Savannah Law
Page 1
Savannah Law
a novel
by
William Eleazer
Copyright © 2009 William R. Eleazer
All rights reserved. No part of this publication (except for brief quotations in articles or reviews) may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This is a book of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Real places and names are occasionally used to give a sense of reality, but all events involving such places or names are fictional.
ISBN (print): 978-0-9824747-6-1
ISBN (eBook): 978-0-9824747-0-9
Library of Congress Control Number: 2009905872
Published by Elex Publishers, Inc.
5 Crescent Place South
St. Petersburg, Florida
www.elexpublishers.com
Call 800-546-3539 for ordering information.
Cover art by Jeslyn Cantrell, www.jeslynsart.blogspot.com
Book design by Susan Leonard, www.otgbookdesign.blogspot.com
Printed in the United States of America
Dedicated to the citizens of Savannah.
Your law school:
Savannah College of Law
Acknowledgments
My special thanks to Shelly Wilson, Sheila Colón, Sally Waters, Marie Miller, Barbara Samford, Toni Knott, Lisa Bacon, and Jill Sokol, for editorial assistance and advice, and to my wife, Jan, for more than I can explain in many words. And to Christopher Marlowe, who explained it all in just a few.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Epilogue
... Where both deliberate, the love is slight:
Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?
Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593)
CHAPTER 1
Savannah, Georgia
Friday, August 18, 2006
It was Friday night and the Library was overflowing with students. Glasses of beer lined the wooden tables, and backpacks filled with newly purchased law books were scattered on the floor. Jaak Terras, owner of the Library, stood near the front entrance, welcoming everyone back after the summer break.
“Jaak’s Library—Bar and Grill” was the name on the neon sign hanging over the double oak doors that opened onto the sidewalk six steps below, but to most of its patrons, it was simply the “Library.” For the students at Savannah College of Law, it was the most popular gathering place, especially on Friday nights. And this was a special Friday night—the first of the new semester.
“Welcome back, Sid. Got your postcard. Thanks.”
“Hello, Liz, hello, Wes—one more semester for both of you, right?” Jaak would shake their hands and greet them by name, at least those he remembered, and he remembered most of them.
Jaak Terras was as popular as his bar and grill. Fifty-eight years old, he stood six feet, two inches tall and had broad shoulders and a full head of silver hair with a matching and neatly trimmed mustache. As always on such special occasions, he was flawlessly dressed: dark gray wool trousers, cordovan loafers of fine Italian leather, navy wool blazer, light-blue shirt with French cuffs, and a colorful Jerry Garcia necktie.
Jaak had been in the restaurant and bar business for most of his adult life. The exception was the four years he spent with the U.S. Marines, followed by two years at the University of Georgia, and another two and a half years in his hometown—Springfield, Georgia—helping out after the death of his mother and the lengthy illness of his father. Jaak dropped out of college at the beginning of his junior year to help raise his fourteen-year-old brother—his only sibling—and assist with his father’s welding business. After his father passed away, Jaak remained in Springfield until his brother graduated from high school. He then closed the welding business and sold the family home. He found a job as an assistant manager of a popular bar and restaurant in downtown Savannah and moved there, taking his brother with him. That was his first employment in the restaurant and bar business and would lead him to his crown jewel, the Library.
The Library opened the same year that the law school moved onto its new campus in south Savannah. The building, just one block from the edge of the campus, had been part of the Chatham County Public Library system. Built in the 1920s, it was abandoned and boarded up when a larger, modern, computer-friendly library was built just a few blocks away. The old library was a large, granite-faced building with arched windows, heart-of-pine floors and heavy wooden doors. Inside were broad eight-foot-long tables, wooden chairs, and book shelves on all walls—all solid oak. This was a building built before air-conditioning, designed with twenty-foot ceilings throughout to make Savannah’s hot summer days bearable inside. It had been vacant for almost five years when Jaak purchased it from the county. The county was glad to see it go, and Jaak was glad to take possession at a price he considered a steal.
Jaak spent the next year painting, repairing, and renovating. When the renovations began, Jaak impressed upon everyone working on the project that he wanted to recognize the historical significance of the building by incorporating into it as much of the original furniture and fixtures as possible.
One small room was converted into a private lounge, furnished with a large leather sofa and chair and a custom-designed poker table with seven side chairs. This was Jaak’s favorite place to relax and entertain close friends.
The large L-shaped room was divided into two rooms, the smaller one serving as the restaurant segment, the larger room as a bar and lounge. The first year the Library opened, the students dubbed the larger area the “Study Hall,” and the name stuck.
Summer was a busy season, despite the absence of most of the law students. Local visitors, tourists, and regular customers kept the staff of servers and cooks busy, but Jaak missed the students. Yes, they were loud and messy, but he enjoyed hearing their laughter and watching their pranks. They brought vigor and excitement to the Library, and Jaak was anxious for the new semester to begin. So there he stood, as he did at the beginning of each new semester, greeting all the old-timers and welcoming the new ones.
