There were eight total sections to the IEP. The first being the Summary Sheet, which included the student’s demographics, names of parents and/or guardians as well as information collected at the initial intake meeting. I wrote down Esteban’s listed address as well as the parental contact information. Not much else was of use to me there. The second tab marked a thick section labeled IEP. This included Esteban’s IEP from his sending district, the school district that pays the tuition for Esteban to attend the Right Step School. Paterson was Esteban’s sending district. This also listed his Present Level of Academic Achievement and Functional Performance. The jargon confused me and Lindsey needed to put it into layman’s terms saying that this included Esteban’s academic strengths and weaknesses, what type of behavior intervention strategies are needed, what academic modifications and supports Esteban needed in class to learn. The district’s placement decision and his goals and objectives, which were filled out by Lindsey were also included. I took some notes from this section, not knowing how they’d help me with my investigation.
The next few sections were Social Evaluations, which was empty, Psychological Evaluations, which had a small three- page packet inserted that I perused but found nothing of interest, Educational Evaluations, Related Services, Medical, and Incident Reports. Esteban did not have any related services, such as speech or occupational therapy; his medical section only contained his mandatory physical forms and the incident reports is what the entire second binder was dedicated to. The Incident Reports section is where I figured I’d hit pay dirt and I couldn’t wait to dive right in.
ELEVEN
I pushed the first binder aside and slid the second in front of me. The small hiatus in investigative work made me realize how nice it was to work so close to Lindsey. We always said that we were glad to be in such different professions because we’d kill each other if we had to spend our entire work day together then come home and share the evening. But this was nice. It gave me an opportunity to really see Lindsey at work. I had been around her co- workers in the past at social events but never during her actual work day. If my juices hadn’t been flowing as it was from being back at work, working side by side with Lindsey made me boil over.
I was riding high and feeling good. I had a solid list of notes taken from what I was given and felt like I had some sense of direction for the first time in months. I was beginning to feel like a cop again. Or an investigator as I was now known as.
Then it hit me. Like a bitch slap from an angry woman. It took the sounds of the kids voices screaming through the halls during dismissal that made me realize that I was back in a school.
Back around kids.
The voices in the halls weren’t screaming but they sure as hell were in my head. It was the first time since Jake died that I had allowed myself to listen to adolescent voices and, to be honest with you, it scared the shit out of me. It reminded me so much of that night. Lindsey didn’t notice it, at first. She was skimming through Esteban’s incident reports to find anything that really stood out. I began to sweat and my lower body started twitching uncontrollably.
Man up, you bitch!
There was only one possibility: the onset of a panic attack.
TWELVE
After a glass of water and some antacids from the nurse, I was able to regroup and start to return to normal. A trip to the men’s room to splash cold water on my face sped up the process. Lindsey ordered me to go home and lie down but I insisted that I was all right. Besides, I’m a private investigator now. Going home to lie down isn’t an option.
“Are you sure, honey?” Lindsey asked.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine now. Why don’t you show me around the school?” She was hesitant but my wit and my charm eventually forced her to cave. We exited the nurse’s office at the end of the hallway and strolled back past Garvey’s office and towards Lindsey’s classroom. Her students were dismissed from art so the room was empty when we entered. She had six student desks strategically positioned around the room. Some were staggered and others were pushed as far into the corners of the room without touching the walls. Thin metal storage cabinets lined the back wall while Lindsey’s desk was in the far corner adjacent to the door. Book shelves and filing cabinets were strewn about filling up any open wall space left to be occupied. There were two long cafeteria tables occupying desktop computers, one along the windows and another wedged in between two of the metal storage cabinets.
Lindsey went to her desk and stacked a pile of papers and shifted a stack of novels from one side to the other. I roamed the room and looked at some of the kid’s classwork and art projects hung up around on a bulletin board. By the looks of some of the drawings they must’ve been working on Colonial America. There were color- coded maps that the students labeled each of the original Thirteen Colonies.
“Which one is Esteban’s?” I asked Lindsey of the desks positioned around the room.
“Right front and center up here by me,” she replied. The desks were all the same and had an alphabet strip stuck to the top of the workspace along with an individualized schedule. The metal desks had a hollow opening in the front for easy access and storage of books, papers, and supplies. I pulled out Esteban’s chair and saw that it appeared a tornado ripped through his notebooks and binder. Crumpled papers were overflowing like hot lava. Lindsey laughed when I caught her looking at me. She said nothing but shook her head.
“How the hell do you let them function like this?” I asked.
“I don’t let them function like this, Mr. Barnes. I don’t know how many times a week we have to spend time to just clean up their desks,” she replied.
“I can’t tell if I need rubber gloves or a Hazmat suit.” She laughed again. I began pulling out crumpled papers. Worksheets, drawings, and a slew of lined paper assignments. I piled them up as high as they’d let me on top of the desk. I removed workbooks with bent and ripped corners. Lindsey eventually joined me in my scavenger hunt, pulling a chair up next to me.
