Jude

by Kate Morgenroth

  Now Jude knew why Davis was there. “And I’m supposed to be your big story?” Jude said. “Listen, I hate to disappoint you, but you said it yourself. I’m old news.”

  Davis leaned forward. “You don’t think it will make headlines when I break the story that you were set up?”

  If Davis expected a reaction, he was disappointed. Jude had been in prison four years—he knew how to keep his reactions to himself. But if Davis could have seen inside Jude’s head, he would have been more than satisfied because, inside, Jude was gasping.

  “I was at the same school as you, remember? Even then I knew I was going to be an investigative reporter. You think I didn’t know absolutely everything there was to know about you? I knew that you showed Nick where to get his drugs, but I also know that you never sold them.”

  Davis leaned back and waited for Jude’s response.

  But Jude didn’t say anything.

  “I figure they planted that heroin on you and they used some sort of trick to get you out into the park that afternoon, and the kids at school who were involved, they were so scared they practically shit in their pants. They were ready to tell the cops anything they wanted, even if it wasn’t true. They were perfectly happy for you to take the rap. As for the cops that testified, well, that’s easy. They saw you when you were taking that friend of yours to the neighborhood to buy. The only thing that doesn’t fit is your mother’s testimony about that phone call. I figure either it wasn’t exactly what she remembered, and it was another setup, or she was in on it. Either way, it’s a hell of a story, don’t you think?”

  “I think you don’t have a shred of proof,” Jude said.

  “Not yet, but if we work together, we can crack it. We’ll be just like Woodward and Bernstein. You’ll just have a less active role being in here, but it’s the same kind of thing. Corruption at the highest levels of city government and a travesty of justice.”

  Davis was so young, Jude thought. Had he ever been that young? But of course, by the calendar at least, they were nearly the same age. Somehow the thought made Jude sadder than he had been in a long time. Davis was smiling at him with a bright, open grin. Jude wondered what it was about that look that made him feel so strange. Then he realized—Davis was looking at him as if he was innocent, and the belief shining out of that handsome face was like a glimpse of the man he might have been.

  The desire that swept over him was as fierce as it was sudden. For the last two years he had concentrated on studying and getting good grades so when he got out, he could get into a law school. Then he could go back to his mother and show her the letter of acceptance and tell her, “I’m going to be a lawyer.” He had substituted that dream for the other one—the one where he convinced her of the truth about what had happened. Davis resurrected the old dream and held it up in front of him, and for a moment Jude was tempted to tell him, “Yes, you’re right. You’re absolutely right and here’s how it happened.” But as soon as he imagined the words in his mind, he knew he couldn’t say them. He could see the headlines now—MAYOR’S SON CLAIMS IT WAS ALL A PLOT TO GET HER ELECTED. It would be ridiculous. It wouldn’t convince her. It would disgrace her. Sure, the kid would get his headline, but Jude would be left with nothing.

  So he said, “There’s only one problem with your plan.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We won’t be working together.”

  “Why not?” Davis cried.

  “Because you’re wrong,” Jude lied. As he said it, he stood and turned away to the door. It was hard to speak, knowing his words would wipe that belief from the kid’s face, but he had been through worse.

  “I can’t be wrong,” Davis said.

  Jude was already knocking at the door.

  “I know I can’t be wrong. I can get you out of here. What are you afraid of?”

  The guard opened the door.

  “Wait,” Davis said. “Wait.”

  But Jude was gone.

  Part IV

  35

  JUDE HAD TO take clothes from the charity bin at the prison. The best he could find was a pair of blue pants—remarkably like the ones he had been wearing for five years—and a wrinkled white button-down shirt, frayed and gray at the collar and cuffs.

  The clothes that he had worn the day he entered the prison were returned to him, but they had barely fit even when he was seventeen. He simply dumped those in the bin when he took the new ones. The guard at the door warned him that it was cold out, and he searched through to find a jacket. The only jacket he could find was an enormous brown corduroy. He didn’t need a mirror to know that it made him look like a bum. He almost put it back before he caught himself, and he had to smile. It was pure vanity that nearly made him return it to the bin, and he hadn’t thought there was even a spark of vanity left in him. He had just over a thousand dollars in his pocket, but he would need at least half of that to pay for his law school applications. It was cold out, and he needed the coat more than he needed his pride. It was as simple as that. He threaded his arms through the sleeves, then crossed to the door and waited for the guard to buzz him through.

  “You take care out there,” the guard said to Jude.

  “Thanks. I will.”

  “’Cause I don’t want to see you back here in six months like that loser Shorty Dog.”

  “Or Tank or Junior,” Jude added. “They just got to come home.”

  “If anyone’s gonna be different, I think it’s gonna be you. You’ll make it out there.”

  “Thanks, I hope so.”

  “You ready?” the guard asked, with his finger on the buzzer.

  “I’m ready,” Jude said patiently. He had been ready five minutes ago. He had been ready five years ago, but he had learned to wait.

  “Okay then,” and the guard pressed.

  The door buzzed and Jude pushed it open. The air was shockingly cold, and he buttoned up the tattered jacket before continuing down the driveway toward the gate.

