Sway (2 page)

“I know everyone's got high expectations for you,” I said as we walked. With David it was all about managing his tantrums and I needed him to be on his game, had a lot of money riding on his abilities. Not that I was so desperate for the money—I had pulled down a salary higher than any teacher at Wakefield High School last year, tax free. “Maybe there's another way I can help you,” I said. “If you don't need the money, what do you need?”

He barely hesitated, which told me this request had been on his mind before our conversation even started. “I want to go out with Heather Black.”

“Not a problem,” I said, my brain already calculating the costs I would have to offset against this transaction. “Just give me a few days.”

“Really?” he asked, his voice rising to a squeak. “But … didn't you used to date her? Wasn't she your girlfriend?”

“Sure, yeah, we dated,” I said with a nod, “but I wouldn't say she was my girlfriend. Relationships are not my thing. There's too much emotion involved.”

“I was … I was kind of joking,” David said. “I didn't think you could actually … How are you going to get Heather Black to go out with me?”

“Don't worry about it.” We both stopped at my locker and I spun the combination lock. “You ask her out next week and she'll be willing.”

“Will she…? Do you think…?” His cheeks went pink and he pushed his glasses up again. “Do you think she might put out?” he asked as he leaned a shoulder against the locker beside mine, trying to look casual and failing miserably.

“Your dad's rich, remember?” I said. “Which means you barely even have to be charming. But she's not a hooker, David. I can't make those kinds of guarantees. As long as you don't blow it completely, she'll probably let you get to second base.”

“Yeah?” he asked, the enthusiasm behind his voice enough to tell me that this deal was sealed. “What's second base?”

“It depends on the girl,” I said with a shrug. “Knowing Heather, it will be farther than you might get with someone else. So, two papers delivered with a week of lead time so they can change a few things, make it look more like their own work.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said with a weary sigh.

“Alderman!” A shout reverberated down the hallway. The halls were almost empty now, most everyone gone for the day, which meant I was behind schedule.

“Oh, shit,” David said under his breath. “It's Burke. I'm out of here, man.” And just like that, he was gone.

I spared a brief glance over my shoulder and there was Mr. Burke, principal of Wakefield High School—avid golfer, fly fisherman, father of three—and a major disappointment to his wife, the community, and himself. His high forehead was wrinkled in a frown, but not an angry frown—a worried, disappointed frown. Worry and disappointment defined Burke's life.

His face was long and thin and his hair swept back from his forehead in a high pouf, giving the impression his head was even longer than it really was. I always wondered why his wife didn't tell him to keep his hair shorter, try to create the illusion his head wasn't so long. I suppose his wife didn't care any more about him than did the students at Wakefield High School, which was not at all.

“I've been looking for you,” Burke said as he stood behind me, waiting for me to acknowledge him.

“Oh, yeah? The front office doesn't know where to find me during the school day? I'm pretty sure they have my class schedule.” I shut my locker and turned to give him my full attention.

“I—I've heard that you're a person who could help solve a problem for me,” he said.

I cocked an eyebrow in question. “Who told you that?”

“A few people have mentioned it,” he said evasively. “This is a high school. No secrets.”

“You're right about that,” I said as I lifted my messenger bag onto my shoulder. “What is it you think I can do for you?”

He hesitated for a minute, making up his mind, then rubbed his hands together as if to warm them. “There's a particular student who's causing problems for me.”

At first my mind leapt to the idea that he was actually having an affair with a student. There were some girls just freaky enough they would give it up to an authority figure like Burke, even if his head resembled a winter squash.

“What kind of problem? If you want my help, you're going to need to be specific,” I said, fighting the urge to check my watch. I was already behind schedule and now I had to think through how I was going to get David laid. The calendar was filling up quickly.

“Travis Marsh,” he said.

“I think I know him,” I said. I nodded and squinted one eye, as if searching my memory for Travis's face. “Gritty guy, blond hair?”

Of course I knew who Travis was. I sold him at least a quarter ounce of pot a week. It was unclear why Travis persisted in coming to school. He never studied, barely attended class, and was probably reading at about a third-grade level. I could only assume teachers passed him just to remove the threat that they might end up with him in their classroom for another year. Travis was big, over six feet, and muscle-bound. Sometimes he liked to bully the weaker kids, but he had never given me any problem.

“That's the one,” Burke said, reeling me back to the present.

“What about him?” I asked.

“He's a threat to my authority,” Burke said, his voice tight with strain. “He doesn't care how much trouble he gets in. No matter how many times he gets sent to the office, he just treats it like a joke. The other students, my staff, everyone sees me as ineffective because I can't control him. The other day, he put graffiti on my car.”

“How do you know it was him?” I asked.

“He signed his name,” Burke said, his voice heavy with defeat.

“Did you call the cops?”

“The police said it wasn't proof enough, that anyone could have done it and signed Travis's name. No fingerprints, no serious crime, so they aren't going to pursue it. But half the students saw it before I covered it up. Travis Marsh is threatening the very fabric of this school's discipline system. He has to be stopped.” By the end of this little tirade, beads of sweat had broken out on his brow and flecks of spittle dotted his lower lip.

I gave him a minute to compose himself before speaking again. “What do you think I can do about it?” I asked.

“I want him gone,” Burke said, though I could tell it cost him something to admit it.

“Gone? Like dead?” I asked, mostly to amuse myself, but still curious to see what he would say.

Burke looked stricken, his eyes wide. “No!” he cried. “I didn't mean … Jesus, you couldn't … I mean, you wouldn't, right?”

“You couldn't afford it, even if I was offering that kind of service,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. “So, what did you have in mind?”

