Wright & Wrong

by W. Glenn Duncan Jr.

  “Hold it right there boys, and tell ol’ Uncle Rafferty what you have in mind.”

  Dark Hair looked like he was about to speak. The blond, rifle-holding kid left of center beat him to the punch.

  “Thought we might have ourselves a little fun tonight,” he said. He was younger than Dark Hair, college-age maybe, as were the rest of the group. Lots of buzz cuts and thick necks. Looked like an Aggies offensive line after practice. Blondie continued. “Mighty kind of you to come out and make it easy for us.” The dumb shit smiled and nodded at me.

  I shot him.

  He went down in a heap, the rolling echo of the shotgun drowning out most of his screams. By the time the second rifle guy had brought his weapon up and was starting to work the bolt, I’d chambered another round and zeroed the barrel on the middle of his chest.

  “Be very careful about your next movement,” I said.

  His Adam’s apple worked three times and he removed his right hand from the rifle bolt, one finger after the other. Once his hand was free and away from his body, he let the rifle tilt downwards until the muzzle hit the ground. He dropped it then and sank to his knees, covered his face with his hands.

  I felt comfortable enough to look at the rest of them then, not yet ready to lower my gun.

  Dark Hair had his hand over his mouth, a decidedly feminine move, which wasn’t gonna win him points at his next bar-room skirmish.

  The four with torches were giving me an amusing combination of open mouths, narrowed eyes, one clenched hand and a bunch of movements that looked like they wanted to drop and run but weren’t ready to leave their friend. One thing they all had in common—the torches were no longer steadied by righteousness and testosterone.

  Blondie was on the ground. The rifle had fallen out of his hands towards me. I stepped forward and picked it up. Remington. Nice. Tossed it behind me, made sure it landed on the grass. No point nicking up the woodwork.

  Dark Hair started up then. “I told them not to … They …” He ran out of steam.

  “You shot him, man.” That came from the guy who I guess played tight end. I looked at him, then back at the group.

  “Of course I shot him. What did you think I was gonna do, play patty-cake?”

  “But you shot him.”

  I shoved my chin at Dark Hair. “These guys don’t catch on too fast, do they?”

  No response.

  I moved toward Blondie, his friends stepped back. He moved from sucking in huge breaths to whimpering as I got to him. I lowered the shotgun and squatted. The whimpering intensified.

  “Not so tough now, huh? Lemme take a look at that.”

  I duck-walked around to where I wasn’t blocking the porch light. Blondie’s face was pale and he was sweating a lot. His Nike trainer was a write off, and the lower half of his right jeans leg was shredded. There was less of a divot in the lawn than I had hoped—I’d tried to put most of the shot into the ground—but it looked like I’d been a touch high.

  Whoops.

  I parted the ribbons of denim to look at his ankle. His once-white tube sock was soaking up a lot of blood, but he wasn’t leaking enough to put him at major risk. Couldn’t say the same for his bones. There wasn’t a lot of protection in that sneaker.

  “Looks like you’re gonna have an extended off-season, pal. Who knows though, with a good orthopedic surgeon, you might make it back onto the roster.”

  Almost patted his foot. I know that I’ve been accused of overdoing it at times, so it was a good thing to show restraint now and then.

  I looked up. “For chrissake guys, will one of you get him a jacket or something. He’s not gonna bleed out, but he is in shock.” I shook my head. Fucking amateurs.

  No-one moved for about ten seconds, then the four torchbearers decided they wanted to footrace to their cars.

  I stood, cradled the shotgun, and stepped towards Dark Hair. Pointed at him.

  “I warned you.”

  “But … but … but …”

  “Take your motorboat impersonations and your friends and fuck off.”

  He looked at me like that was the best idea he’d heard all day.

  Now that the threat was over, my vision widened and I could see faces reflected in the light from the front porch. A few standing, a lot down at ground level, and a whole bunch looking back at me as they moved to their cars. More than a couple other porch lights on up and down the street.

  “I mean it. Go on.”

  Dark Hair snapped, stepped in and picked up Blondie from under the armpits. He tried doing it while staying as far away from me as he could, causing Blondie to lurch and put pressure on his beat-up foot.

  He shrieked.

  The guy on his knees with his head in his hands threw up.

  The other four guys had dumped the torches next to a couple of cars, where they sputtered and charred the few remaining blades of grass. They arrived back to our trio with an assortment of blankets, jackets, and what looked like a tent fly, which they all tried to put on him at the same time. They whole group lurched again.

  Scream.

  Vomit.

  Damn, they made it hard not to laugh.

  The caravan was about halfway to the curb when they realized they’d left their now dry-heaving buddy behind. Swiveled heads, a couple of hissed “No way”s before one guy jogged back up the lawn, pulled his puking friend upright, looked at me, then at both rifles laying on the damp grass, thought about it, and shrugged. The two of them joined the rest of their ill-conceived group at the curb, got haphazardly into their cars and drove off. Rather sedately, actually.

  Over the next five minutes, the rest of the remaining group did the same.

  I leaned against the front of the house, patted my shotgun anytime I saw a face looking my way, and helped them through the process.

