Vigilant

by Angel Lawson

  “I’ll write the names down,” she said, taking the pad from Officer Baker. She wrote down three or four, adding Jace’s name at the bottom.

  “That’s the kid from the robbery last week,” Baker said, looking over the names. “The one that got away. You didn’t tell me he was a client of yours.”

  “He’s not. He aged out a while back but I recognized him from our program. If he saw me that day, he may think he needs to scare me.”

  Officer Baker frowned and fished out a business card. “I’ll look into this and send you the report for insurance. Be careful and call me directly if anything else happens.” He looked over at her house. “You have a roommate? A dog?”

  “Roommate—no dog. But it’s a guy, if that helps.”

  “It may. I see your security sticker. Make sure you turn your system on, okay?”

  “I try to remember,” Ari said, knowing that she wasn’t always vigilant about it. Officer Baker got in his car and drove off while Ari stared at the mess her car had become. The scratches were ugly, but the two flat tires made it un-drivable. She walked back into the house to call a tow truck.

  * * *

  Since Oliver worked all day in his office—and could hitch a ride home with Veronica—Ari dropped him off downtown on her way to Curtis’s house while her car was at the shop. Mr. Davis had given her a list of items Curtis would need while in the program, and she thought she’d try his house. Luckily, the program had some basic supplies he could borrow until she got back with his personal items.

  Ms. Wilson lived in a housing project near the stadium. The century-old houses lining her street sat in varied states of neglect. Curtis’s mother’s home was no exception although there seemed to be some attempt at keeping the yard and porch clean. Ari parked Oliver’s SUV on the street and locked the doors. She’d come early on purpose, the time of day when drug dealers and car thieves slept. Even though there was a false sense of peacefulness about the neighborhood, the numbness that Ari struggled with returned slowly. She frowned in disgust over the plastic drug baggies that littered the streets. Smashed beer bottles. All signals that every effort she made for these kids had been futile.

  No one answered Ari’s knock, so she tried twice more, even pulling on the screen door to see if it was also locked. Curtis had no phone number listed in his file. Tucking her card into the wire mesh door, Ari stepped off the porch. Halfway down the walk, she heard the locks slide and the door slowly open. Curtis’s mother stood inside, obscured by the dark screen door. Ari had expected his grandmother who was listed in his file as his primary caregiver.

  “Ms. Wilson?”

  “Yes? Who are you?”

  “Ari Grant. I’m Curtis’s caseworker. We’ve met before. Is Curtis’s grandmother here?”

  “Curtis. When’s he coming home?” she asked. Her voice sounded like gravel, thick and deep.

  Ari noted that Ms. Wilson didn’t invite her in. She took a deep breath and explained, “During his hearing, Judge Hatcher recommended a residential placement.”

  “How can she do that without my permission?”

  “Ms. Wilson, the court sent a notice to Curtis’s grandmother in the mail about his hearing date.”

  “We didn’t get no notice.”

  “Well, he had one. The good news, though, is that his placement is in town and it’s at a really good program. I think he has a chance of graduating from it successfully.”

  She squinted her eyes at Ari and Ari wondered if she was on drugs or hungover.

  “What kind of program is this?” Ms. Wilson asked.

  “He’ll live there and go to a local school. They have counseling services and a strong focus on athletics.”

  “Sports?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “He’s always been good at sports. Probably get a basketball scholarship. Everyone says so.”

  Ari had no idea who “everyone” was. She simply said, “Good. Then this may be the best place for him.”

  Ms. Wilson stared at Ari with suspicious eyes. “What do you need from me?”

  “I came by to see if Curtis has any clothes or personal items I can take to him. Is there anything here?”

  Ms. Wilson finally slid the latch on the other side of the door. “You can check his room.”

  She followed the woman through the cluttered house. Past cheap furniture and a blaring television. A hole in the wall and the spider-webbed lines of the cracked ceiling revealed how desperately the house needed repair. From reading Curtis’s file, Ari knew his mother didn’t work and that she lived off government assistance. His father had been in jail since Curtis was a toddler, up until his death just before Curtis’s tenth birthday. The odds stacked against Curtis Wilson finding success in this world seemed insurmountable.

