The Conviction

by Robert Dugoni

  They pushed two of the bunk beds sideways against the wall and sat across the top bunks like kids in the front row of a movie theater, though the show this night would not play out on a big screen. This was live theater, and it would unfold outside their windows, in the mud-soaked recreation yard. The problem was the storm had cloaked the yard in an ink-black darkness that not even the high-powered lights atop the well-placed stanchions could pierce. Ordinarily capable of illuminating every square inch of Fresh Start, the lights had been reduced by the storm to small rings.

  “Are they out there?” Cal asked.

  “Move over. I can’t see,” Henry said.

  They would have turned off the lights to reduce the glare but they had no switch to control them. Like everything else in their lives a central nervous system inside the Administration Building controlled when the lights came on and when they went black.

  “Stop breathing so hard, you’re fogging the window,” Rafe said to no one in particular as he wiped at the window with the sleeve of his coveralls.

  T.J. did not join them. Once he realized the reason for their hurry he lay in his lower bunk on the opposite side of the room. He had no interest in seeing what further trouble Jake could make for himself or what punishment Atkins’s twisted mind could conceive. Jake had made enough trouble for them both. T.J. was determined to steer clear of him. He did not want Atkins to associate the two of them as friends. It had left him feeling alone and vulnerable, and though he had been tempted to talk to Jake, he had resisted the urge. He would only be doing so out of desperation, not because he thought the two of them could ever be friends. Jake was angry at everyone. When he hadn’t totally ignored T.J. he’d treated him like an annoying little kid, and T.J., in his desire to make the best of the situation, as his father had requested, had followed Jake into town. Look where that had got him.

  “There they are!” Tommy shouted.

  “Where, I don’t see them,” Henry said.

  Tommy pointed during a burst of lightning. “Right there. Right there. That’s Atkins. See him?”

  “His head looks huge,” Henry said.

  Rafe punched him in the thigh. “Because he’s wearing one of those hats to keep the rain out of his face, you retard.”

  “How was I supposed to know? His head looks as big as Big Baby’s.”

  “Better not let Big Baby hear you saying that,” Rafe said.

  “Where’s Jake?” Bee Dee asked.

  “Standing right there,” Tommy said.

  “Where?” Henry asked.

  “What are you, blind and retarded? He’s right there.”

  “How long you give him, Rafe?” someone asked.

  “Eight minutes.”

  “Eight minutes?” Henry sounded skeptical. “Maybe in good weather. Not in this shit. I say five. What do you say, Bee Dee?”

  Bee Dee didn’t answer.

  They turned in unison to check the clock on the wall. Lightning pulsed again, a blue strobe that momentarily illuminated their faces and again reminded T.J. of kids sitting in a darkened movie theater, the film flickering across their faces.

  “Atkins is really screaming at him,” Henry said. “I wish I could hear what he was saying.”

  “You know what he’s saying.” Rafe jumped down and clasped his hands behind his back, eyes bugging, neck thrust forward, muscles straining. “You worthless piece of shit, Stand-up! You vertical, standing turd. Do you think you are better than everyone else? Are you too good for the rules? I shit things worth more than you. When we are finished you will beg me to ship your worthless, no-good punk ass to juvenile detention.”

  “Push-ups,” Tommy said.

  Rafe climbed back to his spot. “That’s to get his arms tired so he can’t do the obstacle course.”

  “How many?” Tommy asked.

  “That’s fourteen. Fifteen, sixteen,” Henry counted.

  “Time?” someone asked.

  “Four minutes,” Henry replied.

  “Fuck, it’s raining hard.”

  T.J. looked up, almost expecting the roof to give way under the rush of water. It didn’t sound like rain. It sounded like people running across the metal.

  “He’s on the obstacle course,” Tommy said.

  “Where?”

  “The cargo netting,” Rafe said.

  “That shit cuts up your hands when it’s wet,” Tommy said.

  “He’s up top,” Rafe said.

  “No way he makes it across the rope ladder,” Henry said.

  “He’s already halfway,” Rafe said.

  “Won’t make it. See, he’s stopping,” Henry said, sounding like an announcer at a sporting event. “He’s losing his grip. Ohhhh! He’s in the mud.”

