Agent Jack Knight: The Beginning Read online



  I. M. Donne’s

  Agent Jack Knight:

  The Beginning

  AJK Series Book One

  L. M. Reed

  Copyright L. M. Reed 2010

  Check out Book 2 in the Agent Jack Knight Series:

  Agent Jack Knight: China

  Coming soon:

  Agent Jack Knight: Russia

  Dedication

  To all the men and women, civilian and military, who daily commit their lives to keeping America safe for all of us.

  Thank you for your service.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to take this opportunity to thank the three people who have helped me through the entire process of writing and publishing my book: My oldest daughter Autumn for putting together my cover and proofreading my novel over and over, my youngest daughter Michelle whose cute turn of phrase has inspired many of my best scenes and funniest lines, and my spouse Cary whose technical expertise kept my laptop running, and kept me from pulling out every last hair on my head.

  This novel was definitely a group effort.

  Thank you.

  Prologue

  1968

  “What a mess.”

  “Inside of the car smelled like a brewery.”

  “Friday night partiers…?”

  “Yep, and all looked to be under the legal drinking age.”

  “Hey, we’ve got two live ones in the back.”

  “You’re kiddin’ me.”

  “No I’m not…see…there…”

  There was a moment of silence as faces peered through the crunched glass and twisted metal.

  “Hey! Hurry up with the Jaws of Life we got two live ones here!” a voice yelled urgently. “Hang on kids, we’ll get you out.”

  “They must have been riding in the very back of the station wagon, otherwise there’s no way they could have survived,” the voices were becoming fainter.

  “Poor kids, orphans now, hope they have other family,” another voice said sympathetically. “They’re gonna need…” the voice trailed off into blackness.

  The Early Years

  1970

  “Come on,” the redheaded, freckle faced boy named Tommy urged. “Hurry up!”

  “I’m working as fast as I can,” I replied calmly. “If you think you can do better…” I released the lock and stepped back.

  “You know I can’t,” he whined, pacing back and forth behind me. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see him wringing his chubby little hands. “Just hurry it up,” he said nervously.

  “Go check on Nicky,” I ordered coldly as I started on the lock again. “You’re bothering me.”

  Of course, he didn’t leave. I hadn’t expected him to. He had his directive and it was to stick to me like glue, besides the fact that Nicky was the perfect lookout and seldom needed any help. One glance at Nicky’s dimples, curly black hair, full pink cheeks, and dark puppy dog eyes and even the most hardened heart melted.

  Although I had the same surface features, minus the dimples, I was more likely to scare than entice with my tall, thin, angular frame while Nicky was a cherub. Once he began his little lost boy act, teachers were more than willing to help him find his classroom or the bathroom or the water fountain whichever ruse Nicky decided would work best at that moment.

  “There,” I said moving out of the way and leaning against the neighboring locker door, not caring what happened once my part was done, “have at it.”

  Tommy opened his backpack eagerly and began greedily emptying the locker’s contents into it.

  “Wow!” he exclaimed. “Rich kids sure’ve got it made. Cool sneakers. If they fit, maybe Dad’ll let me keep ‘em.”

  He stopped for a moment to examine the waterproof watch he had discovered, pushing buttons gleefully.

  “Just finish so we can go,” I said irritably, the avarice on his face sickening me.

  I couldn’t have cared less what was in the locker; my only concern was that Nicky would be safe for one more day because I had followed orders. Sweet, innocent Nicky who was naïve enough to believe there was still good in the world despite all of the bad things that had happened to him in his short life; he was the only thing that mattered.

  “Done,” Tommy announced triumphantly. “You can close it up now.”

  Turning back to the locker, I froze at the sound of an unfamiliar voice behind me.

  “You’re done alright,” the voice agreed. “Drop the backpack and both of you up against the lockers.”

  “I’m sorry, Jack,” I heard Nicky’s tearful voice behind me.

  “Not your fault, Nicky,” I muttered risking a glance at him, noting Principal Adams’ death grip on his upper arm. “Nothing is your fault.”

  “I said up against the lockers,” the police officer grabbed the back of my collar and slammed me into the lockers next to an already whimpering Tommy.

