Page 52 of Judas

Chapter thirty-seven

"I'll wait out here, okay?" Judas stroked Eliza's arm just outside the heavy door. On the other side, his employer fully woke from his coma an hour ago. From the report from the nursing staff he asked for two things. First, a morning paper so he could catch up on any stories that were written about hisaccidentand second, his daughter.

She nodded hesitantly and stared at the barrier between her and her dad. Eliza knew there was more to the story of what happened, but getting Paul to talk about it, she knew would be entirely different. She drew in a long breath, holding it for a few seconds before slowly releasing it and going inside.

Color had returned to the man's face, but Eliza thought he looked so much older than when she left him two days ago. His usually well-groomed gray hair was messy and he needed a shave. The breath she let go of just moments before, Eliza wished she had back because she now felt like she was choking. He was difficult, and obnoxious, and hard to handle and her gut told her that a hundred people probably wanted him dead forgood reason. But, he was her father. He taught her how to ride her brand new pink bike with the silver glitter banana seat when she was five. He took her for ice cream when she lost her first tooth. She remembered how gently he spoke to her and how he smelled when she nuzzled her face into his neck while she cried after he told her that her mother was gone.

He could be a real bastard, but she hoped he could still have good in him somewhere. She needed her father to be redeemable.

A tear slid down Eliza's cheek.

This was her dad.

She brushed the tear away just as Paul's eyes blinked open and his head lolled in her direction. His smile grew as Eliza stepped closer to the bed and took his hand.

"Betsy. Oh, my beautiful angel," he cooed.

Her expression was tight, "Hi, Dad. How are you feeling?"

"Oh," waving a dismissive hand, he chuckled. "Little bit of a headache, but not enough to take this old dog out."

Eliza laughed softly, "That's great, Dad. Have you eaten? Are they getting you up yet?"

She knew she would have to ease into the real questions she wanted to ask.

"Why yes…as a matter of fact, doc says one or two more days here in Club Med and I'll be good as new. Which is fine by me because I'm already behind on the campaign trail. But, thank the good Lord I'm still polling ahead of Marquez." Paul sat straight, "As a matter of fact this little accident is going to play in my favor."

Eliza's face contorted in horror, "Accident? In your favor? What are you talking about?"

"Well, the papers are running with their own theories…everything from the Democrats trying to take me out to some maniac-criminal illegal. Any way you play it though, my pollnumbers keep rising!" his excitement was growing. "We need to use this, Betsy…keep the fires going. Let's send out a press release that lets my followers know that I'm going to be back on the road next week and that whoever this bastard is, the Dallas police department has my full backing and we will take our streets back and make them safe again."

She stared blankly at her father. He had to be joking…was hehappyabout the attempt on his life?

"Dad, you can't be serious—"

"Betsy, Marquez doesn't stand a chance. Damn snowflake is too soft on crime…people want clean neighborhoods. Safe neighborhoods. God back in schools. The way it used to be…with the damn troublemakers in their own countries, where they belong. I'm going to give them that," his words grew like a Southern preacher on a pulpit. "Speaking of safety…where is Jude?"

"He's outside," she muttered as her eyes blinked in disbelief.

"He's a good one," Paul nodded. "Probably hasn't left since I came in here. You don't find loyalty like that from an outsider. Hard to come by…tell him to come in here so I can reward the boy."

She thought someone else had control of her limbs as she turned back to the door, inviting Judas inside. The idea her father would use such an abhorrent act of violence as a whistle for the constituency was sickening. But, so was the whole political game and she hated that she put herself in the middle of it. She could’ve said no, she should’ve said no when her father asked her to manage his campaign. As if he actually asked. He didn't; he told her she would be great and that was the end of the conversation.

Her father's voice yanked her back into the moment, "Jude, I wanna thank you for standing by my side through this. You're one of the good ones."

Paul held out his hand to Judas. Glancing in Eliza's direction, he watched her eyes roll in disgust, but Judas clasped Paul's hand tightly and shook it.

"Of course, sir," he replied, still a little confused by the context.

"Well, now, down to business," Paul dropped his hand. "Betsy, we need to gather a big press conference for my release. We need to show these people what kind of man Paul Arthur is."

Eliza sighed, "Dad, what we need is to know who shot you."

"Well, I have no idea," he said quickly.

Eliza's brow furrowed. From what Judas described and the reports from the police, her father would have surely had to know his attacker. There were no signs of forced entry and his office was an apparent mess. She felt an odd sensation rise from her toes, filling every pore of her skin, and sinking in her mind. Some might call it instinct, but it was the same feeling she had as a prosecutor when a defendant was lying to her.

"What do you mean, you don't know. What happened that afternoon, Dad?" her question came out more icy than was her intent.

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