  He saw the car when he was about halfway to the gate. It was a silver BMW, idling just beyond the entrance—the same make that Anna had had when he went in. Jude kept his steady pace down the pitted asphalt.

  When he reached the front gate, the guard stepped out of the guard-house into the cold to shake Jude’s hand and wish him well. The man swung back the gate with a flourish and Jude walked through.

  For a moment Jude forgot about the car in front of him, forgot about the low, hulking misery of the prison behind him, and just looked up at the sky. It was the first time in five years he’d had an unobstructed view, without the corner of a gate or wall or barbed wire or prison tower slashing across the blue.

  A gust of wind rattled the trees and cut right through the thin corduroy. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and looked at the car. The windows were tinted, so he couldn’t see who was behind the wheel, but just then he saw the driver’s door open.

  It wasn’t Anna.

  It was Dolores. Jude immediately recognized the housekeeper who had sharpened her tongue on him more than once in the year and a half they had shared Anna’s house.

  “Jude,” Dolores said.

  Hearing that name called in a familiar voice brought back all the old confusion and hurt. Five years ago he hadn’t known how to deal with them. Now he said, “Hello, Dolores.” He stood, shoulders hunched against the cold, waiting.

  “Get in, I’ll drive you wherever you’re going.”

  She spoke in the same short, snapping style, in which everything sounded like a command. Maybe it was the fact that with his damaged hearing, her voice wasn’t as sharp or as loud as it used to be, but now all he heard was embarrassment and emotion in her abrupt words, and it came to him that embarrassment and awkward emotion were probably what had always been behind her prickly speech. She cared—she just didn’t know how to show it.

  “I don’t know how good it would be for me to show up at the halfway house in a BMW,” he said, smiling.

  “Oh. Well, get in anywa
y. I want to talk to you, and it’s warmer in the car.” Dolores got back inside and leaned across to push open the passenger door.

  Jude looked down at his cracked shoes and baggy pants. The wind pushed at his back and numbed his ears. He stepped forward and lowered himself into the car.

  It was like entering another universe. The deep bucket seats were a cream leather, and the heater was on high, making the car nice and warm. He had almost forgotten that people lived like this—he had been gone from the world for so long.

  Dolores was looking at him with a strange expression. “You’ve changed,” she said.

  That made Jude smile. He could barely remember the angry, hopeful kid he had been when he last saw her.

  “I forgot that you’re not a boy anymore.”

  “I’m twenty-two,” he said.

  “Still young,” she assured him.

  He felt more like eighty-two sometimes, but he didn’t contradict her. “So you’re the welcome party?”

  Dolores looked uncomfortable. “Harry arranged that your release was kept a secret so you wouldn’t be swamped with cameras and TV crews and microphones.”

  “So are you still with Anna, then?” Jude asked politely.

  “I don’t clean anymore, but she keeps me on to run the house. She’s got less time now, so I take care of bills and the new housekeeper and the shopping. She says I’m good at it. Three years ago she gave me this car, as a Christmas present.”

  So it was Anna’s old car. “That was nice,” he said.

  “Yes, very.”

  There was another awkward silence, and Dolores asked again if she could drive him anywhere.

  “No, thank you. I’ll take the bus.”

  “All right,” she said.

  “So how did you end up having to come meet me?” Jude asked. “Did you draw the short straw?”

  “I said I’d come.”

  “Brave of you,” Jude observed.

  “No,” she corrected him sharply. “If I had been brave, I would have said what I thought. I would have told Anna that I thought she should be the one. She’s your mother.”

  “That’s okay. It’s more my fault than hers.”

  “She’s your mother,” Dolores said again, as if this refuted everything.

  He didn’t know how to answer this, so he said, “Well, it was nice of you to come. Thanks.”

  “If you need anything …”

  He nodded and started to open the door.

  “Oh, wait a second, I almost forgot. This is for you.” She fumbled in her bag and brought out a thick envelope. Jude’s hands were steady as he took it and opened it. It was filled with hundred-dollar bills—he could tell there was at least three or four thousand dollars inside. He held it in his lap a moment before folding the flap back over and tucking it closed. The money would make things easier, but he knew he couldn’t take it. He wanted to do this on his own, with no help, even from his mother. He laid it on the armrest between them.

  “I’d better go. I think the bus might not stop if I’m not out there.” He opened the car door and felt the wind rush in and swirl around him, as if to claim him back from luxury.

  “Don’t forget this.” Dolores held up the envelope with the money.

  “I didn’t,” Jude said, making no effort to claim it as he got out and shut the door gently behind him.

  IT WAS LATE when Jude arrived at the halfway house. All the stores in the area were shut tight for the evening, their metal grilles pulled down over the doorways and windows. The only light came from the streetlights and from the bright fluorescents radiating through the windows of a Burger King at the end of the street.

  Jude rang the bell of the halfway house and was buzzed in a minute later. He filled out the forms they had for him and was assigned to room four on the second floor.

  “Don’t I need a key?” he asked.