“Hi, Manny, how was Atlanta?”
Manny Morgan was a senior and one of the Library’s regulars for the past two years. Jaak knew Manny had been
offered a summer clerking job in Atlanta with one of its most prominent civil defense firms.
“I’m not sure, Jaak. I never got to see Atlanta,” Manny responded as they shook hands.
“Don’t tell me you gave up that clerking offer you were promised!”
“Nope, took it, worked my ass off twenty-four, seven for six weeks. Never saw the outside of my Peachtree office building during daylight and never once visited Underground Atlanta. Had a blast!” Manny said with a broad smile.
“You ol’ dog!” said Jaak, as he slapped him on the back and pointed to the bar. “Juri will be glad to see you.”
Juri was the Library’s bartender, assistant manager, and Jaak’s brother. He resembled Jaak in facial and physical features but was not quite as tall, and being ten years younger, his hair had not turned silver like Jaak’s. Their parents, Jaan and Ingrid Terras, were Estonian immigrants who settled in Springfield, a small town twenty-seven miles north of Savannah, immediately after World War II. The Lutheran Church in Springfield had sponsored them as war refugees, and Jaan quickly developed a successful business as a welder, the trade he learned while growing up in Estonia.
Jaak, the oldest child, was given a common Estonian name. The Estonian pronunciation was YA-ak, but his childhood friends all called him “Jake,” and “Jake” he remained.
Juri was named for Jüri Uluots, a World War II resistance fighter who later became prime minister of Estonia. Unlike Jaak, Juri insisted his name retain the Estonian pronunciation, YER-ee. The name prompted questions of its origin from customers, and Juri enjoyed retelling the stories about his freedom-fighting namesake, embellishing them as he saw fit. Juri was a great storyteller and was always ready to hear or tell a new joke, or pop an impromptu trivia question to the law students sitting at his bar.
Jaak made the decision to serve only beer and wine at the Library as part of his business plan. He would apply for a full-service license, a bigger money maker, if he later changed his mind. So far, he had found no need to apply, as the Library was doing quite well financially.
Beer on tap, served in frozen mugs, was the most popular beverage for the young crowd. The wines were moderately priced, with a few superior California wines available for patrons celebrating special occasions. Juri was in charge of wine purchases and took his position seriously, becoming absorbed in Robert Parker’s writings on the subject and occasionally taking a business trip to Napa Valley for an on-site personal study. He considered himself a “Sommelier”— and could even pronounce the word, which he frequently did, just to irritate Jaak, who considered it pretentious.
As Jaak stood at the door, greeting the Library’s patrons, he could see a reddening sky filtered by dark clouds, foretelling an early evening rain. He loved the salty smell of the wind blowing in from the expansive marshes southeast of the city. The thunder was still far off in the distance, but the constant rumblings warned that rain was fast approaching. He could see that the law school’s east parking lot, a couple hundred yards away, was now half empty. The new-students’ orientation program, the only class in session that day, had already ended. Most of his student customers had arrived and were busy sharing stories of their summer vacations or internships.
Nearby residents found the Library a welcome place to unwind after a busy day’s work. There were several large apartment and condominium complexes within a mile of the Library. These housed many of Savannah’s young professionals, who mingled well with the students. Quite a few faculty and staff members from the law school stopped by regularly. The dean, Winston Adams, occasionally stopped by, and Professor Denis Nolan was a regular player at the poker game hosted by Jaak on Sunday nights, the only day the Library was closed. Professor Nolan had called earlier that day to inquire if the game was on for this Sunday, and Jaak assured him that it was.
The band arrived and began setting up in the Study Hall. Live bands were not an every-night, or even an every-week, occurrence at the Library, but quite often a local band was hired for Friday or Saturday nights and special occasions. Jaak was not much into music of any kind, and he left the selection of music and hiring of bands to Juri, whose taste extended to a wide variety of musical styles: big band, blues, popular, country, and vocal jazz. Juri especially liked female blues and jazz singers. His favorites were Tierney Sutton and Norah Jones. He was also a fan of Amy Winehouse—her voice, not her reputation. He had all of these singers’ albums, or at least those he could locate. He had over a thousand CDs featuring artists of various styles and an expensive Numark DJ system that he personally commanded.
Jaak’s only demand was that the volume be kept low enough for his customers to converse. To Juri, that meant the volume should not shatter the beer glasses, and this was often a bone of contention between the brothers. Tonight it was the Bank Notes, a local band of four young Savannah bank executives on the instruments and a young female vocalist with a wide-ranging voice that went well with the band’s selections of blues and country-western music. The bankers neither asked for nor expected compensation; they just enjoyed having an appreciative audience and an occasional cold beer. However, Jaak insisted that Juri compensate the vocalist. He knew her salary was well below those of the bank executives.
