The Last Reporter (26 page)

“Well,” said Adam. “I know the birth date of the kid. And this kid has the same birth date.”

“Wait now, Canfield. So this Cox lady had a baby on the same date that the baby was found in the diner bathroom? At the All-Nite?”

“Exactly,” said Adam. “That’s why I think it’s him.”

“Geez,” said the detective. “My God. This could be it. Well, where do we find this Cox woman? We’d love to . . . you know . . . talk to her. . . .”

“Oh, I don’t have a clue,” said Adam.

“OK,” said the detective. “Let’s see — do you know someone who does?”

“I thought
you
might,” said Adam. “That’s why I was calling. I thought maybe you found her. Not you exactly. The police. And you’d know about it. And might be able to tell me.”

“Oh, no, Canfield,” said the detective. “Why do you think I’m asking you all these questions? We’d love to find her. So, how do you know it’s her? Who told you?”

“No one told me,” said Adam. “I just figured it out myself.”

“Geez, kid . . . you figured it out yourself? But no one told you? . . . You’re not hearing voices or nothing are you, Canfield? Look, I seen your house, I met your folks. They seemed pretty stable. Didn’t seem like they’d have a wack-job kid.”

“Not me,” said Adam. “I’m not the wack job. It’s Shadow — Theodore Cox. Actually, he’s not a wack job, either. He’s just . . . kind of different, you know? I don’t know exactly what it is, but he’s in Special Ed classes, 107A, like he might be a little developmentally disabled . . .”

“Canfield, I’m thinking of coming over there and arresting you for harassing a police officer — namely me,” said the detective. “This ain’t no joke. This case has been in our cold case file — it’s one of the biggest unsolved crimes in Tremble history. You better not be making this stuff up.”

“No,” said Adam. “I swear. I’d never do that — did you say unsolved?”

“I did,” said the detective. “Unsolved. We never found the woman who left that baby. You didn’t know that?”

“Never found her?” asked Adam.

“No,” said the detective. “Why do you think I’m asking her name?”

“You’re asking me?” said Adam. “I was asking you. I know the kid. Not the mother.”

Adam heard a loud bang and without thinking screamed, “Don’t shoot!”

The detective laughed. “That’s funny,” he said. “I was just testing to see how hard I could bang the phone on the desk and not break it — they make ’em pretty good. Look, Canfield, I’m at the point, I don’t have a freakin’ clue what we’re talking about anymore. Why don’t you back up and tell me exactly what you know about this case and why you’re calling. Go ahead. Nice and slow. I promise not to get upset.”

“Should I go back to the school project part?” asked Adam.

“You go back to wherever you need to go,” said the detective.

So he did. Adam explained about Mrs. Stanky’s project profiling a kid, about the microfilm, and about seeing the page-one story on the baby found in the diner bathroom. “The story said a baby left like that could suffer brain damage and stuff,” said Adam. “And this boy I’m writing about — Theodore Cox — his nickname is Shadow, that’s what everyone calls him — like I explained, he’s in Special Ed. And he lives in foster care. He doesn’t have any parents. And I figured, if a mother did that to her baby, they’d take the baby away and put him in foster care. So I thought maybe that baby had grown up to be Shadow — born on the same day and everything. And really, that’s what I wanted to know. Is that baby in the story my friend Shadow? That’s all. I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to bother anybody. I just wanted to . . . you know . . . find the truth . . . I didn’t mean to upset you, especially when you’re on the clock and everything.”

The line was quiet.

“Detective Cole,” Adam said. “Is it him?”

“No, it’s not,” said the detective.

Adam waited, but the detective was quiet.

“How do you know?” asked Adam.

“I just know. Your friend is not that baby.”

“I’m really sorry,” said Adam. “Someone else told me the same thing — I’d just like to know, for my own mind, how you know? Please.”

“It’s just not,” said the detective.

“Do you know the real kid?” asked Adam. “I’m not asking his name. I just kind of wonder — you know, what he’s like. Did he turn out to be normal and everything?”

“No, he didn’t,” said the detective.

“Well, what’s he like?” asked Adam.

“He’s not like anything,” said the detective. “That baby died.”

“They want to meet us by the boys’ baseball field,” said Jennifer.

