Rick wished he had that same confidence in himself. He made his way toward the office, ready to meet his new boss. As he passed the classrooms, he spotted one of the teachers in the hallway towering over an extremely thin and light-skinned teenage black girl. Rick presumed the teacher to be Mister Royal, the name listed for the sixth and seventh grade classroom he’d just stepped out from. Although this was the first time Rick had seen him, he had noticed the name both on the staff roster and a very large pile of patient write-ups.
Mister Royal was quite tall, with curly red hair, freckles, and reddish cheeks. His broad shoulders made him look as though he could have been a security guard rather than a teacher. He faced the young girl whose back was against the concrete wall.
Royal closed his round, green eyes to slits, his eyebrows drawing together to form one angry red slash across his forehead. “Do you really think I’m going to tolerate that kind of behavior in my class?” he screamed in her face. “You do not get out of your seat without permission under any circumstances, Clara!”
Rick recognized the girl’s name from the caseload in the top drawer of his desk. The name Clara Blue stood out due to her being listed at fifteen years old, the oldest by almost two years in the sixth and seventh grade class. Her name was written on many of the write-ups from Mister Royal.
Now that Rick saw Clara for the first time, he couldn’t tell she was fifteen. She seemed younger, both in appearance and posture.
“He threw his pencil at me!” She swiped her button-nose with her right thumb.
“You do not get out of your seat without permission!” Royal yelled even louder, leaning into her personal space a bit further. “You certainly do not just get up and leave my classroom, even if the door is unlocked! Do you understand me?”
Clara’s left hand pressed hard against the wall, her body trembling and her eyes filling with rage. She breathed heavily, trying to bring herself under control. “Yes,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.
Receiving his answer, Royal took a step back. Clara escaped into the classroom. He looked at Rick and nodded before stepping in behind her.
A possible situation averted, Rick blew out a sigh of relief and walked into the office. Once inside, he was greeted by one of the secretaries, an older lady in her 60s, with a long weave and glasses. She seemed very involved in her work. “Miss Miller is on the phone, but she will be right with you.” Her head never turned from the computer screen.
“Okay. I’ll just wait.”
“That’s a good idea,” she said with obvious sarcasm.
Chapter Four
Derrick buttoned his flannel shirt to the top in front of the full-length mirror in the vestibule. It wasn’t a perfect match for his checkered pants, but at least it was stain-free. Derrick rarely had guests at his newly-acquired residence in Long Island suburbia, but this was a special occasion. With more time, he would have given the place a good cleaning, or at least straightened up. Then again, probably not. Such menial chores were reserved for people with smaller priorities.
A loud gong filled the two-story home. Derrick took another peek in the mirror and ran three fingers through his receding black hair like a comb. His albino reflection smiled back with excitement. Time to greet his first houseguest.
Derrick pulled the front door ajar. A wide-eyed man in his young twenties with a Hispanic complexion stared at the black mailbox above the doorbell. He had to be sweating bullets under that black leather jacket and denim jeans considering it was 82 degrees. “You Bomser?” the man asked.
“You must be Juan. Come quickly.” Derrick pulled the door open a bit more and stepped back so his guest could enter, glancing over Juan’s shoulder as he did so.
Juan held back from going too far inside. “I’m just supposed to drop your stuff off and collect the money.” He began to reach into his inner jacket pocket, but Derrick snatched at his hand and dragged him through the doorway. He shot a smile and a wave to his neighbors on the curb, who still watched with unveiled curiosity. Juan’s presence must have spooked them; he wasn’t the typical type who walked through this neighborhood. Then again, Derrick wasn’t typical, either. His presence singlehandedly brought the average age down by about thirty years.
He leaned forward, bracing one hand on the doorframe, and shouted, “Hello, Mister and Missus Feldman. Bet you’re excited about your cruise!”
“Very much so, Derrick,” Mr. Feldman said. “We’re just waiting for my son. He should be here any moment to take us to the airport.”
