Page 52 of Here Comes the Judge

With a soft hand she took the fob, then walked in the murky air towards the driver’s side.

“Oh my God…” she cried happily, jumping up and down now. He couldn’t help but laugh, so thrilled at her blissfulness.

“I couldn’t have my baby driving that old car. For the money they wanted to fix it, I figured you could have somethin’ else. You like it, sweet thing?”

“Oh my God, Jude, I love it! Youreallyhad me going. I wanted to smack the shit out of you. That was a mean trick!” She laughed as she opened the car.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said with a chuckle. “I was just havin’ a little fun with you is all.”

“Don’t play with me like that again. It wasn’t funny. See how childish you are? I was 38 hot!”

“I know! But baby, come on, now.” He threw up his hands. “You know damn well I’d never treat you like that. I gotta say though, when you’re angry, it turns me the hell on. Whew! All that rage… we could put it to good use. We need to hurry on back inside so I can cash in on that.”

She rolled her eyes at him, then slipped into the car. He got into the passenger’s seat.

He explained some of the controls in the beautiful vehicle. “The car will be in your name, but it’s paid for in full. I paid the insurance, too. All you have to do is put gas in her, but I got you a gas card that’ll take care of that for a long while. You deserve this and more.” She leapt into his arms and squeezed him tight. He embraced her, then kissed the top of her head.

“You drive me crazy, Iris. I love you so damn much.” She glanced at him, showing a sweetness that dwelled within her—something he couldn’t resist. For a while, she sat there toying with the car, the stereo, the seats, and all the various buttons. “Iris, I just thought of something.”

“What?” she asked, now setting her radio stations.

“Well, I was going to tell you that as a little boy, I had fantasized about buyin’ my parents a Rolls Royce.” She caressed his face, then sat back and slowly ran her hands along the steering wheel. “Before I get too far into that, though, how much do you know about my parents?”

She fixed a warm gaze on him.

“Well, it was kind of hard to not look things up about you and not see stuff about them, too.” He nodded in understanding. “I know they were bank robbers, like, twenty years ago.”

“Mmm hmm.” He cracked the window. “Is that it?”

“Well, I also read they died after a robbery, but that’s pretty much it.”

“Let me tell you who my parents truly were, as people. My mother’s name was Angel Bianchi.” He sat back in the passenger’s seat as ‘Charlie,’ by Shootergang Kang, played on low volume. “My father’s name was Derek Johnathon Cooper, but most called him by his middle name, Johnny. My mother’s grandparents were Italian immigrants, but she and her parents were born here in the U.S.” Iris nodded in understanding.

“My father and his entire family were born and raised in Nashville, Tennessee. His family were pretty much known as troublemakers. They were dirt poor. Hustlers. Gamblers. My mother’s family was poor, too, but not like my father’s—that was a different level of poverty. One she hadn’t seen before. Anyway, they met at some concert. The way my father told it, he said there was this olive-skinned beauty with long black hair, and he just had to have her.” He smiled sadly. “My father, bein’ the bad boy in town—him and his brothers that is—got his fair share of attention, but no woman had made him ever consider settlin’ down until my mother came on the scene.

“They hit it off, and before you knew it, they were getting married. Not too long after that, my mother was pregnant with Cain, then soon thereafter, me. Once children came into play, my father started gettin’ serious about work and money. Problem was, there were hardly any jobs, and he didn’t have an education. My father had an eighth-grade education, Iris. He didn’t graduate from high school. No diploma. He’d dropped out to help fend for his mama. His father had fallen ill when he was in the seventh grade, and he was the eldest. So, years pass, and he tried and tried, but nothin’ was workin’ out. The bills were stacking up for his own wife and family, now. We were hungry. My father, accordin’ to the way he wrote it down in a journal that was found after his death, said that, uh, ‘I might as well rob a bank.’ He said it initially as a joke, but then, he started to really consider it. He and my mother got to talkin’, and some say, they were peas in a pod. Both had a dark mind. They hatched a plan and started goin’ to other areas in Nashville, Knoxville, and a few other spots, too, hittin’ up small banks. They got so good at it that it became easy to ’em. What tripped people out though is that everyone was shocked they were the ones robbin’ them banks.”