  “More push-ups.”

  Curiosity finally got the better of T.J. and he climbed up onto the bunk bed between Bee Dee and Henry. Bee Dee had been surprisingly quiet.

  “Time?” Tommy asked.

  Henry’s head swiveled to the clock. “Seven minutes.”

  “He’s done, man. He won’t get up,” Henry said, then, “fuck, he’s getting up.”

  Lightning pulses provided snapshots of Jake getting to his feet, Atkins continuing to yell at him as Jake made his way back to the start of the obstacle course. He climbed the cargo net, started across the rope bridge, and reached for each successive overhead rung.

  “Shit,” Henry said, sounding in awe. “He made it across.”

  “That will just make Atkins madder,” Jose said.

  “More push-ups,” Rafe said.

  They paused, watching in silence.

  “He’s going back to the start,” Tommy said, sounding astonished. “Why doesn’t he quit, Bee Dee?”

  But Bee Dee didn’t answer. He continued to stare in silence, watching. And with each passing minute, the boys’ enthusiasm and amusement dwindled until they all sat silent, faces blank, eyes without any glimmer of their initial enjoyment.

  “Time?” someone asked, the voice a whisper.

  Henry turned his head to the clock on the wall. “Fourteen minutes.”

  “Holy shit.”

  More silence.

  “Why doesn’t he quit?” Tommy asked again, his voice cracking. “Bee Dee, why doesn’t he just quit?”

  “I don’t know,” Bee Dee said. “Maybe he doesn’t have any quit in him.”

  “Atkins gonna kill that boy,” Rafe said. “Take his body out into the mountains and tell his momma he tried to escape.”

  “He doesn’t have a momma,” T.J. said.

  “That’s why Atkins has him out there. Who’s the retard now?” Henry said.

  “Both of you shut up,” Jose said. He turned to T.J. “What’d he do anyway?”

  The others looked to T.J. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Must have been something bad to piss off Atkins this much,” Henry said. “I haven’t seen him this mad in a long time. He’s gone crazy.”

  Another flash of light revealed Jake at the start of the obstacle course.

  “Yep,” Rafe said. “Atkins going to kill him for sure if he don’t quit.”

  Henry looked at the clock. “Sixteen minutes. Nobody’s ever gone sixteen minutes.”

  “Nobody’s gone fourteen minutes,” Rafe said. “How long did you go, Bee Dee?”

  Bee Dee looked down at red welts across both palms. “Twelve.”

  Tommy was first. He slid from the bunk and wiped his hand beneath his nose. Jose followed, looking embarrassed that he had rushed to witness Jake’s torture. The others too began to get down, silently returning to their bunks.

  “Twenty minutes,” Rafe said, leaving the bunk. “Enough of this shit.”

  Only T.J., Henry, and Bee Dee remained. On it went, even after the thunder and lightning subsided and the rain eased to a steady mist.

  “Where is he?” T.J. asked, no longer able to see without the bursts of light.

  Bee Dee inched forward and wiped at the condensation. “I think he’s on the ground.”
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br />   The others came back, standing along the edge of the lower bunks to look out the windows. T.J. wiped more of the condensation. With the rain easing and the dark clouds separating, the lights on the towers began to retake the yard from the darkness, revealing a body lying in the mud.

  “There he is,” Henry said. “Time?”

  Rafe hit him in the shoulder. “Shut up, Henry.”

  “He’s not moving,” T.J. said.

  “Told you,” Rafe said. “Atkins done killed that boy.”

  KNOCK-ME-STIFF SALOON

  GOLD CREEK, CALIFORNIA

  Dave Bennett pushed open the door to the office. “Everything okay?”

  Harper nodded. Sloane and Molia had agreed to keep everything she told them between the three of them, at least for now. Harper could not afford to lose her job, particularly with her son at Fresh Start, and they didn’t want to make things potentially worse for the boys until they were prepared to act. Besides, Sloane was not yet certain how he might use the information Harper had provided and he was learning that Winchester County was a small place and that word traveled fast, as news of his stunt in court that morning obviously already had.

