“Hey! You homos deaf!!? The CD stopped!”
“We are talking here, Artie!”
“Just change it, asshole!”
The exhibitionist spoke up.
“Put on something I can dance to.”
“Hear that, Rick? Hello Kitty wants to dance!”
The boy that Rick had engaged in intense conversation turned and walked away during the yelling.
“Where are you going, Jeremy? We’re not done yet!”
“I’m takin’ a pee. Calm down.”
Jeremy heaved the door open with drunken momentum. The plow was visible in the moonlight. It acted as a good point of reference when the eyes weren’t working so well. Singing the last few words of the song that just stopped, he stumbled forward and whipped down his fly. Inside, the music started up again. A moment later, 3 figures emerged from behind the plow.
And the boy was beaten within an inch of his life.
7. Near the abandoned Meadowbrook Dairy Farm - On a Bike
Gordy’s best kept secret was his encyclopedia-like knowledge of classic film and television. All the way through elementary school, he spent every afternoon with his Bubbe and Zaydee until his parents finished work. He was subjected daily to selections from his Zaydee’s (grandfather’s) vast library of DVD’s. Comedies and War films were most common, but equal time was given to binge viewings of the Dick Van Dyke show.
For a single reason, his favorite film from the collection was a goofy comedy called Guide for the Married Man, starring Walter Matthau. There was a line in the film that Gordy came to regard as the “secret to an easy life.” Matthau’s co-star, whose name Gordy could never remember, was going through the steps one would take to successfully cheat on his wife. Among his pearls of wisdom was “the key to a good lie is making it as close to the truth as possible.”
The key to a good lie is making it as close to the truth as possible.
The concept was simple, brilliant, and had served him well. It helped him deal with his nosy parents, his ass-hat teachers, and, most recently, a couple of fascist detectives.
He felt himself a genius.
With the accuracy, sincerity, and detail that could only result from the truth, Gordy had told Lynch and Gomez about the Forever Damned concert. He recalled, with all the trimmings, being in general seating behind a bunch of guys in trench coats. He listed what songs were played, gave them the exact time the show ended; he even produced the ticket stub. He, however, left out one pivotal detail. He had, in truth, gone to the concert with the guys in the coats. He spent the whole evening fetching beers, but he was with them, nonetheless.
He’d used his credo to get one over on the pigs, and now he was on his way to the barn, uninvited, to brag about it. He was not doing well on the gravel. He kept his head down, homing into the barn using moonlight and shadows. When the light behind the grass started to flicker blue and red, he brought his eyes forward discovering, to his horror, that the building was beset by the Potterford PD. Sloppily, he skidded around and tried to double back, only to find himself face to grill with a slow-moving car. The car’s headlights instantly ignited, causing Gordy to fall sideways with a simian grunt.
The car came to a complete stop, and 2 men emerged. Gordy recognized their voices.
“You okay, Gordy?”
“Yes, Detective Gomez. I’m fine.”
“Good. Get in the car.”
This was their second crime scene in less than 5 hours. Sergeant Reilly, Sergeant Carrie Warner (Reilly’s partner), and four uniforms were already there.
“Can you believe it? These little pricks did what they did, and now I have to work for them?”
“Take it down a notch, Reilly. What happened?”
“Seven of these Unjudged retards were partyin’ in the barn. One leaves to take a piss and gets jumped.”
“How bad?”
“He’s still breathin’, so not bad enough.”
Lynch took a look around. Four of the gang members were spread around the scene, waiting for whatever was going to happen next. One of them, the arrogant one with platinum blonde hair, caught Lynch’s eye and gave him a douchy thumbs-up with a douchier grin.
“Any chance the kid was jumped by his own gang?”
“Doubtful. We’ve questioned each one separately, and all the stories are consistent. Carrie’s pretty good at trickin’ ‘em, and so far, everything stands up.”
“Where are the rest?”
“Inside, except for the beat-up one. He left in the back of an ambulance maybe a half an hour ago.”
Warner emerged from the barn.
“What are you guys doing here? We didn’t call for back-up.”
“Believe it or not, we’re working our case. Whaddayagot?”
“Show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”
The victim was named Jeremy Sokol. He was 20 years old, had a clean rap sheet, and according to the rest of the gang, was well liked.
The party started around 7:00 pm, as was normal for a Saturday. Everyone arrived in the same cruddy customized van nicknamed “Zed-Zed.”
“Stupid thing to call a van.”
“There are two Z’s on the license plate.”
“It’s still stupid.”
Those assembled represented a little under a half of the Unjudged or “UJ” membership. None of them left the building from the time the party started to when the police arrived: a rock-hard alibi for everyone if it held up.
“Okay, Kev. Ready?”
Reilly rubbed his hands together as if preparing for a meal.
“Born ready.”
The uniforms gathered everyone and lined them up along the barn. Lynch did the talking.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your patience. Now, if you would be so kind as to turn around and face the barn.”
They complied, revealing the backs of their trench coats and a row of six white symbols. Lynch and Gomez held up their print-outs and walked along the line, starting at opposite ends and working their way to the center. Lynch walked especially slowly past the fellow with the platinum blonde hair.
“What’s your name, son?”
“Arthur, sir. I have to tell you, I’m feeling a little like I’m in front of a