  I stayed perfectly still, feeling a strange kind of relief at finally getting caught. Now maybe Nicky will be safe, I thought in satisfaction. I didn’t care what they did with me as long as someone got Nicky out of the Shaw’s house. I would make sure that happened. I had to.

  After frisking us—Tommy’s face was ashen and I expected him to upchuck at any moment—the cop followed the principal, with Nicky in tow, to the office keeping a firm grip on both Tommy’s and my jacket collars to keep us from escaping. Mine was unbuttoned and I felt like Frankenstein’s monster with my arms lifted in an unnatural position, left there to flop uncontrollably in the air because of the way the officer’s hold was yanking my jacket up.

  A vague idea of how to turn the situation to my advantage began slowly evolving in my mind.

  I had to bide my time, watching carefully for an opening, because I might only get one shot. I couldn’t risk Tommy overhearing, the little weasel would take great delight in snitching to his parents, his dislike of me obvious from the first day, and if my hastily conceived plan didn’t work the Shaws would continue to hurt Nicky in order to punish me and keep me in line.

  As the policeman pushed Tommy through the doorway of the outer office, I saw my chance. Slipping out of my jacket, almost dislocating my shoulders in the process, I managed to escape the man’s grasp and head down the hallway at full speed, the officer in pursuit, yelling at me to stop. I planned to stop, but not until I had rounded the corner of an adjoining passageway.

  I was standing there waiting for him as he made the turn and sped past me, unable to slow down in time.

  “I’m here,” I called softly as he slid to a stop just a few feet from me. “Please…I need to talk to you alone before you call my foster parents,” I pleaded as he advanced on me determinedly.

  “Got a sob story?” he asked wearily. “I’ve heard ‘em all before,” he assured me grabbing the back of my t-shirt. I wondered irrelevantly whether cops underwent some sort of training for that, maybe there was even a whole class devoted to it: Collar Grabbing 101. “Let’s go.”

  “They’ll hurt my brother,” I said desperately planting my feet and trying to stop him from making the corner. I wasn’t sure whether Tommy was safely installed in the principal’s office and I couldn’t risk him seeing me deep in conversation with a cop. “I don’t care what you do to me, but you have to help my brother.”

  The officer halted abruptly and turned me to face him.

  “Who’s your brother?” he asked the beginnings of interest showing on his face.

  “The little one the principal was holding,” I said in relief. At least he was listening. “We live with foster parents and they make us steal for them. I wouldn’t do it at first, but then they started hurting Nicky every time I told them no. P
lease just get Nicky out of their house. Please.”

  Although I felt the familiar lump in my throat I refused to cry, hadn’t cried since the first month after the accident. We weren’t given any choice, the Shaws were the only foster parents who would take both of us after the accident that had claimed our parents and the Shaws didn’t allow tears; the cigarette burns on my back were a testimony to that fact.

  The officer looked into my eyes and something he saw must have at least slightly convinced him. He nodded and said, “I’ll look into it.”

  “You can’t tell Tommy, he’s their real kid,” I said suddenly fearful. “And he likes stealing.”

  “You talkin’ about the red-head?” the officer asked as he ushered me back towards the office.

  “Yes sir, he’s not smart enough to be any good at the things they trained me to do like pick pocketing and locks and things, but his parents don’t trust me to…anyway he goes with me to clean everything out,” I informed him quietly.

  We were fast approaching the office and I was afraid Tommy would overhear.

  The officer nodded again.

  Opening the door and shoving me in he said, breathing heavily, “Get in there you punk, make me run after you…” he muttered. “We’ll need to interview each one separately,” he said to the principal. “Do you have enough rooms available and someone who can keep them under surveillance?”

  “Of course Officer Ramirez,” the principal said agreeably. “You can interview them in my office. We’ll leave Nicky in here with the secretary and put Shaw with the vice principal while you interview Knight.”

  “I’d like to interview Shaw first,” Officer Ramirez said eyeing Tommy thoughtfully. “Then his parents can come pick him up.”

  “What about Jack and Nicky…?” Tommy asked in a panic, “They live with us, too.”

