Won't Back Down

by J. D. Rhoades

  In all the times she’s been bullied in this place, she’s never shed a tear. It took an act of kindness to bring that sting to her eyes. Alia considers taking Jones up on her offer. Maybe she could protect her and Bassim. She ruthlessly pushes the thought aside. Police can’t help you, she thinks. Her father had been a policeman, back in Iraq, a high ranking one, even. And look where that had gotten them.

  FIVE

  “It’s a funny world, you know?” Tench takes a sip of his iced tea and stares out the window of the barbecue joint at the river a few hundred yards away.

  Here we go again, Waller thinks. He’s never been a reflective man. He takes a hush-puppy, drags it through the miniature tub of butter on the place mat in front of him, and pops it in his mouth without answering.

  Tench, as always, fails to notice the lack of response. “I mean, look at who we’re working for. Wasn’t so long ago we would have been trying to hunt this guy down.”

  “Nah,” Waller said. “This guy’s a player over there. The bad ones, the Ba’athists, all got run out.”

  Tench snorts. “You sure about that? I heard some of them switched sides just in time. They got fat and happy turning in their old buddies. And you know what, Waller?”

  “I don’t, but I guess you’re gonna tell me.”

  “That’s the kind I worry about. If he’ll sell out the people he’d been with for years, people like him, how the hell can we trust him?”

  Waller sighs. “So, you want to give back the money? Tell our employer thanks, but no, thanks, we think you’re a bad guy?”

  The food arrives before Tench can answer, large plates of juicy pulled pork with vegetables on the side. When the waitress bustles away, Tench answers. “No. I don’t want to give the money back. But consider a minute. Why does our employer want to eyeball the, ah, property himself?” No one is paying their conversation any attention, but Waller appreciates that Tench is still careful enough to use the euphemism. “We could have closed the deal without him. Why’s he coming down?”

  Waller takes a bite. “You have an idea.”

  Tench nods, but takes a bite from his own plate before answering. “I think this may not just be payback. I think there’s something on the property. Maybe there’s money there that we haven’t been told about. He wants to sweat the—I mean, explore the property. You know, dig a few holes.”

  “And?”

  “And why shouldn’t we get that ourselves?”

  Waller shakes his head. “You just got finished slamming our employer for turning on his people, now you’re talking about us doing the same thing?”

  “Why the hell not? I mean, he could turn on us.”

  “Look, bro.” Waller’s been looking forward to coming back to this restaurant since he found out where this mission was going to take them, but Tench is beginning to spoil his appetite. “I may have done some shit I’m not proud of, but I got some principles. And one of those is, when I’m bought, I stay bought.”

  “I’m just saying. Keep it in mind.”

  “Yeah,” Waller says. “I’ll do that.” The two of them eat in silence. Finally, Waller pushes his plate away, half eaten. “Okay,” he says, “just for the sake of argument. There’s money on the property.” Finally, sick of the increasingly clumsy code words, he drops the euphemism. “Say this guy has some cash stashed away. And our employer wants it. What do we do?”

  Tench has been steadily putting his meal away. He pauses only long enough to wash his last mouthful down with a swig of the sweet tea. He smiles, and Waller can see a bit of pink meat stuck between his teeth. “What about this…” he begins.

  SIX

  “Come in, Ms. Jones,” the vice principal says as he opens the door to his office.

  Marie enters, even though being called into the school office doesn’t exactly bring back good memories. She takes a seat as the vice principal does the same. The nameplate on his desk looks as if he keeps it polished daily. MR. BURNHAM, the gold letters read.

  “So tell me,” Burnham smiles at her, “do you like working here?”

  No good conversation ever began this way, Marie thinks, but then realizes he’s not her boss—the head of the county school’s police force is—so he’s just making small talk. He goes on. “I imagine it’s different from being a patrol officer.”

  “Yes, sir,” she answers. “It is. But I like it fine. I like working with the kids.”

  “And they seem to respect you. That’s important.” The smile on his long, jowly face fades, and he clears his throat. Now for the bad news.

