Dunk (13 page)

“You know him?” she asked.

I nodded. “Best friend.” I didn't want to talk about Jason. Not now. “So when did you get here?”

“Yesterday.” Gwen pointed at Jason again. “I think your friend has had a little too much of something.”

“Honest, there's nothing to worry about.”

“If you say so,” Gwen said. Then she gasped.

I turned around—and was jolted by the sight of Jason lying flat out on the ground behind the bench. He must have slipped. But he got right back to his feet.

“See,” I said, relieved that Jason hadn't really gotten hurt. “He's fine.”

Jason climbed back on the bench. People stared at him as they walked by. He started to wobble like he was going to fall again.

Oh, man
. “He's just joking around,” I said. “He's probably annoyed that I stopped here. We were going swimming. I'll be right back. Don't go away. Okay?”

She laughed. “I'm not going anywhere till my shift is done.”

I rushed over to Jason. “Hey, cut it out. You're making me look like a dork.”

As he stared down at me, a shiver ran through my body. There was an emptiness behind his eyes. He didn't recognize me. I was sure of that. “Come on,” I said. “Get down. I'll take you home.”

He looked wildly around, as if he had no idea where he was.

I reached out toward him.

“What's going on here?”

Not now
. I turned to face Officers Costas and Manetti. “Nothing's going on,” I said.

They stepped closer to the bench. “Get off of there,” Officer Costas said.

Jason didn't pay any attention to them.

They grabbed his arms, pulling him down.

“Let me go!” Jason fought to get free, but they pinned him to the bench and slapped handcuffs on his wrists.

This wasn't happening. It had to be a bad dream. I reached out and grabbed Officer Manetti's arm. “Come on. Give him a break. He's sick. It's the flu or something.”

“Hey!” My world flipped around with the violence of a coaster ride. I landed flat on my stomach. Rough boardwalk wood pressed against my face. A knee jammed into my back as my arms were yanked behind me. The ratchet sound of the cuffs ended with a sharp pinch against my wrist bones.

Jason was still screaming. One of the cops barked an order into the radio. He was answered by a voice mixed with bursts of static. A string of swear words spilled from my own mouth as I fought against the cuffs. Other cops showed up. They hauled me to my feet, pulled Jason off the bench, and herded us through the staring crowds toward the ramp. I swore and struggled, half blind with rage.

As the cops pushed me along, I caught a glimpse of Gwen watching from the Cat-a-Pult. She had a stuffed cat clenched in her hand.

They led me to the street and shoved me into the backseat of a police car.

“We didn't do anything!” I shouted. But the cops paid no attention.

Officer Manetti showered me with questions. “What are you kids on? How much did you take? You might as well tell us. We're going to find out. Why make it hard on yourselves?”

Jason screamed and kicked out with both feet, rattling the steel mesh that separated us from the cops.

“Calm down, son,” Manetti said.

“Animals,” Costas snarled. The car lurched as he stomped down on the gas. “I'm not going to listen to this any longer than I have to.”

He flipped on the siren. The howl was like a slap in the face, smacking me out of my fury and plunging me into a dreadful reality. Next to me, Jason kept screaming. There was nothing I could do for him. I couldn't even reach out and touch his shoulder. I pulled against the cuffs until my wrists ached and my fingers went numb.

I closed my eyes and wondered whether this could possibly be a nightmare. Mom would die if she had to come get me at the police station, even if I hadn't done anything wrong. Whenever she'd been called to the school, she'd been upset. But this was a million times worse than cutting class or getting into a fight.

Oh, man. A memory floated up from long ago. When I was little, she'd had to go get Dad at the police station. She'd made me wait in the car. They'd pretended nothing had happened.
Your daddy was helping the police with something important
, she'd told me. But I'd heard them arguing about it that night after they thought I was asleep. There's no way I wanted to bring those memories back to her.

We reached the station and the cops dragged us from the car. As we were being marched up the steps, Jason froze. Then his whole body jerked like he'd been shot with a hundred thousand volts. He moved so violently that he broke free from Officer Costas. Before anyone could react, he went limp and collapsed. I saw his eyes roll back as he fell.

