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Paranoid Eyes -*- Copyright 2005 by Ellen Hayes.
Any resemblance between the writings in this work, and any actual persons or places, living or dead, are purely coincidental, except when used for satirical purposes.
This work contains adult situations, adult language, adult concepts, and possibly sex. If you are legally not allowed to read materials containing such things, then you will be breaking the law by reading this. I am not responsible. Continuing to read this document, or storing it or reproducing it in any format means that you explicitly affirm that you are legally allowed to possess and read such materials in your city, county/parish, state, and country.
All rights reserved. See the bottom for distribution rights.
Paranoid Eyes
Bill exchanged glances with Sarah as he fumbled for his cellphone. "Bill Tucker."
"Dad? It's Susan."
"Susan, nonurgent," Bill repeated to Sarah.
"You guys coming home right away?"
"Why?"
"'Cause... I think it'd be a good idea to tell all of Tuck's little dork fr- his friends..." Bill felt his eyebrows go up at the obvious correction she'd just made. "...About what's going on, tell 'em what to say if anyone asks, stuff like that."
"Alright."
"And I think Debbie ought to be here for that."
"Why?"
"What?" Sarah asked.
"Hold on, Sarah," Bill said. "Susan, go ahead; I want to hear this."
"She was there real soon after it happened, she was there in the ER with Mike and Tuck... and I bet she's got something going on. She was always a schemer, Dad. It'd be helpful to have her in the loop, too."
"Wait." He thought furiously, as his wife drove. Finally, he decided, "All right. Do you need us there?"
"I don't think so... do you think you need to be?"
"Ahhh... let me call you back, and if you can get it started without us, go ahead."
"Bill?" his wife warned.
"Six clear, out." Bill hung up his cellphone. "Sarah, could you pull into a parking lot?"
"What the hell is it this time?!"
Bill sighed. "I don't think it's that bad, but it's going to upset you."
"Susan?" George called from the front door. "It's Debbie!"
"Good," Susan said under her breath. "Let her in!" she yelled back as she went towards the door herself.
"I got some stuff," Debbie said as she hefted a cooler in one hand and a large bag in another. "I don't think anyone's eaten anything, and they get rowdy when they're hungry or thirsty."
"Bless you," Susan sighed as she took the bag of food.
Debbie hesitated before she got through the door. "Your mom's not here, though, is she?"
Jody shut the door to her room and locked the door, then collapsed on the bed. She was too drained to cry at the moment, but she vaguely wanted to. She felt very bad, and not a little fearful.
"Mike vets her, what I got out of her when I talked to her confirms it..." Bill shrugged. "I think she'd be useful, and more so if she was in contact with everyone else."
"I don't like it," Sarah reiterated. "I still... I keep getting the feeling she's playing a game with this, that Eugene's just a pawn and she's trying for..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "Something a lot bigger than our child."
Bill eventually stated, "I think that her goals and ours coincide now. For a while," he corrected himself. "She was... quite displeased about what happened to Eugene. She's also motivated, and clever. We can use all of those at his school that we can find."
"All RIGHT, Bill!" Sarah flashed angrily. "Talk to her or what the fuck ever you think you need to do... I'm just not going to be happy with it, alright?" She stalked off into the parking lot she'd pulled into, and he sighed, and leaned against the car, to wait until she'd walked her anger off.
"James Yancey?" What a name... Adam Stratton thought.
"What?" His face and voice showed the usual fear, covered up unsuccessfully with the usual bravado. It also looked like the wimp kid had gotten a few more licks in before he went down. The first one, Kyle, had looked worse than this.
"You are under arrest..."
As he read the charges, the kid stuttered in disbelief, as they often did. At least this kind doesn't tend to get stupid.
"They're the cops' problem for now," Susan forced over the noise of the others. "Stay away from 'em!"
"Why?!" Jill shrieked.
"BECAUSE, YOU DUMBFUCK!" she yelled back.
"HEY hey hey," Debbie said as she stood up and moved quickly between them, hands upraised. "Let's be cool here, okay? Everyone's upset, I know; but we don't have to be upset at each other. Jill," she turned, "if they're going to be arrested soon, we don't want to have anything pointing to any of us, and we don't want anything to fuck up that prosecution, like assault charges pending against us. I'm sure you guys are collecting information on 'em now," she said to George, who didn't reply. She didn't wait for an answer. "I've been doing it too. We just keep doing that until we find out what the cops are gonna do. Remember, WE have lives; COPS have nothing better to do than look for broken laws lying around." She paused as the rest of them chuckled, and Susan realized she'd known they would. "We don't want to break any laws where they're- where we KNOW they are going to be looking soon. And if they arrest someone, they'll take down EVERYTHING he says and check it out; things like someone else beat them up or whatever. Just wait on anything else, and save it in case we need it later. Right?" Debbie asked Susan.
"Yeah," Susan agreed, nodding back at her and calming down, as everyone else was doing. I wish I could manipulate people like that...
"Oh, shiiit," Sarah sighed as they saw the kids' cars parked all around their house.
"Go take a short nap," Bill instructed. "I'll handle 'em, me and Susan. You need the sleep, sweetheart."
"Yeah, I do," she admitted. "But I need to call the attorneys first."
"Did you call off work for tomorrow?"
"No... Think I'll do that. And after I call, I WILL go lie down for a while," she promised as she carefully maneuvered her Accord up the driveway to her usual parking spot. "At least the brats didn't block the driveway," she mentioned.
"Yeah, and- Wait, Mom'n'Dad're here; lessee what the latest is on Tuck," Susan said as she started towards the kitchen and the back door.
"You are not required to tell the truth to a reporter," Bill stated. "Remember that. And we, Tucker's family, do NOT want any details of what happened known."
"What did happen?" someone female asked.
Bill thought for a moment. "Ask Mike for further details; he knows who can be trusted with the information and who can't." He ignored the protests. "George, Dan," he addressed the two boys. "You will listen to him, understand?"