“This is pretty gross,” I said and I could read her answer through the expression on her face. “I couldn’t even do this on purpose if I tried when I was in school.” I found old napkins, but I couldn’t tell if they’d been used or not. There was a plastic cup that looked as if it’d been used for paint and a few empty chip and popcorn bags. Lindsey got up to retrieve the garbage can and instantly swiped everything I pulled out of the desk into the can.
“It’s not worth the effort,” she said.
“I’m afraid to reach into the back of the desk, afraid that something would bite me or cause my hand to get stuck,” I said. Lindsey brought me a small handheld broom, about the size of a large paintbrush and insisted that I use it to sweep out the remaining contents. She also brought along a small pan to collect the contents.
There was a large clump of dust and a few broken pencils, eraser shavings, and strips of paper swept into the pan. But it was what I swept up with the second attempt that greatly intrigued me.
“Hey, take a look at this,” I said. Lindsey returned next to me and saw me holding up an empty dime bag of marijuana.
THIRTEEN
The kid had been told by Jamal to come by his apartment immediately after school. When Esteban arrived on that Tuesday afternoon- he had skipped school and roamed the streets of Paterson- he was more nervous than ever. He had made runs for Jamal in the past but had never been invited up to his apartment. Jamal usually told Esteban to meet him at a specific location and had given specific instructions. He once met Jamal in the lobby of the apartment building but had never been up to Jamal’s place. Esteban had no idea he’d have to sit around for a few hours before given his next assignment.
“This is the shit you gotta do if you wanna make it big,” Jamal said. There was a dog barking in the next room. Esteban sat in a viscously stained, severely ripped arm chair in the corner of a viscously stained, severely damaged living room. The living room sat in the middle of a one bedroom apartment in the heart of Paterson.
The night sky began to settle after an afternoon of a consistent misting rain. The impending heat of the season created a thick layer of humidity in the air.
Esteban wanted to speak but wasn’t sure how Jamal would react if he said the wrong thing.
“I’m not sure if I can,” he finally said. Without realizing it he cringed at his own words. Esteban didn’t know if he was referring to not being able to run Jamal’s drugs or ‘make it big.’ His voice was much weaker than the bold, bullying voice he used in school. Esteban sounded like an infantile mouse. He wasn’t sure if he should stay and earn Jamal’s respect or head for the hills. Javier, Esteban’s older brother, was in jail at the time for being a drug runner. He got caught with several pounds of cocaine in a knapsack during a routine traffic stop. Now it was Esteban’s turn. Or so he thought.
“You gonna be a little bitch or are you gonna man up and handle your bi’ness? You pull this shit every time you come here. Whatchoo think this is, Chuck E. Cheese? If you ain’t gonna be a big man then you gots to get the steppin’. I don’t got no time for these playground games, man. You startin’ to fuck wit my bi’ness.” Jamal’s six- foot three, muscular frame towered over Esteban’s five- five, athletically- built body. “Alls you gotta do is take the shit in this paper bag four blocks to the park and give it to a guy in a green Explorer. Make sure you get my money first before you give him the shit.”
Esteban inflated himself a bit as Jamal backed away to grab the paper bag off a plastic patio table doubling as a dining room table. “Then I come right back here?” He asked. “What if he doesn’t give me the money?”
Jamal’s cell phone blared some rap song as it’s ring tone. He unclipped it off of his belt loop before he could answer Esteban’s questions. “He better give you the fucking money.”
Jamal left the living room towards the kitchen to conduct his conversation privately. He quickly returned to find Esteban roaming the living room area.
“What’s your deal?” Jamal asked. “I remember when your brother used to bring you around these parts. You couldn’t’ve been more than three or four.”
“I remember,” Esteban said.
“Your brother was good. I let him handle a lot of business for me. He was reliable, trustworthy, and a real soldier.”
“I remember.”
“You want to know what I remember? I remember you sitting in the corner while we had a bunch of girls up in here blowing lines of coke off each other and getting into some kinky shit,” Jamal said. “These bitches will do whatever they gotta do to get their fix.”
“I remember.”
“You still got that burn mark on your hand from when you stupidly tried to touch a boiling pot of rock?” Jamal asked. He stepped closer to Esteban and Esteban couldn’t help but let his eyes wander.
“Yup,” Esteban said.
“Business has never been the same since Javier got busted. Guess he wasn’t as much of a soldier as he appeared to be,” Jamal said.
“Okay,” Esteban said.
“Where you goin’ little ‘un?” Jamal asked.
Esteban was a deer in headlights. “Nowhere.”
“So you in? This is your last chance. Your brother said you might be a little bitch. Buck up or bitch out. It’s your choice.” As if Jamal’s booming voice wasn’t posturing enough for Esteban to feel inferior, Jamal stepped into Esteban’s personal space and used his large frame to intimidate him further.
Feeling like he was left with no choice, Esteban agreed. Again.
FOURTEEN
Esteban took the paper bag from Jamal and headed for the dark, dreary, and damp streets of Paterson. He had been on these streets on a nightly basis. Walking and hanging out with his crew. But now he was out there all on his own, which made him realize his fear. With his crew, Esteban had no issue robbing and stealing goodies from the local bodegas and knocking over fruit stands at the local markets, using the stolen fruit as ammo to fend off the manager giving chase. Even the occasional elder trying to make it home would get pushed down. Graffiti on the bus stops and vandalizing the park benches were their forms of amusement. Things were different when Esteban had his boys.