CHAPTER 2
Scott Marino sat at one of the large oak tables on the south wall of the Library, surrounded by a half dozen other students, all joining in a lively conversation about classes, professors, and summer adventures.
“... yeah, clerked in Boston... four thousand a month making coffee... pot of Folgers every two hours... got damn good at it....”
“... I just signed up for that new seminar, ‘Art, Love, and the Constitution.’ Should be sweet!”
“... took my first cruise ever... big luxury liner out of Miami. Arrived in the Caymans just as Hurricane Alberto—and salmonella—hit....”
“... have you seen that new R & W professor? Hot, man, hot... !”
For Jennifer Stone, seated next to Scott, it was all new and exciting. This was her first semester, and she wanted to hear it all. She listened attentively to the spirited conversation. The anticipation of this new adventure, law school, was intoxicating.
Jennifer’s bright blue eyes darted around the table as she reveled in the animated tales of each speaker, her curious mind soaking up every word. She wore her blonde hair in a casual, breezy cut, a hair style she had worn since high school. She was five feet, six inches tall, trim and shapely, with a flawless complexion. The only makeup she used was a gloss on her lips that made them sparkle like her eyes. Her uncommon beauty came naturally.
Scott, her escort, was a handsome young man himself. Years of outdoor sports had toned his muscles and maintained his skin in a healthy Mediterranean hue. He kept his dark hair clipped fairly short but long enough for a slight wave to be visible. Slightly over six feet tall, he had an athletic build, hazel eyes, and a winning smile. Jennifer had met him earlier that day at the orientation program. Scott was Student Bar Association president and had overseen the third day of orientation. The first two days dealt with administrative and academic matters. This day, Friday, the last day of orientation, was devoted to student activities of the extracurricular kind: law fraternities, student government, intramural athletics, pro bono activities, and anything else that would occupy a Savannah College of Law student’s time away from classes and the study routine.
Scott presided over the entire day’s orientation schedule, addressed the new students on several of the topics, and answered their many questions. The new students were invited to a four o’clock barbeque in the school courtyard, hosted by the Student Bar Association. Jennifer was impressed with Scott’s knowledge and gentlemanly manner throughout the day, so when he invited her to join him afterwards at the Library, she quickly accepted.
Jennifer had a lot of questions. Her primary interest, at least for now, was to learn as much as she could about courses and scheduling. Her career goal was to be a trial lawyer. What kind of trial lawyer, she wasn’t su
re. She just knew she wanted to be in the courtroom. She could not imagine spending her life as a lawyer preparing real estate closings, wills, estate documents, and business contracts. This was not unusual for an entering law student, before being exposed to all the varied careers a law graduate might pursue. But it was the intensity of the desire that set Jennifer apart. Scott was just beginning to tell her about some of the clinic and mock trial opportunities she would have at “Savannah Law,” as Savannah College of Law was called by students and faculty alike, when he was interrupted by a voice behind him.
“I believe I have met the suave gentleman seated on your right, but to my extreme disappointment, I have not had the pleasure of meeting you or learning your name,” the voice recited in feigned sincerity.
As Scott and Jennifer turned, they spotted a tall young man, with light-brown hair hanging in ringlets to his shoulders. Towering over Jennifer, and looking directly into her eyes, he said, “I’m Jeffrey Swenson, and I am at your service if this gentleman is bothering you. I’m third-degree black belt and would commit second-degree manslaughter for you, just say the word. This guy looks like trouble.”
Noting a repressed smile on Scott’s face that assured her this was all in jest, Jennifer decided to play along, replying, “Is that your pickup line? Surely you could do better.”
“Not good? How about this: If I told you that you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”
“That’s so old,” responded Jennifer.
Faking a hurt expression, the young man said, “Then this: Your eyes are the color of my Porsche.”
“Not quite, but better.”
“Say, that’s a nice dress; can I talk you out of it? I can see it in your eyes—the answer is ‘no’ to that one also.”
“You are so perceptive.”
“OK, I’m Irish. Do you have any Irish in you? Would you like some?”
With that, Scott quickly broke in. “Jennifer, please excuse this degenerate. He’s lost all of the gentlemanly qualities that were present when he was admitted to law school two years ago. Believe me, he was once a normal, respected citizen of our campus, but this past summer he enrolled in the Public Defender Clinic, and the exposure to so many miscreants and felons has left him without any moral, social, or ethical sense of responsibility. He’s hopeless and depraved. But I love him like a brother. Jeffrey, sit down and meet Jennifer Stone, entering Savannah Law student. Jennifer, this is my former roommate, Jeff Swenson. He’s a senior but unlikely to ever graduate. And now you see why he is my former roommate. Jeff, your conduct tonight is deplorable, like all other nights.”