  “Check his drawers if you want. Or the closet. There’s not much, but I haven’t been in here since he left.”

  Ari watched as his mother walked away, probably back to the living room, leaving Ari alone in the room.

  Overall, Curtis kept his room tidier than she would expect for a teenage boy. His mattress sat on the floor with no frame. Surprisingly, a couple of books sat stacked neatly on the floor. She noticed library stickers on the back and put them in her bag, figuring no one else would return them. Several trophies sat on the top of his dresser and ribbons were tacked onto the walls. Ari leaned closer to read the lettering. Academic, football, math…

  Although they were several years old, it became obvious that Curtis was more than a gifted athlete—he had a brain, too.

  No wonder Judge Hatcher wanted to give him a second chance.

  The dresser had two broken knobs, so Ari jimmied the drawers open with a comb she found on top. Inside, she salvaged three T-shirts and a pair of jeans. In his sock drawer, she found a baggie of weed. Holding it in her hand she weighed her options. In the end, she tossed it back in. The weed alone could explain his slipping grades. Closing the drawer, she moved to the closet, which revealed a coat and two pairs of shoes. They were probably too small, but it was worth a shot.

  In the living room, Ari found Ms. Wilson where she’d expected her, curled up on the couch staring at the television. Ari stopped in front of the door and pulled some papers out of her bag. “Ms. Wilson, here is some information about Curtis. His phone number and visiting hours. I’ll be happy to drive you once he earns visitation.”

  “I don’t have a phone,” she said.

  “I know. You’re welcome to come by my office and we can call him.”

  Ms. Wilson didn’t answer, her heavy eyes glazed over in the direction of the television. Ari slipped her own card out of her pocket and left it with the other paperwork before she walked out the door.

  * * *

  Back at the office, Ari found Jace Watkins’s file on her desk. It was six inches thick and masking tape had replaced the original binding. Stanton passed her office and said, “Heard you asking about him the other day and I found that in storage. He’s over eighteen and out of our jurisdiction. The last time I saw him was in county lockup for an assault charge. He aged out while waiting for trial. Not sure what happened after that.”

  “Thanks,” Ari said, opening the front cover. She’d been poking around the closed files the other day and asked her fellow caseworker, Tony, if he remembered anything about him. She should have just asked Stanton in the first place. He remembered everything about the kids that came in and out of here. She skimmed the details, but it seemed Jace had a history of violent crimes, starting at age twelve. He spent two sentences in long-term detention before he was eighteen, and then the arrest Stanton spoke of. He only had an eighth-grade education, but his psychological exam noted his high IQ. Smart and dangerous. Scary.

  Carrying the file, Ari walked to the office next door. “Stanton, do you remember what the last arrest was for? The adult charge?”

  He scratched his bald head. “Armed robbery I think. That was kind of his standard M.O. Maybe a convenience store?”

  “Ok
ay.” So Jace had a history of armed robbery. Not surprised, she started back to her office but stopped when Stanton called her name.

  “Why are you looking into him? Don’t you have enough cases of your own?”

  “You would think, right?” Ari laughed. “One of my files crossed with his and I was just curious. Nothing big.”

  “Look in the back. I should have put his final court notice in there.”

  “Okay,” she said, flipping through the pages. Just inside her door she jumped, dropping the file to the ground.

  “Holy crud, Nick!” She bent down to pick up the paperwork, while her heart slammed against her chest. “You scared me!”

  Nick scrambled from the empty chair he’d been waiting in. “I’m sorry, not my intention.”

  “I think I’ve been a little skittish since the armed robbery,” she confessed.

  “Understandable,” he said. She loved the way his forehead creased in concern for her. “I really am sorry.”

  Ari breathed in and smelled something yummy. She finally noticed the bag of food waiting on her desk. She peeked into the bag. “What’s this?”