Even school was a safe haven for him. However, there weren’t any school nights in the street game. Despite the fights, the thrown chairs, and flipped desks, Esteban knew that school was a place of safety. A place where he could get the attention, albeit negative attention, he craved. A place where Esteban had a chance to feel like a real person and not just another product of the system.
This was probably the sixth or seventh time Esteban had been recruited to run drugs for Jamal, but this was the first time he had to do it at night.
Esteban could see the green Explorer from his vantage point on the corner but stopped in his tracks when he saw the silhouette of two adult figures sitting in the car. Jamal had said it would be just one. Jamal had done business with a guy in a green Explorer a handful of times over the recent weeks but had never met him directly. That’s why he hired runners. To take care of the leg work while Jamal sat back and collected the cash. He didn’t give a shit who bought up his supply as long as they abided by his agreed- upon rules over the phone. The buyer had to agree to the strategic transaction location, come prepared with the right amount of money, and not bullshit the kid that was making the run. Otherwise Jamal was right there ready to take matters into his own hands. Simple and yet such effective business strategies.
The rain began to steadily drip again but Esteban’s nerves forced him to block out anything but the two silhouettes sitting in the green Explorer. He took a deep breath, built up his confidence, just like Javier taught him to, and stepped off the curb to approach the SUV. With the paper bag in his right hand, Esteban used his left to adjust the blue Dodger hat on his head. He couldn’t help but be distracted by the rhythmic sound the windshield wipers periodically made.
Esteban didn’t know if he was supposed to say anything to the driver. Anything to the passenger? Just give them the bag and wait for the money or wait for the money before giving them the bag? The guys in the SUV must know what to do, Esteban thought. He sidled up to the driver’s side window just as the heavily tinted window dropped down. Esteban couldn’t figure out if it was normal to see the buyers wearing ski masks to conceal their identity. But he knew he’d never seen it before. Both men were wearing identical black ski masks and matching black sweatshirts. One had a hood the other didn’t. Esteban stared down at his feet then at the paper bag he indecisively held in both hands. He watched himself gently toss it back and forth from hand to hand.
“What you got for me, little man?” The driver asked. Esteban lifted the bag close to his body to show the driver that he had what he was looking for. He didn’t know what was in the bag but he had a pretty good idea. The bag was slowly making his way through the window when Esteban noticed a pit bull sitting in the back seat behind the passenger. Then his eyes noticed a third ski- mask laden man sitting behind the driver.
“I- I- I have this,” Esteban stuttered. And before he could get the money from the driver, the rear driver’s side door swung open and the third man pulled Esteban inside the truck.
FIFTEEN
The wheels spun so violently that the squeals could be heard for blocks. The force of the acceleration swung the door Esteban was dragged through shut on its own. No words were spoken. The only sounds were from the agitated pit bull, spontaneously disturbed by Esteban’s violent entrance into the backseat. Esteban was twisted across the lap of the man in the backseat while his mouth was covered by the man’s gloved hand. The masked assailant’s other hand was wrapped across Esteban’s chest, forming a human seatbelt.
Esteban attempted to fight against the strength of his holder but surrendered after a few attempts. His anger began to boil within him and started flailing like a beached tiger shark. He attempted thrust his head back and head butt his captor in the jaw but the man was able to bob and weave around the attempted blows. A shot to the left clavicle was the
best Esteban could do.
“Chill him the fuck out!” the driver shouted, his voice booming throughout the confines of the vehicle.
Esteban was beginning to feel like he was in a restraint hold, the type they put him in at school when he was in a crisis situation. And like school, his feet were wildly kicking about. The difference between school and his current situation was that there were no restrictions on the amount of force or level of power his current captors could use. And then there was a sudden shattering crash. Esteban had put his left foot through the car door’s window. His vision was starting to blur and the veins in his forehead were about to burst. His strength was enough to break some of the restraint holds at school but he was shocked when the arms of his captor didn’t budge.
The driver was still speeding at a blinding pace down Madison Avenue, crossing over Ninth, then Tenth before making a right on Eleventh. After another right onto East Eighteenth Street the car suddenly slowed. The driver wanted to take a scenic route to get to his destination. Just in case someone saw him snatch Esteban off the streets and called the police. But he didn’t hear any sirens. He wove through Fulton Place and East York Avenue until he was on Lafayette. The Explorer came to a screeching halt on Lafayette next to a baseball field. The driver and the front passenger exited the car and swung the back doors wide open. One grabbed the dog while the other grabbed Esteban. Esteban was still fighting hard and giving as much resistance as his body would muster. He was releasing what would thought to be gut- wrenching screams to someone who might’ve cared. He felt his right foot make contact with someone’s flesh. The victim grunted. Esteban’s body lost its strength and fell limp as he felt his wrists and ankles be manhandled by two of the thugs.
The Incident (Chase Barnes Series Book 1) Page 4