“Way over there?” said Adam. “That’s where they want to do the interview? Great.”

“It’s not like that,” said Jennifer.

“Oh, yes, it is,” said Adam. “They must know. They have to know. Otherwise why would they? Have you ever done an interview for the
Slash
out in back of the school?”

“Sure,” said Jennifer, “when I interviewed the seventh-grade softball coach —”

“When you weren’t covering sports?” Adam asked.

Jennifer seemed to be racking her brain, but Adam wasn’t buying it.

“You meet someone out back if you’re going to fight,” said Adam. “Not when you’re looking for a friendly exchange of ideas.”

“We’re going to be fine,” said Jennifer. “Give me a little credit.”

“Fine,” said Adam.

“Fine,” repeated Jennifer. “Really.”

Adam nodded, but he didn’t mean it. Jennifer didn’t get how vicious boys could be. Most girls didn’t. She’d never been punched in the nose hard by someone who really meant it. The hurting wasn’t the worst part. It was feeling like you were going to throw up and the tears coming into your eyes and you couldn’t even see straight to smack the jerk back.

They’d been waiting by the backstop about ten minutes when they saw two boys walking across the fields.

“Who’s the other one?” asked Adam. “Billy Cutty? The campaign manager?”

Jennifer nodded.

This was great. He was bigger, too.

“So, Big Adam,” said Stub, “how’s it going? Ever get your bike back? I’ve been keeping my eyes open.”

“Not yet,” said Adam, “but thanks.” Adam felt uneasy; he hadn’t expected Stub to be nice.

“Heard you wanted to see us,” said Stub. “Something about a story on the election. That right, Billy?”

“That’s it, Stub,” said Billy. “That’s what Jennifer told me.”

“Hey, I don’t know you,” Stub said to Jennifer, and he held out his hand to shake hers. “Wow. I always thought kids on the student paper, were, you know, kind of nerdy — no offense, but boy, I was wrong. You’ll want one of these.” He motioned for Billy to give Jennifer a Prez Stub button.

Oh, God, Adam could feel it; he was blushing again. Why wouldn’t his body just do the normal stuff and leave him alone? Why was his blood in such a hurry to rush to his face? Why couldn’t it stay under his neck where it belonged, slosh around in his chest like everyone else’s?

He had a terrible thought — if he got a bloody nose, would the extra blood make it bloodier?

“You OK, Big Adam?” said Stub. “You’re looking a little tomatoey over there. You two aren’t . . . Hey, I’m sorry . . . I’m certainly not . . .”

“Stub’s just friendly with everybody,” said Billy Cutty. “It’s nothing personal. Just turning on his campaign face.”

“That’s it,” said Stub. “Got to shine it on everyone. Everyone’s a vote. Tuesday’s the biggie.”

They all nodded.

There was an awkward quiet.

“You know, I’ve got a question,” said Stub. “A little confusion is what it is. Billy tells me you’re doing a story — I thought the
Sash
—”

“Slash,”
said Jennifer.

“Right, right, the
Slatch
— I thought it got shut down or something. By the principal? Quigs did the dirty I heard. That right? You guys got in some trouble or some deal?”

“Something like that,” said Jennifer. “But we figured how to keep it going. It’s definitely coming out. Last week of school.”

“Cool,” said Stub. “When I win, I’ll give you guys a nice interview. Fill you in on my plans for next year. Ice-cream parlor in the cafeteria. McDonald’s for lunch. New skateboard park. Make a nice front-page story. ‘
PREZ STUB SAYS BIG CHANGES COMING
!’”

“That’s great,” said Jennifer. “It’s good to have all that in the paper, for the record, so when we really do get the stuff, people will know whose idea it was.”

“Prez Stub,” said Stub.

Right, thought Adam.

Adam was especially looking forward to the roller coaster in the boys’ bathroom.

“That cover it?” asked Stub. “We got stuff to do. Election’s coming fast. Can’t let up. Never can get enough votes, hey, Billy?”

Billy Cutty nodded.

“We’re trying for a shutout,” said Stub. “Heh, heh. Anyway, nice talking. Don’t forget, Prez Stub!”