George said, "Yessir," as Dan nodded.
"What has gotten out, is that an unnamed minor student, male, was attacked and medevac'd out of Mc-"
"Medevac?"
"Helicoptered," George translated disgustedly.
"Medevac'd out of McAllen," Bill restarted. "He was in critical but stable condition until this afternoon, and has been upgraded to serious. Do NOT mention that the police are looking for the ones who did it; we don't want them to know."
"Wouldn't they know by now?"
"Only if they're smart," Dan and Debbie said at the same time.
"And attacking my family is not smart," Bill added.
It was worth quite a lot to Sarah to have an attorney standing by for times like this; luckily, having one 'on call' didn't cost anything until you actually asked them to DO something. Sarah confirmed, "So you can do that?"
"I can try, Miz Tucker," Mr. Groton replied, attempting to sound reassuring. "No promises, but I think I can get something."
Sarah wasn't reassured. "Something?"
"What about the cheerleaders?" Pam asked, which started a chorus of upset.
Mr. Tucker rubbed his head with both hands. "We're still not sure. Due to the nature of what actually happened in that locker room, we're not sure that we can get a successful prosecution out of it, on any of 'em." A LOT of people protested against that. Mr. Tucker ignored them all, and continued, "We're gonna have to get legal advice about that tomorrow, Monday. As of now, they are-"
"Some of 'em got busted," George broke in, causing Jill to hit him. Wonder what's going on there? Pam wondered.
"When was this?" Mr. Tucker asked.
"Last night. Apparently, from what I heard, they had a party, and one of the, uh, neighbors complained about the noise and stuff, and... the cops found some of them drunk and stuff." He shrugged.
Mr. Tucker took off his glasses and polished them with the hem of his shirt; it looked to Pam like he was thinking about what to do. "Leave them alone," he finally announced. "The cops are going to arrest a few of them, the ones that Eugene directly implicated..." He trailed off for a moment, thinking, then continued, "Leave them ALL alone for the time being. We do not want to contaminate the legal issues."
"What about psyching 'em?" George asked.
Mr. Tucker answered, "As long as it can NOT be used in court. Check the laws, or ask Mike; he knows 'em. Let me repeat," he told all of them sternly. "Leave the cheerleaders alone. If that changes, we'll let you know."
"Shit, 'm tired," Mike sighed.
"So take a nap," Brian said. He had not looked up.
"Where?"
That got him to look up. "In the bed? Tuck liiiiiikes you," Brian drawled.
I also keep his nightmares away, come to think of it. Without saying anything more to the brat, Mike let down the railing on the right side of the bed. Tuck woke up at that, either the noise or the vibration. "Me, Mike; gonna take a nap," Mike told him before he could panic. Tuck tried to shift over a little, but gasped in pain before he could really move. "Hey, Brian, get your lazy little ass over here and help move him."
Brian sighed deeply, obviously incredibly wounded by this order, and got up. The two of them managed to gently push and slide Tucker over the crucial half-foot to make sure that Mike wouldn't fall off the bed, without making Tucker scream, pass out, or bleed. While Brian went back to whatever he'd been doing on his dad's laptop, Mike crawled in next to Tuck.
The monitor, still beeping away in synch with Tuck's bodily functions, slowed down noticeably in a minute or two.
"Mike said," George said, "he wanted to get everyone together so we could match up schedules and people, where everyone is during the day."
Tuck's father nodded, as Kim looked around at the rest of them. Man, they are fucking SERIOUS about this... And the way he's saying it, it's like it's fucking NORMAL or something... like he does this every DAY. I thought this was Tuck and Mike just playing at being spies or something, but... And he's right, if Tuck hadn't gone to the bathroom then, he'd be okay now...
"Tucker was ambushed," Tuck's father stated, "and brought down, partially because he was alone in an enclosed space. We do not want this to happen to you. If you can possibly do so, stick with each other, or anyone else you KNOW is safe. Work to stick with them; two is far more effective and safer than one. Remember, too, that someone who fails to help you is worse than useless. Find someone you can count on in a fight." Kim wasn't the only person who glanced at Kathy; she stared back at all of them with a very tired look. "And stay out of lonely places, anywhere there aren't PLENTY of neutrals, unless you have your friends with you. Don't do the horror movie thing of going off alone in a fit of ego." Kim chuckled at that, as did some other people.
"You've seen what can happen," he finished.
Kim blanched as she realized, FELT, what he had been saying. My god, what kind of shit am I in here?!
"She said WHAT?"
Mister Tucker's eyebrow went up. "You recognize it?"
"It's from 'The Prisoner', isn't it?" He nodded. "Oh, sh-"
"Maybe you'd like to share that with the rest of them, George?"
"Dad?" He turned around, and Susan hesitated. "Um..."
"What?" he pressed.
"I, uh... It's Sunday night, and I have classes tomorrow. So, uh, so-"
"So you were wondering whether to go back to school, or..." She was nodding gratefully at him. "I think we can handle everything from here. Go back, I think. You've missed enough class already... and we need to get you an excuse, come to think of it."
"Mom's got one typed up," Susan said.
That woman, Bill sighed with a smile. "I'll sign it before you leave. Were you going to leave tonight, or do the stupid thing and leave here in just enough time to get to your first class tomorrow?"
"Well, stupid's always an attractive option in college," she shot back before she grinned at him. "Later tonight... You're sure you don't need me for anything?"
Bill sighed. "Not to make you feel unwanted or unvalued..."
"But no," they both said at the same time.
They flashed short smiles at each other as Bill explained, "Really, we can handle it from here. He's awake, we know who did it, we've got the cops on 'em... Go on back, and catch up on your schoolwork."
"I will," she sighed. "Damn!"
"What?"
She giggled a little. "I forgot to do laundry while I was here!"
