The Fourth Stall

by Chris Rylander

  “So I sent Fred in. And I knew that if I gave him a story where he’d need constant protection, you’d keep him close. Close enough to get all the information I’d need to wipe you out. Because that’s one thing my deadbeat father actually taught me. He taught me: keep your friends close but your enemies closer. And sure enough, it didn’t take long for me to know everything. The money was just a bonus. Once Fred told me about your Emergency Fund, it became all about getting that first. Once Fred told me about your argument with your friend, I saw my chance both to get the money and finish you off in one move. I could have wiped you out in just a few days had I really wanted to.”

  I saw Fred looking at the floor, appearing more sheepish than ever. Staples laughed. He sounded like a maniac.

  “I tried to warn you to just back off, too. I sent you so many warnings. At first I was only trying to make sure that you stayed out of my way, but no, you kept on pushing. You didn’t mind your own business and then you forced me to take you out. You’re such a stubborn little pest, trying to play gangster like it’s some game.”

  I thought about what he said. It didn’t really add up. He had been trying to take me out from the beginning. He had just told me so. He only delayed and sent warnings to keep me off his back long enough to give Fred a chance to steal my money. No, he was trying to turn the tables and make me doubt myself.

  “I never wanted to hurt you, Christian; you kept bringing it on yourself.”

  “No. This was your fault, Barry, not mine. I’m not the one with a dirty business. I make my money by providing a service, not by cheating kids. Plus, you did want to hurt me. How else can you explain sending Willis and that other kid after me, or trying to kill me with your car? You’re jealous, aren’t you? That’s why you’ve had it out for me from the beginning. You’re jealous that I have a business that works without cheating, that some little kid can run a smoother, more profitable business than you. And you’re jealous that I have a dad who’s not some drunken deadbeat slob.”

  Staples shook his head. He seemed at a loss for words. Finally he said, “No, Christian, you’re wrong!” His teeth were pressed together and spit flew from his mouth when he talked.

  That’s when my phone rang. All three of us looked at it as it sat in my hand.

  “Excuse me,” I said, and flipped the phone open.

  “Hey, Mac! We got it, all of it. It worked perfectly,” Vince’s voice said. He sounded as excited as I’d ever heard him.

  “Good,” I said, and smiled at Staples. He did not smile back.

  “We got almost all of our money back. It was in a lockbox under the floorboards, right where Tyrell knew to look. And we got documents and business records and all kinds of incriminating stuff, too. How are things there?” Vince said.

  “Good. Hang on a minute, Vince,” I said.

  “What? What?” Staples said. He sounded menacing, but he looked worried.

  “They got it,” I said. “They got it all. They even found my money under the floorboards.”

  That’s when Staples moved like lightning. He stepped forward and smacked the phone right out of my hand. It smashed into the concrete wall and clattered onto the floor in several pieces. I backed up, but I had nowhere to go.

  “What are you doing? They’ll call the cops!” I said.

  But I wasn’t sure if they actually would. We never actually thought it would come to that.

  “You really think the cops will care about some kid taking bets?” Staples said.

  “They will when the perp has a list of priors as long as California. I know you’re on probation, so one little incident and you’re going to prison. You’ll have to write me, Barry, and let me know what the slammer is like. I’ve always been curious about that.”

  Staples’s eyes turned pure red. His hands made fists, and I heard his teeth grind together. He punched a nearby stall door and it dented with a bang. I flinched. Then he punched the mirror and it splintered and a few shards shattered on the tile floor. I looked at his fist as he turned to face me; it wasn’t pretty.

  “Well, it doesn’t look like I have a choice, then, does it?” Staples said with such intense vehemence that it almost made me want to die in fear right there on the spot.

  “Your choice is to leave my school forever or go to prison,” I said quietly.

  “No, no. I don’t have a choice. You’re a sneaky little liar and you’re going to turn me in no matter what I say, aren’t you?” he said, taking a few more steps toward me.