“Ah, Stub,” said Jennifer. “We have a few questions —”

“Sorry, Jan,” Stub said. “GTG. We’ll do it after the election. Date?” And he turned to leave.

“Stub,” called Jennifer, but he kept walking.

“Ah, Stub,” said Billy Cutty, “I told Jennifer we’d do this. I think she has something else.”

Stub looked at Billy. “You think she has something else?” said Stub. “Did I hear that? You think she has something else? You’re telling me? If I remember, I’m the one running for president. Do I have that right?”

“Stub, take it easy,” said Billy. “Jennifer’s cool. She’s in my math class. I just told her —”

“Ahhhh,” said Stub. “Well, maybe you should have told me before you told her.”

“What are you talking about?” said Billy. “You’re acting crazy.”

“Oh, I’m acting crazy?” said Stub. “This isn’t even a school paper anymore. They got shut down. Lying or stealing or something, for all I know. None of this counts. I don’t got to talk to them.”

He turned to walk off, and Billy grabbed his arm.

“Drop dead, asshole,” said Stub, and he pushed Billy hard to the ground.

Adam stood frozen in place while Jennifer bent over to help Billy. “Are you all right?” she asked him. “Are you bleeding? You are. Your hand.”

“I’m sorry,” Billy said.

This was weird, thought Adam — there was definitely something big going on here, but he did not have time to sort it out. He had worked too hard on this story. He had planned everything down to the last second. He had figured how to get those kids to talk to him and tell him the truth about the downloads. Who else would have pulled that off? And the funny thing was — he didn’t even care about the stupid election. It wouldn’t make one bit of difference who was president — the grown-ups ran the school.

The only way they were getting McDonald’s for lunch was if they skipped school and went to the drive-through.

On the other hand, the principle of it pissed him off. Buying the stupid election? What a jerk.

Adam ran after him. He was sure Stub knew what they were up to, but they hadn’t asked him a single question. They had to at least tell him what they were up to. They had to tell him what their investigation was about. They had to give him a chance to answer — those were the rules.

Adam knew what was going to happen. He knew exactly what Stub’s answer would be. It didn’t matter.

“Stub,” he said, catching up, “wait.”

Stub kept walking fast.

Adam fell into step beside him.

Adam was sure of it: everything was about to explode. But in that last calm moment, he had the strangest thought. He knew Stub was about to beat the crap out of him, but for some ridiculous reason, he felt sorry for Stub. Walking straight ahead, pretending nothing was going on, when Stub knew full well that he was about to be called out for what he did. He couldn’t control it, and he was hoping he could make it all disappear by just walking fast and looking straight ahead.

“We got evidence that you gave kids free iPod downloads to vote for you!” yelled Adam.

Stub stopped, then turned to face Adam. “Oh, you got evidence, huh? I can’t give friends downloads? Big Adam got a problem with that?”

“We got a list — 143 kids. They all friends?” asked Adam. “That your answer?”

“Really?” said Stub. “Can I see that list, or am I supposed to trust you?”

Adam nodded. That was fair. Stub was entitled. Adam pulled a copy of the list from his back pocket and handed it to Stub. He had his notebook and pen ready to get a comment.

Stub ripped the paper into several pieces. “Sorry,” said Stub. “My fingers slipped.”

“Right,” said Adam, making a note. “So that’s your answer? Anything else?”

“This,” said Stub, and he knocked the notebook and pen out of Adam’s hand and, raising his arms, lunged toward Adam. Stub was trying to get him in a headlock, and his right arm brushed Adam’s head, but Adam twisted, ducked, and just squirmed loose.

Stub pivoted back toward him.

“Stop it!” someone screamed. Was that Jennifer? She sounded so far away.

Adam’s hand was in his pocket. He’d had enough. He was sick and tired of being pushed around. He’d stood there like an idiot when those high-school kids had mugged him last winter and taken his shoveling money. He’d let some jerk steal his bike right from in front of the house. Not again. No way. He pulled out the plastic bag. He gave it one quick, hard, tight twirl high over his head. And then, just as Stub straightened up and raised his arms to lunge again, Adam leaned toward him and whipped that plastic bag with the hard white sphere inside as if it were a lead ball and chain wielded by a gladiator in ancient times — smacking it straight into Stub’s stomach.