"Want to do it now?"
Susan glared back at Dad; he hadn't limited his 'offer' to HER laundry, she noticed. "Wait, wasn't Sabrina doing it?" she remembered. "Or folding it or something?"
Dad's eyes went sideways speculatively. "Hmmm..." He shook his head. "Not tonight; I don't feel like tutoring her, and that was the deal with her. And I think Sarah wants 'em all out of the house, so we can rest easier. Come to think of it..." he nodded to himself.
Everyone else was leaving, but Debbie had to talk to Dan, and managed to catch him before he could get out of the house. "Hey, Dan?"
"Yeah?"
She made sure no one else was around, then said quietly, "I heard you were really good at making up graphics?"
"Yeah?" Dan admitted warily. "Kind of. Why?"
"I want you to make a series of posters, like eight-and-a-half by eleven, that you- I mean, that someone could print on a computer printer."
"Like what?"
Debbie grinned. "You can't tell anyone else; I want everyone to be surprised by them, even me."
"Propaganda?" Tuck's mom asked over Debbie's shoulder, and she froze. The woman scared her, even more than she wanted to admit; it had become apparent that Tuck hadn't been lying about her temper, and that he'd gotten his from her, not his dad like she'd thought.
When she'd caught her breath again, Debbie admitted, "Yeah, propaganda posters," as she turned so she could see the older woman.
Tuck's mom was smiling faintly and nodding, which made Debbie feel a bit safer. "I have some ideas on that, Dan; why don't you stay here for dinner tonight, if you can? These were for school, right?" she asked Debbie, who nodded wary agreement. "So we, the family, wouldn't be seeing them anyway, so we don't have to pretend to be shocked. Can you stay?" she asked Dan again.
"Uh, yeah, I think so... lemme call my folks," he requested.
"Good idea," Mrs. Tucker said to Debbie, who was startled by the compliment.
"Uh, th-thanks," she stammered, before the older woman turned back to Dan and she could escape.
"Do you really think..." Kim started to ask Jill, but didn't finish.
When Jill was pretty sure she wasn't going to, she answered, "I think..." She sighed. "I think that maybe he has a point, and that those ASSHOLES haven't been arrested yet, that we've heard, and so I'm not sure I want to risk it, you know?"
"Could you be a little LESS definite?" Kim complained.
"Sure," Jill snapped. "We do it until we KNOW that the perps are in jail. How's that?"
Instead of bitching back, Kim surprised her by hesitating. Then she asked, "Do you really think the rest of us are in danger?"
Jill explained it to Kim like Mike had explained it to her. "If I say 'yes we are in danger' and I'm wrong, we just expend some effort. Which MIGHT come in handy if it's ever for real.
"If I say 'no we are not in danger' and I'm wrong..." Jill couldn't explain things any further, but the way Kim's face looked, she didn't need to. Classic horror movie, Jill noted. "So," she continued, "saying 'yes we are' is the way to bet. Besides," she grinned, "you're always complaining about your weight; remember Val said that constant fear and loathing keeps her active and burning more calories?"
"That's not funny!" Kim complained.
Jill nodded, ignoring the outburst. "Yes, it is, or at least it's funnier than what happened. Shit, Kim!" she complained, suddenly irritated, "It's not like we can't get stalked or shit like that; at least Tuck's family are doing something besides calling the cops and waiting to get killed!"
"Alright alright! Shit..." Jill shut up, because Kim sounded strange; when she looked, Kim still had a worried expression on her face. "I don't want anything to happen to anybody," Kim said softly.
"Me neither," Jill agreed. "So we do the paranoid thing; and if nothing happens, nothing happens, and we just waste a little effort and time."
"Yeah," Kim nodded. Then she asked, "Do you think it's enough?"
Something bleeped on the laptop, and Brian hunted around until he found it; a talk from Dad on a terminal window. "Oh, man, how does this thing work again?" he mumbled softly to himself. He had to resort to the man page, and finally accepted the talk.
can you two stay later?
we got school tomorrow. mikes sleeping now with tuck. Tuck slowed
down when he did.
interesting. can you give us a couple more hours?
Brian looked over at Mike and Tuck, neither of whom showed any signs of waking up any time soon. Well, guess we can always try the crappy music trick again, if we need to...
yeah sure. if we dont get any sleep though im not going to school
tomorrow. not that i mind.
you wish, kid. =) out.
EOL
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, roger wilco over and out, you dork..." Brian went back to the Opera window and his surfing.
"Man, it was pretty scary," Debbie admitted. "I mean, I thought someone had brought a gun in, and-"
"Oh man!"
Debbie shrugged. "I mean, it's hard to tell in a gym or someplace big like that; it all echoes and sounds weird. But I wasn't sure at first, and I was like, better safe than sorry, you know?" Meredith Gilcrest, who went by Mims and had been known to throw things at people who called her 'Meredith', was seriously into Amnesty International and whatever remnants of the peace movement still existed. "It's just so horrible that we have to worry about the violence and stuff, I mean, even at a dance!"
Mims started to spout off some predigested dogma she'd picked up somewhere, and Debbie just nodded and murmured in the right places.
"Here's what we came up with," Dan said, and showed him the poster. Like Mrs. Tucker had instructed, he didn't say anything else, because the poster had to work without explanation.
"Ohhhh... that pisses ME off," Tuck's dad said, shaking his head slightly. But he was grinning too. "And I KNOW what you're doing and why. That's a good one," he nodded.
"I had some other ideas, but they're just kind of sketches right now," Dan mentioned; there was only so much he could do here, away from his graphics library.
"If they piss me off too, let's use 'em," Mr. Tucker grinned.
"Remember, we have to pick up Brian and Mike," Tuck's mom reminded everyone.
Mr. Tucker asked her, "You want me to take the night shift?" She nodded at him. "Then you can get Mike and maybe Brian to comment, if you want," he said to Dan.