He still looked a little uncertain, one hairy knuckle pressed against his chin like a contemplative chimpanzee. “He's only seventeen. According to the law, he can stay in the public school system for three more years. Things will spiral out of control by winter break if he's still here. I need an excuse to expel him—an incontrovertible reason,” Burke said. This last comment was weighted with the full implication of what he was asking.

“It's an interesting problem,” I said pensively.

“Does that mean you'll do it?” he asked, then held his breath as he waited for my reply.

“Maybe. You know there's a price involved?”

“I assumed as much,” he said as he started to reach for his back pocket.

“Not that kind of price,” I said. “You keep your money. Once I've solved your problem, you'll owe me a favor. Give me a week. If I need to communicate with you, it will be through an associate of mine.” He opened his mouth to protest but I cut him off. “Don't worry. She's discreet. And we need her so that there can be no connection traced back between you and me.”

“Okay, fine,” he said, and started to smile, then seemed to remember that wouldn't be appropriate.

I brushed past him on my way to the door. Now I was really behind schedule.

 

TWO

When I pulled up to the curb at Ken Foster's house about an hour later, he and his posse were tossing a football around in the front yard. His house was a massive brick Georgian-style structure with an ornate cast-iron gate blocking the gravel drive. The perfectly manicured lawn might as well have been green carpet, no stray fallen leaves permitted to clutter the garden beds or blemish the chemically treated grass.

I had ignored the six texts Ken had sent me since the end of the school day. It's not like he was paying me to be his pen pal.

Ken was surrounded by his usual entourage. With their black and gold letter jackets they looked like a swarm of wasps. They were all WASPs, and the corner of my mouth curled up as the thought struck me as funny.

Ken's closely cropped black hair glistened with styling product and he had a permanent five-o'clock shadow darkening his jaw. Ken was considered dreamy by just about every skirt, and some of the helmets, roaming the halls of Wakefield High School. Usually I tried to fly under the radar of guys like Ken. He was too much of a public figure—captain of the football team, leading candidate for homecoming king, and all-around douche.

“Hey, Sway!” Ken called to me as I climbed out of my car. I cringed mentally at his use of my nickname. “Where the hell've you been? I've been texting you all afternoon.”

“Hey, Ken,” I said, ignoring his question and his posse.

“Did you get it?” he asked, moving closer to peer into the back of my car.

“Of course,” I said. “Two kegs of the crappiest beer available.”

He laughed, though I hadn't said anything intended to be funny.

Ken and I were not friends. I don't really do close friendships. Attachments to other people are a liability. I orbited his clique, the good-looking, athletically capable kids who hogged all the popularity and the attention, but none of them were my friends.

The posse wrestled the kegs out of the car while Ken and I stood back watching them. It took all four of them to carry the kegs up the driveway and around the house to the backyard, leaving just Ken and me standing by the curb.

“You sticking around?” Ken asked. “My parents are gone all week, so this should be a killer party.”

“I might be back later,” I said noncommittally. “For now I'm just here long enough to get my money.”

“Right,” he said as he reached to pull his wallet out of his back pocket. He counted out a stack of twenties and handed them to me. I had turned to go when he called me back.

“Hey, Alderman,” Ken said, his voice lowered conspiratorially. “Listen, there's something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” I asked with feigned interest.

He took a moment to look around the deserted yard, make sure he was not overheard. “I want you to get me a girl,” he said.

“Well, you know, that's not really my line. Not that I object to it on moral or legal grounds,” I said, holding up both hands in supplication, “but, strictly speaking, I don't mess with prostitutes or call girls.”

“Not that kind of girl,” Ken said, sounding a little pissed at the suggestion that he would be desperate enough to pay for it. “Just a regular girl.”

“What do you want me to do, abduct her?” I asked.

“Very funny, wiseass,” he said, and I noticed his cheeks went a little red. Intriguing. “You're the guy who gets people things, right? And what I want is for you to get me a girl.”

“It won't be cheap,” I said, making sure we were clear on that point.

“Whatever you're charging, I can afford it.”

I suppressed a sigh and gave him my full attention. “I'm listening.”

He glanced over each shoulder again to see if we had an audience before saying, “Her name is Bridget Smalley and I want her to go out with me.”

“Have you tried just asking her?”

“Of course I asked her,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “She said no. Said she didn't think we had anything in common.” His brow was wrinkled with confused frustration. I'm sure this was the first time in Ken's life he'd been denied something that looks and money could buy.

Technically, David Cohen had not hired me to get him a date with Heather Black. At least from his perspective he saw it as me doing him a favor, didn't realize that by accepting such a favor, he was putting himself in debt. David was the most socially awkward person on the planet, so getting him a date with anyone would be worth a half dozen term papers. Getting him a date with Heather Black, the most popular girl in school, would give me enough capital to own David for the rest of his high school career.

But Ken hiring me to get him a girl just didn't make any sense and it wasn't exactly a job I wanted. Still, business is business, and I'm not in the habit of turning down money.

“Why do you want to go out with her?” I asked.

“Who gives a shit?” he asked hotly. “You hosting your own talk show or something?”

“And you want me to do what?” I asked.

“I want you to make it happen,” he said. “Figure out how to get her to go out with me.”

I let my mind wander for a minute. Thinking, for me, is not as straightforward as it is for most people. It takes time to work through all the angles.

“Well?” Ken said expectantly.

“I thought girls were falling all over themselves to go out with you. What's so special about this chick?”

“Well, she's beautiful, for one thing.”

“Lots of girls are beautiful,” I said dismissively.

“This one's different,” Ken said.

“Will she be here tonight?”

He shook his head. “No, I asked her. She said her parents have a pretty strict curfew but I think she was just blowing me off.”