  “Since they’re wards of the state,” the principal pointed out, “We’ll have to involve Social Services. They’ll have to stay here until we get things straightened out.”

  “My parents aren’t going to like that,” Tommy warned.

  “You’re parents are going to have their hands full with you,” Ramirez remarked mildly. “I think that’s enough for them to deal with right now.”

  Vice Principal Stewart motioned for me to follow him to his office and I went willingly, winking reassuringly at Nicky as I left. I could tell he was scared stiff, but I felt sure someone would listen to us; he would be safe soon.

  I sat in the chair in front of Vice Principal Stewart’s desk staring at his nameplate, trying to breathe evenly and stay calm even though I was feeling far from it. Everything hinged on whether or not they believed us. If they sent us back to the Shaws, I was desperate enough to take Nicky and run away again.

  The previous year, not too long after we’d been placed with the Shaws, I’d tried to get Nicky out of there. I hadn’t planned anything out in advance, just made a desperate attempt to get away from them once I realized what type of place we had been sent to, but I was determined not to make the same mistake twice.

  I was older and smarter. If we had to run again, I would make good and sure they wouldn’t ever be able to find us. I couldn’t let them hurt him anymore.

  Time passed slowly, but eventually Principal Adams came to get me. He wasn’t much taller than I was but was more solidly built and balding on top. His habitual smile in abeyance, he was wearing what Mr. Shaw called a poker face—something Shaw had been training me to be able to do taking great delight in punishing Nicky to test me—so I had no idea what he was thinking.

  He led me through the outer office, deserted except for Mrs. Sullivan the secretary, and motioned me into his office.

  “Jack,” Nicky threw himself into my arms sobbing. “You’re okay.”

  “I’m fine,” I said shortly, emotion choking me as I helplessly held him, allowing him to cry for the first time in a year. “Where’s Tommy?” I asked abruptly.

  Tommy sadistically taunted Nicky constantly and then tattled to the Shaws whenever Nicky cried just to watch them punish him.

  “The Shaws took him home,” I noticed Mrs. Phelps, our Social Worker, for the first time, “Jack, I visit that house on a regular basis. Why didn’t you tell me what the Shaws were making you do?”

  Silently I pulled up Nicky’s shirt, allowing them to see the scars from old cigarette burns as well as the welts still healing from as recent as the previous week when I had adamantly refused to break into an old woman’s house and Mr. Shaw had whipped him.

  Ashamed, Nicky tried to force his shirt back down in order to hide his injuries. I let him. I saw no reason to show them mine; at that point, they weren’t relevant. Nicky’s were the only ones that mattered.

  “Lord have mercy,” Mrs. Phelps exclaimed in horror.

  “They said they would kill him if I ever told anyone,” I shrugged dully. “I believed them.”

  “What about the other two boys I placed with them?” Mrs. Phelps asked in trepidation. “They used to be in trouble all the time, but now they seem to have straightened up.”

  “The Shaws taught them how to avoid getting caught,” I said in disgust. “They don’t have to threaten them to do what they want. They enjoy it.”

  “Officer Ramirez we need to have the Shaws arrested immediately,” Mrs. Phelps said firmly. “We have plenty of evidence of abuse.”

  “We have evidence that someone has abused Nicky, but they could very well blame the other boys in the home,” Officer Ramirez pointed out. “Heck, they’d probably even try to pin it on his brother.”

  “I doubt they would get away with that,” I said quietly turning my back on them and lifting my shirt.

  Unlike Nicky’s mine were all old. Once they realized that I couldn’t be controlled by inflicting pain on me, they had turned their full attention to Nicky.

  At first, I had attempted to ignore Nicky and act like he was nothing more than an annoyance for his own sake instinctively knowing that was the only way to save him from abuse, but my resolve had crumbled at the first sign of tears in Nicky’s confused eyes. I couldn’t allow him to think I didn’t care about him; he could handle a lot of things, but not that. The Shaws were too cunning not to immediately pick up on my weakness and use it against me.

  “They could still blame the others boys and we don’t have any proof linking the Shaws to any thefts,” Officer Ramirez reminded us. “I’m sure they’ll deny any knowledge of the crimes.”