"Uh, Deb-" Uh oh, he remembered, a little too late; but nobody got mad that he could tell. "Uh, um, Debbie said, that if, that the fewer people that saw them before they went up, the better it'd be, since they wouldn't have to fake their reactions."
"But how are you going to put them up?" Mr. Tucker asked. "Don't answer that," he warned. "Just think about it."
"I already know," Dan answered, grinning uncontrollably.
"Wipe that grin off your face," Mr. Tucker said casually. "Someone might think you were up to something. Though of course you're not."
"Of course," Dan agreed, still trying to keep from smiling.
"If you need me, call, Mom," Susan insisted. "I can be back here pretty quick."
"I know. I will," Sarah promised her daughter. "Now, you drive carefully-"
"Of COURSE, Mom! Everyone knows that kids my age never get into accidents because of our superior stamina and reflexes," she grinned. "AND I'll be careful," she added before Sarah could get more than irritated. She stepped forward and gave Sarah a quick but firm hug before moving to her car.
"Aw, fuck," Mike sighed. "Yeah, I can make it." These nocturnal excursions, on top of everything else, were wearing him down to shreds. Kinda like Tucker, come to think of it, he grimaced.
Dan grinned back when Mike started to smile at the posters he'd made up. "Ohhhhh yeah," Mike nodded slowly as his smile grew.
"Tuck's dad said they pissed HIM off," Dan mentioned.
"What about his mom?"
"She was helping me write 'em, come up with the graphics."
Mike nodded again, normally this time.
"C'mon, less'go," George hissed at them.
"Aw shit," Mike said, before shaking his head. "I gotta go over to Tuck's real soon and check up on the, uh, audio data collection. That stuff's got to be piling up fast."
George asked, "Tonight?" Mike shrugged. "Then let's fucking GO."
"Impatience will kill you, George," Mike warned, like he'd done lots of times before.
They'd finished the latest round of Coughing, which deserved some sort of capitalization because it took drugs, hot water, and at least one other person. Bill did not at all like what was coming out of his son's lungs, but Dana had said to expect all the usual PLUS red and brown shades, from the blood. And he'd seen all of that, including the startling green that meant Eugene was once again dealing with a sinus infection or bronchitis, along with the rest of it.
His son was drooping with exhaustion again, and despite the morphine that went into Eugene's injection port thirty minutes before every session, Bill knew he was in pain as well. He HATED forcing his son to hurt; the only thing that was worse was someone else doing it, like a nurse. Eugene had explained that, more than once.
"Dad?" he rasped.
"Yeah?"
"I didn't..." Eugene sucked hard on the oxy mask. "I didn't make it. I fucked it up; I lost."
"You did pretty damned well, considering," Bill answered honestly, a little surprised that he should be worrying about something like this. "Encumbered, four to one, small enclosed area, ambushed..."
"I sucked," he spat bitterly. "I should've-"
Bill interrupted, "The situation sucked. You said you got at least one of them, maybe two or three, with good hits, right? And you're alive now. Sometimes... Sometimes the situation sucks, Eugene. Sometimes, you're outnumbered, outgunned, and trapped, and the best you can do is fight until you go down. Which you did." He sat on the bed next to his son and put an arm around him, not surprised to find that his son was silently weeping.
Tanner, Chevas, Monroe... Sometimes all you could do was die, the best way you could. He'd seen it happen to his friends.
"Sometimes it's all you can do," he said thickly, and then he wasn't sure who was comforting who.
"Uh! Crap," Sarah sighed as her alarm went off; she'd forgotten to disarm it the night before. As she untangled herself from the sweaty-damp sheets in which she'd unconsciously tangled herself, she started thinking about how to handle the coming week. "Damn... I think I'm going to have to spend nights at the hospital if I want to do anything the next day... Bill can do some work from there, until we get Mike or Brian in there for the afternoon, and that means I can go to work tomorrow... I guess..."
"And the attorney," Sarah mentioned. Bill nodded, holding the phone to his ear as he typed one-handed into the laptop. "Are you gonna be able to do it?"
"I did get some sleep last night," he said. He didn't say it was about three hours' worth, or that it had been full of nightmares. At least he hadn't done anything embarrassing, like scream, or punch a nurse.
If he hadn't known better, he'd have wondered if SHE had slept. Long experience had shown him that her brain worked differently than his did, and she would think of things like attorneys and insurance almost immediately when waking.
Kim looked around nervously as she and Jill walked into the industrial building. "You think any of the cheerleaders are going to be here today?"
"Only if they made bail on Sunday," Jill said. "Though it's not hard to find a bail bondsman; their best business is on the weekends."
"How do-"
"Stepbrothers," they both sighed at the same time. "AND my stepdad, more than once," Jill added. "I fucking hate them."
"Shit, shit shit shit shit," Mike complained at the alarm as he made his way out of bed and towards the bathroom. "Which is what I feel like. How does Tuck do it?"
Kim noticed that Shannon wasn't there yet, and was just on the verge of making a bet with Jill whether she'd show up at all, when she dashed into the classroom as the bell started ringing.
"Weren't they suspended?" Jill remembered suddenly.
"Just for extracurriculars, I heard; Dobson said Friday he didn't think they should get a vacation from classes," Kim answered.
"An' I guess they made bail," Jill said.
"Some of 'em... let's hope not all of 'em," Kim smiled nastily.
"Aw, man," Kelly complained as she saw Mike's car, waiting for her in the parking lot outside her apartment. "This is stupid." On the other hand, it did sort of beat standing around waiting for a bus in the rain.
"Oh, crap, more memos," Wallace Grigsby grumbled as he pulled the sheets out of his mailbox. "Not enough I have to do all the other shit with this job, I gotta..." He'd been flipping through them and scanning them, but one of them caught his attention.