“Help him!” I tried to get to Jason, but Officer Manetti held on to my cuffs.

They dragged me inside and locked me in a small room without any windows. Then Costas and Manetti came to talk to me. “Your friend's on the way to the hospital,” Costas said. “He could be dying. I've seen it happen often enough. I've seen it all, kid. I've seen punks convulse so bad they bite off their own tongue. Fun, huh? Maybe if the doctors knew what kind of junk your buddy was on, they could save him. Or maybe you just don't care.”

“You're wrong,” I said.

None of it was right. Jason wasn't dying. And he wasn't on drugs. “He doesn't do that stuff.”

I tried to convince them, but it was no use. They wouldn't listen, even though they hadn't found anything when they searched my pockets. They made me write down my phone number. They took my address, too. Then they put me in a cell. And I wasn't alone.

T
HERE WERE TWO GUYS IN THE CELL
. A
HUGE GUY IN A TANK TOP
and torn denim shorts was passed out face-down on one of the benches that was bolted to the wall. His right arm dangled against the floor. From the mess of his knuckles, I figured he'd been in a fight. The second guy, a skinny old man sitting on the other bench under a small window, glanced up when I came in, then pointed to the huge guy and said, “Shh. Don't disturb Sleeping Beauty.”

The door slid shut behind me. When it clanged into place, the sleeper stirred and moaned. I waited until he stopped moving, then walked across the cell and sat near the old guy.

He leaned over and whispered something. I didn't catch it the first time. He said it again. “Saul.”

“Chad,” I whispered back, offering my hand.

We shook. His grip was bony but a lot stronger than I expected. There didn't seem to be anything else to say. I wondered whether it was okay to ask him why he was here. They did that all the time on TV. But this wasn't some cop show. This was me in big trouble, and I hadn't even done anything. Oh, crap—that's not true. I'd grabbed Officer Manetti's arm. I knew what that was called from TV, too. I'd assaulted an officer.

“Whatcha in for?” Saul asked.

“They haven't told me yet.” I left it at that, and he didn't push for any details. After a moment I said, “You?”

“Bank robbery,” he answered with a hint of pride in his voice.

I stared at him. He must have been at least seventy, maybe even older. I had a hard time sorting out the decades once people got past forty. “Bank robbery?”

Saul shrugged. “Everybody's got to do something.”

“I guess.”

“It's what I'm good at. Most of the time, at least.” He looked down and shook his head. “I was going to retire next year. Move to Florida. Do a lot of fishing. Maybe rob a little on the weekends.”

I wasn't sure if he was kidding me or not.

The next question came out of nowhere. “You got a girlfriend?” Saul asked.

“What?”

He shrugged again. “Just trying to make conversation. Not often you run into someone you can talk with in one of these places.”

“Oh.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“So, you got a girlfriend?”

Before I could answer, a cop came and slid open the door. “Let's go, Petroff,” he said.

“Nice meeting you,” Saul said. “Look me up if you ever get down to Fort Lauderdale.”

The door clanged shut again, leaving me alone except for the sleeping guy, who didn't look like he'd wake up anytime soon. Then again, I didn't have any idea how long I'd be here. I'd never been arrested. Never been in jail. Didn't even know anyone who'd been arrested, except for Anthony's brother. He'd been busted a whole bunch of times.

Actually, I wasn't even sure if I'd been arrested. Nobody had read me my rights. Nobody had let me make a phone call. I had no idea what was going to happen next, or when it would happen.

I sat and waited. There was nothing else I could do. I kept seeing Jason's face as he passed out on the steps. It couldn't be drugs. Not Jason. He didn't even take cold medicine or aspirin. Vitamins, some protein drinks—that was it.

I kept seeing Gwen's face, too, and the shock in her eyes when the cops dragged me away. I remembered the things I'd screamed at them. I must have seemed like a madman. Gwen would never even want to look at me again.