  “I’m more concerned with the safety of my foster children,” Mrs. Phelps replied sternly.

  “As am I,” Ramirez agreed, “but we need to look at the big picture here. I’d like to get them for abuse and be able to prove they’re running a theft ring. Right now all we have is the word of two kids who would most likely be portrayed as juvenile delinquents.”

  “You are not suggesting we send these two children back into the house of those…those…monsters?” Mrs. Phelps asked incredulously.

  “Not two children,” I corrected, “Just one. Me. Nicky stays out of it.”

  “No!” she protested vehemently. “I will not allow it.”

  “We could wire him for sound,” Officer Ramirez offered. “If we could get a recording of them admitting their involvement it would be a slam dunk in court.”

  “I’ll do it,” I said immediately. “But Nicky has to be somewhere safe.”

  “Nicky will be safe,” Ramirez promised softly, “They won’t ever be able to hurt him again. You have my word.”

  Mrs. Phelps continued to protest, but realizing the futility of arguing finally gave up and decided to do what she could to help. She wanted to put the Shaws behind bars for as long as possible and Officer Ramirez convinced her it was the best chance they had to do so.

  The hours that followed passed in a blur.

  Mrs. Phelps allowed a couple of plain clothes detectives to take Nicky to what they called a safe house.

  Although Nicky clung to me, crying h
arder than before—the dam had burst and he couldn’t seem to control his tears—I patted him reassuringly on the shoulder, practicing my deadpan expression careful to show no fear while I convinced him I would see him again soon. Reluctantly, he left with them, waving at me forlornly as the detectives guided him out the door.

  I resolutely turned my attention to the electronics expert explaining about the stuff they were taping to me. Not for the first time, I was extremely grateful for the section of my brain that seemed to remember whatever I saw or heard without much effort on my part. No one knew anything about the strange quirk of nature that had blessed or cursed me with that odd ability, not even Nicky, and I had no plans to tell anyone.

  Once I’d been thoroughly taped up, a couple of plain-clothes detectives took over explaining that both of the Shaws had to admit their involvement in the thefts and the abuse or one of them might walk. I nodded, too nervous to reply.

  The plan was for Mrs. Phelps to drop me off at the house in order to talk to the Shaws. I wasn’t sure she would be able to control herself, she was so angry with them, but once we were in her car she took a few deep breaths and turned to me smiling.

  “Are you ready for this?”

  “I think so.”

  “You don’t have to go through with it you know,” she said in concern. “No one would think worse of you.”

  “I would think worse of me,” I said firmly, wondering what the listening detectives thought about her last attempt to protect me. “I don’t care what happens to me, but you have to promise you won’t put Nicky in a bad place again. You have to promise me,” I insisted urgently.

  “I’ll take good care of you both,” Mrs. Phelps promised. “I’m sorry I allowed this to happen.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And here we go,” she sighed in resignation, starting the car.

  We drove in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Mine consisted mainly of desperately trying to relax and breathe.

  Once we arrived at the house, Mr. and Mrs. Shaw met us on the sidewalk, obviously anticipating our arrival. Seeing them side by side would have been humorous if the situation had been different, Mrs. Shaw must have outweighed her husband by at least 60 pounds and topped him by a good four inches.

  Nicky, quite the artist for a kid his age, had once drawn caricatures of them as a hippo and a weasel. The pictures were startling likenesses and I’d felt a stirring of amusement, the first I’d experienced in over a year, but I had forced him to rip up the cartoons and we’d destroyed them with matches that I’d swiped from the kitchen. The Shaw’s didn’t need another excuse to use Nicky as an ashtray.

  “Oh Mrs. Phelps, we were so worried about Jack and Nicky,” Mrs. Shaw gushed, putting her arm around my shoulder. I looked down, pretending shame when in reality I was hiding my anger. “Thank you for…”

  “Where’s Nicky,” Mr. Shaw interrupted abruptly.

  “He spiked a fever and started vomiting,” Mrs. Phelps lied smoothly. “We’re having the physician take a look at him. Depending on what the doctor says, I may be able to drop him by tonight before bedtime.”