Jill grinned to herself as she got up; she'd been watching Shannon all morning, and it seemed as though she was nervous. Well, she ought to be. Wonder what the taps would say? she thought; sure as hell, they'd have been calling each other about as much as Tuck's friends had been, and it was pretty likely that Shannon had heard about the 'experience' in the elevator with Tuck's mom.
She got into the crowd near the door, making sure to stay close to Shannon but behind her, and ignoring Kim pulling at her shoulder. When they finally got outside the building and the traffic jam dispersed, Jill moved a bit closer to Shannon and said in a very friendly and slightly loud voice, "Be seeing you, Shannon!"
Jill looked a bit away before Shannon could turn around, but caught a mix of confusion and worry on her face before Jill turned towards her homeroom.
Death of a thousand psychological cuts, Jill mused, before the cluster of people exclaiming angrily over something caught her attention and made her forget Shannon momentarily.
Bridgette couldn't look away from the picture of the beaten, bleeding woman, so obviously a victim of the worst kind of abuse. You could even see the hand mark that was bruised into her face, though the blood, other bruises, and obviously-broken arm told of someone that hadn't stopped with a mere slap.
"'If you didn't deserve it, it wouldn't have happened'?" someone read out loud in a shocked voice.
"So this isn't the first incident you've had," Mrs. Raleigh said, without emotion, and Paul cringed inside.
"Technically, that's true; however-"
"You didn't report other incidents to the school board, Mister Dobson," she mentioned.
"As I was saying," Paul restarted patiently, "while we've heard rumors and other, indirect reports of other incidents, getting the students to actually report them has been difficult to impossible."
"Why is that?"
Because they don't trust us to do anything useful, Paul thought, and tried to think of a way of answering without saying that.
A pounding on his office door distracted both of them. As Paul got up to see who was there - the banging wasn't stopping - Mrs. Raleigh said acerbically, "This is SUPPOSED to be a closed meeting-"
He opened the door, and as several people began shouting at him in rage, he realized that yet another thing had gone shockingly wrong.
"Your Honor, we have supporting evidence," Holstein from the DA's office said, and gestured to Allan Marshall.
"Your Honor," Allan said as he stood up, "may I approach the bench?"
"Approach." Judge Holdwin, tired as she usually was when she was down here in the bail pit, waved him up. He was a bit tired himself, but this morning's business looked to be a little more interesting than the usual run of "Didden-duit"s he dealt with. He was glad that Groton had cut him in on this one, even if it meant being in bail court for several hours on a Monday morning.
"Your Honor," Marshall said as he got closer, "I have here pictures of the victim, who as I understand it just yesterday regained consciousness, from the attack on, uh, Thursday." When he got to the bench, he handed up the stack of color printouts to her. "Those are pictures-"
"Oh my God," the judge complained.
"-of my client's child the day after the assault," Marshall continued.
"You didn't just pull this up out of..." Judge Holdwin trailed off as she stared suspiciously at him.
"No, Your Honor; you can call the family. The mother sent me these pictures, because she doesn't want the," slight pause, "people who did-"
"Objection!" yelped the public defender for this one, a bit late. "Your Honor, this is hearsay, not-"
"It's relevant to whether your client will be allowed bail or not, Mister Riggins," Judge Holdwin snapped at the PD. "Mister Marshall, go on."
He continued, "The bottom of that stack is a list of injuries sustained by the child, compiled by the hospital on their emergency room report..." He waited until she had flipped to that page, which she did immediately. I do not think your client is making bail anytime soon, he thought happily. And Holstein looked almost un-irritated, for once, he noticed.
"Messages..." Bill mumbled to himself as he looked at the home phone computer. "Urghhhhh- Fifteen? Hell." He started looking through them, referencing the Caller ID numbers with the listings, and found two that he didn't know and weren't in the phone database.
"Momma?" Eugene rasped through his oxygen mask.
"Oh..." It had been a LONG time since her son called her THAT. "I'm here, baby; I'm right here," she told him as she sat on the bed.
<Hurts,> he signed.
"I know... I'm sorry..." Those blue eyes of his hadn't changed since he was a baby, and when he looked like this, she couldn't help but feel the same way she used to, long ago, when he was small enough to carry easily with one arm.
He was too big to do that now, but she could still cradle him in her arms, and he curled around her.
"God DAMN it!" Debbie snarled at the stall door, which sported yet another of the abused-woman posters. Hell, I fucking STARTED this and I'm ready to kick someone's ass! she fumed.
Oh, crap, that means they were in HERE last night too, she realized, and that made her feel even worse.
Allan Marshall was about to prompt Holstein about the restraining order when he said, "Your Honor, we would also like to get a preliminary restraining order at this-"
"Objection!" barked the laywer for this one; the family had apparently gotten a non-PD for their kid, though Marshall didn't think it was going to help.
"Do you know anything about this?" Paul asked Michael Johansson.
"Not a thing," the teen said in reply.
He was lying, Paul was sure of it, but there wasn't a damned thing he could do to PROVE it. "Just get out," he sighed tiredly. It seemed that since he'd had Eugene in his office last Thursday, EVERYTHING had gone to hell. For the first time, he deeply regretted having taken this position. Maybe I'm getting old... I am, he admitted to himself. Maybe it's time to think about moving, or retiring, or something. What with Arlene Raleigh the hatchetwoman poking her nose into everything, maybe it IS a good time to think about leaving. It's not like I didn't give it my damnedest, but maybe that's just not-
"Hey, no sweat," Michael said jauntily, snapping Paul out of his thoughts. "Tuck's up, and he fingered the ones that did it. You got the list?"
A blind man could have seen the connection between the two topics, posters and perpetrators. If he'd known Eugene and his friends, that is. "I did. They are," Paul said carefully, "currently suspended, if they even dare to show up here on the grounds. I put out a memo, with their pictures, yesterday."
"Suspended?"