A wave of anger boiled up inside me. I needed to scream, but I sure as hell wasn't going to risk waking my cellmate. I turned and punched the wall. Stupid move. A dagger of pain sliced through my wrist and up my arm. I closed my eyes and clamped my mouth shut as the sharp burning in my knuckles gave way to a throb. Then I hunched forward, wishing I could just die right there.

No such luck. My heart kept beating. And my mind kept churning, spewing a highlight tape of the worst moments from the past and the future. Jason collapsing, Dad leaving, Dad coming back, Ms. Hargrove sneering at me every day in class, Malcolm glaring at me with all that anger and hatred, the cops looking at me like I was a worthless criminal, the guy from the gift shop pointing at me and shouting that I was a thief. The parade went on and on.

I had no idea how long I stayed that way, trying to shut out the universe, failing to shut out anything.

I didn't bother to look up when the door slid open. I just hugged my knees tighter, figuring the cops had come for the other guy.

“Let's go, kid.”

I lifted my head and opened my eyes. The daylight was completely gone. A harsh fluorescent glare from the hallway lit Officer Manetti, who was standing by the open cell door.

“Go where?” I asked.

“You're being released,” he said. “It's your lucky day.”

I got up from the bench and walked toward the opening, wondering whether he'd slam the bars shut in my face and tell me it was just a joke. Instead, he said something that smacked me harder than any slamming door.

“C
OME ON
. Y
OU DON'T WANT TO KEEP YOUR FATHER WAITING
,” Officer Manetti said. “He looks mad enough already.”

“My father?” No. It couldn't be. Not him. Not now. No way he was ever going to get a chance to be any kind of hero to me, no matter how much trouble I was in.

“Hey, you're lucky somebody cared enough to come for you.”

Feeling like I'd gotten lost in another person's dream, I followed Officer Manetti down a long corridor. “What about my friend?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Sorry. All I know is the ambulance took him to Mercy General.”

“But I can go?”

“There's that little matter of assaulting an officer, but I'm going to assume it was a misunderstanding. You didn't intend to grab me—you were trying to grab your friend's arm. Right? And you missed.”

“But I was—”

“You missed,” he said again. “Right?”

“Uh, yeah. Right. Thanks.”

“Just stay clean,” he said. “Really clean. Understand?”

“Yeah . . . yes, sir.”

“Look, kid, I got a son your age. I know what it's like. It's tough being a kid. Especially now. But guess what? It's a lot tougher being a parent. Either way, that's not what matters here. What matters is I gotta do my job. You break the law, I'll bust you. We clear on that?”

I nodded. It was just about the only thing I was clear on right now.

We reached the front desk. I saw him in the waiting area across the room. The words spilled past my lips before my mind figured out what was really going on. “He's not—”

“He's not what?” Officer Manetti asked.

My father
. I barely managed to keep the words in. “He's not going to understand,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing. “I'll be grounded for the rest of my life.”

Officer Manetti sighed. “That's between you and him.” He led me past the desk. “Here you go, sir. No charges are being filed. The boy was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Thank you, officer,” Malcolm said, his anger barely under control. He glared at me, then looked back at Officer Manetti. “I can
assure
you that he will never be any place at the wrong time again.”

“I hope not,” Officer Manetti said.

Malcolm grabbed my arm and said, “You are in big trouble. Do you have any idea what it feels like to have the police come to the house? Do you have
any
idea? What am I supposed to say to the neighbors?” He dragged me toward the door, ranting the whole time about what sorts of punishment I could look forward to and about how much grief I'd caused him.

We stepped outside into air that had grown hot and humid. But it was better than the air in the cell.

“How was I?” Malcolm asked when we reached the sidewalk. All signs of anger melted away from his face and his voice. “Convincing? Realistic? Did I sell the role of the furious father to the audience? Do you think the part about the neighbors was too much?”

I yanked my arm loose and took a step away from him. “I didn't ask for your help.”

“Fine,” Malcolm said. “Go back to jail.” He walked off. “Wait.” I rushed to catch up with him. “What's going on? What are you doing here?”