  “You have any good hotels here in town?” Molia asked Bennett.

  Bennett shook his head. “Not really. The cost can add up pretty quick. They tend to gouge the tourists.”

  “Unfortunately we’re running out of options; they’re doing their best to push us as far out of Truluck as they can.”

  “I got a place you can use. It isn’t much, but it’s yours if you like.”

  “We don’t want to impose,” Sloane said.

  “Does it have air-conditioning?” Molia asked.

  “It’s a bunkhouse. It used to be for the ranch hands back in the day. My father used it for storage. It got pretty run-down, but I’ve been cleaning it out and fixing it up for Eileen to use as a studio.”

  “A studio?” Sloane asked.

  “It’s nothing,” she said, waving it off.

  “It’s not nothing,” Bennett said. “Eileen designs and makes women’s clothing, all kinds. She’s very talented.” Bennett looked to Molia. “Sorry, no air-conditioning.”

  “That’s all right.” Molia sighed. “I’m going to treat this as one long weight-reduction program.”

  “No indoor plumbing either, I’m afraid. But we fixed up the outhouse so it’s presentable and you can run your wireless off my Internet if you need it.”

  Sloane turned to Harper. “We don’t want to cause you any problems.”

  “It’s fine,” she said. “Dave and I keep our relationship quiet.”

  “Can we pay you something?” Sloane asked Bennett.

  Bennett shook his head. “Like I said, it mostly sits unused. You’re welcome to it.”

  “I’ll find you the name of that reporter when I get home tonight,” Harper said. “How should I get it to you?”

  “Call him,” Molia said, nodding to Bennett.

  “You’ll be all right getting home?” Bennett asked Harper.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said.

  After seeing Harper safely to her car, which she had parked in the back alley so she could use the emergency exit, Bennett instructed one of his employees to watch the bar, grabbed a set of keys and led Sloane and Molia out the swinging shutters. “Let me show you the way then,” he said.

  Carl Wade sat in his truck, watching the front entrance to the Knock-Me-Stiff. Sloane and Molia exited the swinging doors with a third man, who pointed up the street, apparently giving directions. Then the man walked around the corner of the building as Sloane and Molia returned to their rental car. Minutes later a red truck emerged from the alley and turned right. Wade made note of the license plate. The detective, driving the rental car, pulled from the curb to follow.

  Wade flipped open his cell phone. “I have a license plate I want you to run for me.” He waited a beat then read the letters and numbers into the phone. “I don’t know,” he said in answer to a question. “But Sloane is not going away. He’s still making inquiries.” He listened a beat, fielding another question. “Maybe. But let everyone know that if I can’t convince him to move along, we may have to move earlier than anticipated.”

  FOURTEEN

  FRESH START YOUTH TRAINING FACILITY

  SIERRA NEVADA MOUNTAINS

  Outside the window a crow cawed. Disoriented, Jake tried to sit up, felt pain all over his body, and fell back.

  “The best thing is to start moving. It’s going to hurt like hell, but it will no matter how long you try to wait it out. Better to get it over with.”

  Bee Dee sat on the edge of an adjoining bed, elbows on his knees.

  “Where am I?”

  “In my dorm.”

  Jake looked about the dorm, a carbon copy of the other one. “How did I get here?”

  “We carried you.” Bee Dee stood and came closer. “Come on. Get up.”

  But Jake couldn’t get up. His arms and legs wouldn’t move. And he had no will to face another day of Atkins’s verbal and mental abuse. He couldn’t take it anymore. His body had quit, and so too had his mind.

  “Forget it.”

  “Can’t forget it. They won’t let you forget it. You got to get up or they’ll get you up.”

  Jake chuckled. “So what? What more can Atkins do to me if I don’t?”

  “You don’t have to worry about him. It’s Saturday. Even an asshole like Atkins takes a weekend off.” Bee Dee reached down. “Come on, get up.”

  “Just leave me alone.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “Get what?” Jake asked.

  “Why do you think they put you in a bunk with Big Baby? Why do you think they picked you to punish?”

  “You already told me. They pick on the bigger kids. Lucky me.”

  “But do you know why?”