  “Where is he? I’ll go get him,” Mr. Shaw was nothing if not persistent and he knew he would have a tough time with me minus his leverage.

  “I can assure you he is in safe hands, Mr. Shaw,” Mrs. Phelps said stiffly.

  “Of course he is,” Mrs. Shaw fawned. “You take such good care of the children. We’ll miss him and pray for his quick recovery so he can come back home where he belongs.”

  I had a hard time controlling my snort of disgust.

  “I will do my best,” Mrs. Phelps promised her. Obviously, she had missed her true calling; she should have been an actress. “Jack,” she turned to me and continued in a stern voice “I hope this was a one-time incident. I would hate to see your life ruined this way.”

  “Yes ma’am,” I mumbled, still looking down.

  Mrs. Phelps stood for a moment and I could sense her indecision even though I wasn’t looking at her.

  Go…I urged silently.

  The Shaws were apparently thinking the same thing.

  “Well, thanks again for your help,” Mrs. Shaw said jovially. “I’m sure Jack will think twice before doing anything so stupid again.”

  I looked up and our eyes met, hers asking ‘are you sure?’ and mine replying ‘remember your promise’.

  Abruptly nodding to the Shaws, Mrs. Phelps turned and walked briskly to her car while Mrs. Shaw guided me gently into the house. Once inside, Mr. Shaw headed straight to the living room window, watching until he was sure Mrs. Phelps was gone, and then turned to let loose at me.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Mr. Shaw yelled as he slapped me. “You could have ruined everything.”

  I should have known Tommy would find a way to blame me for everything in order to avoid any punishment himself—there was no telling what type of story he had concocted to save his own skin—so I remained silent.

  “Not the face, Gerald,” Mrs. Shaw warned. “Mrs. Phelps may be back tonight.”

  For a moment I was frozen in shock, panicking at the thought that he might start slugging me in the stomach, he had done it before and since Nicky, thankfully, wasn’t there to take the brunt of the abuse I was sure by the angry look in his eyes that I was in for it. If he broke the wire, the police would never get what they needed.

  Mind racing furiously, I realized I had to protect my whole body…but how? Even if he decided not to punch me, there was always the whipping option and I couldn’t let them take off my shirt and discover what was hidden there. Angry with my self for my shortsightedness in not planning ahead, I suddenly had an inspiration.

  My idea was risky and dangerous but I knew it was a risk I had to take. Instead of talking, Shaw was in the mood for physical punishment. I needed a way to halt the abuse long enough to get the confessions I was after.

  Spinning away from them, I ran into the kitchen, counting on them to be right behind me. I grabbed a couple of knives sticking out of the wooden holder and grasping one in each hand, I pointed them at the Shaws effectively stopping them in their tracks.

  “Put the knives down you damned idiot,” Mr. Shaw said angrily.

  “You have to listen to me,” I said desperately. “It wasn’t my fault, there’d been so many thefts lately they set us up; they were waiting for us. I tried to tell you we should wait a while before stealing anything else at school, but you wouldn’t listen.”

  “You tried to tell me,” he repeated contemptuously. “Who do you think you are? Nothing, do you hear me, nothing! I run this operation and your job is to do what I tell you and not get caught like you did today, you little moron. Do you understand? Now put those knives down.”

  “I don’t want you to hit me again.”

  “It’s okay Jack,” Mrs. Shaw said soothingly. “Put the knives down and we’ll talk about it.”

  “You can’t let him hit me again.”

  Mr. Shaw was the swaggering, blowhard, big mouth and had already made his confession, but Mrs. Shaw always seemed to me to be the cool head, the one really in charge. I had to find a way to show the police that.

  “Gerald, you need to go back into the living room,” Mrs. Shaw said gently.

  “Verna,” he protested.

  “Do it,” she hissed out of the side of her mouth.

  Grumbling to himself, Mr. Shaw left the kitchen.

  “Now, Jack,” Mrs. Shaw said kindly. “Put the knives down and I promise that he won’t hit you again.”

  “Will you let me take a break from stealing for a while?”

