"I don't wanna see you two clowns back here again," snarled the lead guard. "And if you are dumb enough to come
back, we're calling the cops."
"Don't worry, man, we're good; we won't be back," I said. "Come on, Ben, let's go."
We turned around, dusted ourselves off and then walked briskly back to the car. Once we got to it, I turned to Ben.
"Alright, so who are the kids Kendrick identified?"
"They're 11th graders. One is William Stevens; the other is Leon Brownell. Both are troublemakers; they've been spending most Saturdays in detention ever since they started at JFK High."
"Real high-quality students," I remarked sarcastically.
"Yeah. Well, at least we have their names now. Means we can look up their contact info. We have to head straight to their houses and speak to them and their parents."
"Do you think they'll even be there?" I asked. "They know Kendrick got shot, and they must know that this is serious business. If they have even an ounce of sense, they will have gone into hiding."
He nodded. "They probably have, but we have to try. Their parents might be able to tell us where they may have gone. They should at least be able to give us some details of these boys' friends and acquaintances, anyone who might be able to point us in the right direction to finding out about their whereabouts."
"Well, what are we waiting for?”
"Brownell and Stevens, here we go," said Ben as he pulled up their records. "You got a pen there, Ev? Write down these phone numbers and addresses."
He told me the phone numbers and addresses, and I scribbled them down on a piece of scrap paper.
"Great. That's it, that's what we need," I said. "Now what do you think, should we call their parents now, or just skip that and head straight on over to their houses and chat to them in person?"
Ben thought about this for a few moments. "I think let's skip the phone calls. This matter is too serious to chat about over the phone. We need to talk to these boys' parents in person."
"I agree. Well, who first? I don't know this town too well yet, so you'll have to drive."
"No problem." He glanced over the addresses. "William Stevens lives closer to the school than Leon Brownell does, so I guess let's head over to his place first. I can only hope that his parents are there, and that they're cooperative. Sometimes the parents of these problem students are as bad as the kids themselves."
"Believe me, I know all about that," I remarked.
We headed out to the car and climbed in.
"Alright, William Stevens, you little punk, we're coming for you," I muttered.
"Damn right," added Ben. “Look, I just have to say at this stage, thank you, Everett. Seriously. Before you came along, no other teacher here had the, uh, excuse me for saying so, but the balls to do this. You're helping me immensely. I'm glad you're here, helping to turn things around at this school."
"No problem, Ben. I'm glad you're so committed to stamping out the scourge of this drug problem. Really, I am."
"Well enough of this; we've got work to do. Come on!"
Ben was about to start the car when my phone rang. I took it out and saw that it was Vivienne calling.
"Uh hold on Ben, I just have to take this. It might be about my daughter. She's sick."
"Hello?" I said, answering the call.
"Hi, Everett," the voice trembled through the line.
I could hear immediately that something was wrong – something was seriously wrong. I couldn't help thinking that maybe Jane's condition had worsened, and my heart started beating faster. Little rushes of cold fear started trickling up my spine.
"What's wrong, Vivienne? Is it Jane? Is she alright?" I stammered.
"Jane's alright; she's fine."