Page 21 of Here Comes the Judge

“What do you mean?”

“Well, makin’ fun of a woman being Italian who moves to Tennessee might still happen, like I said, but not nearly as much because that doesn’t seem like such a big deal in this day and age. Mama was still White, at the end of the day. But like I’ve been tryin’ to explain to you, people love to talk mess, and you’re going to have to toughen up and either beat someone’s ass or tell them to fuck off. The dumb truck makes regular deliveries ’round these parts, and some folks got double helpings of stupidity. Years ago, some people tried to say I was a nigger lover ’cause some of my friends are Black, and I don’t believe in shunning someone ’cause they’re a different race, or not liking them for that. Nobody would have the balls to say that to my face now though, Peter. I’d stomp a mudhole in ’em, and they know it, but back then, when I was much younger, they would try to say things like that.”

“Racism is stupid.” The boy sucked his teeth. “Mama has a Black friend from high school, and last time we met up with her and her kids for lunch, someone called her that word. Mama was so mad, but Mama’s friend, Rashida, seemed used to it. That made it all the worse.”

“It’s sick. It’s dumb. It’s unnecessary. Skin don’t make the man—who you are inside does. I only care about one color. Green. I dislike a lot of people, nephew, and it ain’t got a damn thing to do with skin color. The people who have caused me the most harm in my life looked just like me and you.” He pointed between the both of them. “Peter, people are gonna talk about you, me, everybody, ’cause that’s what people do. Anything to make themselves feel better than the next man. The folks with the most shit to say about other people are those with the most messed-up lives. In fact, I’d put all my chips on the fact that these types of people hate themselves. They’re miserable and broke. You can’t be okay with bein’ both. I refuse to be. Pick a struggle. It’s a lotta nerve if you ask me. They criticize, like their shit don’t stink.”

“But why?”

“Makes ’em feel better. People can say whatever they want ’bout your Uncle Jude and your father, but at the end of the day, there’s a need for people like me. You wanna know why I do it? That’s why you asked, right?” Peter nodded. “The money from the brewery is decent, but it wouldn’t be enough to take care of you, your mother, me, your dad’s legal needs and his upkeep in that hellhole, and the employee payroll for the brewery. I shell out so much damn money each month, it would make people’s heads spin, and most of it isn’t even on me. I’m out here trying to make sure my family and close friends are straight. Taken care of. Yeah, I like nice shit, and I deserve it because I work hard at whatever I put my mind to, but I want my loved ones to be okay, too, and that shit ain’t free.”

“Mama said the brewery is just a hobby.”

“It started that way, but it’s more than that now. It’s a legit business but like I said, this house of yours I pay for on behalf of my brother, the bills, your schoolin’, clothes, all of that, takes a lot of money because I want you to have the best. I don’t want you to struggle and worry, and be like… be like me…” His ears suddenly grew hot, and the muscles in his neck felt strained.

“Some say you’re sellin’ death, Uncle Jude.”

“They don’t say it about folks havin’ a good time at the bar, now do they? On ladies’ night, a bunch of chicks gettin’ loaded on a Saturday evening is seen as a fun ass time—but that’s a vice, an addiction, or can at least lead to one. They don’t say that about the casinos, either. ‘Oh, Roy’s just havin’ a good time!’ Naw, that’s probably an addiction, or one waiting to happen. The list goes on and on. People cherry-pick what they want to say is good and bad, but when it comes down to it, whatever we’re not tempted by, it’s easy to judge someone else who is, now ain’t it?” He laughed mirthlessly. “If you don’t crave donuts, it’s easy to talk shit about someone who does while ignoring your own addiction to being lazy, or jerkin’ off all damn day to dwarf porn.”

The boy burst out laughing, turning red in the face. Jude smiled at him.

“I know it sounds funny, but it’s true. I’ve never had a desire to shoot up heroin, inject meth, or snort coke, but the things I do enjoy doing that may not be good for me, like the cigarettes, ain’t no better. Just ’cause the death clock ticks slower doesn’t mean it deserves some sort of badge of honor or gold medal. At the end of the day, users are gonna use regardless, boy, if I’m around or not.” He shrugged.