  I backed up more and realized that I was now cornered. I was back by the high window with nowhere to go.

  “No! I wouldn’t do that. I keep my word. A deal is a deal.”

  “Right. Just like you lied to me to get me here, right?” he said.

  “No, that was just . . . I mean . . . I swear I’ll give you your stuff back, all I want is my money that you stole,” I said, trying to take the offensive.

  He laughed and moved within a few feet of me.

  “Well, here’s the thing: your little friends can do whatever they want with the stuff they stole from my shed. Let them call the cops. All you need to worry about is the fact that you will pay for it.” He was speaking so harshly that his spit sprinkled my face. “I’m already going to prison, right? So who cares if they add more time for what I’m about to do to you?”

  I knew he was done bargaining. Staples had gone off the deep end. I kicked out my foot at his shin, but he was too fast. He stepped away from my kick and I lost my balance. Then he moved with mongooselike speed and grabbed my wrist. His bony fingers dug into my arm.

  I yelped in pain and tried to get away, but his grip was like a bear trap.

  “Fred, help me!” I yelled.

  He just cowered even more in his chair. His feet were up on the seat and his arms were wrapped around his legs. He had basically curled into a little ball like an armadillo under duress.

  At that point I realized that I had no choice but to fight dirty. I grabbed the hand that was holding my wrist and pulled my face to it. He tried to push my head away with his other hand, but it was too late. I didn’t really want to do it, but I closed my eyes and bit. Staples yelled in pain and let go of me.

  Then I ran.

  I ran out the door of the bathroom and then quickly out the East Wing entrance to the upper-grade playground. I stopped and looked back to see if he was following me. He was only like ten feet behind me and closing the distance quickly. I panicked and ran down the hill leading to the football field.

  I could hear Staples right behind me, growling like a rabid dog. When I got to the bottom, I crouched and grabbed a handful of gravel. I spun around while backpedaling and threw it into his face. He yelled and turned away from me.

  I kicked into high gear and headed toward the street. I knew it would not take long for him to catch me on foot, but if I could just get somewhere more visible to passing cars . . .

  I didn’t even get close. His legs were longer and stronger. I had gotten only thirty yards down the football field when I felt someone shove me hard in the back, and I went sprawling onto the ground, my elbow scraping over the dry fall grass. It burned and the wind got knocked right out of me. I felt my elbow moisten with blood as I tried to catch my breath.

  But then he was on me. He grabbed my shirt and lifted me off the ground easily. I could have kicked him or something, but I was too busy trying to get some air into my lungs. I wheezed as he carried me by my shirt collar back toward the parking lot.

  As I finally caught my breath, Staples set me on my feet. His hand moved from my shirt to the back of my neck, where it clamped down so hard I thought my head was going to fall off.

  “Don’t try to run again or you’re dead,” he whispered in my ear. He guided me toward his red sports car. “Now get in.”

  He opened the passenger door to the red sports car and I did as I was told, fear swelling inside of me like a teacup being filled with a garden hose. I’d never been more scared in my whole life. I was t
oo scared to even try to think of a way out of this.

  He got in the car and started driving. I had no idea where he was headed, but it was out near the edge of town. He headed past the Walmart and just kept going. I looked out the window as a farm field passed by. I kept imagining Staples making me dig my own grave out in some farmer’s deserted cow pasture. Imagining your own death has a way of making you feel pretty sick.

  Chapter 26

  After driving in silence for a few minutes, Staples took out his phone.

  “Yeah, PJ. I need you to meet me out at the Yard. We’ve got something to take care of.”

  I heard PJ’s muffled reply but couldn’t make out the words.

  “I don’t care who’s over at your house. This is more important than any girl, you idiot. Now get the other three and get out here!” I couldn’t be sure, but behind it all I thought I heard uncertainty or maybe even fear in Staples’s voice.