“Well, you have a good time.” Derrick grinned, revealing his crooked front tooth.
“You will keep an eye on our home, won’t you?” Mrs. Feldman asked. “You’ll take in the mail?”
“Absolutely,” he assured them and ducked into his home, pulling the door shut behind him.
Through the window, he watched the couple. They hadn’t stopped looking at the front door. The woman said something to which the man nodded. They were probably talking about Juan and how he looked like a fish out of water in this neighborhood.
Derrick turned from the window. The vestibule led into the living room where a red couch and two brown easy chairs surrounded a battered, old coffee table. Nothing hung on the walls, nor was there carpeting on the floor, all of that had yet to leave Derrick’s to-do list. The hallway led into the kitchen which, from where he stood, had only the bare minimum as far as appliances were concerned. On the Formica-topped kitchen table sat a laptop and nothing else, not even a tablecloth. The only outstanding part of the room was the large picture window that overlooked someone else’s backyard. There were two staircases off the hallway—one led upstairs and one led down.
Derrick twisted the deadbolt lock. “Okay. Do you have my order?”
Juan tapped the left breast of his jacket. “I got it right here.” He reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out a bag filled with large, white capsules. The bag was larger than his hand.
Derrick took it and held it up to the light. “This the good stuff?”
“Yeah, it’s all good. You sure got a lot there. I never delivered that much before.”
“I’m celebrating,” Derrick said with a confident nod. “I think I found an old friend. The Internet is great for things like that.”
“Whatever, man.” Juan rolled his eyes.
Derrick tossed the bag in the air and attempted to catch it. Instead, it tipped off the side of his hand and fell to the floor. Derrick snatched the bag up and took a few steps forward, laughing off his clumsiness. He turned back to Juan who was still standing in the vestibule.
“Your bosses will extend me my usual credit?” Derrick asked.
“No credit. Cold hard cash is what I got to come back with.”
“All right, come this way.” Derrick let out a sigh and walked toward the down stairway. He took a few steps down the basement steps and then stopped and glanced at Juan, who remained in place, eyeing him suspiciously. “You want to get paid, right? Come on, I have your money in my safe downstairs.”
Juan followed, but he kept his hand inside his jacket pocket. Derrick let out a scoff. Figures he is packing heat. The lack of trust among kids today, hadn’t they heard the phrase, “honor among thieves?” Guess not. Derrick continued down. Juan went down three steps, hesitating on each one. The guy was nervous and he couldn’t hide it. Some boss probably threatened to kill him if he came back empty-handed.
Serves him right for getting into this line of work. At the bottom of the stairs, Derrick opened a door and stepped through with Juan following.
Juan’s eyes bulged at the enormous basement, much to Derrick’s delight. It was cluttered, mostly due to two large wooden bookcases standing parallel to one another in the center of the room. Both almost touched the unfinished ceiling. Each had five shelves of different heights; neither had actual books on them. Instead, various sizes of glass jugs and jars occupied the shelves. Each filled to the top with a liquid substance that caught Juan’s attention. “You keep your own
gasoline?” He must have recognized the aroma.
“Have you seen the prices of gas out there today?” Derrick pointed out while placing the bag of pills on one of the top shelves. “You have to save pennies wherever you can, right?”
Derrick kneeled in front of one of the cases. On the bottom shelf, a metal safe rested between several large jugs. The safe had a combination lock. He turned the knob, first to the right, then back to the left. The lock on the safe didn’t actually work; Derrick had to dismantle it a month ago when he forgot the combination.
As Derrick played with the lock, Juan studied the walls, where various types of guns, rifles, and machineguns hung. Derrick took pride in that collection, although he couldn’t remember exactly where he obtained each individual weapon.
Finally, Derrick finished fiddling with the combination. He pulled the door open and reached in with his right hand. He pulled out a packet of cash held together by a rubber band and tossed it over his shoulder at Juan, who caught it in one hand. He began counting, riffling through the bills with a calloused thumb and forefinger. “It seems short,” Juan said after a minute.