  “I don’t give a shit why.”

  “They pick the ones they think will be the toughest to break, because then they don’t have to break everyone else. Everyone else sees you’re broke and they’re broke.”

  “Well, they won. I’m broke.”

  Bee Dee smiled, just a hint. “No. They didn’t break you. We all saw it.”

  Jake coughed. His stomach cramped. When the coughing subsided he grimaced, fighting back tears. “I can’t take it anymore.”

  “You went twenty-four minutes. Nobody has ever gone twenty-four minutes. Nobody has ever gone past fourteen. And you did it in a freaking thunderstorm.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about last night. I’m talking about you and Atkins on the obstacle course. What, you think you’re the first one Atkins ever did that to?” Bee Dee held up his hands so Jake could see the scar just below the pads at the base of the fingers. Jake lifted his own hands and examined the red and blistered welts running horizontally across the palm. The skin hung in flaps, pulled back to reveal raw, red meat. “He’s done it a lot. But you’re the first one to break Atkins. He gave up. Atkins gave up. He walked away.” Bee Dee emphasized the words. “Atkins never gave up before.”

  Jake lowered his hands. “So what? Who gives a shit if I lasted one minute or twenty?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “Who cares?” Jake yelled. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  Bee Dee scowled. “Who cares? Who do you think dragged your sorry ass through the mud last night? Who do you think risked getting punished to bring you in here? You think I did it by myself? Everyone’s in that cafeteria right now, and do you know what they’re waiting for? They’re waiting to see if you’re going to walk through that door.”

  Jake wiped tears streaming down the side of his face. “I can’t stand it here, Bee Dee. I can’t stand thinking I’m going to spend a year here.”

  Bee Dee squatted. “You don’t think about a year. You don’t think about a month or a week. You don’t even think about tomorrow. You think about today. Just make it through today.”

  “W
hat if I can’t? What if I can’t make it through another day?”

  Bee Dee stood. “Then I guess we wasted our time. I guess we should have just left you out there in the mud.” He started for the door, stopped and looked back. “You know why we didn’t? Because for those twenty-four minutes it wasn’t just you out there. It was all of us. We were all out there.”

  “Really?” Jake spat. “’Cause I didn’t see anybody out there but me.”

  For a moment Bee Dee didn’t speak. Then he said, “They ain’t gonna let you lie there. So, the way I see it you have two choices. Let them get you up and continue to punish you, or get up. You get your ass out of bed and you’ll see. You’ll see you’re not alone.

  KNOCK-ME-STIFF RANCH

  GOLD CREEK, CALIFORNIA

  Dave Bennett’s home on the Knock-Me-Stiff Ranch was a two-story log cabin that looked like something out of the old western TV show Bonanza, with a circular drive leading to a portico and a tall, wide door beneath a hanging chow bell. The bunkhouse sat several hundred yards down a dirt road. Bennett hadn’t oversold it. Longer than it was wide, the narrow structure had two doors beneath a rickety overhang that faced a field of black oaks and brush. The knotted pine siding had weathered nearly black and the building looked as if it would fall over in a stiff breeze. Inside, a third door at the back led to the outhouse, perhaps thirty yards across an open grass field.

  “That could be an adventure in the middle of the night,” Molia had said, holding up one of two propane camp lights Bennett had provided.

  The four-paned windows still had the original silica glass and weren’t constructed to open. Bennett propped open the doors to create a cross draft and let out the heat of the day while Sloane and Molia moved headless and limbless mannequins, which Harper used to design her clothing, along one wall. Before bunking down, Molia had dressed one in a long-sleeve shirt and fastened a baseball cap atop a stick, rigging it where the head would be. Then he positioned the mannequin near a window. “I saw it in Home Alone,” he said.

  Molia and Sloane had slept in the lower bunks though neither slept much, if at all, and finally got up well before dawn. Sloane used Bennett’s battery-operated hot plate to heat water for coffee. Later that morning Bennett stopped by to jerry-rig two plugs that allowed them to fire up the computer equipment, which they set on the table, a massive rectangular slab of wood. Bennett was working to get the wireless modem set up when Alex called Sloane’s phone.