“A lawyer has a duty to protect his client. Period.”
“Got it, Ike.”
Ike fell into his swivel chair and stared at his nephew. There was another long pause. Theo finally asked, “Should I tell my dad?”
“No. Just bury it.”
“Okay.”
Theo left a few minutes later. Riding slowly back to the office, he still could not accept the fact that his secret information would remain buried in a retired file, boxed away in the depths of Boone & Boone. It did not seem fair.
Chapter 24
After the final bell Tuesday, the activists hurriedly gathered in the school’s auditorium. The room would be vacant for about thirty minutes, until rehearsal began for a sixth-grade production. Mr. Mount had bargained for thirty minutes on the grounds that his debate team needed some vague form of practice. They quickly arranged the stage to appear ready for a real debate, with a podium in the center and a long folding table on each side. Since it wasn’t a real debate, chairs were moved in close and filled with fake spectators, a dozen or so friends drafted by Theo and Hardie. To improve the quality of the video, Mr. Mount used a camera on a tripod. When everyone was in place, Mr. Mount announced, off camera, “And now, Theodore Boone.”
Theo stood from behind his table. To his right were Hardie, Chase, and Woody, all four wearing clip-on ties and bright-yellow surgical face masks. Theo walked to the podium and nodded to the opposing team, which consisted of Justin, Brian, Darren, and Edward, four other volunteers from Mr. Mount’s homeroom. They, too, had bad clip-on ties and the yellow masks. The spectators, including April and some guys from Hardie’s homeroom, were bunched together close to the podium. Their faces were also hidden behind yellow surgical masks.
Hardie’s father had found the masks online. Nine bucks for a carton of fifty, available in every color imaginable.
Theo yanked his down and looked at the camera. With a frown he said, “My name is Theo Boone, and today the issue before us is the so-called Red Creek Bypass.” He coughed twice, then covered his nose and mouth with the mask. Next to the podium was a large map of the county with the bypass highlighted in bloodred as if it were a deadly gash on the landscape. Theo pointed and said, “This bypass will take Highway 75 around the city of Strattenburg, out here into a more rural area, where it will destroy fifty homes, several farms, a hiking trail, a historic church, and it will bring about twenty-five thousand cars and trucks a day to the front door of Jackson Elementary School.”
On cue, the spectators hissed and booed.
Theo continued: “It will also take out part of this soccer complex and cross the Red Creek River in two places.”
More booing and hissing.
“The bypass will cost two hundred million dollars and is being pushed hard by businessmen, politicians, and trucking companies north and south of Strattenburg.”
More booing and hissing.
“One of the worst aspects of this bypass is right here, at Jackson Elementary School, home to about four hundred students from prekindergarten through fifth grade. There has been no reliable study as to the noise and pollution near this school, but it’s safe to say that the quality of air will be greatly harmed.”
On cue, everybody started coughing, even the members of the opposing debate team. Theo, with great drama, said, “In short, this bypass is a bad project, a waste of money, a dangerous idea, and it should never be built.” He stomped away from the podium as if ready for a fistfight.
The spectators managed to stop coughing and began applauding.
For the other side, Justin rushed to the podium, and from behind his bright-yellow mask said, “On the contrary, this bypass is needed so that some folks can make more profits. Trucking companies, land developers, construction companies—all of these and more will make huge profits. That’s especially good for them, but it’s also good for us.”
A loud round of booing and hissing from the spectators.
“The more money they make, the more taxes they pay—well, some of them anyway—and the more taxes we rake in, the more stuff our leaders can do with it. Don’t you see?”
The spectators did not see and continued their show of displeasure.
Mr. Mount stepped forward and said, “Okay, let’s cut for a minute and rethink this.”
The goal was a two-minute video, with the debate scene burning about thirty seconds. Under Mr. Mount’s direction, they did another take, then another. On the third take, the two teams actually began yelling at each other, with names like “Liar!” “Crook!” and “Sleazebag!” thrown in for a bit of exaggerated drama. The spectators tossed debris at the podium while Justin ranted on.
With all faces hidden behind the surgical masks, it was easy to conceal the smiles and laughter. After half an hour, Theo, Hardie, and Mr. Mount were satisfied. They had enough footage for a great opening scene.
* * *
The filmmaking would become more difficult. For the second scene, many more actors were needed and there was a greater risk things could go wrong.
After school Wednesday, the activists met at an old softball field not far from Strattenburg Middle School. Softball season was several months away and the field was supposed to be vacant that afternoon. However, in Strattenburg, as in most cities, no vacant field was safe during soccer season when coaches scoured the neighborhoods in search of any open area that might work for a quick practice. There had even been fights. The fine new soccer complex near Jackson Elementary was built to provide adequate space and thus reduce the pressure. It was packed five afternoons a week and throughout the weekend, but it seemed as though there would never be enough soccer fields.
