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“Back to what I was saying.” He cleared his throat. “I pride myself on not usin’ a bunch of bullcrap in my supply that could cause further harm. Now, what happens after they take it from me, whatever they take along with it, is on them, but I know when it leaves my hands, its quality and purity are about as good as you’re going to get.” Peter seemed glued to his every word, his eyes bright and wide, as if he were watching a movie. “This conversation ain’t no way appropriate for having with my young nephew, but since you already know what’s up, no point in me pretending it’s something that it’s not.”
“I agree.”
“Of course, you’d agree! You’ve been begging for me to talk about it since you were still riding a bike with training wheels!”
Peter laughed at that.
“You’re not ashamed of it though, Uncle Jude, so why’d you keep it from me?”
“The same reason why I’m not ashamed of gamblin’ or sleepin’ around. It’s none of a child’s business.” The boy’s complexion deepened. “But you’re blood. Family. And nothin’ I’m telling you puts you or me in a worse situation than before or after this visit. People know who I am and what I do. It’s no great mystery, but the secrets I keep are what everyone wants to know. They’re going with me to the grave.”
“They call you Judge.”
“They do.”
“Why does everyone call you that, Uncle Jude?”
“Because of how I treat my personnel if they mess up, and in these streets, I’m the final verdict. What I say goes.” He flicked the cigarette onto the porch and stomped on it.
And only God can judge me. I’m not about to sit up here and starve, and not live the life I wanna live all because of somebody else’s beliefs. Most of the folks who made the rules to this life we live aren’t even playin’ by the same ones they wrote and dealt! Government officials gettin’ high, having their mistresses get abortions, and then they get up on Sunday morning and praise the Lord. They drive off in their Bentleys while the rest of the country tries to haggle over a carton of eggs and steal a loaf of bread to feed their families. I already got one God, and these bastards ’round here ain’t it, and I already got a Daddy, and he dead. Hell is at home. Burn this motherfucker down.
“I gotta get going, got a date tonight, but I want you to speak to your daddy, Pete. He’s going crazy in there.” He got to his feet.
“Far as I’m concerned, I ain’t got a daddy,” the boy choked out, tearing at his shirt more aggressively now.
“Don’t say that.” Jude pointed at his face. “It’s me who don’t have a father. I don’t have the luxury of not accepting calls, even from a prison, from my dad. I ain’t got the choice to decide if I’m going to talk to him or not. I’ll never see that man again, nor my mother, your grandmother, either. You’ve got a chance here, Pete. Don’t blow it.”
“He doesn’t have to speak to that piece of shit! Do you know how many times he’s seen his own son?” Sherry yelled.
He spun around towards the door.
“Sherry, put some clothes on, and stay outta this! Now look, Pete.” He faced him once again. “I’ve told you ’bout a half dozen times, I understand your anger. I know what it’s like to have a father who seems to care about everything else ’round him but you, but I’m tellin’ you, because I know Cain like I know myself: your father loves you, and he’s hurting somethin’ awful about this.” The boy crossed his arms and huffed. “I wouldn’t lie to you. Cain has problems, all right? He did the best he could, with what he knew.”
“He’s a tweaker.”
“Wasa tweaker. He hasn’t taken anything in years, long before the arrest, Peter. It literally was just one slip up. He’s always been honest with me about his drug problems. We all got our vices, okay? Even me. I can handle my liquor but need to stop smokin’. I’m not in my twenties anymore, don’t have lungs like you so I can go around howling at the moon.”
“Howlin’ at the moon?” Peter’s brow rose, then he burst out laughing. “Uncle Jude, you’re crazy.”
“Hell, I wanna be a wolf, too, like the one you got in your bedroom above your bed, on the tapestry.” They both started laughing again. “Just talk to him for five minutes, all right?” he said after a while.
Peter hesitated for a bit, then nodded.
“Mama said he ain’t ever gettin’ out, no matter what you do with the lawyers and stuff. Said the law don’t take kindly to what he’d done, killin’ a cop’s son and all, and that my dad and you are two people the cops been wanting to stick it to for a long time anyway.”
“Well, let’s say that’s true, all right? Based on what your mama said, that’s even more reason for you to talk to him, because he has many regrets. Still, it’s not for me to tell you; it’s up to you to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”
Peter nodded in understanding.
“Okay now.” He exhaled and made his way down the porch steps. “I’ll see ya in a couple of weeks. If you need anything, call me.”
“I will, Uncle Jude. Thanks for talkin’ to me. I love you.” Peter slipped back into the house, quiet like a whisper made of discreet sorrow.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ghosts in the Attic
The slow, subduedsizzle of scrambled eggs was like music to Iris’ ears. Her stomach growled as she placed several slices of bacon in a skillet, then poured herself a second glass of orange juice. After taking a sip, she leaned back against the counter and took a few deep breaths. She’d returned from dropping Ayanna off at school thirty minutes earlier, then changed into an oversized, comfy nightshirt and a black and white polka dot bonnet. As a final touch, she lit up a couple of Glade Linen Scented candles.
