Killer of Giants

by Oliver Lockhart

born with like psychopaths.”

  “Either way, he’s chock full of crazy sauce,” Raj said. “He likes hurting people – can’t get much sicker than that.”

  Allie stood and wiped her hands on her skirt. “Kyle’s father messed him up. People who get abused sometimes abuse others – not always, but sometimes. It’s no excuse though, and his father should’ve been locked up years ago”

  If I hadn’t seen it myself, I’d have a hard time believing a cop and his crim-wannabe son could be so untouchable. I rubbed my neck on both sides and sank back onto the lawn. “Whatever his deal is, we have to do something.”

  “What am I going to do with this hair?” Raj asked.

  The color had mostly returned to Gordie’s face. He rubbed the towel through his hair. “Just ask Kyle to even it up on the other side.”

  “Hilarious,” Raj said. “You’re rocking that pink hair you know. Now you just need to get it curled and put on some pearl earrings – you’ll look just like my grandma.”

  I picked at the gnarled, melted nylon burn hole in my jacket. “I’m not gonna wait till they try again.”

  “We could hire a hitman to teach him a lesson,” Raj said, stretching his legs on the lawn.

  “Shall we look on Craigslist?” Allie asked. “Oh wait, there’s that new hitman store on Eight Mile.” She climbed to her feet. “Those losers are bigger than you, but look at them – they’re not exactly rocket surgeons.” She nodded in the direction of Addison Street where Bundy stood gazing curiously at his finger. “They can barely dress themselves. We can think our way out of this, and it won’t involve a hitman.”

  “You’re right, violence isn’t the answer,” I said. “Except when it works, and then by definition it’s the answer. Doesn’t matter anyway – how would we find the cash to pay someone to help us?”

  Raj lay back and closed his eyes. “We could all get jobs.”

  “Guys!” Allie paced in front of us. “You’ve been watching too many gangster movies. Listen, if there’s one thing Cannondale’s Bitch Clique have taught me, it’s how to manipulate and backstab. If you can’t beat them face to face, you do it so they won’t see it coming.”

  In all my time at high school, I hadn’t thought much about it, but she was right. Guys beat each other senseless. The girls didn’t, but they were just as vicious. They’d be your best friend while secretly destroying your reputation, or they’d console you through a difficult situation while planning to isolate you. It was cruel and calculating, and it always got results.

  Allie gazed at the swirling storm clouds rolling in. “Think about it. How do you go about tackling a big problem? You break it down and solve each part.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “They’re strong when they’re together, but what if you could break them apart?”

  Everything about this girl was amazing, but most of all when she outsmarted the rest of us like it was something she did between brushing her hair and brushing her teeth. I nodded for her to continue.

  A smile played across her cheeks. “You need to turn them against each other.”

  “Hey, check it out.” Gordie pointed in the direction of Addison Street.

  With a whoop of a siren, a cop car pulled into the curb.

  “Delroy must have seen Kyle’s knife,” Allie said.

  Two cops, one fat and one tall, climbed out and adjusted their peak caps. Their radios squawked and crackled as they lumbered over to Delroy. Fat Cop put his hand on his radio, and Tall Cop gestured as he spoke. After a pause, Delroy nodded and pointed in our direction. With a tip of his hat, Tall Cop drew his gun, and his partner did the same. Together, they stormed toward us.

  “Shouldn’t they be…?” Raj frowned.

  I climbed to my feet and wiped my hands on my pants.

  A hundred feet from us, Tall Cop shouted, “Chris Maddox, get down on the ground!”

  Trouble with the law wasn’t something I was an expert on, but I was pretty sure this was bad.

  “This is your last warning. Get down now!”

  Allie grabbed my arm. “Do it!”

  I raised my hands and dropped to my knees. Tall Cop edged closer, aiming at my chest. Continuing his approach, he holstered his gun, and Fat Cop moved around to my side, his gun on me. Tall Cop gripped my shoulders and tackled me to the ground, wrenching my arms back and leaning his knee on my head, forcing my cheek hard into the lawn. Handcuffs cut into my wrists while the intense weight on my head was close to cracking my skull. Fat Cop holstered his gun and circled behind me.

  I twisted my neck to look over my shoulder. Allie put her hand to her mouth.

