Jude in Chains

by K. Z. Snow

  “Were people eating?”

  I frowned into the phone. What difference did that make? “Not after I walked in.”

  “Oh fuck, Misha! What possessed you?”

  I glanced at the deputy standing next to me. He was chewing gum and reminded me vaguely of Gary, except he was more flabby than firm. “I can’t get into it now,” I said.

  “So how and when can you get out of there?”

  “Five hundred bucks will buy my freedom.”

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  A heavy sigh gusted into my ear. “I assume you don’t have the money,” Bree said wearily, “or I wouldn’t have even heard about this.”

  “Well, the thing is, I nearly maxed out my credit card for this trip, and I don’t have enough cash on me.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, anticipating another round of oh fuck, Misha.

  “Oh shit, Misha!”

  The deputy made a rolling motion with his hand and then tapped his watch.

  “I’ve got to wrap this up,” I said. “Can you help me? I don’t know if I can make any more calls. At least not until… tomorrow. Or next week. Or the end of eternity.”

  This time, a groan. “Damn it, it’s Saturday. Let me figure out what’s happening on my end, and I’ll call back there and talk to somebody about how to get funds—” The line abruptly went dead.

  How long, I wondered dismally, before they fitted me for a blaze-orange or striped jumpsuit? And how long before I got some food in my belly? I shouldn’t have gone on my nude gambol until I’d at least pulled something from a vending machine and shoved it into my face. I was starving.

  Back I went to the holding cell. I’d earlier glimpsed the cellblock itself. It wasn’t like San Quentin or anything—just a large room where recessed fluorescent ceiling lights cast their harsh glow on a gleaming floor, unibody steel tables with attached seats, and cinderblock walls. Numbered steel doors with narrow windows lined three walls. A television flickered from a high shelf in one corner. Everything was painted either beige or baby-poop green, and much of the paint was chipped all to hell.

  The holding cell was its own little universe. A steel toilet against one wall, a long bench against another. That was it. Thank God I was the only person there.

  I wasn’t given anything, since The Powers That Be obviously expected me to be released shortly. But they’d still made me empty my pockets. They’d also filled out plenty of paperwork—I’d been tempted to sign my name as Heywood Jablomie, but I figured I’d fucked up enough for one day—and they’d run a check on me for pending warrants, snapped my mug shot, taken my fingerprints. At least they’d bypassed the strip search. I assumed that was because the responding officers didn’t have to pat me down at Stronger Wings. It was obvious I wasn’t concealing anything.

  I sat on the edge of the bench with my face in my hands. I wasn’t even sure what I’d been charged with. Indecent exposure, probably, or disorderly conduct. I didn’t know; I couldn’t think clearly and hadn’t listened to much of anything I’d been told. A bone-deep exhaustion and dull headache had set in, and those, combined with my hunger, made me want to curl into the fetal position and fall asleep. But there was no place to do that, save for the pitted floor.

  Besides, I had to stay awake. This ordeal was far from over. Once released, whenever that happened, I somehow had to get back to the camp and retrieve my rental car. Then I had to find somewhere to spend the night. Then I had to drive back to Little Rock, catch my flight….

  Although the ache in my head intensified, I couldn’t help worrying about Jude. When I got back to the camp, should I try to see him, speak with him? I had an idea I wanted to share before those jackasses at Stronger Wings totally warped him out of shape. Maybe I could wait until nightfall and creep around to his bedroom window. If I could remain concealed until then. If I could figure out exactly which window was his.

  Oh, fuck.

  I lifted my head. The cell smelled of disinfectant and, more faintly, urine and rotten fruit. It wasn’t Mayberry, but it could’ve been worse. A lot worse.

  The thought brought me little consolation.

  I peed, did some pushups against the wall, paced, sat down for a while, and paced again. I had no clue what time it was or how long I’d been stuck behind bars.

  Then magic happened. An older, jowly officer came and got me. He told me I was free to go. First, though, he explained the conditions of my release.

  “FYI,” he said on the QT, “I suggest you don’t return to this county, Mister….”

  “Tzerko,” I said, filling in the blank. “Let me guess why.”

  “Don’t bother. If you don’t guess, then I don’t have to say nothin’. Just trust me on this. Stay away. For good. Mr. Hammer dudn’t like troublemakers. We don’t like perverts. So between him and this department, you’d be in some deep-ass shit if you came back.”

  “Don’t want to be there,” I said.

  “Not if you’re smart.”

  I was smart enough. I’d probably be arrested for bail jumping and then sit for Christ knows how long in that ugly cellblock before I had my day in court. I’d have to defend myself against Christ knows how many charges. Local folks would see me as a pervert, so I’d be found guilty and shipped off to some state prison, where there’d be no big-chested bartenders or round-assed dancers, except of the felonious variety. They’d assume, because I was a convicted pervert, they could have their way with me. I’d come out a broke and broken man.

  Green Bay had never looked so good.

  Checking out of the county motel didn’t take nearly as long as checking in. As soon as my pocket possessions were returned, I unwrapped a battered piece of gum and began chewing, just to get a small burst of sugar energy.

  I was free! Revitalized, I walked through the foyer and into the afternoon sunlight… and saw Jude.