  So we were going to the Yard. The Yard is this vacant dirt lot a few miles out of town where teenagers go to scare themselves to death on Halloween and drink themselves passed-out on other Saturday nights. Vince’s brother had told us about it. It’s full of junk and weeds and old cars and nobody cares enough about it to ever go out there and clean up. As far as I know, nobody even knows who owns the land. Rumor was that they were going to build a bunch of houses out there but had to stop because the land is supposedly haunted. I guess when they started digging up the land, a bunch of bad stuff happened. Like, the machines stopped working and it rained a lot, but it rained only out in the Yard and nowhere else. Also, supposedly accidents kept happening and the workers were getting hurt and hearing voices and stuff. I never did believe those stories. Still, you couldn’t have paid me to go out to the Yard alone in the middle of the night.

  I did think it was fitting that I would probably end up haunting the place myself pretty soon. It was partially my fault; this was the business I’d chosen. But I wasn’t ready to just give up, not by a long shot.

  I shifted in my seat.

  “Don’t try anything.” Staples said. “Stop moving so much.”

  After a few more minutes he turned the car on to a gravel road. Then after about a hundred feet he turned into a massive dirt lot. There was garbage littered all around, and a few abandoned cars rested under some trees on the far side of the dirt clearing. We were at the Yard. It looked just like I’d heard: a stretch of land that had been leveled for construction years ago and then was just abandoned overnight. Maybe those ghost rumors weren’t just rumors after all.

  Staples got out of the car. He opened my door, pulled me out, and dragged me across the hard, hot dirt by my foot. He stopped about thirty feet away from the car and dropped my leg. I was pretty sure my back had gotten all scratched up, but I was so scared I barely noticed.

  “What do you have to say now, Christian?” He smirked.

  “Nice car,” I said, figuring that going out a smart-mouth would be much cooler than as a whimpering crybaby.

  Staples didn’t get mad, though. Instead he laughed as he sat down on an old tire. I was just starting to realize that he laughed a lot.

  We waited in silence for a while. I sat on the ground and squinted up at some clouds. Maybe he wouldn’t kill me after all. I mean, that would be pretty ridiculous. Then again, what else could happen? One thing was sure: I was on my own. None of my crew knew where I was and I had no way to tell them. Even if they did call the cops, they’d never find us out here.

  Eventually PJ’s black Honda came crackling into the Yard. PJ and the other three high school kids climbed out and walked over to us.

  “Jeez, Staples, what is this?” PJ said, sounding a little annoyed and shocked.

  “I’ve caught us a little troublemaker! He tried to blackmail me, and now we’re going to make him pay,” Staples said.

  “You kidnapped a little kid?” said one of the teenagers, laughing. But he didn’t really sound all that amused.

  Staples shrugged.

  “What are you going to do with him?” PJ asked.

  “You mean, what are we going to do with him, right?” Staples asked with a glare so dark that his eyes were like two black holes.

  “Uh, yeah, sure, whatever . . .” PJ said, sounding nervous.

  “Are you going soft on me, PJ?” Staples asked. “Huh? You had no problem beating him up after he kicked you. Am I supposed to just sit here and do nothing when he goes after me? Is that how it is? You know what’s in this for me; I can’t let him do that.”

  I wondered what Staples had meant by that. What didn’t I know about his business that was so important to him?

  Staples stood up and walked over to PJ. I thought he was going to punch him, and I think PJ did, too, because he flinched. But Staples just slapped him across the back like they were old friends.

  “Come on, man!” Staples said with a big grin. “You’re still in this with me, right?”

  PJ hesitated. I couldn’t really see from my angle, but I think Staples gave him a look that pleaded for agreement. Staples had usually seemed so in control, but now he was acting almost desperate.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” PJ finally said.

  “All right, that’s my boy!” Staples said, punching his arm. PJ winced in pain. “Just remember who pays for your car’s upgrades and your girlfriend’s necklaces and stuff, right?”

  PJ nodded and tried to laugh.

  Staples turned to face me. He was still smiling.