  “Spread ‘em.” Tall Cop kicked my feet apart and dug his fingers into my jeans pockets. One by one, he pulled out my wallet, keys, and phone. From my jacket pocket, he removed a guitar pick I’d found in music class.

  “What are you doing?” Allie shouted. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  Not feeling the urge to explain himself, Fat Cop moved his hands across my back and patted down my legs. The students on the field held up their phones at me.

  “He has rights, you know.” Allie folded her arms across her chest. “You can’t do this.”

  Fat Cop patted his hands along my arms and then stood. “He’s clear.”

  Releasing a sigh, Tall Cop lifted his knee. “All right, get him up.”

  A pair of hands gripped my underarms and hauled me to my feet, and the pressure around my wrists loosened. I wiped the dirt off my face and rubbed my wrists. With an all-business look on his face, Tall Cop removed a notebook from his shirt pocket. “Mr. Maddox, my name is Officer Hendrix and this is Officer Braxton. We received a report of you carrying a firearm. Do you know anything about a firearm in the vicinity?”

  I swayed like a drunk, dizzy from all the blood rushing from my head. “What? You mean a gun?”

  “Chris doesn’t have a gun!” Allie raised her hands. “How about you get your facts straight before assaulting people.”

  Braxton handed me my stuff. “Mr. Maddox, can you think of any reason why someone might have filed a false report about you?”

  Two hundred feet away on Addison Street, Fink and Bundy leaned against a Volkswagen, laughing and high-fiving each other. Kyle glared at me and ran his finger across his throat.

  I shook my head. “I can’t think of anybody who would’ve done that, Officer.”

  Hendrix narrowed his eyes and glanced at Braxton. “Very well. We’re sorry to have disturbed your peace.” They turned and lumbered back to their patrol car.

  “Did that actually happen?” Raj asked.

  Allie put her hand on my back. “Are you okay?” She examined the marks on my wrists. “No prizes for guessing who called the cops. We should report him for having a knife.”

  “What cop would arrest the Police Chief’s son? Anyway, everyone knows his old man’s crooked – who knows what kind of trouble he’d cause us.” I tucked my wallet into my pocket and checked the time on my phone, gazing at the screen until it dimmed and eventually went dark. Allie made a lot of sense. Without Kyle to organize them, Bundy and Fink were a two-ring circus without a ringmaster. Splitting them up might not stop them, but it’d be enough to give us a fighting chance. “Allie’s right. It’s up to us to fix this. Those assholes won’t even know what happened.”

  Gordie raised an eyebrow at me.

  “We’ll do this Bitch Clique style.” I held up my phone. “Kyle and Fink are headed for splitsville.”  

  8. Strawberry Leia Cake

  Rupert Cavanaugh pranced around the drama room like he was queen of the Demented Crackhead Fairies. “Follow me, my future stars of the big screen. Flap your wings and fly. Fly like an eagle!” His drama classes were always a joke, but some were borderline psychotic. I never understood how playing games was supposed to teach us how to act.

  Raj and I leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching twenty or so Hollywood wannabes jump around like freaks. Black curtains along the wall shaded outside lig
ht from the dim room, and a stage with red curtains and tassels stood at the far end. The stage floor had once been painted black, but years of lame school performances had worn it down to bare wood.

  If there was one person who wasn’t into goofy drama classes it was Allie. She did computing this period, and most days after school. It was no wonder she was voted most likely to be a computer geek in the ninth-grade yearbook.

  Raj chewed at his gum like he was angry at it. “Do you think Rupert wears leg warmers and a headband ‘cause he’s a drama teacher, or did he become a drama teacher ‘cause he likes leg warmers and headbands?”

  “He’d dress like that if he was a dentist.”

  The clock on the wall was at 11:41 a.m. Time to do this.

  Rupert raised his hand. “Now, my eagles, I want you to step outside your comfort zone. It’s time for an improv exercise.” He brought his hands together, fingertips touching, and grinned. “I’m about to give each of you a card with the name of a well-known character on the back. You’ll have two minutes to come up with an impersonation of your character, and then we’ll take turns on stage performing for the class.”

  As someone who gets performance anxiety, it was odd that Raj chose to do drama. He groaned and kicked his heel against the wall.

  Rupert shuffled the cards and handed one to each student at the front. “Learn to let go of your inhibitions. Visualize your character. Hear them speak. Let yourself become them.” He strutted to where we stood and held out the card pack.

  Hesitating for a moment, Raj