  He stood up from the wall against which he’d been leaning and approached me with a smile. I couldn’t move. I stared at him, my mouth open, the gum a damp wad on one side of my tongue. It was like seeing a vision of a saint.

  “Ready to go home?” he asked in that velveteen voice.

  I think that’s when I began, weakly, to meet his smile.

  We drifted up to each other, drifted without hesitation into the best hug I’ve ever given or received in my life. Our faces nestled in the crook of each other’s neck. Tears leaked from my eyes.

  “They didn’t get to you,” I whispered.

  “No. You did.”

  I held him tighter, stealthily kissed his neck. He cupped the back of my head with one hand.

  “You sprung me?” I asked when we drew apart. It just occurred to me that he must have.

  Jude chuckled. “Sprung? Wow, aren’t you hardboiled. In addition to being crazy. Yeah, I sprung you. I can always use a dance partner—so long as he keeps his clothes on.”

  I laughed. “I promise I’ll pay you back within the week.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Damn, I felt all mushy inside. “Didn’t I say you might be able to rescue me?”

  Jude seemed touched by the reminder. “I didn’t think this was what you had in mind.”

  “It wasn’t. But it’s a good portent.”

  His gaze moved over my face—a reevaluation. “Maybe it is.”

  My demure smile felt strange to me. “How’d you get here?”

  “Ash and Samuel. They’re in a café down the street. They’ll get us back to the camp and your car.”

  “They left early too?”

  “Got kicked out, actually. It was the perfect way for me to get here, since Samuel drove to the camp in his own car.”

  “So you just—”

  “Split. Yeah. I went back to my room and packed right after you got hauled away. I figured Ash and Samuel wouldn’t mind giving me a lift into town.”

  I was moved beyond words. My eyes didn’t want to release him.

  “Oh, and before I ask you
for a ride,” Jude said, “I’d like to know if you make a habit of impulsively kissing guys. I’ve seen you do it three times now.”

  I took the question at face value and shook my head. “Not when I’m committed to someone.”

  Smiling tenderly, Jude nodded in approval, then swiped his thumbs over the moisture on my cheeks. “I didn’t think you were the emotional type, Misha.”

  “I didn’t either.”

  We looked at each other for a few beats longer—maybe wondering, or hoping; maybe exchanging a promise—then began walking down the street.

  “You hungry?” Jude asked.

  “Famished.”

  “Then we’ll grab some eats before we head back.”

  “I’m buying,” I said.

  “Damned right you are.”

  I wanted to put my arm around him but refrained. Two men might be able to get away with hugging on a small-town sidewalk, but that was likely the contact limit.

  “I thought of something you might consider doing when you get back home,” I told Jude.

  “Introduce you to my parents?”

  Although that got a laugh out of me, I did have to say, “Actually, they might like me. I can be one charming son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah, I already know that. So what’s your idea?”

  “I don’t really know how school districts are set up and run,” I said, “but I do know a lot of them have programs for gay and lesbian kids and their families. Support groups and counseling and such.”

  Jude nodded thoughtfully as he watched his feet move down the pavement.

  “We could do some research, draft a proposal, maybe enlist the help of a local mental-health professional. Then you could present the proposal to your school board. Or it’s possible there’s a school district in the area that already has something set up, and you could get involved in it.”

  Jude looked at me. “I’ve actually thought about that. But after the warning I got….”

  “That’s a whole different thing,” I said. “You get discouraged too easily.”

  He paused before saying, “You’re right.”

  “So piss on your parents and Chad and whatever administrator scolded you—”

  “And focus on helping those kids,” Jude said.

  “Yes, exactly. It’s support they need, not condemnation. That’s what you needed at that age. So… should we tackle this project when we get back?”

  We stopped in front of the café. Through its large window, I saw Ash and Samuel laughing together over coffee. The sight made me feel almost as good as having Jude at my side.

  “You keep saying ‘we’,” Jude noted.

  “Yeah. As in ‘you and I’. Together. Something wrong with that?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and toed a crack in the sidewalk. “Misha, maybe I’m jumping the gun here, but I… I really don’t want to get involved with somebody who sleeps around.”

  “You wouldn’t be. Look at me, Jude.”

  When he did, I knew for sure.

  “You wouldn’t be.”

  Maybe his smile couldn’t light up the already sun-drenched town, but it certainly lit up that diminishing space between his heart and mine.

  About the Author

  If there’s one thing K.Z. SNOW loves more than indulging her wayward imagination, it’s the natural world and, especially, animals. She’s been a companion to most domesticated creatures and a good number of the feral ones commonly known as men. After too many turbulent years, her life in the upper Midwest is finally boring as hell—an achievement as well as a blessing.

  She’s overeducated, underskilled, and has written a lot of stuff. Her only awards are two medals she received, obviously out of sympathy, for playing the bassoon and making it sound like a malfunctioning chainsaw.

  Visit K.Z.’s blog at http://kzsnow.blogspot.com.

  Also by K.Z. SNOW

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  Copyright

  Jude in Chains ©Copyright K.Z. Snow, 2010

  Published by

  Dreamspinner Press

  4760 Preston Road

  Suite 244-149

  Frisco, TX 75034

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the

  authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

  business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Catt Ford

  This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is

  illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon

  conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No

  part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. To

  request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite

  244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  Released in the United States of America

  April 2010

  eBook Edition

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-421-3