Dr. Daddy's Virgin

“Tell me, boys, what were you thinking? Oh wait, I know, you weren't thinking. I know, you thought you'd be cool, huh? You thought you'd be little rebels, sneaking out of class to go get high. Yeah, as if that's never been done before. But this isn't just sneaking around the back of the bike shed to smoke an illicit cigarette. Do you understand that? Do you know what this junk is that you're putting in your bodies? Do you know how dangerous this stuff is? Do you?”

Both of them continued simply staring at the ground, unable to respond.

“Do you know how insanely bad this stuff is for you? Look, I was seventeen once. I know what it feels like to feel like you're totally immortal, like nothing can touch you. I know! But dammit, boys, you're not immortal. Do you know about the kid who died from this crap? That's right! This stuff is pure evil! It's gonna destroy your insides! It's like a cancer, but even more aggressive and merciless.”

I paused here to catch my breath and give them a few moments to digest what I said.

“This is what I'm gonna do,” I said to them. “I'm gonna call your parents in, and we're gonna sit down and talk about this with them when you two have sobered up. If necessary, I'm gonna recommend pulling

you out of school and sending you to rehab. Getting you off this trash is more important than missing out on a few weeks of school. But what I want to know now is, who did you buy it from. Who?! Give me a name.”

Neither of them seemed willing to speak.

“Was it that kid, Panetti?”

Charlie shook his head.

“It wasn't Panetti. He's dry; he doesn't have no Rocket right now.”

“Oh, is he?” I asked, feigning ignorance about Panetti's situation. “Well, then who was it? Tell me!”

“We don't know who the guy is,” Dylan blurted out suddenly. “All we know is that he drives a black Lexus with black tinted windows. He drives past the park across the road at 12 o' clock sharp every day and sells to whoever is waiting there. He's only there for 30 seconds though – real fast. We can't see who he is either coz he wears a mask. We just know him as Mr. Mask.”

I nodded.

“Mr. Mask, huh? And you say he's there every day?”

“Every weekday. No weekends.”

“That's good. Thank you for that information, Dylan. I might go easy on you when your parents are here. Might. Now get outta my sight. You two wait on the bench outside while I wait for my secretary to get hold of your parents.”

The boys shuffled out of the office, looking downcast.

“Have you heard anything before about this 'Mr. Mask' character?” I asked Ben.

He shook his head.

“Nothing with that name specifically,” he replied. “But I have heard of a dealer who goes around in a Lexus, specifically targeting high school kids. It's gotta be him.”

“So what do we do, Ben? Set up a sting for this guy on Monday?”

“Yeah. I'll get hold of a friend of mine who's a cop. I'll see what he can do,” Ben stated.

“Good. I'll call a quick staff meeting as soon as the day is finished, just to let the teachers know about this situation.”

“Sure. Thanks for the help, Ev.”

“No problem.”

I sent out a message to all the teachers informing them of the meeting after school, and at the meeting, I told them about the boys who had been caught sniffing Rocket and the fact that there was a dealer known as Mr. Mask who sold the stuff to kids at the park across the road. I cautioned everyone and suggested they remain aware of this, and keep an eye out for any kids attempting to sneak out to the park during recess.

After the teachers all left, I went and spoke to the boys who had been busted and their parents. Both boys, who had since sobered up, agreed to not touch the drug again. If they did, they'd be hauled out of school on the spot and sent straight to two months in a rehab center.

It had been a long day, and the sky was already low in the sky when I walked out to the parking lot where my truck was. As I opened my truck's door, however, I saw a note stuck under my windshield wiper. I pulled it out and saw that it was put together with letters cut from various newspapers and magazines.

“Hey, Principal James,” it said. “I know you think you're onto me – but I want you to know that I'm onto you. Good luck finding me, chump. - Mr. Mask.”

I wanted to crumple up the paper and fling it aside with rage, but instead, I kept my cool. I peered around me, subtly assessing the situation as old but not forgotten instincts and training kicked in.