"I can't arrest them," Paul snarled. "It's all I can do right now, and it WILL insure that they get caught if they show up, and it also keeps the rest of you from getting 'hit' by them."
"Yeah, okay," Michael agreed, surprising Paul immensely; when the anger dissipated, he felt more tired than he had when he'd awakened that morning.
"What's worse is the way I heard someone saying something about band, how like the band people were getting 'too puffed up' or something and someone ought to 'do something' about it."
"Who?! And what did they say?!"
"I dunno! I just heard it in the hall, and I couldn't tell who said it," Debbie claimed. "When I looked around, I mean, it could have been a lot of people, and I couldn't even tell what grade they were in, the one that said it." She shrugged helplessly.
"Oh, man..." Monica Kutch just about lived for band, and she'd nearly mortgaged her soul to get the saxophone she played.
"So do we even go to practice today?" Hope asked, and Jody could only shrug.
"We did Friday, so I guess we do today, too."
"Doesn't seem like it's worth it, if we don't even get to do anything," Hope complained.
Spirit leaders of McAllen High School, Jody remembered, and she wanted to laugh bitterly.
<Just J-E-L-L-O,> Eugene signed.
"Oh, come on, you HAVE to eat SOMEthing!" Sarah complained.
"You've hardly eaten ANYTHING for the past..." Her son looked like she suddenly felt; apparently he didn't like the idea of being unconscious for four days any more than she had. "And you hardly ate any of your breakfast." Hell, she'd eaten more of it that he had, but he'd SAID that he didn't want any more, and over the course of an hour hadn't changed his mind. "Not ANYTHING?"
<J-E-L-L-O.>
"Alright," she sighed.
"It's just," Debbie told Monica Riggins in a confidential manner, "I'm not sure I feel safe any more. I mean, this girl in my math class, Erika Moore, she got slapped around pretty hard from one of the girl's basketball team. I'm not sure what it was, but I think it was for curve busting, like she did too well on a test that the other ones didn't and it messed up the curve, you know?" Erika had actually gotten slapped for attempting to lure Lindsey Broughton's boyfriend away with alcohol and sexual favors, but none of them had said anything about that aspect of it. Nor would they, Debbie was sure; it was too embarrassing on all sides. "I mean, if I can get beat up just 'cause I do better on a test than someone else, I mean, what's the point in coming here, you know?" Monica hadn't gotten into half the Advanced classes she should have, since she'd moved into the school district in September.
"I really don't think they made anyone happy," Mike said casually as his eyes scanned the surroundings.
"Happy?! Goddamnit!" Sabrina snarled at him.
"You want to WHAT? No," Bill said, not even having to think about it.
"But I think it would be important, if he's willing-"
"He needs to sleep, and he's not going to be willing to talk to you for a-"
"He doesn't need to talk," Sheila said, which surprised him.
"Then what's the point?"
"Someone said they heard, that Shabina Baker was thinking about quitting the cheerleaders?" Debbie asked. "She said it reminded her too much of Detroit, the way they all attacked Tucker; she said she'd seen white kids do it to a black friend of hers or something."
"No, come on, that's ridiculous," Courtney Davenport countered, but Debbie sensed she wasn't that sure.
Debbie shrugged. "I dunno, I heard it from somewhere... I just wondered if you'd heard anything like that?" At Courtney's head-shake, Debbie shrugged again.
"Yeah, but did you see the posters this morning?" Courtney asked.
"They want you and Susan to come in as soon as possible."
"Why?"
"They didn't say; they just mentioned that they had your test results and that you 'needed' to come in to 'discuss' them."
"Oh, shit," Sarah half-gasped into the phone.
"Yeah," Bill agreed. That was similar to what they'd said about Eugene when HIS tests had come back.
"It's HORRIBLE!" Bridgette gasped to Pam.
"I know! It makes me sick, it really does," Pam agreed. "But they're tearing 'em down; I saw Maintenance cutting 'em off the doors with like razor blades."
"But, I mean, how could they get in here over the weekend and put them up?" Bridgette wondered. They have to lock the doors and stuff, right?
"I don't have a clue," Pam confessed.
"Do you think they did it when Homecoming was going on?" Bridgette guessed.
"Maybe?" Pam looked as bewildered as she was.
Bill yawned so hard he thought his jaw would come loose. "Damn, I need some sl-"
One computer began beeping and his alertness sharpened at the unusual noise. As he switched computers via the KVM switch, he decoded 'PACKET', beeped in Morse, which told him which computer was complaining.
The outside firewall machine reported a connection request on port 1337 and a packet that said "HELP HELP IM BEING COMPRESSED"
"Oh ho. Oh ho oh ho oh ho," he smiled. "Hello..."
"Whatsup?"
"Oh, man, did you hear about football?"
"No? What? Dish, bitch!" Sonia demanded as her eyes gleamed.
"I heard," Debbie said as she leaned close, "that with the cheerleaders getting suspended, you know for attacking that weirdo Tucker?" Sonia nodded. "So like they think maybe they can trace some of those posters that showed up today to the football team, like they think they have a fingerprint match off a couple. And if THAT's true... Dobson's about ready to rip someone's head off," which was one of the few true bits, "and if they get a good match, and if it's someone on the team, I heard from someone who was in the office at the right time that he's gonna suspend the entire team for the rest of the YEAR, from games and like any OTHER athletics like even in the spring."
"Oh my fucking GOD!" Sonia gasped. She was dating Ryan Elliot, who was a varsity football player this year, and she went to every single game, even the ones out of town in the rain.
"Mister Tucker, this is Saul Groton," said the phone, and Bill skipped a sentence or two trying to remember who Saul Groton was. Lawyer, he finally remembered, and restarted listening in time to hear him say, "While two of them have made bail at last report, we also have restraining orders on all five of th-"
"Five?" Bill interrupted. "I only heard about four."