  “We have to pay the bills, you know,” she reminded me. “But I do believe you’re right about the school. I should have been smarter than that.”

  “So you’ll let me rest for a while?”

  “We’ll go back to doing the mall thing,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s been long enough, I’m sure they’ve forgotten the one inc
ident you were involved in. You have light fingers and you’re better trained now; I think we could make a killing. We can use Nicky as a distraction while you pick pockets.”

  “No!” I yelled then said in a petulant voice. “Leave him out of it. I can do it alone.”

  “Nicky will come home eventually you know,” she said mildly. “Be a shame if he had an accident when he was already feeling so poorly.”

  “Accident,” I snorted in disgust. “Like the welts on his back and the cigarette burns.”

  “Those were your fault you know,” she accused calmly. “Stop fighting us and we’ll stop punishing Nicky. You know you can’t win.”

  Mr. Shaw reentered the kitchen carrying a gun.

  “Put the knives down now,” Mr. Shaw said menacingly, pointing the gun at me.

  “You’re gonna shoot me?” I asked in disbelief. “I’m your biggest money maker and you’re gonna shoot me? Besides, how are you going to explain a gunshot wound to Mrs. Phelps?”

  “Oh, put the gun down you damned idiot,” Mrs. Shaw said irritably. “Look Jack, I don’t want to stand here all night. Set the knives on the counter and I promise I won’t let Gerald hurt you or the boy when Mrs. Phelps brings him back. You know I’ve never lied to you.”

  “That’s true,” I said laying the knives carefully on the counter. “Ok, you win.”

  “I always do,” Mrs. Shaw said smugly, as she punched me in the stomach.

  1971

  “Perro…pero…perro…pero,” I recited in frustration, glaring at the Spanish book in my hands. “I’ll never get the R’s right!”

  I had no problem reading Spanish and I was getting much better at understanding the language—there were many Spanish speaking kids in my class and I shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversations in order to practice—but speaking it…I couldn’t seem to get my tongue to cooperate.

  Although there was no formal Spanish class—the school rule allowed only English on school grounds—our teacher the previous year, unbeknownst to the administration, had taught us just enough of the language to get me hooked.

  Determined to learn more, I began checking out books from the public library in an attempt to teach myself the language. The librarian who usually helped me was Hispanic and frequently encouraged me to try my new skills out on her. The resulting embarrassment at my poor pronunciation was directly responsible for my determination to distinguish between perro and pero.

  Constantly searching for new topics of conversation with Mrs. Garcia in order to try out new words, I noticed a picture of a couple children on her desk, presumably hers, holding the smallest dog I had ever seen. I attempted to communicate that to her, but instead of saying ‘Su perro es pequito’ I had inadvertently used pero instead of perro and ended up saying ‘Su pero es pequito’.

  She had laughingly explained that the literal translation of what I had just said to her was ‘your but is small’. My face was deep crimson as I muttered “Perdon” and practically ran out of the library.

  I had returned the next day, offering a very subdued apology, which Mrs. Garcia solemnly accepted assuring me that it would take more than that to offend her adding that she was very impressed with my resolve to become bilingual. Relieved, but determined to succeed, I studied doggedly.

  No one bothered me during recess, although a few tried when Nicky and I had shown up at the new school in the middle of the school year, but it hadn’t taken them long to discover that Nicky was the social butterfly while I was just plain downright strange…and rude.

  The rest of the student body, like the plague, avoided my ‘spot’, where the corner of the brick school building met the fence, since I had taken up residence and so my mutterings in Spanish were safe from unintended ears.

  “Jack! You have to come…now!”

  “What is it, Nicky?” I asked absently, searching the book for anything that might help me with my pronunciation. Books could only teach you so much and I was frustrated.

  “It’s Benjamin, he’s in trouble,” he began yanking on my arm. “You have to help him.”

  I didn’t know a Benjamin, but Nicky had lots of friends and I never bothered to keep up with all of them.

  “Go get one of the teachers,” I frowned at the hand that was still jerking my sleeve and then glanced up and over my book noticing Nicky’s face. “What happened to you?” I asked in sudden concern, as I watched the blood trickling down from the corner of his mouth.

