“Ben,” I hissed quietly and snapped my fingers to get his attention. I pointed in the direction of a scrawny-looking teenager dressed in hip-hop-style street wear with long, greasy blond hair was talking to a muscular, tattooed man in his twenties in the doorway. The man handed him a large bag of something, which the kid tucked under his shirt, and then he and the man performed some sort of elaborate handshake, after which the man went back inside.
“That damn kid goes to our school,” growled Ben. Suddenly he shouted through the window. “Hey, Panetti, we got you! What the hell are you doing here, huh?”
The kid spun around on his heels, his eyes wide with fright. Then he saw us looking through the window and immediately bolted.
“Damn it, Ben, why'd you do that?” I snapped as I pushed past him and raced down the fire escape.
“Sorry, Everett,” he called out as he hurried down after me, huffing and blowing. “I just lost my cool when I saw that damn kid!”
“If he gets away, we've wasted this whole hour!” I shouted back at him.
As I got to the second floor, I saw the kid burst out of the door below us. This was it, this was my only chance to get him, and there was only one way to do it.
“What the hell are you doing?!” shouted Ben as he saw what I was about to do. “Don't; you'll break your neck!”
But I knew what I was doing, and I knew I could make the jump – so jump I did. I soared through the air, accelerated with a terrifying speed toward the ground, and then landed with a tumbling roll, and came up running. I sprinted after the kid, gaining quickly on him. I grabbed the hood of his sweatshirt – and that's when he spun around and slashed at me with a knife.
I whipped my arm away just in time, but at the same time, I lunged forward and grabbed his wrist swiftly. I could have broken it, but he was just a kid, so I gave it a good painful jerk, forcing him to drop the knife, and then I yanked his arm behind him and pulled it up behind his back.
“Ow, ow, you're hurting me!” he whined.
“And you just tried to stab me, you lil' punk! Get the drugs out from under your shirt, now!”
“I don't know what you're talking about!”
“We saw you, Panetti,” Ben gasped as he came stumbling along, panting for breath and sweating profusely. “And what's more, I've got it on video. The drugs, and you taking a shot with the knife at Mr. James here.”
“And I believe that with those two charges put together – drug dealing and assault with a deadly weapon – you're looking at a minimum of 10 years in prison,” I said to the kid.
That was when he broke down, and tears started streaming down his face.
“I... I was just tryin' to make some extra cash, alright? My dad is a drunk, and he lost his job six months ago. My mom don't have much education, and she's tryin' to support our family on a waitress' pay. I'm sorry, Mr. Henderson, I'm sorry... I just needed the money.”
“Well how about this, Panetti,” I said. “That is your name, right?”
The kid sniffed and nodded.
“You give me the drugs, and I'll give you whatever their street value is – and we won't turn you in.”
“You... you won't?” the kid asked between sniffles.
“No, but there's one condition,” I added.
“Alright, I'll do anything man, anything...”
“We need you to help us out. I’ll make sure you have money to help your family. But we need to know that we can trust you – because you if try to feed us false information, or lie to protect those drug-dealing scumbags, just remember: we can turn you in and that means a minimum 10-year prison sentence. Got it? So, are you gonna help us?”
He nodded, still sniffling with tears in his eyes.
“I'll help,” he said. “I just have one question.”
“Fire away, Panetti.”
“Who... who are you?”
I grinned before replying.
“I'm your new principal, Mr. Panetti.”