Mike stopped when he realized that he was about to go into the same locker room where Tucker had almost-
He shook his head violently to get the thought away from him, but his feet wouldn't take him any closer.
And there wasn't anyone friendly with him, either. The halls were still crowded, but...
After nearly half a minute of warring with his fear, he gave up, and started backing out, towards Dobson's office.
"That's pretty interesting, Mister Tucker, but can you prove it?"
"Oh yeah. Good enough to stand up in court, definitely."
"Then give me a couple of hours to set it up."
"Hey girl!" Debbie exclaimed as she saw Shabina. "Howzitgoin'?" She was pleased to encounter her. And even more pleased to see the downcast expression on her face.
"You what?"
"Anything's better than going back into that place," Mike explained, looking surprisingly shaken. Like, in fact, he had NOT when Paul had called him in earlier. "I tried," he continued, "and I can't. I just can not go in there. I figured, skipping class, that's, what? Two hours' detention? It's worth it, whatever it is," Mike stated. "I'm not going in there again."
"You can't just..." Paul sighed. "Okay, you're excused, today and Wednesday, and I'll note that. We've got to come up with a better long- term solution, though." Michael just nodded.
"Yeah, I've got the serial numbers off the sales slip and shipping order, and I've also got the passcodes to open it up, show you that it belongs to my son and not this other kid. You found where he's gonna be?" Bill asked.
"Called the office and checked his class schedule," Detective Stratton said. Bill nodded and tried to look impressed; the only reason he hadn't done the same thing was that he'd suspected that the police would do it once they heard, and he'd rather have them collect the information. Plus, cops and investigators got amazingly suspicious when they thought someone else was investigating one of their targets.
Man, I hate English class, Brad mused as he bailed out of the Lib Arts building and towards his Electricity & Magnetism lab, pulling the hood on his jacket over his head as he went, for it was a truly shitty day, including the weather. Stupid fuc-
"Bradley Posada?"
He hated it when people called him 'Bradley' instead of 'Brad' - he'd even managed to get the shorter, preferred version on all his high school transcripts and admission tests - but when he turned around, the retort he'd been preparing died in his throat. It wasn't the older guys, one in a suit and the other wearing a polo shirt and staring at him through wire-rims, that shut him up; it was the two uniformed cops who were staring at him like attack dogs would stare at a roast.
"Did you recently come into possession of a laptop?"
"Yeah? Wh-"
"We'd like to ask you a few questions about that," the guy in the suit said, like it was all the same to him. The other one was still staring coldly at him.
"No practice," Miranda said, steeling herself against the sorrowful looks. The yelped protests she could handle; it was the ones who really got into the 'School Spirit' thing that were most crushed. "We're still suspended." She didn't like it either. "Why did you have to beat on him?" burst out of her before she could stop herself.
"So you turn it on," Bill said, and waited until the flash in the lower left-hand corner of the screen. He hit Ctrl-F1 and typed in the password Eugene had registered in the key bank, and in moments it started fizzing in a Linux boot sequence, impossible to confuse with Windows.
Even the college kid mentioned it, gasping, "It didn't do that before!"
My son, he is a fucking GENIUS, Bill thought with great satisfaction.
When it finally got to a login prompt, he put in the username and password combination he'd put on the laptop, then su'd to root, then went looking in the well-organized filesystem for Eugene's notes and homework. Within a minute, he was displaying papers that had his son's name on them.
Sarah did not like what she saw as she gingerly bathed her son with wet washcloths; she had to look at EVERYTHING that was wrong with him, every scrape and bruise and scab... and she was barely managing to remember that her son needed her now, to love him and help heal him.
Vengeance had to wait.
"It's evidence in a case of aggravated robbery, son," the detective told Brad, sounding tired and not very interested. "We need to get a statement about how you got possession of this stolen laptop."
"I didn't know it was stolen!" Brad repeated, sounding even to his own ears like he was on the verge of panic.
"Yeah, everyone says that," the detective said like he'd expected it. "If your story checks out, then no problem. If it doesn't, or if you refuse to come with us now, we'll have to get a warrant to arrest you. And this deal, it's aggravated robbery; that's a first degree felony, son. Now if you want to talk to a lawyer, you can do that; we'll just get the paperwork started on the arrest, to make-"
"But I didn't DO anything! I just bought it from this guy this weekend!" Brad burst out.
"Well, can you come down and make a statement to that effect? On paper?"
"Yes!" He tried to think of his options, but the cop seemed to be insinuating that the only way he WOULDN'T be spending the night in the lockup, or LONGER, was if he went with them and made this statement. And he was MORE than willing to do that at this point; he'd never even seen the guy before, who had sold him the laptop over the weekend. Lawyer...
"Wait," Brad said. "I don't need a lawyer if I come with you guys and do this statement, right? I mean, I didn't do anything, and I didn't know it was stolen."
"Well, you don't NEED one," the detective admitted. "If you come with us and make that statement, you oughta get home in a few hours and if you're telling the truth, that's about all it'll take. And you can save a thousand bucks or so." Brad had been nodding furiously, but the cost stunned him; the detective kept going. "But you can get one if you want. Now if you're lying, son, and you were involved in this, then you ought to get a lawyer before you talk to us any more, because you're gonna need one, and it'll be easier to get one while you're still outta jail."
"Shit!" Brad gasped. "But I didn't KNOW it was stolen or whatever!"
"Yeah, and I think I heard something from a girl who heard them talking in homeroom, that his parents were thinking about suing the ENTIRE cheerleading team, because of what they did," Debbie told Honor Woerndell, who rode home with Carol Daley most days so that Honor wouldn't have to endure half an hour on the bus and Carol could make some gas money for her Lincoln, which drank more than Carol's mother. "They are REALLY pissed at what happened, I mean, I think he's STILL in ICU," she lied, "and that's like thousands of dollars a day, and they might try to get it back in court."
