Darkness

lashed out, catching Buddy’s cheek. A scream of pain mixed with outrage boiled up out of Buddy’s throat, and he lunged toward Michael. Then a new sound rose out of the night, drowning out the shouting.

It was the scream of a police siren, and it was only a few hundred feet away.

“Cops!” someone yelled. Instantly the fight was forgotten as kids hurled beer cans into the narrow alley between Arlette’s and the building next door.

Seconds later a police car screeched to a halt on the other side of Buddy Hawkins’s Trans Am. “Hold it right there!” Marty Templar demanded, his voice amplified by the bullhorn on the roof of his car. Templar got out of the police car and approached the knot of kids who were now huddled silently on the sidewalk, his right hand resting casually on the butt of his pistol. “Well, well,” he drawled. “What have we got here? Little gathering that got out of hand?” His eyes raked over Buddy Hawkins, then shifted to Michael, whose face was scraped, his clothes torn. “What’re you doing hanging out with this bunch?” he asked. “Never had any trouble with you before.”

Michael said nothing, his eyes fixing on the sidewalk at his feet.

Templar’s attention shifted to Buddy Hawkins. “You wanta tell me what’s going on, or shall we all go down to the police station?” Before Buddy could reply, Templar spotted the four six-packs of beer stowed behind the front seat of the Trans Am. “Okay,” he said. “A fight’s one thing. The beer’s something else again. Hawkins, you and Sheffield get in my car.” He scanned the small group of kids who, now nervous, were avoiding his gaze. “Any of you not drinking?” he asked.

Two of the boys and a girl stepped forward. After sniffing their breaths, he nodded curtly at them. “One of you bring Hawkins’s car, and the other Sheffield’s bike. Meet me at the station.” He let his gaze run over the kids, one by one. “And don’t any of you get any ideas about taking off,” he added. “I know every one of you, and I don’t want any bullshit. Got it?”

As he turned back to the car, he spotted Kelly. Frowning, he paused. “Who are you?”

Kelly hesitated. “K-Kelly Anderson,” she finally stammered. Templar’s eyes narrowed.

“Carl Anderson’s granddaughter?”

Kelly nodded.

“Who’re you with?”

“Michael. But we didn’t do—”

Templar silenced her with a gesture. “Get in my car.”

• • •

Ted Anderson, his temper simmering, arrived at the police station behind the post office. Craig Sheffield was already there, and Ted, ignoring the other worried-looking parents clustered around the duty officer’s desk, crossed the room to glower at him. “What the hell’s going on?” he demanded. “If your kid took my daughter out and got her drunk—”

“Now hold on, Ted,” Craig broke in. “I just got here myself, and we don’t even know what happened yet.”

“It was a fight,” a third man said. “They was all out in front of Arlette’s, and your kid got into it with Buddy Hawkins.”

“Michael?” Craig asked. “I don’t believe it. Michael’s—” His words died on his lips as the door to one of the back rooms opened and Michael, his face smeared with drying blood, emerged. His jaw tight, Craig’s hand clamped on his son’s shoulder. “What the hell’s going on, Michael?” he asked. “I told you—”

“Can we just go home, Dad?” Michael pleaded. “I didn’t do anything, and neither did Kelly. She’ll be out in a minute.”

“No, we can’t just go home,” Craig replied. “Not until I’ve talked to Marty Templar myself. Sit.” Turning, he strode back to the office from which Michael had just emerged, rapped on the door once, then let himself in. When he came out again, Kelly Anderson was beside him. He moved through the knot of parents, then spoke to Ted Anderson.

“They’re done with our kids,” he said. “But he’s booking some of the others for possession of alcohol. I’m going to have to stay around — half these people are my clients. Will you drop Michael off?”

Ted nodded, and Craig turned back to face his son. “Don’t think this is the end of it, Michael. The police may be done with you, but I haven’t even started yet.” Before Michael could say anything else, Craig turned away and began explaining to Billy-Joe Hawkins that beer had been found in his son’s car.

Michael followed Ted Anderson and Kelly out to the parking lot and slid silently into the cab of the company truck, with Kelly between her father and himself.

“I–I’m sorry about what happened, Mr. Anderson,” Michael said as Ted pulled out of the parking lot and swung down Ponce Avenue.

“I’d say you’re not half as sorry as you’re going to be after your father gets through with you,” Ted growled. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut before I decide to show you just how mad I can get.”

Michael shrank down in the seat, saying nothing else until the truck pulled up in front of his house a few minutes later. As he opened the door, he turned to Kelly. “I’m really sorry,” he said, but Kelly shook her head.

“It wasn’t your fault. I was the one who took the beer. If you want, I’ll tell your dad tomorrow—”

“You won’t be talking to anybody for a while, young lady,” Ted Anderson interrupted, reaching across Kelly to yank the door closed.

Only when the truck turned the corner at the end of the block and disappeared did Michael finally go into the house to try to explain to his mother what had happened.

And to wait for his father to come home.

That was when the real trouble would start.

• • •

“What the hell kind of kids are you hanging around with?” Ted demanded, the anger that had been building up in him since the police had called almost an hour ago boiling over. He pulled the truck over to the side of the road and turned to glare at his daughter.

“I don’t even know those kids,” Kelly replied. “We weren’t even with them!”

“Right!” Ted snapped, etching his words with sarcasm. “You and that little son of a bitch just happened to be wandering by, and someone jumped you. I’m not an idiot, Kelly!”

“It wasn’t that way!”

“Then how was it?” Ted demanded. “And don’t give me any of your lies, Kelly. I’ve had it up to here with them!”

Kelly shrank back against the door. “It was a girl,” she said, her voice quavering. “She — She was talking about me.”

“What do you mean, talking about you? What did she say?”

Melanie’s words echoing in her mind, Kelly said nothing, but stared out the window into the darkness beyond the cab of the pickup.

“I’m waiting,” Ted said. “We’re not going anywhere until I know what the hell was going on tonight, understand?”

“She — She said I was crazy,” Kelly breathed.

“Who?” Ted demanded.

“Her name’s Melanie. She was with the guy who was fighting with Michael. She told everyone I was the crazy girl who tried to kill herself.”

“Well, what the hell did you expect, talking to kids like that? They’re exactly the kind we’re trying to keep you away from!”

“I–I was just trying to be friendly,” Kelly pleaded. “I didn’t know what was going to happen.”

Ted’s anger welled up in him again. “What do you mean, you didn’t know? It’s always the same thing with you, isn’t it? You hang around with a bunch of no-good trashy kids, and then say you didn’t know what was going to happen. Sometimes I think maybe you are—” He caught himself, clipping off the word before it escaped his lips, but it was too late. Kelly was staring at him.

“Crazy?” she said. “Is that what you were going to say? Well, maybe I am crazy! Maybe I’ve always been crazy, and always will be!”

“Kelly,” Ted began, “I didn’t mean that—” But Kelly jerked the door of the truck open, and scrambled out.