Page 20 of Here Comes the Judge

Peter huffed, the air blowing a few strands of hair out of his tanned face. The sunlight hit his eyes just so, making them sparkle like jewels, and the smattering of freckles along the bridge of his nose glistened with sweat. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looked off to the side, hopelessness in his gaze.

“Don’t got much to talk about, Uncle Jude,” the boy mumbled. “Don’t see why I should take calls from my dad, anyway. He wasn’t interested in talking to me much before. Why change up now?”

“’Cause he wants to have a relationship with you, Pete. That’s why.” Around and around they went, the conversation becoming tiresome. Yet, he afforded his nephew a bit more patience and tolerance. He was just a child.

“Like pen pals? ’Cause that’s all we could be, me and my dad, and he didn’t care ’bout me when he was free, now did he? Can you deny it?”

Jude lowered his gaze to his shoes. He stood there in a dinner jacket, a button down dark red shirt, and some of his best cologne, attracting a million chiggers. Taking a long drag of his cigarette, he mulled the words of a wounded boy. His nephew was coming from a place of hurt, but he was also filled with the venom his mother had been spouting as of late. Sherry had become bitter over the years. He didn’t blame her for her own pain, but there was no need to poison the boy, too. Hell, she was in her right to be irritated. Cain had treated her like trash, but Jude just wished the lady would give her son and his brother a chance to forge something on their own, in a positive direction.

“You been more like a father to me than him anyway. I look up to you.”

“I told you that I’m not a good role model for you, Pete. I just love you, you’re my nephew, so I’m going to take care of you. That’s all I can do, and all I can be.”

“But, Uncle Jude, Mama said, and a lotta other people too, that even though you sell drugs, you got a good heart. She said not all drug dealers are bad people, just Cain was.” Jude tossed up his hands and shrugged.

“That’s fine and all to have a different opinion, but this really isn’t about good versus bad, Peter. Not only that, I told you a few times now that I don’t want to talk to you about this subject matter. It’s not right.”

“Why? I’m not a baby.”

“This is grown folk business, and you need to—”

“But Mama already told me everything, Jude. Why won’t you talk to me? Besides, I know what you and my daddy did. That’s why he’s in prison right now.”

“No, that’s not why he’s in prison right now. He’s in prison for a double homicide.”

“Well, yeah, I know that, but it’s tied into it because he thought they’d stolen from him.”

“Theydidsteal from him, but your father let his emotions get the best of him, all right? That’s not who he really is. He was dealin’ with some things, and he’d relapsed.”

“Same difference.”

“Details matter. It’s not the same difference. If someone shoots an old lady, people need to know if she was batshit crazy and tried to shoot him first for no damn reason, or if she was innocent and on her way to church after feedin’ the damn homeless. People will assume without all the details, that she was the victim because of her age. Sometimes that’s just not so. So, that ain’t the same difference! Motive is important. Facts! I don’t like it when accusatory things are said that aren’t exactly accurate, you know that about me. It rubs me the wrong way.” Pete dropped his head. “Now, I don’t know verbatim what your mama told you, but I know she probably had her own spin on it. I’m not sayin’ she’s lying; I’m saying everyone has their own estimation and take on things. You understand me?”

“Yes, I understand.” The boy kicked a pebble. “I just want you to talk to me… like a man. I want you to tell me why you do what you do, how you feel about it. I know what I think about it.”

“First of all, I can’t talk to you like a man, ’cause you’re not a man. Only I am. Secondly, if this makes you more willing to speak to Cain, and you wanna talk, I’m going to talk to you. Let’s get this out of the way.” The boy’s face lit up as they both made their way to the yellow and white porch furniture with a garish sunflower design, and sat across from one another.

“Now, I’m not going to go around and around the mulberry bush with you, Pete. I want you to tell me what you wanna know about my occupation,” he stated with a smirk, “and I’ll see if I can help you understand.”