"You don't think they'd try to sue the school?"
Debbie shook her head. "Maybe, but they also figured, what I heard, was that since some of 'em are eighteen, that if they get those and can get a judgement against 'em, like fifty thousand each, then-"
"Fifty THOUSAND? DOLLARS?" Honor protested in shock.
"Dude, his hospital costs could be like five times that," Debbie said solemnly. "I heard they weren't sure if he was EVER gonna wake up."
"Holy shit! But, I mean, he was like in the girls' locker room, wasn-"
"He was in the closet, from what I heard, and unconscious when they found him," Debbie half-lied. "Somebody stuck him in there. If that's true, then all they have to do is show the photographs of what he looked like in the hospital, and show all the bills, and a jury'd just roll over and hose everybody. Juries are like that; they look at some kid and see THEIR kid in the same circumstance, and they get vindictive."
"Yeah, but fifty thousand dollars?! You think it could-"
"Did you hear about the woman who sued McDonalds 'cause she got burned by coffee? Over a million. And that wasn't like someone threw it at her either. This - what happened to Tucker - they're gonna say it was deliberate." Debbie stopped as Honor slammed her locker shut. "BIG liability."
"Mike?" He turned as Kim flew towards him, Jill close behind. "I gotta sit the Parker kids today... And Ricky's been asking about Valerie. What do I tell him?"
"Wh- Oh." Mike thought for a few seconds. "Tell him... that she's in the hospital, for illness, respiratory problems. Don't go into details. Tell him... we're not sure," he sighed. "Truth is, I dunno if he can handle it any more. Sitting, I mean," he explained when she looked puzzled. "Broken bones and small kids do NOT go well together, you know? And I still don't know if he's coming back to school when he gets well. And even if he does, it's gonna be at least most of this week, at best, before he gets out."
"So just stay kind of neutral about it, like I'm not sure?" she confirmed.
"Yeah. I mean, I know Tuck likes the kid and all; so do I, sort of. But we still don't want any info getting out, and if anything gets in the papers about Tucker, we DON'T want that being linked to Valerie." Kim nodded at that, as did Jill, whom he'd forgotten was there.
"You gonna go see him today?" Jill asked.
"Yeah?"
"Give him a kiss for us," she grinned, and - wonder of wonders - kissed HIM on the cheek. Kim did likewise, on the other one, as he was still frozen from Jill's peck. "Mike?"
"Yeah, I'll-" No I won't. "I'll TELL him what you said and did," he grinned. "Look, I really gotta go, though; his mom's there waiting for me."
"Kelly?" Kelly looked up, and it was Kathy calling her. "I'm supposed to take you home today. You ready?"
Kelly sighed. "It's okay, I mean, I can ride the bus home."
The tall woman shook her head. "Not until we get more of this cleared up. You're related to Tuck, in a sense, and some of the other Littles are getting sacked too. It's not safe. Come on," she gestured.
Kelly felt immensely stupid and childish, and resented that, but when she got to Kathy's car, there were another two girls standing around waiting, looking nervous.
"So when can my son get his laptop back?" Bill asked Detective Stratton.
"Should be a few days, not long. It's evidence, but with the stuff you signed and the copies of the sale papers and everything, it's pretty cut and dried. We've just got to do some forensics stuff on it, see if we can get prints. Maybe a week."
Bill sighed. "And it'll have the data still on it? And be in working condition?"
"Should," Stratton agreed. "What's the urgent?"
"He's been using it for school; a lot of that stuff is his homework and notes."
Stratton laughed. "Yeah, my daughter said that... funny how she can spend four hours a day on it and her grades haven't gone up."
"No, I'm serious. He does everything on it. Even his calculus homework."
"Huh," commented the detective, sounding impressed.
"She's got pneumonia," Kim explained. "She's pretty sick, and her parents put her in the hospital for a while, because they have oxygen and all that stuff."
"Is she gonna be okay?!" Ricky shrieked, which set off Stella.
Damnit, why do I have to be stuck with these kids...
"See if you can get him to eat something," Sarah told Michael as she picked up her stuff and he spread his out. "He didn't eat much at breakfast, and all he wanted at lunch was Jello." Not that it was that unusual for his appetite to go away when he was sick; it was just bad for him, and a bad sign, and it bugged the hell out of her every time it happened. "Oh, and Doctor Treble said she'd come by around seven."
"Yah, okay," he yawned.
Detective Amy O'Connor got out of her car as the patrol unit pulled up.
"So, what?" the officer asked as he sauntered up.
O'Connor checked once again, to make sure this was the right address, before looking back at him. She couldn't help grinning a bit. "We've got a bunch of cheerleaders to get, so-"
"Cheerleaders?"
"Yeah, they beat the shit out of some kid at school-"
"Cheerleaders?" he asked again. "Like pom-poms and that?"
"You got it," she agreed, as the grin got wider. She hadn't liked cheerleaders since junior high, and while she knew she was supposed to be impartial and professional and all that, she WAS going to enjoy this.
"There isn't going to be shit on there," Nathan warned Stratton. "It's been, what, almost a week?"
Stratton shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. You know how it goes."
Nathan shrugged back, then looked at the locker. "You want me to cut the lock off first?"
"See if- Check the hasp, the curving part, for prints before you cut it," Stratton suggested. "Then cut it and dust the lock."
"What? Mom, I'm trying to study-" Jody choked when she saw the cop and the woman in a suit in the hallway.
"Jody Martin?" the woman asked. "You are under arrest for felonious assault-"
"Oh no," Jody gasped.
"You have the right to remain silent," the woman read from a card she'd plucked from a pocket. "Should you waive the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."
This cannot be happening, this can't be happening...
"Our eyes were alive with passionate intensity as we boasted of our many arrests and our lack of any convictions so far." - marcopolo
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- @>--,--'----- Ellen Hayes o===[-------- __ vicki .sig +
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