But there was no soccer in sight, at least not of the organized variety. At precisely 4:00 p.m., bikes and cars arrived in a rush. Many of the players of Red United, Hardie’s team, showed up and quickly began changing into their uniforms. Their coach, Jack Fortenberry, brought a bag of balls, some orange cones, a small, portable goal complete with netting, and some extra practice jerseys for the other “team.” The other team was a ragtag bunch of nonplayers who’d been recruited by Theo and Hardie, most of whom came from their homerooms. In all, about fifteen players took the field, half wearing a Red United jersey, half wearing a white practice shirt, and all wearing bright-yellow surgical masks, as if the air was pure poison. Along the sidelines, parents held homemade signs that read: STOP THE BYPASS, PROTECT OUR KIDS, NO BYPASS GAS, and so on. The parents were also wearing the yellow surgical masks. Many of the adults were either Quinns or related to the family.
For extra drama, and perhaps a bit of humor, the two coaches, Mr. Fortenberry and Mr. Mount, strapped around their heads bulky gas masks of the World War I variety. They weren’t real—Hardie had found them online for ten bucks each—but they looked authentic.
Theo was in charge of special effects, and after gauging wind directions, he and Chase eased down the foul line in right field. When no one was looking, they lit a smoke bomb, tossed it on the ground, and quickly got away from it. A slight breeze lifted the bluish smoke into the air and carried it over the field. Theo had done his homework. There was a city ordinance against the use of fireworks unless proper permission was granted, and Theo, of course, had chosen not to get permission. However, fireworks were defined as portable devices and objects designed to make loud noises when triggered. In Theo’s opinion, the city’s ordinance did not outlaw the use of silent smoke bombs. That’s what Theo was prepared to argue, if, in fact, he got caught. Getting caught, though, seemed highly unlikely. Who was going to complain? Everyone at the site was on the same team, so to speak.
As a light fog settled over the field, the game began. It wasn’t really a game, but more of a playtime as the boys chased the ball around and kicked it as far as possible. They coughed and coughed, and gagged, and, under Theo’s fearless direction, even collapsed in fits of wheezing as if overcome by diesel exhaust. Theo and Hardie filmed the fans, their signs, and the coaches trying to yell from under their g
as masks. They filmed a penalty kick in which the goalie seemed to fall dead at the precise moment the ball blew by him.
The final scene was a pathetic shot of all the players lying on the field, all gasping and wheezing and unable to continue, much like dying soldiers left behind after a gun battle.
An elderly man from a nearby house showed up and began asking questions. “Where’d that smoke come from?” Everybody shrugged.
“You kids all right?”
More shrugging as the kids got up and began walking away.
“Should I call 911?”
“That’s not necessary,” Mr. Mount said.
“Why’s everybody wearing a mask?”
“Air pollution,” Theo replied as he hopped on his bike.
* * *
Saturday afternoon, the soccer complex was packed with ten games under way and cars wedged into overflow parking lots. Hardie had played that morning and was free for the afternoon. Theo, Chase, Woody, and April met him near the elementary school for the shooting of another scene. Because the driveway that led to the school also ran along farther to the soccer complex, there was a lot of traffic. They had to be careful. It was not a crime to wander across the campus of a public school on a weekend, but Theo did not want curious people asking questions. He knew from experience that security guards kept a casual eye on the various local schools during nights and on weekends.
The gang put on their yellow surgical masks and posed for photos by the large JACKSON ELEMENTARY SCHOOL sign near the front entrance of the campus, then they drifted behind the main building until they came to a playground. There was no sign of a security guard or school employee. Theo dropped another smoke bomb and walked away from it. Soon, there was a cloud drifting over the playground. While Chase worked the camera, Theo, April, Hardie, and Woody jumped into swings and began kicking and ripping through the air. At thirteen, they were too old to be posing as elementary school students, though the yellow surgical masks hid most of their faces. Shot from a distance, the scene just might work. Chase continued to back away with the video camera, and from fifty yards, he found his range. The scene became almost too good—kids on a playground, faces covered for protection as a cloud of dirty diesel exhaust settles over them.
“Perfect!” he yelled to his friends. “Just perfect.”
* * *
Theo and Hardie slept over at Chase Whipple’s Saturday night. The Boones and Whipples were close friends, and there was often a weekend sleepover in the works. The boys said they had a couple of movies to watch, but the real reason was to polish up their video. Chase knew of a website where they could purchase footage of almost anything imaginable, and for six dollars (paid for by Hardie’s father and his credit card) they downloaded scenes of real eighteen-wheelers roaring along a crowded highway, exhaust pouring from their pipes. They downloaded shots of four-lane highways choked with slow-moving traffic. With Sebastian Ryan’s permission, they borrowed footage, diagrams, and scenes from the Stratten Environmental Council’s website.