Poisonfeather (Gibson Vaughn #2)(19)

The judge stared at him for a moment and then smiled broadly. “You know, you sound just like him. Duke always did like to take the piss out of people, but always with a twinkle in his eye so they never quite got around to punching him on the nose.”

“That runs in my family, I’m told.”

“I do see him in you. Your mother too. Such a lovely woman. Well, good. Good. You seemed like a fine boy, but you can’t always tell. I’m glad you didn’t turn out to be an asshole.”

“Jury’s out on that.”

“Son.” The judge paused meaningfully. “It always is.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take my nephew, for example. Now I know what you’re going to say, but he’s a good boy at heart. Family’s hit on some hard times, and he’s not taken it well. Not been at his best. None of us has. But I believe there’s hope for him yet.”

“He’s a little prick.”

The judge didn’t argue. “He does like to kick me a little when I’m not all here.”

“I don’t care for it.”

“Well, I don’t remember it most of the time, and it’s not like he doesn’t have a right. I ruined my family by getting them involved with Charles Merrick.” The judge gestured to his trailer. “As you can plainly see from my accommodations.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Well, I made the money, and I lost it. So there’s nothing to be sorry about. That’s what freedom means in this country. I had the freedom to make something of myself, and I had the freedom to screw it up too. And I’ve done both. But getting the family involved . . . that’s the thing I can’t forgive.” The judge sighed. “Despite the example my nephew might set, my family is good people. But ambition has never been in our DNA. Took everyone a little by surprise when I announced plans for law school, and I guess when they made me a judge it earned me a measure of deference among them. Poor bastards.” The judge ran his hand through his beard and down his neck. “I meant well. I did.”

“Your nephew said everyone invested.”

The judge nodded somberly. “Hand me another.”

Gibson cracked another bottle open for him.

“I have three brothers and a sister. My eldest brother, Christopher’s father, inherited the farm from our parents. He invested heavily with Merrick. Another brother owned a small construction company in Charlottesville. He invested.”

“Owned—past tense?”

“Past tense, I’m afraid. My sister is an accountant for a car dealership. She held out, but I got to her. Cost her the house. My youngest brother enlisted in the Navy, was set to retire when he had his twenty. He looked me in the eye and said, ‘I trust you, Hammond.’ I hear him say that often, like he’s here with me. He almost has his thirty now and still can’t retire,” the judge said. “I was ruthless. Some of the extended family had more sense, but I talked them into it in the end. I was always a persuasive son of a bitch. You should have heard me. All but called them ignorant and small-minded. ‘Think about your grandchildren,’ I said. Christ, I was righteous.”

The pain in the judge’s voice broke Gibson’s heart. This man who had done so much for him had no one to fight for his cause. By the end of the story, Gibson wanted to throttle Charles Merrick with his bare hands. The judge looked away and wiped under his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“I don’t have a lot of time here, Gibson. This thing has a mind of its own . . . so to speak. So you’ll forgive me if I get to it?”

There was no self-pity in him, which Gibson admired.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t do it.”

“Sir?”

“Whatever my nephew asked. Just walk away.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You can, and you will. You have a daughter. Responsibilities. I won’t compound my sins by mixing you up in my family’s troubles. Merrick may be a criminal, but stealing from him is still stealing. Christopher can’t see that, but I didn’t send you to the Marines to turn around now and ask you to break the law on my behalf. Can’t do it. So please, I’m asking you, just walk away, son.”

“Yes, sir. If that’s what you want.”

“I appreciate that you made the drive. I’m grateful for the chance to see you.”

“Me too, sir. Should have come sooner. I guess I didn’t—”

“Hush with all that now,” the judge said.

So he did. The two men sat under the awning outside the trailer and finished the six-pack of RC Cola. Gibson told the judge the story of Suzanne Lombard and Duke Vaughn. The whole story. He told him about Atlanta and the promise that he’d made to Grace Lombard. He’d never shared it with anyone up until now, never felt safe. The telling of it was a relief, and he felt better with each word. Unburdened. Even though the judge wouldn’t remember it. Probably because he wouldn’t. When he finished, the judge sat silently for so long that Gibson feared that he’d gone away again.

“Is that her hat?”

Gibson took the cap off his head and handed it to the judge. The judge handled it delicately, pausing to inspect Suzanne’s faded initials written into the brim.

“That’s a hell of a thing,” the judge said at last and gripped Gibson’s hand. “You did good.”