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 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.”