“Why were they surprised if your father had a reputation of being a hustler?”

“Because they lived just how they did, before they got their hands on that money.” He could see the surprise on her face. “Yeah, we stayed in the same ol’ run down house. Now, the only difference was, they bought food, got the plumbin’ fixed, new roof, but never did much to bring attention to themselves, like for instance, getting a flashy new car. Instead, they got a reliable used car. Things that nobody would think a bank robber would do. My mama didn’t wear no furs, or expensive perfumes. No, she kept the same dresses, and just every now and again, went on a shoppin’ spree at a flea market, somethin’ like that.”

“But I thought it was stated they’d gotten millions of dollars over the time they were robbing banks. Were they just saving the money?”

“That’s exactly what they were doin’. Stockpilin’ it. From my understandin’, and this is just a theory, they were going to haul us to Alabama, and start livin’ good there, they just never got the chance. Now, of course, after they died, the banks wanted that money back. The police were at every damn local bank and post office tryna find it. They tore our house apart tryna find it, too, and even talked to my brother and me like we were hardened criminals, thinking we had information. We were just kids.” He shrugged. “We didn’t know shit. Hell, I didn’t even know they were out there robbin’ no banks, but I found out later that Cain had gotten suspicious that our folks were up to no good, ’cause he saw these ski masks and gloves in the back of their closet one time when we were playin’ hide and seek. He never imagined them bein’ bank robbers though. Anyway, what’s crazy, baby, is to this day, I have no idea where that money is.

“My parents hid it, according to my father’s journal, but he never said where. I didn’t care about that money, though, Iris… I still don’t give a shit about that money. That cash won’t change their fate. I just wanted my parents back. They weren’t perfect, but they were mine… and they loved me. My father didn’t have a lot of self-discipline, and sometimes he drank too much, but he loved us boys. He was so damn smart, you would’ve thought he graduated from an Ivy league school. He was street-smart, too. My mama was a good woman. She was traditional in some ways, and she was in love, so she did what my father wanted. She didn’t need us to be rich; she just didn’t want her babies to starve. I don’t know why they didn’t just stop after the second or third robbery.” He shrugged. “Must’ve been like gambling… must’ve gotten good to ’em.”

People need to know when to stop, before it’s too late…

“That would’ve been enough to take the edge off, but I know my father got a rush from it, like it was a drug, and so did my mama. I wish things had been different. I wish they were still here, Iris. I don’t like talking about this much, but with you, well, I figure you should know.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “I have so many questions, things I’d like to ask them, things that would be nice to be able to tell my children one day. All I got is my Daddy’s watch, his temperament, dark ways, and smarts. All I got is my mama’s sense of humor, love of family, rhythm, eyes, and hair color. I… I miss her every damn day. I miss my mama…I want my mama back…” He choked on the words, the emotions becoming too damn acute, rough on the edges, digging into his feet like cobblestones down a path in the fog.

Iris took him into her arms. She smelled good. Felt good. He stroked her arm with his fingertips as he hugged her just as hard.

“Money don’t mean shit if you ain’t got somebody to love, share it with, and spend it on. Money don’t mean shit if you ain’t alive to enjoy it, either.” He looked into her eyes, surprised to see she was crying. Yeah… she’d cry for him, so he wouldn’t have to. “You’re worth stayin’ alive for. I’m gonna spoil you silly, Iris, and one day, make you my wife. I love you, girl…” He ran his thumb along her jaw, then leaned in for a kiss. “I’m a prankster sometimes, as you realized tonight, but one thing I don’t joke about is how I feel aboutyou…”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Hurt People, Hurt People

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