  “Ms. Jones, we need to have a talk about Ben.”

  She sighs. “What’s he done now?”

  “Oh, no,” he says hurriedly. “It’s nothing specific. This time. But…well…you know the kinds of problems he’s been having. Cursing at teachers, fighting…we haven’t actually caught him at it, but we’re reasonably sure he’s smoking marijuana. I just wanted to see if you could give us some insight into what makes Ben so angry.” He gives her a look that’s supposed to be open and sympathetic, but it makes him look so much like a basset hound that Marie almost laughs. The urge fades quickly. She looks away from him, unsure of where to begin.

  He gives her a prompt. “What about Ben’s father? Is he in the picture?”

  She shakes her head. “No.” Fuck it, I might as well get it all out. “Ben’s father was shot to death in front of him when he was five.”

  “Oh,” Burnham says, and shakes his head. “That’s—”

  Marie interrupts him. “Then the man who shot his father, a man named DeGroot, took him hostage by putting him in an explosive suicide vest. When I and…some friends got him out of that, we had to take refuge with some crazy survivalist in the mountains. DeGroot tracked us. We ran to another place. DeGroot followed us there, too. He set the house we were in on fire. When we came out, he threatened to shoot Ben in the spine and cripple him. Should you be writing this down?”

  Burnham looks as if he’s been poleaxed. “I…um…”

  Marie can’t help but feel a malicious glee at his discomfort. “The reason he didn’t do it is that the man I’d been seeing, a man who Ben was really beginning to bond with, rescued us and shot DeGroot. It happened in front of Ben. Did I mention he was only five at the time?” She stands up, her eyes filling with tears. “So that’s probably why he’s screwed up. I try to cut him a little slack. Maybe you should, too.” She turns to the door, groping blindly for the doorknob she can’t see through her tears.

  “Ms. Jones,” Burnham says. The gentleness in his voice stops her. She turns back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She feels suddenly wretched and ashamed for having teed off on Burnham like that. The man’s only doing his job. He silently hands her a tissue from the box on his desk. “Won’t you sit back down?”

  “Thank you.” Marie wipes her eyes, then blows her nose as she sits back down. “Sorry. It just…”

  “No apologies necessary,” Burnham says. He gives her a chance to collect herself before speaking again. “Is Ben in any kind of therapy?”

  “Ben’s been in every kind of therapy, Mr. Burnham. He’s been on every kind of meds there are, until he was like a zombie.” She feels her eyes filling with tears again.

  “Ah. And what about you?”

  She’s startled. “What about me?”

  He shakes his head. “Ms. Jones, Ben’s not the only one who suffered trauma here. What are you doing for yourself?”

  “Ha.” She wipes her eyes again. “Sir, I’m a single mother. With two kids. I haven’t got time for trauma.”

  “Ah,” he says again, and she laughs through the tears. He looks at her quizzically.

  “Sorry,” she says. “You sound like someone I used to know. He was a therapist, actually. Do they teach you to do that ‘ah’ thing in psychology school?”

  He smiles at her. “There’s even an exam.” His face grows serious again. “Ms. Jones, have you considered
that your reluctance to pursue therapy may be part of the reason it hasn’t helped Ben?”

  “What?”

  “Just a thought. If you don’t believe in it or make time for it, then why should he?”

  She feels her cheeks getting hotter. “So this is my fault?”

  “No. It’s not a matter of fault. It’s a matter of getting the help you both need.” He writes something on a piece of paper and slides it across the desk. “This is the name of a therapist we recommend.” He stands up to let her know the meeting is over. His voice is gentle as he says, “I can’t make you get help. For yourself or for Ben. But, Ms. Jones, there’s only so much slack we can cut him.”

  “I know,” she says in a small voice. She stands up and takes the paper off the desk. “Thanks, Mr. Burnham. I’ll do what I can.”

  He nods. “That’s all any of us can do. And, Ms. Jones? If you need to talk again, my door’s open.”

