The Vendetta Defense (20 page)

“I thought Coluzzi had entered,” he said to the president when he passed by.

The president shrugged. “He didn’t show up, I guess.
You
be the one to scold him,” he added, and the other men laughed loudly.

After a time the members trailed to their carts, mounted up, and clucked to their horses to trot. Night had fallen, and the air was cool and sweet. Tony waited until the last one had left, busying himself with false adjustments to his cart and the pony’s halter, hoping Coluzzi and Silvana would arrive. He was worried about Silvana. What if she was sick? Or hurt? What if Coluzzi had found out about his gifts? Was she in danger?

Tony had to know. It was late and his father would worry, but he climbed aboard the cart and they trotted off, the pony knowing the way without being told. They arrived in Mascoli, clip-clopped their way through the city at night, then climbed the dirt roads to Silvana’s house. Tony had no gift, having expected to see Silvana at the shipping, but he was too worried to bother about it. He didn’t know what he would do when he got to her house; he would decide then. He was driven to make sure she was okay.

Tony slowed his pony to a halt in front of her house, and from his vantage point atop the cart he could see into its second floor. A light was on, shining through sheer lace curtains, and inside he could see the form of Silvana, appearing through a doorway and entering the room.

His heart leaped up at the sight. She was well. She was fine. Her outline was gauzy with lace but he could see her slipping a scarf from her lovely dark hair, as if she had been out that night, and his heart sank. She had been with Coluzzi, to dinner at a restaurant perhaps. Tony heard they did such things in cities.

He looked away from the window. Another man would have thrown pebbles at her window to speak to her. Another man would have pounded the doorbell, demanding to see her. Another man would have made himself known, but Tony did none of these things. He shook his head, hating himself. He would never have her. He didn’t deserve her. His gifts were stupid. Only a bumpkin would leave tomatoes on a woman’s doorstep.

Tony turned the pony around and they walked home, both downcast. The night was black and starless, so the full moon shone down on them, lighting their way out of pity. The mountain breeze blew cool and sweet, but Tony barely noticed. Moon, man, and cart traveled down the road; the creak of the wheels and the soft thumping of the pony’s wide hooves were the only sound. Tony would apologize profusely to his parents when he got home, and on Sunday he would make yet another confession for his disobedience. In the meantime he wouldn’t give up on Silvana. Perhaps he needed to leave a fancier gift on her doorstep. Fresh olives perhaps, or a hard wedge of locatelli. Women loved locatelli. At least his mother did.

Tony reached his farm, unhitched the pony, and turned him out into the field with a pat on the rump, then walked to the house. His mother had left a lamp on for him, and he could see both his parents inside, sleeping in their chairs, waiting for his return. His heart softened with guilt and he opened the door. He was just about to go inside when he saw it. There, slightly to the left of the door, was a bright spot in the moonlight. It looked like a small white package.

Tony blinked. Was it true? Was it a wish? He knelt down and looked at it. It was his confirmation handkerchief!

Tony reached for it, though his hand was trembling with excitement. Silvana had put it there. Found his house and left it there. She had done this, for him! Here was where she had been tonight. Not the opera, not the cinema.
Here!
This very spot.

Tony plopped down on the doorstep and unwrapped the handkerchief. Inside was the most perfect tomato he had ever seen. He marveled at it, turning it this way and that, and the shine of its thin skin caught the light from the window. If Silvana had bought it, she was more talented than he knew. If she had grown it, she was a genius. Silvana had given it to him, a gift of love, and so there was only one thing to do with it, which was what he had imagined she had done with hers.

Tony took a big bite of Silvana’s tomato, letting its juice and slippery seeds squirt from the sides of his mouth, unmindful that he looked like a complete fool, so besotted was he with its source. He chewed it slowly, savoring the tomato as if he hadn’t eaten one before, its taste so wonderful it needed neither salt nor pepper. He gobbled the whole fruit in one sitting, the water running through his fingers in rivulets, and when he was finished, Tony understood that Silvana’s tomato was truly one thing and one thing only:

Their first kiss.