“It’s the usual amount,” Derrick answered, his voice muffled as he slipped his hand back inside the safe.
Juan tucked the money in the back pocket of his jeans. “I’m also collecting for your last order, which you didn’t pay for.”
“Tell them I’ll have it next time.” Derrick swung the door shut and spun the knob.
“Nope. I got to collect it today. No credit. No excuses.”
Derrick glanced up. As expected, Juan’s gun pointed his way. He slowly stood up from his knees, letting out a sigh. “You’re young and enthusiastic. I can see you like to get right to the point.”
The nonchalance caused Juan’s shoulders to slump. Good. “You know, they say we all have one defining moment that ends up determining who we are, who we associate with, and what path our lives end up taking. Do you remember yours?”
“I don’t know, man,” Juan answered with confusion in his voice. “I just want the money you owe.”
“I believe Bradbury named that philosophy after some sort of insect.” Derrick tilted his head up, examining one of the jars. “Would you like to hear the story of the moment that ended up defining my life?”
“No. I just want to collect the money, and…”
“I was about eleven years old and I have to say, up until that point, I had endured a lot of abuse from my peers, specifically one really big kid named Kenny. He was always pushing me around and then laughing at me. He even used to get other kids to laugh, too.”
As Derrick told his story, he walked along the length of the bookcase keeping his back turned. Even with his back turned, he recognized the sound of a pistol’s safety unlatching.
“The one thing that brought all of us kids together was baseball. There was a field in the neighborhood and we all spent our time after school there. Teams were chosen and I was always the last to be picked. Of course, once a team was stuck with me, the other team would laugh. Kids can be cruel, don’t you agree?”
Derrick paused for a response. Juan didn’t offer one. How rude.
“Kenny was always a team captain and a pitcher. I hated ending up on his team, but it was even worse when I was against him.” He wandered to the wall, stopped, and gazed up at the variety of weapons on display. “No matter how badly I wanted to hit a homerun off Kenny, I always struck out. I just couldn’t bring myself to swing that bat. Of course, he always laughed at me over it.”
“Look, man,” Juan growled. “I just want to collect the money and go…”
“So, there we were on that one particular afternoon,” Derrick continued. “Kenny was pitching. I’d already struck out my last two times at the plate and I even had a few errors in right field. That’s where I always ended up playing. I really hated that position. The bases were loaded, we were down by two runs, and it was the ninth inning. As I walked to the plate, one kid on my team said, ‘sometimes you just have to take your shot.’ So that’s what I wanted to do, I wanted to take my shot.”
Juan peeked at his watch and clenched his jaws. His hand shook from the weight of his gun. Had he noticed Derrick’s intense stare at the antique widow maker mounted inches from his nose?
“Kenny threw the ball past me twice for two quick strikes. He laughed after each one, but I kept thinking it was time to take my shot. And do you know what happened?”
“You swung the bat, got a hit, and won the game,” Juan answered with a hint of sarcasm.
“Actually, I never swung the bat and he struck me out.” Derrick smiled smugly. “Only this time, when he laughed at me, I took my shot. As he walked past me, I smacked him right across his mouth with the bat.” That story always caused him to grin. He reached up and rubbed the top of the weapon on its wall mount. “I think my old psychiatrist would have called that the conflict/resolution cycle.” Derrick laughed. “After that, I ended up on probation and in juvenile hall, then institutionalized, and finally liberated by the Colonel. The rest, my friend, is history.”
Derrick snatched the gun off the wall and spun toward Juan.
Juan was ready. He had the gun pointed at Derrick’s chest as he turned. Juan’s finger twitched on the trigger. The weapon went off, but not before Derrick managed to fire as well.
Both men toppled backward, landing on their backs as smoke emanated from their chests where each bullet had hit. For several long moments, neither moved.
