Jude

by Kate Morgenroth

“But a friend who doesn’t, I think, know about your nickname. Why is that, I wonder?”

  Jude didn’t answer. It had taken all of thirty seconds for the old man to uncover what Jude was most ashamed of. It was no wonder, he thought, that this old man had the power that he did.

  Mr. Levy spoke to Davis.

  “In prison every inmate gets a nickname. Your friend’s was Duck. That’s what he’s been called for the last five years. What do you think of that?”

  Davis assumed that the name referred to the bird and that it was meant to be unflattering. “I think they probably named him early and learned pretty soon what a stupid mistake they made,” Davis declared.

  “Your loyalty is touching, but misplaced.” Mr. Levy looked at Jude but continued speaking to Davis. “Your friend here was too modest to tell you himself, so I will.”

  “No, not too modest,” Jude said, breaking in, unable to let that remark pass. “It’s not something I’m proud of, and I’ve done nothing to earn it for almost four years.”

  Mr. Levy cocked his head. “I see. So that’s how it goes with you. Your mother’s son after all,” and he laughed at the expression on both their faces. “You didn’t think I would let you in to see me without doing my homework, did you? I think I can still sniff out a fake prison file, even if I am getting old. That’s the real reason I agreed to meet with you—not because some convict asked me. I wanted to see you for myself, and I was curious about what you wanted. But to finish the story,” he said, turning back to Davis, “the name Duck carried something of a different meaning than you first imagined. It was part of a little saying. If you see him coming, you’d better duck. In his last fight he beat a man almost to death with a pipe.”

  It was just as well Davis knew the truth, Jude thought. It served him right for not telling Davis in the beginning.

  “But you didn’t come here to listen to stories about yourself. Tell me, what is it you came to me for?”

  “I have heard,” Jude said carefully, “that you have the police department in your pocket.”

  “Half,” Levy said, laughing. “Only half the police department, but since that’s all I really need, I try not to be greedy.”

  “And I was told that you would be able to tell me if a cop had done anything … that he shouldn’t have.”

  “Yes, I could tell you that. You begin to interest me. Go on.”

  “Harry Wichowski,” Jude said. “I want to know about Harry Wichowski.”

  Mr. Levy considered. “You want to know about Harry?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’re going that route? Yes, that’s clever. That would certainly hurt her.”

  It took Jude a moment to realize what the old man meant. He thought that Jude wanted to know about Harry in order to hurt Anna.

  Jude was willing to let Mr. Levy think whatever he wanted, but Davis broke out, “You’ve got it all wrong. That’s not why he—”

  “Shut up, Davis,” Jude said, but it was too late.

  “That’s not it, then? The plot thickens. I find you very interesting,” Mr. Levy said to Jude. “Very interesting. And I would like to help you; there aren’t many cops out there that haven’t slipped up at least once on the job. I’m not saying that Harry Wichowski hasn’t, but he is either unusually honest or unusually careful, because unfortunately I have nothing on him. There were some rumors at one time, several years ago—but I was never able to find anything concrete. Unfortunately for us both. It has proved rather inconvenient to me recently. I’m sorry I can’t help you, but is there anyone else?”

  Jude was about to shake his head no, but on a whim he said, “Anthony Arvelo. What about him?”

  “Your father? He was honest, if that’s what you want to know. He wasn’t crooked. He was a cop’s cop, but he had his one slipup—though I happen to admire him for it. He did a favor for an old friend from the neighborhood who also happens to be a colleague of mine.”

  An old friend. The words triggered something deep in Jude’s brain, and he remembered a voice saying, “We grew up together. We’re not exactly friends, but when you go that far back with someone, that means you do something for them if you’re in a position to.” He remembered the man who talked to him over the body of his father and left him alive.

  “What was the man’s name?” Jude asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

  “Joseph Palazzo,” Mr. Levy said. “He needed somebody like your father around a few years ago. He’s serving at the federal prison down in Danbury. Before you get your hopes up, I want to assure you that Harry wasn’t in on your father’s favor. That was before they were partners. Harry probably knew about it, but he didn’t have any part of it.”