  “I knew if I asked you to meet me for lunch you would say you were too busy, so I brought lunch to you.”

  “How did you know I would say that?” Calmer now, Ari sat in her desk chair and swiveled it to face him.

  “Because when I called earlier, that’s what Rebecca said.”

  Ari rolled her eyes. “Oh, did she?”

  “She suggested I come here.”

  “Uh huh,” Ari said. She opened the bag and pulled out two tacos wrapped in foil. “She happened to tell you that Taco Taco is my favorite place for lunch?”

  “Possibly,” he said, with a satisfied grin.

  “Thank you,” Ari said and handed him one of the tacos.

  He bit into his lunch, attempting not to spill food all over his suit. Ari dug into the bag and gave him a handful of napkins. They ate in silence until he asked, “So how was your weekend?”

  “Ugh, pretty good. Someone trashed my car.”

  Nick frowned. “What? How?”

  “Slashed my tires and keyed the sides. It’s in the shop today.”

  “What the hell is going on with you, Ari? The armed robbery and now this? Do you think they’re connected?”

  Ari shrugged. Nick didn’t know about Jace. “I’m sure it was just random. I don’t live in the most crime-free community, you know.”

  They spent the rest of their lunch break talking about other things and finally Ari said, “I’m going to get in trouble if you hang around much longer.”

  “I need to head back anyway,” he said, standing and taking his coat off the back of the chair. Nick really was quite handsome and Ari realized she enjoyed spending time with him. Two “dates” and things felt good between them.

  “Let me walk you out,” Ari said, and they walked the maze of her office and past Rebecca who was eating her own Taco Taco lunch at her desk. Ari lifted an eyebrow as she walked by but Rebecca only smirked in return. They walked outside to the courtyard.

  “So next time, the food is on me?” she suggested.

  Nick gave her a sly smile. “Sounds good. Call you later?”

  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  He leaned over and gave her a gentlemanly kiss on the cheek. Ari smiled when he gave her arm a gentle squeeze before he walked away.

  “Bye,” she called.

  Ari liked Nick. He was a great guy. Maybe a little straight-and-narrow for her taste but she knew it was time to grow up a little and find a stable guy. Not the type who entertained crowds with backflips in clubs. Plus, that would have been a major conflict of interest now that she and Mr. Davis worked together.

  Rebecca pounced on Ari when she came in the door. “I can’t believe he came!” she exclaimed. “I mean, I told him to, but when he asked for my favorite taco I thought he was just joking around. Like, ‘ha ha, I like chicken salsa, extra cheese,’ you know? But then he showed up all windblown and hot and I just didn’t even know what to do, so I just sent him back to your office.”

  Ari gave her an amused look. “Are you finished?”

  “Not really,” Rebecca said. “Did you make plans for later? Did he kiss you on the cheek or the mouth? I couldn’t see from the window. And don’t even act like you aren’t into him. You should see your face.”

  “What about my face?” But Ari knew. She felt the flush and had a hard time keeping the Nick-induced grin suppressed.

  “You look like the cat that caught the canary.”

  “Not yet,” Ari said as she started back to her office. “But give me a couple weeks and we can talk.”

  SIX

  Just like the last time Ari arrived at the GYC, Keith stood behind the counter. Loud hip-hop music flowed from the gym and he nodded his head to the beat. She entered the lobby with a bagful of Curtis’s belongings. Since she hadn’t found much at his house, she’d stopped and purchased several other necessities to add to his small collection. At least enough to get through a week of school.

  “Hi Keith,” she said, approaching the counter. “I need to drop these off for Curtis. Is he around?”

  The boy jerked his thumb toward the gym. “He’s in the ring.”

  Ari walked around the counter and almost dropped her bag. Keith was right—Curtis was in the boxing ring, fighting, or really, being beat up by another boy. He wore shorts and a tank top, and big boxing gloves weighed down his hands. A padded helmet covered his head. Even with the protection, blood dripped from his nose and he swayed on his feet.