  She feels the tears coming again and nods her thanks. This is more than I’ve cried in years, she thinks. I really need to get my shit together.

  SEVEN

  “I’m afraid we’ve wasted your time, Mr. Keller.”

  The lady from human resources says it in a way that really means he’s wasting hers. She looks at him over her glasses and frowns.

  Keller knows what’s coming next. “I can explain the felony conviction.” He’d considered lying about the question when he saw it on the application, but he figured they’d catch it in the background check anyway.

  She sighs and puts down the application she’s been holding. “I’m afraid that won’t help. The policy is quite explicit. We can’t allow convicted felons to work around our students.” She smiles apologetically, and it’s clear she doesn’t mean that either. “No exceptions.”

  “Mrs. Harrington,” he says, “I pled down an auto theft charge because there were extenuating circumstances. There’s nothing in my record that says I’d do anything to harm a child.”

  She shakes her head. “No exceptions,” she repeats. “It’s a liability concern.”

  Meaning it’s less about child safety than it is about covering your ass, Keller thinks, but doesn’t say. He stands up. “Okay. Thanks for your time.”

  She just nods and turns to her computer.

  The halls of the high school are empty; all the students are in class. As Keller turns a corner, he sees Marie coming down the hall toward him. She smiles as they draw closer. “Let’s see your hall pass, Mister.”

  He smiles back. “Sorry, Officer. My dog ate it. Does this mean I have to go to the principal’s office?”

  That makes her laugh. He likes her laugh, and the fact that she seems to have gotten over her earlier annoyance with him is the best thing that’s happened to him so far today.

  “How’d the interview go?”

  He shrugs. “Didn’t get it. My record, you know.”

  She frowns. “Damn it. Didn’t they give you a chance to explain?”

  He shakes his head. “No exceptions,” he mimics the HR lady.

  “You want me to talk to them?”

  “No. Wouldn’t do any good. Besides, admit it. It would be awkward having me around.”

  “Maybe,” she admits, then smiles. “But I’d get over it.”

  “You want to come over later?” he asks, a little too casually.

  She shakes her head. “Can’t. I’m taking Ben home.” She sighs. “We need to have another talk. Oh! Can you pick Francis up? And, like, take him to the park or something while I talk to Ben?”

  “Okay. That bad, huh?”

  She grimaces. “No more than usual. Thanks, Jack.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  EIGHT

  “Stop staring,” Meadow says.

  Ben doesn’t answer. Meadow doesn’t know if it’s because of the earbuds jammed into his ear canals or because he’s fixated on the girl in the head scarf. Either way, it’s annoying to be ignored by your best friend. She wads her gum wrapper into a tight silver ball and flicks it at his head. The projectile hangs up in his thick black hair and she doesn’t think he notices at first. Then he brushes at it, picks it out of his hair, and looks at it stupidly for a moment until he turns to her. He reaches up and takes the bud out of his left ear. She can hear the faint tinny roar of the Swedish death metal he likes so much. “What?” he says.

  “Stop staring at that girl,” Meadow says. “You look like a stalker.”

  He reaches down to his phone and kills the music. “I’m not staring.” He smiles slyly at her. “What, you jealous?”

  She sighs. “Uh, hello?” She points to herself. “Not into dudes, remember?” She looks over at the girl in the head scarf, sitting alone at a table across the courtyard. Groups of teenagers are gathered in knots around the open space between the school buildings, each of the cliques hanging together: the stoners, the jocks, the theater kids, and so on. She and Ben form a clique all their own. “You should go talk to her. She’s really pretty.”

  “You think so?”

  “Well, if big dark eyes, cheekbones like a model’s, and full lips are your idea of pretty…”

  He follows her gaze, biting his lip nervously. “You think she’s so hot, maybe you should hit on her.”

  She shoves him for the lame joke, but without anger. “I’m not saying go hit on her, dumbass. Just go strike up a conversation.”

  “About what?”

