinked. “I apologize to Mr. Roberts. I did not mean to tarnish your mother’s memory. I am sincerely sorry.”

“So you agree a bond should be set for the young man?”

“Not at all.
I am teaching a lesson here; the lesson of an eye for an eye. Joseph Kinsley cannot interact with his friends and family so neither should Mr. Roberts.”

The lawyer gave a very long sigh. “Since you insist on taking creative liberties with my client’s punishment, your honor, I ask that the days he spends in jail prior to the actual arraignment be deducted from his sentence.”

“Fine.
Roberts will remain behind bars until both the evaluation of Joseph Kinsley and a probation report are presented. At such time he will be sentenced and his previous jail stay credited. Is the prosecution in agreement?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“It is so ordered.” After smacking the gavel down on the block, the judge stood as quickly as he could from his seat and rushed off to eat the foot long cheese steak he had waiting in his chambers, I bet.

The finality of the gavel startled me. The proceedings had happened so fast. Judge
Pitrelli
was an ignorant dim-witted boar! And what was that lawyer being paid for if not to make sure the judge ruled in my brother’s favor? I knew he should have pleaded not guilty. Was there still time for Manny to change his guilty plea? I stood up as Manny whispered something in his lawyer’s ear. The lawyer glanced back at me and then nodded at Manny. With his hands cuffed in front of him, Manny sauntered over to me. Close up I could see the stubble growing along his face and the tiredness in his brown eyes. His shoulders were back and his chin up. He leaned down and we kissed each other on the cheek.

“I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you soon,” he said. Then he was led out of the courtroom. All the while I had been thinking he was being his usual doormat self to not duel with the judge and the prosecutor. I saw in his demeanor in front of the
judge,
and in his humility after learning he would not be released from jail, that he had fortitude. He had a strong sense of self control in the face of difficulties that I could never emulate. If only he’d used that
self control
instead of starting a fight with Joey in the first place. What in the world had the two been fighting about that day?

I drove around the parking lot in circles thinking of where to go.
Amo
Lake sounded like a good place to lie in the grass and collect my thoughts. I swam in that lake as a kid and used its banks as my writing niche as I got older. I needed the calm view of blue water surrounded by wildflowers to soothe me like it had done for years.

Amo
Lake held me for hours this afternoon. I studied all the old crooked trees and brazen wildflowers around it. I watched tadpoles and small fish squiggling aimlessly through the water and the mechanical resurfacing of box turtles. Dragonflies fluttered and hovered and ants marched along the ground. It didn’t feel like it was just me at the lake. I was surrounded by life. Squirrels chattered and birds quarreled in the branches. The scenery was a break from highway asphalt and desert sand. I leaned against my tree stump that I’d named mine years ago and watched the clouds crawl across the blue sky.

It was strange not really having anything to do, no one to cook for or clean after, to tend to. Thoughts of my finished short stories and imaginations for characters and dialogue in new ones made me aware of my journal’s absence. I began to scribble on napkins until I could transfer them into my journal at home. Thinking of my journal, I remembered Joey’s. I thought of Joey as more likely to crush empty beer cans with his forehead then to sit down, reflect, and write on his experiences. As I sat by the lake I became extraordinarily curious about his odd little journal. Did he write stories like I did in mine? My questions got the best of me and I got into my truck to head to the hospital where I knew his journal would be. Right there on the table by his bed where his mother had left it.