  “Seeing as there are no locks, I don’t think so,” the man behind the counter said.

  Jude understood when he reached number four. The room had two bunk beds along each wall, dorm style. There were clothes and towels and shoes strewn over the floor and hanging over the iron railings of the beds, but the room was deserted.

  He returned to the hall and heard the sound of voices. He peeked into rooms one, two, and three. They looked identical to his, crammed with bunks and smelling faintly of sweat and smoke. He followed the sound to the end of the hall and found the rec room. It had a TV in the corner switched to a sitcom, but no one was watching. The focus of the room was a table with six men sitting around it, huddled over a deck of cards, with several more on chairs pulled up behind watching the game. All had cigarettes, and the air in the room was thick with smoke.

  Jude had a sudden, dizzying moment of vertigo, and he put his hand out to the doorway to steady himself. The gathering was identical to the games that had gone on every night in North Central. For a second he thought he was back there and that his release had just been another version of the dream of freedom that every convict shared—the dream that made sleep so inviting and waking so difficult. But in the center of the table there was a crumpled pile of money instead of the heap of cigarettes that prisoners always played for, and he noticed again the low ceiling of the room, so different from the cavern of Cellblock B, and the windows that looked out on the harsh brilliance of the street-lights. These men—all ex-cons—had simply transferred the life they’d had in the prison to this room.

  Once he had recovered, the sight made him smile, if a little bleakly. There were so many thousands of prisoners right now burning, dreaming, and despairing over nothing more than a chance at freedom. These men had certainly lain awake nights thinking of the fantastic things they would do when they got out, and here they were, doing exactly what they had done on the inside.

  They heard him or sensed his presence, and they looked up and stared at him coldly. “What the fuck are you grinning at, you stupid peckerwood?” one man said.

  And here was the prison attitude all over again. He hadn’t had it directed at him for almost five years, but he had seen it just last week when the latest new fish walked into the cellblock.

  “Nothing at all.” Jude turned away and left them to their game.

  That night Jude ate at the Burger King. It was the only place in sight that wasn’t closed for the night, and it was too cold to venture farther on foot. He sat at a booth in the back, looking out on the wasteland of brightly lit plastic chairs and tables. He had often imagined his first night out—he had envisioned a clean, soft bed, a dimly lit restaurant, and a wild, soul-filling joy. Never in all those night imaginings had he envisioned a sordid top bunk or an empty Burger King, but the joy was there, and he found the rest didn’t matter.

  JUDE SLEPT IN his clothes and in the morning just splashed water on his face before heading out into the bright sunshine. Most ex-cons had mandatory appointments with their parole officers, but under the condition of the sentence Jude had served his full time. No parole, no parole officer. However, they didn’t just send him out into the world without a helping hand. He had an appointment with the social services agency that helped ex-cons find employment.

  Jude found the office building and sat for three quarters of an hour before Mr. Travis came out to the waiting room to fetch him. He turned out to be a large, beefy man who looked more like a construction worker than a social worker.

  “Call me Mike,” he said to Jude. “Come on, follow me. I always have to come get my new cases because you’d never find your way through this maze.”

  He led the way along narrow pathways through cubicles and finally reached his office.

  “After you,” and he motioned Jude inside.

  Mike followed and took the seat behind his desk. He had a file open in front of him, and he glanced down at it. “I took a look at your file this morning, then had a peek at our openings. It might not be exactly what you had in mind….” He hesitated.

  “That’s okay,” Jude said. “I don’t mind starting at the
bottom and working my way up.”

  Mike looked away for a moment, as if embarrassed. “That’s good. That’s the kind of attitude you need, but you see, it’s not so much a matter of moving up as much as just waiting for the right opportunity somewhere else.”

  “I understand,” Jude said. He knew what Mike was getting at. He braced himself and asked, “What’s the job?”

  “It says here that you’ve worked in the prison kitchen for a while, and there’s an opening in the kitchen staff at a good restaurant not too far from here. They’re very open minded. They’re willing to hire even violent offenders.”

  Jude thought of his work in the prison kitchen. He didn’t remember greasy pots as much as The Great Gatsby, For Whom the Bell Tolls, A Tale of Two Cities, and all the other books they had read over the deep metal sink. Jude said, “For the last two I’ve been working in the warden’s office. By the time I left, I was pretty much running things. I got my GED and a college degree. With honors,” he added.

  “I know, I read that in your file, and you should be damn proud of what you’ve done. This is always the hardest part for me, when I get a candidate like you. The problem is, there just aren’t all that many firms that are willing to hire ex-cons, no matter how qualified. We have a few, but they don’t have any spots open at the moment. Believe me, I checked. On the other hand, you never know when something’s gonna pop up. So I thought you could take this, to tide you over and show that you’re willing to work.”

  “There’s nothing else?”

  “I’m sorry. There isn’t. Your best bet might be if you have any contacts—anyone who could pull some strings for you somewhere. I hate to say it, but that’s the way the world works these days. So is there anyone …”

  He obviously didn’t have everything in that file in front of him, Jude realized with relief. The man didn’t know who he was, or rather, who his mother was.