  “I tried to help Benjamin and one of them hit me,” he pulled harder on my sleeve. “Please, you have to come.”

  “The teachers…”

  “I tried to find them, but they’re gone,” he interrupted impatiently. “Now…!”

  Shoot! I thought to myself in frustration.

  I’d noticed earlier that the two teachers on duty were the ones who always vanished in the middle of recess only to return right before the bell rang, but I’d forgotten. After one of their disappearing acts, I’d managed to move close enough to them as we all reentered the building to confirm my suspicions; they had been taking a smoke break…they reeked of it.

  I bent over and set my book on my backpack, sure no one would disturb it; no one ever bothered my things.

  “Okay, where is he?” I asked in resignation.

  “Over there on the blacktop,” he pointed. “They’re using him as a ball.”

  Nicky took off running towards the court while I easily kept up with him, my longer legs taking in much more ground with each stride, and by the time we’d made it to the blacktop the situation was obvious to me. The kid named Benjamin was in the middle of four older kids, well…older than Nicky but a year behind me, and was ‘the ball’ in a game of foursquare.

  “Oh come on retard,” one of them jeered as he shoved Benjamin towards another kid “bounce.”

  Benjamin stumbled and fell, and I could see his hands and face were bloody messes.

  “Nicky, go find an adult,” I ordered.

  “But…”

  “Go in the building if you have to,” I firmly shoved him in the direction of the school.

  “We’re not supposed to…”

  “Go…now!”

  As I strode in to the middle of the game, I noticed Benjamin was still on the ground and one of them, a fat redheaded kid who unfortunately for him reminded me of Tommy, was kicking him yelling “Get up!”

  I could feel the anger in me building.

  “Yeah idiot, we’re not through with our game.”

  “Oh look, he’s crying…crybaby…gonna run home and tell mommy.”

  “Game’s over,” I informed them, shoving the redheaded abuser out of the way with such force that he fell on his butt.

  “Hey!” he yelled as he toppled over.

  “This ain’t none of your business,” another kid chimed in.

  I stood over the groaning kid on the ground swiveling my head as I attempted to watch all four of them. The redheaded kid was back on his feet and heading straight for me. He tried to push me out of the way, but I grabbed his arms and threw him into one of the other bullies.

  “Can you get up Benjamin?” I asked urgently.

  His only answer was a moan sandwiched between sobs. Glancing down at him, I could see he was in a bad way.

  I shouldn’t have looked.

  A split second later, I was on the ground next to him taking a pounding from all four of his tormentors. I managed to push one off me and with great satisfaction kicked the redhead in the gut, but they kept coming, piling on top of me, throwing punches to my head and stomach area. My face felt like it was on fire and I knew I was in danger of losing my lunch as I struggled to fend off my attackers.

  Then, suddenly, there was nothing.

  Opening my eyes cautiously, well one eye, the other wasn’t functioning so well, I saw Mr. Claussen, the principal, holding two of the hoodlums by their hair, Mr. Fischel, the assistant principal, had one by the arm, and a female teacher I didn’t recognize wa
s struggling with the redheaded kid.

  “Be still, Wiley,” Mr. Claussen commanded sternly “You’re in enough trouble as it is. Don’t make it any worse.”

  “Benjamin,” Nicky was there, bending over his friend “can you hear me?”

  More moans were his only reply. I could relate. I felt like moaning myself as I moved to get up.

  “Benjamin…Benji…” the panic in Nicky’s voice was clear to everyone as the kid on the ground fell silent.

  “Where’s that nurse,” Mr. Claussen asked impatiently as the two recalcitrant teachers returned from their unauthorized break, eyes wide as they took in the scene.

  “Here, take these two,” he shoved the two he had by the hair at the tardy teachers and knelt down next to Nicky as the bell rang and the oblivious students ran towards the building. “I’ll deal with you two later.”

  Picking the limp boy up carefully, the principal carried him purposefully towards the entrance by the parking lot, off limits to students during school hours, the assistant principal and three teachers quickly following him, dragging their wards behind them.

  “Is he gonna be okay?” Nicky asked me tearfully.