  Jude nodded as if that answered the question he had meant to ask.

  “But I haven’t helped at all, have I? Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “No, thank you,” Jude said politely. “Nothing that I can think of.”

  “Well, you come back whenever you think of anything, and I’ll try to do better. In the meantime, maybe I can do something for your friend here. You said he was a reporter for the Hartford Courant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he any good? Oh, I suppose it doesn’t much matter. There’s someone who hasn’t been cooperative of late. I’ve been meaning to settle accounts but haven’t gotten around to it. Now I think I will. I’ll have some information sent to your friend at the Hartford Courant in the next few days. I’ll include some names to verify the information, and your friend can go ahead and print that story. It’s amusing. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. You sure there’s nothing else? No? Then I hope you won’t mind if I ask that you show yourselves out.”

  Davis kept quiet as they trooped out of the kitchen and wended their way through the tightly packed tables to the front door. When they emerged onto the sidewalk, Davis couldn’t hold it in anymore. “That was incredible. What about when he said that he could—”

  “Save it for the car,” Jude snapped.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry,” Davis said, but he burst out as soon as they were inside the car.

  “Do you really think he’s going to send me a story? Something good?”

  “Yes,” Jude said. “He’ll send it.”

  “This is exactly what I’ve been waiting for. I can hardly believe it, and it’s all because of you.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Jude said, staring out the passenger window, bracing himself for what he sensed was going to follow.

  Davis subsided and remained quiet as he drove the unfamiliar part of the route, retracing their turns until he hit a main road that would lead them most of the way back to Jude’s neighborhood. Then it came, as Jude had known it would.

  Davis’s voice was uncharacteristically hesitant when he spoke next. “Don’t worry about what Mr. Levy said about you. You already told me that you did some things in prison. You know it doesn’t change anything.”

  Jude didn’t turn from his study of the buildings flashing by. “Thanks.”

  There was an awkward pause. Davis was the one who broke it. “We didn’t get anything on Harry,” he said.

  “No,” Jude agreed grimly.

  “But he did say there were some rumors.”

  “If Mr. Levy couldn’t find out what it was, I don’t think well be able to,” Jude said.

  “So what do we do next?”

  “I’ll have to think about it.”

  The Burger King came up on the left and Davis pulled in.

  “You’re sure I can’t take you farther?”

  “No thanks.” Jude opened the door and started to get out.

  “Hey, wait a second,” Davis protested. “When will we get together again?”

  Jude pulled his leg back in but didn’t shut the door.

  “I was thinking maybe you could come over for dinner,” Davis said. “I’ll get my sister to cook. I can barely boil water, but my sister’s a whiz.”

  Muscles Jude hadn’t realized were tensed suddenly relaxed. Thing
s really hadn’t changed, despite what Davis had heard. They couldn’t have if Davis was inviting him over to his house. He smiled and said, “Okay.”

  “How does next week sound? How about Wednesday?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine.”

  “Let me give you my address.” Davis pulled out a notebook and jotted down his address and directions. “Seven okay for you?”

  “Works for me.”

  AS JUDE RODE the bus out to Davis’s house, he watched the street signs for his stop. When he got off and the bus roared away, Jude was left on an empty road with a guardrail along either side and trees beyond. Davis’s directions took him off the road into a dark, narrow lane bordered by fences and tall shrubbery. The houses—all set back from the road—were invisible.

  Jude followed the numbers on the mailboxes and located number twelve. There was a gate across the driveway, but he found a door off to one side. He started up the driveway and soon got a glimpse of the house. It was a sprawling old Tudor, dark and fortresslike. He knew the houses in this part of West Hartford were big, but he hadn’t quite expected this.

  Davis answered the door with a dish towel thrown over his shoulder and a huge grin.