20

J
udy, still warm from Frank’s kiss, couldn’t fight the feeling that they were playing house as Frank gave her a hand through a broken and weather-beaten door in the back of the springhouse to its second floor. “I’ll fix the steps tomorrow,” he said.

“I was expecting to be carried over the threshold.”

“Don’t make me call your bluff,” he warned, and Judy felt an unaccountable thrill. She loved how direct he was, and his kiss had been like eating something delicious. Only prudence had stopped her from a full-blown make-out session, that and the nagging worry that her client could be watching. As it was, Pigeon Tony was beaming at her from the springhouse, holding a Coleman lantern aloft like a stumpy Statue of Liberty. Judy didn’t need to ask how much he had witnessed; from his expression, he was already picking out a china pattern. She looked away, embarrassed. Her tongue had breached several ethical canons and was contemplating more.

The lantern from Frank’s truck cast a bright ellipsis of light. The room had no electricity but Frank was already talking about running a wire from a small fuse box downstairs. Judy could see that the second floor was a single room, large and rectangular, with walls of chipped white stucco that gave off a pleasant chill despite the humid night. They seemed to hold the dampness from the first floor of the springhouse, which had contained a reservoir of stagnant water and two tanks on a cement bed. The side walls of the room had two mullioned windows on louvers, which Judy found charming, and she couldn’t help but cross to open one. The floorboards creaked under her heavy clogs.

“This’ll do, for a time,” Frank said, his voice echoing in the empty space. “I’ll work the job here and supervise my other jobs from the truck. I don’t need to go home for a while. My whole office is on wheels. Don’t you like it, Judy?”

“Sure. I think it’s perfect.” She cranked open the window, brushed away the cobwebs, and let the night air waft inside. There was a full moon, and the wind rustled through the pin oaks around the springhouse. Frank and Pigeon Tony would be safe from the Coluzzis here, a fact she liked for more than professional reasons. “It seems safe, and you can’t beat the commute. How long will you stay?”

“I don’t know yet. When’s the trial?”

“Six months from now, maybe. But the subpoena said the preliminary hearing is Tuesday, and he’ll have to appear at that.”

Frank nodded. “I’ll get him there and get him back here, right after. I’ll talk to the client and see if they’ll let me pay something for the use of the place until we can find an apartment.” Frank glanced at Pigeon Tony. “What do you think of the new place, Pop?”

“I like.”

“Good.”

“One night we stay.”

Frank’s head snapped around. “What did you say, Pop?”

“One night. Then we go home. I no hide. My birds.”

“Pop, that’s not happening,” Frank said firmly. “We’re staying here until it’s safe for us to go. I’ll talk to the owner about it. I bet he won’t mind.”

“I go home. I feed my birds. They come home.”

“Goddamn it, Pop! Don’t be so goddamn stubborn!” Frank threw up his hands. “You gotta cut this out! This is life or death here! Forget about the birds!”

“No can forget,” Pigeon Tony said quietly, unfazed by his grandson’s temper.

Judy couldn’t believe it. “Pigeon Tony, they want to kill you. They’ll kill you if you leave here.”

The old man’s eyes went flinty in the lamplight. “I no leave birds.”

Judy had an idea. “Fine. I’ll get the birds. Then will you stay?”

“You no get birds!” Pigeon Tony exclaimed, shaking his head, and Frank pointed at her angrily.

“You’re not getting the frigging birds, Judy. You don’t know the first thing about them, and it’s dangerous. The Coluzzis will be watching that house. I don’t want you anywhere near that neighborhood.”

“I have to get my car. I’ll get the birds, too, and bring them here. I’ll do it tonight, when it’s dark. I’ll get help if I need it. If I need cops, I’ll call them.”

Frank’s dark eyes flashed in the lamplight. “They’ll kill you!”

Judy had had it. The discussion was academic. It was late. Her adrenaline was pumping. Frank’s truck was parked outside with the keys in the ignition. Suddenly she turned on her heels, ran for the open door, and jumped out. “Geronimo!” she yelled, but she could hear Frank’s heavy feet on the floorboards after her.

“Judy, stop!” he shouted.

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 switchplate, 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 hairnet. 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. DiNunzio 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.