The Vendetta Defense

She landed on the soft grass outside and sprinted for the truck. It made a large white silhouette in the moonlight, like a toy left in a suburban backyard.

“Shit!” Frank cursed behind her, and then Judy heard a large crash. He must have hit something going out the door. “Fuck! My ankle!”

She raced for the truck, flung open the door, climbed inside, and locked the door immediately, the way she did in the city. Only this time she was protecting herself from a charging Italian. She found the ignition and twisted it on just as Frank reached the truck and grabbed for the door handle.

“Judy, no!” His hands clawed the door but lost purchase when she hit the ignition, switched on the headlights, and yanked up the emergency brake on the fly.

“Sorry, babe,” she said. The truck leaped forward with a kick she hadn’t felt since a certain kiss, and she was off, careering through the wildflowers and grasses of the meadow, setting the swallows into panicked flight and the gnats dancing in the high beams, then finally heading for the open road.

Judy checked the digital clock on the truck. It was 2:14 in the morning. The DiNunzios must have known she was coming, because all the lights were on in their brick rowhouse in South Philly. She felt terrible that they were awake at this hour, then realized why. Frank must have called them from his cell phone. She wondered if his ankle was okay and worried fleetingly that auto theft wasn’t the best way to begin a relationship.

Judy passed the DiNunzio house, circling the block as a precaution, and when she didn’t see any black Caddys or guys with broken noses, double-parked the truck at the end of the street. No harm in playing it safe. She hurried down the street toward the lighted house with the scrollwork D on the screen door and was about to knock when it opened.

“Judy!” Mr. DiNunzio said. His few wisps of hair had gone awry and he was wrapped in his plaid bathrobe like a fat homemade cigar. “Come inside!”

“Thank you,” she told him, and meant it, as he tugged her into the living room, gave her a warm hug, and led her by the hand past the unused living and dining rooms and into the tiny kitchen, which was the only room the DiNunzios spent time in.

Judy could see why. She loved it, too. It was as close as she had to home. It was warm and clean, with white Formica counters that cracked at the corners and refaced cabinets that reminded Judy of Pigeon Tony’s. Easter palm aged behind a black switch-plate, and a prominent photograph of Pope John hung on the wall, so colorized it looked like Maxfield Parrish had been in charge of Vatican PR. A photo of Pope Paul hung next to him in a lesser frame, and Pope John Paul didn’t even rate a photo op. Apparently, Pope John had been a tough act to follow.

“Judy, come in!” Mrs. DiNunzio called from the kitchen. She shuffled in plastic slip-ons to meet Judy at the threshold. She had thick glasses with clear plastic frames and teased white hair, which looked undeniably like cotton candy because of her puffy pink hair-net. She hugged Judy warmly despite her frailty, and the aromas of her kitchen—brewing coffee and frying peppers—clung even to her thin flowered housedress. Judy realized she hadn’t eaten all day, which made her Guest of Honor at the DiNunzios.

“I’m hungry, Mrs. D!” Judy said, smiling as she broke their embrace. “Feed me, quick! I could starve if you don’t!”

Mrs. DiNunzio laughed and patted her arm. “Come, sit, you! Come!” She pulled Judy by the hand into the kitchen, where Mary sat at the table in her chenille bathrobe, improbably awake before a fresh cup of percolated coffee. She was sitting up, a big step in her recuperation.

“Jude, you’re just in time to eat!” Mary said. “What a surprise! We always eat at two in the morning!” Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she was wearing her glasses instead of contacts. Behind them her brown eyes looked bright. If Mary was in pain, she was hiding it well, and Judy hated seeing her like that. She went over and gave her a careful hug.

“Hugging and eating,” Judy said. “It’s round-the-clock, which is why we love it here. Sorry to get you all up so late.”

“No problem.” Mary looked at her with concern. “I hear you were dodging bullets. This is not a good thing.”

“I tried to play nice.” Judy pulled up her chair next to Mary, so her friend wouldn’t have to talk loudly. “How’d you hear about it? Frank, right?”

“Among others. The news, the cops, our boss, and your new boyfriend. I love a man with a cell phone.”

Judy smiled, though her face felt hot. “Wonder how he knew I’d come here.”

“He knows you like to eat.”

Judy thought about it. “He’s smart, you know.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s a genius. He invented fire. So, you enjoying your work?”

“What a great case. It stimulates me like no other.”

Mary snorted. “Really fascinated by the legal issues, huh?”

“Hubba hubba.” Judy laughed, while Mr. DiNunzio set a fresh cup of coffee before her, on a mismatched saucer, and Mrs. Di-Nunzio brought her silverware and a plate heavy with green peppers, sliced potatoes, sweet onions, and scrambled eggs, all fried and mixed together. The first time Judy saw this combo, she thought a dog had thrown up on the plate. Now she loved it. Presentation was highly overrated.

“Eat, Judy!” Mrs. DiNunzio said, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“I’ll force myself. Thank you, the D family,” she said, grabbing an oversize fork and digging in. “Why didn’t you tell me about Frank?” she asked Mary, with her mouth full. “I would have shaved my legs.”

“Why? Is it Sunday?”

“For him I’d make an exception.”

Mary smiled. “You like little Frankie? I didn’t think he was your type.”

“What, are you blind?”

“Despite his physical charms, I mean. He won’t let you push him around.”

“I know. He’ll get over it.” Judy ate hungrily. The green peppers were limp with olive oil, the sliced potatoes were limp with olive oil, the sweet onions were limp with olive oil. Nothing could kill the eggs. In short, it was the perfect meal. “He wants to protect me.”

Mary laughed. “Lotsa luck, Frank.”

“Can you imagine?”

“No. I don’t even want to feed you.”

“Your mother does.”

“She feeds all strays.”

“Good! Good for Frankie!” announced Mrs. DiNunzio, sitting down across from Judy at the circular table of gold-speckled Formica. Mrs. DiNunzio’s English was only slightly less impressionistic than Pigeon Tony’s, and Judy remembered that the Di-Nunzios were almost as old as he was, because they had had Mary and her twin sister, Angie, so late in life. Mary always said they were an accident, but her mother preferred Gifts from God. “We know Frankie when he was baby,” Mrs. DiNunzio went on. “Judy, you could have a good man protect you!”

“I protect me!” Judy said, for the record, but Mary was waving her off.

“Don’t go so fast. You may need the reinforcements. Bennie called three times today.”

“She’s a witch!” Mrs. DiNunzio said, raising an arthritic finger, and Judy stifled a smile. The DiNunzios blamed Bennie Rosato for all the trouble she and Mary got into, and Judy had failed to disabuse her of that notion. Last thing Judy had heard, Mrs. DiNunzio had put the evil eye on their boss. Judy could only hope it worked.

“Bennie called, here?” Judy asked. “What’d you tell her, Mare?”

“That I don’t know you.”

“She believe it?”

“No. I think she may actually be concerned for your health and welfare.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Also she said something about the antitrust article.”

“Bingo.”

“Hnph!” Mrs. DiNunzio said, which Judy knew was Italian for she-should-burn-in-hell. She was shaking her head, which trembled with age. “She no care about you, Judy. She no care about nobody but her!”