Billionaire Mountain Man

"That little bastard. What was buying? Grass? Blow? I'll kick his damn ass when he gets back here. The drinking and the fighting and the vandalism and the stealing I can live with, but if he's getting' hooked on something like drugs, I'll crack that boy's skull wide open if it means some sense will get into it."

"I take it he's not here then," asked Ben.

"He hasn't been home since last night."

"Well, do us a favor, Mr. Stevens, please call us as soon as he comes back, okay? Here's my number, and here's Everett's cell number, too."

He took the paper with the numbers on it from Ben and stuffed it into the pocket of his grubby vest.

"Is that all?" he asked gruffly.

"Yes, that's all for now," Ben replied. "Thanks for your help, Mr. Stevens."

He didn't say anything else to us; he simply turned around and closed the door in our faces.

"Wow. If that's what he's like, I don't even want to imagine what his kid is like," I remarked.

"Like I said, he should have been expelled long ago. Anyway, come on, we have to get over to the Brownell house."

"Are they as nice as Mr. Stevens here was?"

"They've got a lot more money, but they might even be worse people than this slob, believe it or not."

"Oh boy. This is gonna be fun."

"Yeah. Well, you'll see when we get there."

"So, this kid, Leon Brownell, is he as bad a kid as William Stevens?" I asked.

"He doesn't have nearly as long a rap sheet, no. He was actually a pretty decent student for most of his school career. Got really good grades all the way through elementary school, was on a number of sports teams. The when he got to junior high and hit puberty, he seemed to do a 180. Started flunking classes, dropped out of most sports – except football. He was kicked off the team when he was caught doping, though."

"Doping, huh? What was he using?"

"An array of steroids. The kid's only 16, but he looks like a 30-year-old. It's pretty scary. He and Stevens have both been using steroids for a number of years, it seems. Probably contributes to their aggressive behavior."

"There's a pretty decent chance it does. Good thing I'm not scared of some puffed up steroid-popping punk kid."

"Yeah, because they need someone who isn't scared of them to put them in their place. Too many teachers are simply intimidated. These guys are big, strong and overly aggressive."

After another 10 minutes of driving, we reached the Brownell house. As Ben had said, it was a lot more upmarket than the Stevens’ residence. Indeed, it was downright fancy; almost a mansion. A gleaming new top-of-the-line Mercedes-Benz sat in the driveway, and the house itself looked immaculate.

We parked at the bottom of the driveway and walked up to the large, expansive porch that wrapped around the huge house. I rang the doorbell, and within a few seconds, a woman came to the door. She appeared to be in her late 40s, but that was a guesstimate considering she also looked to have had more than her share of plastic surgeries to maintain her youthful look...including enhancement to certain areas of her anatomy.

"Yes? Can I help you?" she said coldly, looking at us as if we were a couple of dirty, homeless bums begging for change.

"Mrs. Brownell, perhaps you remember me," Ben suggested.

"I don't think someone like you and someone like me move in quite the same social circles," she said snootily. "So, I can't think where I'd possibly know you from."

Ben drew a slow breath, doing his best not to lose his temper, and I couldn't blame him.

"I'm the assistant principal at JFK High," he said.

"Oh."

Her attitude remained aloof and cold.

"We're here to talk about your son," I said, interjecting. "My name is Everett James, and I'm the new principal."