  “You came,” he said. “Thank God. Otherwise I don’t know what we would have done with all this food. Come on in. We’re still getting things together in the kitchen. Hey, did you see the article yesterday?”

  “What article?”

  “The one with the scoop from your friend Mr. Levy. It came last week, right after we saw him. I checked everything and wrote it up, and it ran yesterday. Front page. I’ll show it to you later, after dinner.”

  Jude followed him through the hallway, catching glimpses of the rooms they passed.

  “Nice place,” Jude said.

  “I have Lizzie to thank for that. She’s the one who keeps it from turning into a pigsty. I’m a terrible slob.”

  “Lizzie?” Jude said, making it a question.

  “My sister. Didn’t I tell you that she agreed to cook for us tonight? If I have to fend for myself, it’s pretty much a choice between takeout and cereal.”

  “Your sister cleans your house?”

  “Well, yes, but it’s her house too. We both live here. After my parents died, instead of selling, we decided to keep the house and live in it. I just agreed because I knew I could get her to cook,” and with that he led Jude into the kitchen, where Lizzie stood with her back to them, bent over a pot on the stove. “And here she is. Lizzie, this is Jude. Jude, Lizzie,” he performed the introductions.

  Lizzie turned around, a slotted spoon held loosely in one hand, the other palm cupped beneath to guard against drips. She looked a lot like her brother, but less dauntingly perfect. Where Davis’s hair was golden, hers was dirty blond. Where his features were perfectly regular, hers were just a little off, and she showed her gums when she grinned at Jude. She said, “Hi. Hope you like chicken.”

  “Who doesn’t like chicken?” Davis said, rolling his eyes at Jude.

  “Vegetarians don’t,” she said.

  Jude smiled. “She’s got you there.”

  “But you’re not a vegetarian. You can’t very well be a vegetarian in—” He broke off abruptly, then finished rather lamely, “Well, where you’ve been for the last few years.”

  “He’s been very mysterious about you,” Lizzie told Jude. “He keeps starting sentences, leaving off in the middle, and letting me fill in with my wild imagination. Now you’re here, maybe you can tell me yourself. Where have you been that you couldn’t easily be a vegetarian?”

  “Lizzie!” Davis protested.

  “It’s all right,” Jude said to Davis. Then he answered her. “I’ve been in prison.”

  There was only the slightest of hesitations before she said, “Well, thank God. I was afraid you were going to say that you’d been somewhere dreadful.”

  “Like?” Jude said, wondering what she would come up with.

  “Oh, like working in the peace corps in Burma or someplace. Then we’d have to sit and listen to your stories about the native customs for hours and pretend to be fascinated and awed by the simple beauty of the people, when all we’d really want to talk about is the last movie we saw.”

  “You can rest easy with your near escape,” Jude said.

  “You’re not kidding. You should see some of the horrific people that Davis brings home to dinner with him. He does it just to charm them with his nice house and his plain sister who happens to be able to cook. Whenever he brings someone home, I know he wants something from them, and I just thought it sporting to warn you.”

  Jude remembered how touched he had been at the invitation. So much for that, he thought wryly.

  When they had dinner, Jude discovered why Davis had so importantly announced that Lizzie was cooking. It was better than any dinner he had been able to afford since he got out, and it bore no resemblance to what they had been served in the prison cafeteria. That made it the best meal he’d had in years. When Jude helped himself to thirds, Lizzie said, “This is the first guest you’ve brought home who really knows how to compliment a cook,” though he hadn’t said a word.

  During dinner Jude let Lizzie and Davis do most of the talking. He found out that the two were twins, though Davis was the elder by about ten minutes. “He was always the pushy one,” Lizzie said. After college they decided to share their parents’ house, though they hadn’t lived together since they were thirteen. Lizzie admitted that she had been sent away to a boarding school. “I was going through a tough time, and the old parentals didn’t know what to do with me. They kept Davis because he knew how to fool them into thinking he was an angel, when he was actually worse than I ever was,” she said, laughing.