  As the last car turned the corner at the end of the street, the eastern edge of the sky was growing faint. The clouds had receded, and my pipe smoke drifted into what looked to be the coming of a mighty fine day.

  The front door opened, and Ray walked over. Handed me a mug of coffee, steam rising. Took a long, deep sip. Ahhh. Mirrored Ray and leaned my hip against the railing.

  “Is it over?”

  I looked sideways at the yard turned to mud, the lawn chairs left behind, signs, food wrappers, piles of garbage, and the group of trees on the far side of the driveway with the dark hole underneath that smelled like a makeshift latrine. Shook my head.

  “Not yet, Ray. Not until I can prove Bradley didn’t do what they think he did. Maybe not even then.”

  Ray deflated like a punctured balloon.

  “But, for the moment, it’ll make them think twice about coming back. Let’s enjoy the empty front yard and a quiet morning.”

  Ray grimace-smiled and looked out over the demolished yard.

  “Sounds like a good idea.”

  We toasted our mugs and coffeed our way into a new day.

  Chapter 28

  It was turning into a beautiful day and I thought I could do with a dose of fresh air.

  Mimi had cajoled Charlene into the idea of going to the hospital to see Bradley again and I’d left a message on Paul’s service to make sure that they got a good chunk of time together. No matter what. Whether that worked or not we’d have to see.

  After that I deftly avoided the task of cleaning up the Wright’s front yard and drove to a local park, where I sat in the cool early morning sun and watched waterbirds on the lake, and a father and young son conning a remote control yacht around in the light breeze.

  Decided a walk could lead to good things, so I followed a crushed gravel path as it meandered through a greenbelt alongside a small stream for a few hundred yards. When I thought I was more or less in the right spot, I melted into the trees, sat on my duff and waited.

  Should have had a pipe earlier, but it was too late; no point in scaring the wildlife away.

  About the time I figured I was too late, I heard rustling in the brush away to my
left. It came and went, so I stayed still until I heard a match strike and the sweet, cloying smell of marijuana wafted its way through the pine trees.

  Time to get moving.

  Imani was sitting in the shadows of the tree line, leaning back against a solid trunk, eyes closed and looking like she didn’t have a care in the world.

  I got to within ten feet and she had no idea I was there.

  “Good morning,” I called jauntily.

  He eyes flew open, she blinked a couple of times and finally dialed in some focus. “Oh fuck,” she said, trying to hide her exhale, palm the joint, work out who I was, and decide how much trouble she was in. Once she realized it was me, and that I was alone, she started to relax.

  “Fuck! You scared the shit out of me. What’re you doing out here?”

  “Looking for you. But first, what happened to ‘Yes sir, no sir’?”

  She shrugged. “Gotta keep the ’rents happy. You don’t think I talk like that all the time, do you? Fuck, couldn’t think of anythin’ worse.”

  I nodded. I was more than happy to have Imani relaxed, away from Donald’s gaze, and feeling like she could be herself. Might give me a fighting chance to get what I’d come for.

  I sat down under another tree, about eight feet away, wriggled around until I found a comfortable position for my back against the rough bark. Pulled out my pipe and tobacco pouch and raised my eyebrows at Imani.

  “Fucked if I care. You said you were looking for me. Whatcha want?” She took a hit on the joint, closed her eyes.

  I made her wait while I went through the usual pipe ministrations and got the nicotine starting to surge through my body.

  “Thought we might have a little follow-up chat after I got thrown out of your house the other day.”

  Imani’s eyes flew open again and she looked like she’d forgotten I was there.

  “Whatever.”

  Another toke.

  “I know you’re lying about being in your class during the shooting.”

  “I am not.”

  “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Imani. You’re good, but you’re not that good. Besides, I’ve got the attendance registers. I know you weren’t there. Where were you?”

  She gave me a minute of sneer before my silent treatment got the better of her.

  “Okay, yeah, you’re right. I weren’t at school yet. I were running late and class had already gone in by the time I got there.”

  “Whoah, back up. Where were you?”

  She hit the joint again, inhaled it almost down to her fingertips, and blew out a massive smoky breath.

  “You can’t tell anyone else about this, okay?”

  “Imani, I don’t give a damn about the newspaper stories and the whole brave survivor schtick you’ve got going on. I just want to find out the truth of whether Bradley Wright did this or not.”

  “You think this is about the newspaper stories? You have no idea.”

  “Tell me about it then. Where were you that morning?”

  It took nearly forty-five minutes and another joint before she got it all out, but it was there, it made sense, and it fit with everything else I knew and felt in my gut.

  Imani had left home early that Monday morning, ‘headed for school’ she told Donald and Martha. They were proud of her for applying herself to her studies but would have been less so if they’d known that instead of hitting the library before school, she would be stopping at a friend’s house and getting high.

  It sounded like that was a fairly typical morning, and she would have usually been keeping a close eye on the clock, because she didn’t want to be late to school. As long as Donald and Martha knew she was at school, then they’d have no reason to ask difficult questions.

  But, that Monday, the weed was good and she lost track of time.

  Once she finally noticed the clock, she grabbed her book-bag and hauled ass towards the school. Still a couple of blocks away when the school bell rang and starting to panic that she might be busted.