  “I hope so,” I answered heavily.

  Nicky slipped his hand in mine and I squeezed it, unable to mouth the platitudes most people expected. Thankfully, he knew me well and understood.

  “Thanks, Jack,” he managed to smile at me.

  “Anytime, kid,” I replied gruffly.

  Nicky and I waited until the grounds were empty and then made our way slowly into the building; I couldn’t have moved any faster if I’d wanted to, I was sore all over. I took Nicky to the bathroom and cleaned up the blood on his face, checking his swollen lip, assuring myself there wasn’t any real damage done and then sent him onto class.

  Staring at myself in the mirror, I grimaced and then regretted it. Facial movement of any kind was painful.

  Just as well I don’t smile, I noted in amusement which quickly dissipated as I attempted to mop up my own bloody face.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. I could return to class but my shirt was torn and dirty and my face a mess. I could head to the principal’s office and anticipate the call that would be coming shortly. The rules regarding fighting were clear, all participants received disciplinary action no matter who started it and it was only the concern over Benjamin that had postponed my punishment. However, I had no desire to speed up the process since it could result in corporal punishment. I was physically in poor enough shape already.

  Making up my mind, I chose a third option.

  “Can I help you?” the nurse asked politely, glancing up from her paperwork. “Oh my, let me take a look at those cuts,” she hopped up quickly and came around the desk.

  Carefully pulling myself up onto the table, I submitted to my face being scrubbed and having ointment smeared all over it, not wanting to alienate her, hoping to get Nicky some information about Benjamin, but objected at the bandages she wanted to plaster all over my face.

  “Not a problem,” she said briskly. “You’ll heal better without anything covering them as long as you don’t mind people seeing them.” As if anyone could possibly think I looked any worse than usual. “How did you get these injuries?” she asked suspiciously, no doubt conjuring up visions of criminal activity in her mind.

  “A couple of bullies,” I admitted, hoping to soften her up. “How’s Benjamin?”

  I could see the connection registering.

  “You must be Nicky’s brother,” she noted smiling and at my nod, she continued, “he’s told me all about you.” I didn’t think that was a good thing but I remained silent. “Benjamin’s parents picked him up a few minutes ago to take him to the emergency room.”

  I wasn’t sure how to ask the obvious question but she, seeing my dilemma offered “He was still unconscious when he left here,” she sighed. “It was nice of you to stick up for him.”

  I shrugged and slid off the table.

  “Most kids are…well…rather uncomfortable around him,” she shook her head sadly “Poor kid.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of the MD,” she responded in surprise. “Couldn’t you tell he wasn’t quite…normal?”

  “He was already in bad shape by the time I got there. What’s MD?”

  “Muscular Dystrophy…he has Duchenne’s,” she said as if that explained it all.

  I nodded, glancing at the clock on the wall and noting the time. Class was almost over and I knew the principal would be looking for me, if he wasn’t already.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” she smiled. “I would say ‘anytime’ but I hope that won’t be the case.”

  “So do I,” I replied fervently as I opened the door and let myself out.

  As I entered the principal’s outer office the secretary was on the phone and distractedly waved me to a chair.

  “Okay, keep me informed,” she hung up and turned to me. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Jack Knight,” I stated tonelessly.

  She frowned and asked, “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

  I shrugged, unsure what she wanted me to say.

  Getting up, she moved to the door marked ‘Principal’ in large block letters and poked her head into the room. I heard low murmuring and then Mr. Claussen appeared looking harassed.

  “You’re Nicky’s brother, right?” he asked distractedly. “Sorry about your injuries,” he began uncomfortably. “You should see the nurse.”

  “Already have,” I confirmed, confused at the direction the conversation was taking.

  “Would you like to go home for the day…is that why you’re here?”

  “I was in a fight,” I reminded him.

  “Oh yes, about that,” he cleared his throat “I think you’ve been punished enough. Would you like us to call your parents to pick you up…?”

  “Could I stay in the library until school lets out?”

  “That would be fine, Miss Vaughn will write you a pass,” he paused about to say something but thought better of it, turning abruptly and shutting himself back in his office.