  “I wish. I remember desperately wanting to be a rebel in school but failing miserably. You know, Jude was my hero in high school,” Davis said. “He was everything I wanted to be. He was so cool.”

  “Jude went to Benton?” Lizzie said. “But …,” and she broke off there.

  Jude knew what she had been about to say. She had been about to wonder about his ending up in prison. He had almost forgotten that she knew he was an ex-con. There weren’t many students who attended Benton and ended up serving a prison sentence. He saw her making the connections. “Jude … Grady?” she said.

  “I don’t go by that name now,” he replied.

  She nodded as if it was no big deal, and simply went on with her story. Jude found out that Lizzie worked at a bank as a lending officer. He let his surprise show, and she explained easily, “I like numbers, and you don’t have to be political to get ahead. You just have to do good work. I’m not so hot at the political stuff. I leave that stuff to Davis. He got the looks and the charm, and I got the brains.”

  Davis clutched his chest. “Oh, a hit.”

  They joked and laughed, and Jude thought about how his life might have been different if he’d had a sister. Especially a sister like Lizzie. Their banter touched that empty spot in his heart.

  “What am I going to do when you abandon me?” Davis said to his sister.

  “Oh, hire a maid and a cook, I suppose,” she replied.

  “Seriously, Lizzie, the food was fantastic.”

  “My cue.” Lizzie winked at Jude and stood, starting to clear the table.

  Jude stood too and started gathering up dishes.

  “Lizzie will take care of that,” Davis said.

  “Really, I can take care of this,” she agreed.

  “Didn’t Davis tell you I’m an expert at dishes?” he said, and despite both their protests, he helped clear the table and load the dishwasher, and then he tackled the pots. Lizzie dried and Davis returned them to the cabinets. When the kitchen was clean, Lizzie turned to Jude and said, “You can have a job here anytime.”

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Davis make a sharp negative movement at Lizzie from just behind him. If he hadn’t learned to see from the corners of his vision when he was very young, he wouldn’t have caught it.<
br />
  “What? What did I say this time?” she asked.

  “Never mind,” Jude said.

  “That means it was terrible, wasn’t it? But you’ll forgive me.”

  “Of course,” Jude assured her.

  “And to prove it, you’ll come over again. How about next Friday?”

  Jude’s refusal was automatic. “I’d like to, but I can’t,” he said. “Another time.”

  “Okay. When?”

  Jude hesitated and glanced at Davis.

  “Tell him he has to say yes,” Lizzie commanded her brother.

  “You might as well just give in,” Davis conceded. “She’s used to getting what she wants. Spoiled brat.”

  “Only if you let me help you cook,” Jude said. “Maybe I can pick up a few of your secrets.”

  “God, I love this man,” she said. “So when are you free?”

  “You can figure out the details later,” Davis interjected. “Right now I need Jude all to myself.”

  “Fine. Go work on your story.”

  “It’s not for a story,” Davis said.

  “Oh right.” She turned to Jude, rolling her eyes in disbelief. “Davis is always working on some story. Sometimes I think it’s all he cares about. When he’s writing, he even forgets to eat. But don’t you forget that I’ve got a rain check for dinner.”

  Davis led Jude into the den, and they settled down in two armchairs. “I can get you out of the dinner if you want,” Davis said.

  “Only if you’d prefer it.”

  “No,” Davis said quickly. “Not at all. I’m glad you came tonight. Lizzie really liked you. She’s never invited my friends back. She usually disapproves of them, but she likes you.”

  “I like her, too,” Jude said. “Now, about our plans.”

  “Did you come up with something?”

  “Yes, I had an idea.”

  “Shoot. What is it?”

  “After we struck out with Mr. Levy, I was trying to think who else might know—and have proof—of whatever it was that Harry might have done.”

  “And?”

  “And I thought of somebody who certainly knows.”

  “Who?”

  “Harry,” Jude said. “Harry knows what he did.”