“I asked Mama why Daddy used to use, especially since he knows what it does to people. She said if he didn’t, he’d be bad off. It was a long time ago… I don’t remember him bein’ sickly.”

“He straightened out before you were old enough to notice. You made him sober.” In that moment, he noted the sadness creeping in his nephew’s eyes, but a proud smile creased his face. “It’s true. Once he found out he was going to be a father, he went to rehab. He messed up a few times along the way, but he finally kicked it. Said he didn’t want to mess your life up. Didn’t want to choose drugs over his boy. Your mama was right. My brother didn’t enjoy it anymore. He slipped up right before he got locked up. From what I understand, he was depressed when it went down. Bad memories had resurfaced. Most of these addicts out here Pete are using just to not get sick at this point.”

“Yeah, they talked about that a little in school. Dope sickness.”

“Right. It’s not for pleasure or to get a high anymore. That goes away after the first few times. It’s because if theydon’tuse Peter, they’re gonna go through such bad withdrawals, they’ll feel like they’re dying. So, it becomes an emergency. It’s better to not even start because kicking some of these drugs is damn near impossible, especially if they’re not ready. If they don’t buy from me, they’ll buy from someone else. Once that addiction digs in deep and takes hold, they have to have it, or their body is going to take ’em to hell and back. If it’s me they’re getting it from, they have a lesser chance of gettin’ sick, and that’s just the truth.”

His nephew rested against the overstuffed pillows and cushions, holding himself, and looking in deep thought.

“Can I ask you something else, Uncle Jude?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there anybody you won’t sell to?”

“Mmm hmm. I don’t sell to kids,” He began to count off his fingers. “I don’t sell to no pregnant women, either, like, if I can see that she’s pregnant with my own eyes, or she says so. I’ve gotten cussed out about that shit, too. I don’t sell to first timers—people who admit to me this is their first try, and sometimes you just can tell if someone is a newbie. They don’t look as beat-up in the face and arms, things like that. I also don’t sell to people I know have a habit of snitchin’ on dealers when they feel some kind of way or get mad if their favorite dealer doesn’t answer the phone one night.”

Just then, the screen door swung open. Sherry emerged in a long pink dress, somewhat sheer in all the wrong places. Her hair, the same color as her son’s, blew in the breeze. Holding a cigarette in one hand, she eyed them both, suspicion in her blue eyes.

“So, you broke down and decided to have the talk with him, huh?” She smirked, before tapping ashes onto the porch.

“He asked me a question, and this time… I answered.”

Their eyes locked, the tension deep, palpable. Things had been getting strange between them lately. The woman had been calling in the middle of the night, telling him she needed help with home repairs, and he’d always hire someone if he didn’t have the time and send them over. She didn’t seem to like that. Minor stuff he’d take care of himself—she preferred that much more.

But then, during one of those visits as he was on his knees working on her sink, she got a bit too close… looking at him in a strange way… playing love songs on the radio… touching his shoulder. She’d never said anything with her mouth, but everything on that damn woman’s body was talking. She started wearing more revealing clothing during his evening visits when Pete was always conveniently asleep. Right now, she stood near the doorway with her breasts showing through the material of her dress, the pink nipples erect and the crack of her ass visible when she’d turn real slow, making a show of looking over her shoulder.

I’m this boy’s uncle. Sherry has lost her fucking mind if she thinks anything is going to happen between the two of us. I’d never do my brother that way. What in the hell… She wasn’t dressed like this a moment ago. That ain’t no way to dress around your son. This is bullshit.

He was tempted to express these thoughts. Perhaps he’d address it later when Pete was out of earshot.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you from schoolin’ your nephew on the pitfalls of life, so carry on.” She gave an unnerving grin, then disappeared back inside the house, the screen slamming behind her.

Peter gave him a telling glance, and they communicated without words, just like he and Cain used to do.

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