Finally, Derrick sat up. He unbuttoned the top three buttons on his shirt revealing a gray Kevlar vest. “Paranoia does have its advantages.” Derrick patted his vest and then pulled himself up to his feet.
He looked down at Juan, whose eyes were open wide but his body did not move. A spot on the jacket was burned where the bullet had entered. Crimson liquid stained the black leather.
With his toe, Derrick rolled Juan’s body over. He bent down and removed the packet of bills from the back pocket, then reached into his own back pocket and removed a small black cell phone. As he straightened up, Derrick reached for a handle attached to one of the wooden planks that made up the basement floor. He lifted it. Below was a large dirt hole.
“You know your boss wasn’t really looking to threaten a great customer like me,” Derrick explained as he kicked the body into the hole. “If he did, why would he send a loser like you to collect?”
Juan’s body thudded to the dirt several feet underneath the basement floor. Derrick set the plank back in its original spot, then stood and made sure everything was as it had been a half hour earlier. He then flipped open the cell phone and brought it up to his mouth.
“Jen,” he said and waited as the number automatically dialed.
“Hey Jennie, it’s your old buddy, Derrick. I need you to come here. I have something important to show you. You don’t want to blow me off this time. This is the news you’ve been waiting for. I’ve found him!”
Chapter Five
Rick sat on the bench in the office waiting for the Director to call him into her office. He had stood, paced back and forth, and returned to the bench many times while he waited.
An hour and a half. She couldn’t possibly still be on the phone.
He tapped the bench with his left forefinger, but stopped when he thought he might have distracted the secretary. He peeked at her, but the lady’s attention had never left her computer screen. Her phone rang. She answered it, listened for a moment, and then hung up.
“Miss Miller will see you now.”
Rick stood up again, walked past the secretary’s desk, and into the Director’s office. “Hello, Miss Miller,” Rick offered, but he did not receive a response.
Katherine Miller, head director of the Brookhill Children’s Psychiatric Residence, sat behind a large office desk with her back stiff. Miller wore very thick “coke-bottle” glasses that magnified her eyes so they filled each lens. Her grayish-black hair was short and unkempt, as if she had little or no care for her outward appear
ance. Her cheeks were slender and uncomplimentary to her very thin lips. Her neck was skeletal, which made the veins on either side stand out.
The craters in her cheeks made Rick wonder if he had ever met anyone uglier than this woman sitting before him. With his lack of memory, he could not be sure. The rare evil thought in his mind made him want to chuckle, but he managed to contain himself.
As Miller stood up from her chair, Rick realized she was shorter than he originally expected. The heightened chair she sat in behind her desk gave her an appearance of being much taller. Rick was able to get a quick glance at the document in her hand. He recognized it as the resume he faxed to her a few weeks ago.
“Sit down,” she said in a deep and loud voice, which had more demand than request.
Rick’s eyes widened as he did what was asked of him. Upon placing his rear against the seat, he noticed the chair teetered off-balance. One of the legs must’ve been slightly shorter than the other three. He figured now wasn’t the time to bend down and find out what was going on, so he attempted to keep his balance so the lopsidedness wouldn’t be obvious. He realized Miller was observing his behavior with the chair.
Miller went to examining his resume like it was the first time she had ever read the document. Rick’s throat tightened. At one point, she glanced up, gazing at him through her thick glasses. Her shoulders remained stiff, formal. Her eyes flashed back to the resume.
What was she thinking? Was there some discrepancy?
“You’ve worked with this population before.”
“Yes,” he said, stifling a sigh of relief. “I worked last year in a school for troubled youth in New York.”
“Why did you leave there?”
“Budget cuts. I was new and had no seniority, so they had to let me go, but while I was there, I worked with the kids—”
“You really haven’t worked with the population we deal with here,” she interrupted again. “You have no idea what our children are about, do you?”
Miller lifted her head up and stared at Rick. He was unsure how to respond, but he picked up on the annoyance written across her face. Her eyes narrowed, the longer he made her wait.
The Rasner Effect Page 4