“Okay… well…” The boy began to tug at the hem of his shirt, then ball it up as he tried to find the words. “I… think people make a lot of assumptions, like, makin’ what you do bad, like you’re the bad guy. I think taking drugs is bad, though.”

“Yeah. It can hurt ya. Kill you.” He flicked ashes from his cigarette.

“Yeah… so, but like, I know you… and when I spend time with you, and we play cards, or a video game, or you take me and Mama out to eat, I don’t feel like you’re a bad person. I’ve known you my whole life. You’re just Uncle Jude to me. Someone told me a while back that you’re evil. I don’t see you as a boogie man, or killer… but some people said you’ve killed folks, hurt some people. I don’t know.” Peter shrugged. “Some folks have said stuff I know wasn’t true, too.”

“People can say whatever they want about me, son. Makes no damn difference.” He threw up his hands. “If I cared about what people thought about me, Pete, I wouldn’t even raise my head to get out of the bed. I stopped caring what anyone believed regarding me and mine when I was a teenager. My life wasn’t easy, all right? Your father and I suffered. When you’re worrying about whether you are going to eat or not, whether the cops are going to kick your door in and take your parents away, the last thing on your mind is what so and so is gossiping about. Not only that, but I’ve also had to listen to people talkin’ about my parents my whole life, because of them makin’ national news for their crimes.

“They talk about me and your daddy ’cause of our family, your grandparents: Angel and Johnny. They’re notorious, first and foremost, and people converse about our reputations secondly. Facts are, son, that none of these folks flappin’ their gums really know jack shit! I told you since you were a baby, always watch who you talk to. Everyone can become an enemy, even your own mama, under the right circumstances. When you don’t give folks shit to talk about, Pete, they’ll make it up. You can’t win for losing. I’d rather they paint their own narrative than know a damn thing about me, and my family. I want all of y’all protected. Safe. If you love somebody, folks can use that to hurt you. People can use what you say against you, too. That’s why I told you, don’t engage in no conversations with your friends about me and your daddy, regarding what we’ve done, and what we do. That’s family business, and it ain’t none of theirs.”

Pete nodded in understanding.

“I got friends who speak up for me, Uncle Jude, but some guys are stupid. They try to start stuff, pick fights. Say things about my daddy.”

“They’d talk about your daddy anyway, Pete. Losers do that. Guys I knew growing up talked about us ’cause we was born in Bordeaux. Said we’re trash. They talked mess about us ’cause our mother was Italian. Your grandmama was born in Connecticut and moved to Tennessee as a child– and some folks here thought that was mighty funny and would mess with her. Now, this was a long time ago, so folks don’t really make a big deal about that sort of thing anymore, but it was really upsetting for her as a kid, and just left me and Cain confused as hell. Wasn’t nothin’ wrong with my mama, as far as I could see. It was just strange to me. My mother told me stories about how they’d poke fun at her. Look! She’s Italian… Say stuff like she had a big nose, greasy hair—none of that was true. My mama had a button nose, and even if she did have a big nose, big fuckin’ deal.”

“Grandma was beautiful. I saw the pictures of her.” Peter’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, she was, and one of my ex-girlfriends made a good point to me about that very thing. She said that probably, some of the women causing my mama issues were just jealous, because my mother was a head-turner with the men, and those women didn’t too much care for her movin’ into their neighborhood with their drunk, unemployed husbands, lusting after my mother, who kept herself together, black hair down to her rear end, big beautiful amber eyes, and red lipstick, all day, every day, or at least until it was time to hit the pillow. My father, your grandfather, was tall, broad-shouldered and strong. Tennessee born and bred. He was a hustler and could fix almost anything. Slick as lard. He was smart, but criminally minded down to his core, as they say, and my mother fell head over heels in love with him. They loved one another, and they loved us, too, but they got caught up… Anyway, some things have changed, son, but some things have remained the same.”

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