  “I guess it’s about that time, Christian,” he said, walking over to me. “What do you say we get this show on the road?”

  “Actually, I could stand to wait a little bit,” I said.

  He laughed. Then he said, “Oh, Christian. I really did like you, you know? You’re a funny kid. We maybe even could have been friends.”

  He loomed over me, looking like the devil himself. I think he was waiting for me to say something else. I just looked up at him with the meanest glare I could manage.

  “No last words? Just a nasty look?” he asked.

  I stayed silent.

  “Okay, then, suit yourself,” he said as he cracked his knuckles. It sounded like bones snapping. I winced as he cracked each finger one by one.

  I didn’t really like where this whole thing was headed.

  Chapter 27

  Staples looked down at me for a few moments. The sun was almost directly behind his head, and his face just appeared as a black silhouette. Even though I couldn’t see it, I was pretty sure he was smiling. Then he reached down and grabbed the collar of my shirt and lifted me into the air.

  I twisted around to see if his posse was really going to let him do this, and that’s when I saw perhaps the greatest sight I’ve ever seen. There was a bike gang headed our way down the gravel road. The bikes may have been pedal bicycles and not huge chopper motorcycles, and they were ridden by a bunch of kids instead of big muscular dudes with tattoos and black leather, but to me it was all the same at that point.

  The caravan consisted of six riders. In the lead was a really little kid on a small bike. As they drew nearer, I was finally able to make out who it was: Fred. Fred was leading the charge, and behind him rode Vince, Joe, Nubby, Great White, and Kitten.

  Staples dropped me to the ground and turned to face the newcomers.

  “What the . . .”

  Everybody turned as the six bikes skidded to a stop in quick succession on the dirt. It was really cool as the dirt sprayed up in front of them. Then Nubby, the last one to stop, accidentally went too far and his front wheel hit Joe’s bike, and he toppled off and sprawled onto the ground headfirst. It kind of ruined the moment a little bit. The four high school kids laughed, but Staples just stared as Nubby quickly climbed back to his feet.

  “What do we have here? A dork convention?” one of the high school kids said, and then laughed. Nobody else laughed with him.

  I think they might have been too busy warily eyeing what I had just noticed: my six rescuers had weapons strapped acro
ss their backs. But as they dismounted their bikes and armed themselves, I noticed that they didn’t exactly bring real weapons. Vince, for instance, had a plastic snow shovel. Fred held a long, skinny tree branch out in front of him, but in all honesty, it was just a gnarly twig that would probably shatter if hit by a light breeze. Joe had one of those thick foam noodles that kids sometimes bring to the swimming pool. Nubby held a giant rubber trout with a missing dorsal fin and bite marks all over it as if he’d gotten hungry and chewed on it during the bike ride.

  At least Great White had a gun. The only problem was that it was a water gun. I especially questioned his choice of weapon. It’s not like Staples was a witch who’d melt when sprayed with water. But then again, Great White was there to help me, they all were, and that’s what mattered most. Kitten was the only one who looked like he was used to picking out effective weapons. He had a really nasty-looking, rusty lawn rake. That didn’t surprise me; you could always count on Kitten to bring a flamethrower to roast a marshmallow.

  My friends lined up in front of us about twenty feet away. Staples stood with PJ and the other three high school kids between my rescuers and me.

  The searing sun shone on a classic showdown. I was so proud of my crew. I didn’t know how they’d done it, but they’d somehow found out where I was and then rode out the few miles on their bikes. And now they were apparently ready to fight for me. Even if they weren’t really equipped for it.

  The two sides stared at each other. The only noise was that of a few birds singing about whatever they had to sing about. Then finally the silence was broken.

  “Let him go, Staples.” It was Vince.

  “Or what, you’ll beat me up with your little toys?” Staples said with a smirk.

  “Umm, yeah, kind of. I guess that’s what would happen,” Vince said.

  He never is too good at confrontations, like I’ve said before.