  “Curtis!” Ari yelled. He looked up. The distraction gave the other boy the chance to deliver a sharp, devastating blow to the head. Curtis fell against the ropes.

  “Stop!” Ari cried, abandoning the bag on the floor. She ran across the gym and reached for the elastic ropes surrounding the ring. She never made it. Her body flung backwards and her heart seized. An unknown man pulled her back, his massive arms around her chest. For the second time that day, a slamming memory of the armed robbery jolted through her body.

  “Get off!” she shrieked. She fought against the man, kicking his shins and scratching at his arms. Ari felt her shoes fly off her feet and her attacker placed her on the floor. He immediately began apologizing.

  “It’s okay,” he said, holding his hands up. “It’s okay. I’m sorry.”

  Ari took deep, heavy breaths. Her eyes darted from her attacker to Curtis, who had struggled to his feet. He and the other boy stared at her. Looking around the room, she realized several other boys across the gym had stopped their activities as well. “I’m not going to hurt you,” the man said again. She looked at his face and realized he meant no harm, but that didn’t stop the feeling of panic overtaking her body.

  The man offered her his hand and she scrambled back. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Ms. Grant?” she heard, and she spun. Mr. Davis ran toward her. “Are you okay?” He looked between Ari and The Hulk. “Peter, what happened?”

  “She was about to jump in the ring and I stopped her. I was afraid she would get hurt,” Peter said.

  Ari couldn’t stop staring at him. Enormous, bulging muscles, pulled taut at his shirt sleeves. She could even make out the outline of his solid chest through the material. His body was like a machine but his face, Ari realized, was gentle and sincere.

  “I’m okay,” she said to Mr. Davis. “I just panicked.” She glanced over at the boys, taking in Curtis’s bloody nose.

  “Pete, take the boys upstairs. It’s time for study period anyway,” Mr. Davis said, handing her the shoes she’d lost earlier. “Ms. Grant, will you come back to my office?”

  “Of course.” Ari slipped her feet into her shoes, hopping on one foot and then the other. She gave The Hulk a small smile in apology. “That bag is for Curtis.”

  Embarrassed by her breakdown, Ari walked away from the watchful eyes of the boys and followed Mr. Davis back to his office. He offered her a seat on his battere
d leather couch. “Give me a minute,” he said, before ducking back out of the room.

  Ari had been in his office the week before, but not alone. She took the opportunity to calm down and to snoop. She ran a finger over the name plate on the desk that simply said “Davis.” The room held two other chairs and a wide, tidy desk. He had several decorative shelves, filled with books and trophies. Ari studied the framed photos that lined the walls—most in black and white. Several were urban scenes, places she recognized from around the city, all in motion. Cars, trains, lights. She squinted at the signature, a scribbled “D” in the corner.

  A worn pair of boxing gloves hung on a hook next to the door. Ari felt the soft leather and inexplicably pressed her nose against them.

  “Take the towels to the laundry and make sure you use bleach this time,” Mr. Davis directed someone in the hallway, before walking in. She dropped the gloves and leaped for the couch, bouncing a little in her hurry.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, entering the room.

  “Your office is bigger than mine,” she said, nonsensically.

  “Perk of being the boss,” he said. He sat in one of the chairs. Struck again by his interesting look, she noted his Asian features including dark, almost black eyes. He wore his hair short, almost shaved bald, but he wasn’t going bald. She could see the thin layer of stubble covering his head. His nose slanted a little off-center, Ari assumed, from being hit by a fist, and a thin white scar cut through his dark eyebrows. The hickey under his ear had grown faint. She couldn’t tell how old he was, probably close to her age. She could see the lean, hard muscles under his thermal shirt. She’d felt those muscles before and the longing to do so again overwhelmed her.

  Ari pointed to the name plate on the desk and said, “So can I drop the ‘Mr.’ now?”

  That earned a smile and he nodded. “Everyone else does.”

  “Thank you.”

  She waited for him to ask her for her first name but he didn’t. Instead he asked, “Do you want to talk about what happened out there?”