  Meadow clutches her head in both hands, fingers digging lightly into the scalp below the closely-cut hair which she’s recently dyed pink. “Oh. My. God. Do I have to do everything?” She lets her head go and looks at him with fond exasperation. “Just talk. ‘Hey. How’s it going? Nice weather we’re having.’ You know, like a normal person.”

  “I haven’t been a normal person for a long time,” Ben mutters.

  The look on his face makes Meadow reach out and give his arm a gentle squeeze. “Me either. But that’s why we’re partners, right, Sundance?”

  He smiles at the private nickname they’ve shared since they caught the old movie together late one night on TCM. “Right, Butch.”

  She grabs his arm and awkwardly urges him to his feet. “So, go. Talk to her. Bridge cultural barriers and shit.”

  Ben moves slowly at first, like a man being marched to the firing squad. As he approaches, however, Meadow sees his mother, Officer Jones, bearing down on him from across the school courtyard. “Ah, shit,” she mutters under her breath. She doesn’t really dislike Officer Jones, but she knows that Ben and his mom have had a rocky relationship lately. It’s another one of the things they bond over. Meadow watches as Ben’s mother stops him in the center of the courtyard. Ben’s head is bowed, and she can tell he’s furious at having to talk to his mother in front of all his classmates. Meadow notices the girl in the head scarf has raised her head from her book and is looking on curiously as well. The conversation over, Ben heads back to where Meadow is sitting. “What’s wrong?” she asks as Ben snatches up his backpack and jacket.

  “I have to go.” He doesn’t look at her.

  “Okay. Talk later?”

  He just nods and walks off. Meadow shakes her head. She looks over again at the girl in the head scarf. She knows the girl—Allie something—is having her own troubles with Brandon and the group she calls the “goon squad.” A sudden impulse makes her pick up her backpack and walk over to the picnic table where the girl sits alone.

  She looks up and smiles uncertainly as Meadow takes a seat across from her. “Hello.”

  “Hi,” Meadow says. “Whatcha reading?”

  With the same tentative smile, the girl shows Meadow the cover.

  Meadow rolls her eyes. “Christ. The Great Gatsby.”

  The girl blinks in confusion. “You don’t like it?”

  “A total hymn to white male privilege,” Meadow states confidently. “It’s garbage.”

  The girl looks down at the text. “Maybe that’s why I’m hav
ing trouble getting interested.”

  “Trust me, honey, it’s not you. It’s the book.” She sticks out a hand. “I’m Meadow.”

  The girl takes it. “Alia. Alia Khoury.”

  “Nice to meet you. So, you’re new?”

  Alia nods. “We just moved here. From Pittsburgh. For my father’s work.” There’s something odd, almost robotic, in the way she says it, as if it’s been rehearsed rather than lived. Meadow files that away for future consideration. “Tough to make friends in a new place.”

  Alia pulls back slightly, eyes narrowing, and Meadow curses to herself. Damn it, you’re so clumsy sometimes, an inner voice rages at her. She fights that voice down, and feels a little stab of pride for doing so. “Anyway. I saw you checking Ben out.” At Alia’s puzzled look, Meadow rushes in to clarify. “Ben Jones. The tall dark-haired guy who just left.”

  Alia’s eyes widen in a look of horror. “Oh. Him. I…I’m so sorry. I…wasn’t checking him out. Really. I didn’t know you and he were…you know…”

  “No, no, no. We’re not like that. He’s a friend.”

  “Okay.” Alia still looks confused.

  “So, what I wanted to say is, he’d really like to meet you. And I could, you know, arrange that.”

  Alia looks at her, head inclined slightly. “And why would you do that?”

  “Like I said. He’s a friend. And, you know…” She takes a deep breath. “I want him to be happy.”

  Alia shakes her head. “But not with you.”

  “No.”

  “Ahh.” Realization dawns across Alia’s face. “So, you are… I mean, you like…”

  “Girls?” Meadow sighs. “I know you’ve probably heard that. But, fact is, I’m not really into girls either.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Yeah, me either. Let’s just call me weird and leave it at that. So let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about Ben.”