  But there was nothing else she could do so she ran as fast as her stoned body would let her.

  By the time she made it to the school grounds everyone was inside and she knew she was too late. She couldn’t risk being caught by the custodian, so she snuck into the rec-area—actually climbing over the pallet with the duffel bag, weapons and ammo underneath—and hid, trying to work out how she was going to get into her classroom without being seen.

  She knew it was going to be damn hard to pull off and at some stage she’d probably have to sweet talk her way onto the attendance register, but she hadn’t been busted yet, so she tried to keep moving forward.

  While she was coming up with a plan on getting into her classroom, she heard pistol shots from inside the school. She knew exactly what the sound was, had heard it too many times in her childhood. Now she no longer cared about being busted but just wanted to stay alive.

  She stayed hidden behind the ivy screen, only just choking down a scream when a bunch of students ran out of the school door, with the two kids in overcoats close behind. One of the Overcoats dropped a pistol like he was done with it, pulled a rifle from under his coat, and worked the action. The other let out a war whoop, then they high-fived and took off after the fleeing students, towards the other end of the rec-area.

  She thought that might have been her chance to make it inside the school. Besides, she also wanted to be wherever the guys with guns weren’t.

  Imani was trying to build up the courage to stand and make a run for the nearest door, and thinking that maybe, in all the confusion, she might actually be able to say that she was in school the whole time.

  But before she could do that, she saw Bradley sneak around the perimeter of the rec-area, staying in the shadows. He made it to the steps and, while another burst of gunfire went off at the far end of the rec-area, he ran up the stairs and inside.

  Imani figured that he was doing the same thing she wanted to, and she was almost ready to follow, but the door swung open again and Bradley came back out, covered in blood, and looked around nervously.

  She watched as he crept down and around the bottom of the stairs and picked up the dropped pistol.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “You saw the kid in the overcoat drop the gun, and then Bradley picked it up?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Did he go back inside the school once he had the gun?”

  “Nope. Went off towards where the other assholes with guns were.”

  “Okay. What happened then?”

  “Umm, while everyone were down at the other end of the playground, I ran inside through a back door, snuck through the cafeteria, and got as close to my classroom as I could. When the cops got there, and they were helping everyone out of my classroom, I just kind of blended in and came outside like I’d been there the whole time.”

  “And that’s what you told the police.”

  She laughed. “Fucking A. No way was I gonna tell them what actually happened. Too much chance that it would get back to Donald and then I’d be up the shit.”

  “You have to tell them now.”

  “No I don’t. I don’t got to do nothing.”

  Pulled myself to my feet. “C’mon, Imani. We’re going for a ride. There’s a couple of cops and a District Attorney who need to hear your story.”

  I took a step towards her. She took a huge breath.

  “One more step and I scream.” Grinned at me. “And I can scream pretty loud. Wanna hear it?”

  I stopped, cocked my head. “What’s that gonna solve?”

  “It’ll stop you botherin’ me while I’m gettin’ high.”

  Looked around. The stream-side path hadn’t been highly traveled while we’d been sitting there, but the morning was growing later and I thought I could hear voices and the yipping of a little dog getting closer.

  I tried to bluff her. “So what? I’m a P.I. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve talked my way out of a situation where someone thought they were smarter than th
ey actually were.”

  Lots of teeth now. “Maybe, but have you ever had to do it when you’ve been caught in a secluded area with a sweet, vulnerable, teenage girl? A girl also happens to be the ‘hero survivor’ of a school shooting. Try your luck if you like, but I can be pretty persuasive.”

  When I didn’t have an answer for that, she ignored me and started to roll another joint.

  Rafferty’s Rule Sixty-seven: When you’re out of options, keep ‘em talking.

  “Nothing else to do today?” I said, resuming my pine-needle seat.

  She got the roach lit and squinted at me through the smoke. “Nuh.”

  “Uh huh.” Looked like she didn’t want to play the other side to my approach. A bird twittered somewhere back in the tree line and I tried to be just as soft and gentle. “So, you know Bradley Wright?”

  The weed was working well by now, and Imani seemed to be relaxing with each breath. “Umm, yeah. I guess. Not real well, but I’d seen him around school.”

  “What was he like?”

  She gave me the same story that I’d already heard from a dozen different students. Quiet kid. No classes together. Didn’t exchange more than a couple of words over the whole semester.

  “You know that he’s been charged with murder?”

  “Duh.”

  “That doesn’t bother you?”

  Shrug. “Why should it?”

  “Because you know he didn’t do it. You might be the only one who knows that.”

  “So what?”

  “So what? You’re gonna let an innocent kid go down for murders he didn’t commit?”

  “Not my problem.”

  “I’ve met a bunch of evil people in my time, but that’s got to be the coldest thing I’ve ever heard. Just to protect your hero image? What are you getting out of it?”

  “Again, and like all grown-ups, you don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about. Always missing the point.” She leaned back against the tree trunk and closed her eyes.

  “’Splain it to me, then. What’s the point?”

  She sighed and took a while to open her eyes and come back to me.

  “I’m not going back to the shelter. End of story.”