Demon Inc (The Mike Rawlins Series Book 2)

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  Mike opened his door and stepped out. “Let’s do this. Maybe they’re walking by somewhere. If not, Bradley is in danger of becoming extinct. He must not have heard of the Darwin awards.”

  “Yeah sure, he’ll walk right by with that troll in tow, because you always have good luck in avoiding confrontations,” Joanie said.

  By the time Mike led Denny and Joanie over to the sidewalk, Brad Sanderson and the man at his side had stopped on the sidewalk, facing them. Mike turned to his sister.

  “What the hell did you do to this bonehead now, Sis? I didn’t think you were even talking to him.”

  “I haven’t said a word to him, Mike. In fact, I avoid even walking by him. Jesus, that guy is big.”

  “Follow my lead. We move off into the grass and I’ll wave and say ‘Hi Brad’, nice day. You film it, Denny. That way everyone knows we went out of our way to avoid this.”

  “Nice,” Denny replied, getting ready to take the video. “It won’t work, but you tried.”

  Fifteen yards before they reached Brad and his friend, Mike made a semicircle off the sidewalk ten feet to skirt the two blocking the way. With Denny and Joanie mimicking his movements, Mike waved hello, and hurried past.

  “Hi Brad, nice day, huh?”

  Sanderson stammered a little, trying to figure out what to do. By then Mike, Denny, and Joanie were twenty yards toward school with Denny filming Brad fading into the distance. “Rawlins, you chicken-shit!”

  Other teens arriving for school in their own cars heard Sanderson’s shout. They began moving toward the sound instantly. Mike chuckled and kept walking.

  A gruff voice called out in a volume capable of being heard a block down the street. “Hey, baby girl! Why not dump that retard brother of yours and come play with us? I bet you taste good, sweetie!”

  Mike spun so fast, Denny and Joanie nudged him as he went by.

  “Uh oh,” Denny said, filming everything, including the gathering crowd.

  Having seen her brother’s face, Joanie simply followed Denny after Mike. “Want me to take over the filming while you give Mike a hand?”

  Denny grinned over at Joanie. “I watched Mike take out our whole heavyweight MMA class the other night. Besides, I’ll be standing near enough to get a piece of Brad if he tries to join in. I’m already uploading this in a live stream to our Demon Inc site, and sent the link in an e-mail to Principal Franz.”

  “This is going to get complicated.” Joanie glanced around at the crowd as Mike stopped ten feet in front of Sanderson and his companion.

  “This is my cousin, Jud Bucci,” Sanderson said, gesturing at his companion. “He’s sick of hearing about you, Rawlins. Where you runnin’ to?”

  “I’m glad you came back, pussy,” the big man barked out. “I didn’t want to have to run you down. I might have bumped sweet little sis there. I don’t want nothin’ happenin’ to her before we get to know each other. What’s wrong, pussy… nothin’ to say?”

  Mike shrugged. “I was waiting for you to finish whatever you have to say, Mr. Troll. You don’t have a club, gun, or knife, so I figured you left the bridge you were living under to come along with your idiot cousin to get some pain. I got that right here for you.”

  The tittering of laughter through the crowd of teens enraged Bucci. He moved on Mike with deadly intent, slanted sideways, hands up in mallet like fists. Bucci looked to be a couple inches taller than Mike’s six feet five inch height, and weighing probably sixty to eighty pounds more. Mike smiled without moving to take up any guard position at all. Mike’s lack of concern antagonized Bucci even more. He feinted to the left before launching an overhand right toward Mike’s head.

  Mike caught the man’s swing at the wrist with his left hand, pivoting under and behind Bucci while twisting and forcing his arm high up behind his back. Bucci grunted in pain, forced to straighten awkwardly to ease the agony shooting up into the nerve center in his neck. Mike gripped Bucci’s other wrist hanging at his side forgotten. Sanderson moved toward Mike from behind. Anticipating the attack, Mike angled his body, while side-kicking backwards. His kick caught Brad running forward, depositing him ten feet into the grass, gagging and rolling on the ground in a fetal position.

  Leaning forward so he could be heard, Mike wiggled Bucci’s wrists, eliciting a startled yelp out of the now helpless man. “You had a lot to say about my sister, Joanie, Mr Troll. You wanted a taste. Here’s a taste.”

  Mike popped both man’s arms out of their shoulder sockets with a vicious upper twist. Bucci screamed a high pitched squeal of utter misery. He collapsed in a twitching pile as Mike released him to a chorus of horrific gasps from the teen witnesses. Mike knelt down over Bucci, gripping his neck to hold the panting man steady.

  “Like that taste? I ever see you again after today, I’ll rip your arms off and shove them up your ass.” Mike tightened his grip on Bucci’s throat. “Nod if you understand, Mr. Troll.”

  Bucci groaned, gasping for air while nodding his head. Mike released him and stood up, looking for Sanderson in the grass. Denny stepped in his path with Joanie behind him for support.

  Mike’s features pulsed with anxious intent, the scar giving him a frightening aspect his own sister backed up a step before. “Get out of the way you two, I’m-”

  Sirens sounded in the distance, and Mike’s shoulders slumped. He glared at Sanderson’s still balled up form on the grass with his mouth tightening into a grim line of menace. “If I don’t keep away from Bradley, I’m going to end up in prison. If he doesn’t stay away from me, he’s going to end up being a Haunt.”

  “That was my thinking too,” Denny said, gripping Mike’s arm. “Man, that was one tight little lesson, brother. I’m sorry, but I sent a link to the live feed of this to Ms. Franz. I believe she decided to get the police involved.”

  Joanie was staring back at the writhing Bucci. He had started to sob, unable to use his arms. “God, Mike, he’s really hurting.”

  “Boo hoo,” Mike replied. He turned to the crowd around them. “The cops are coming. Could some of you stay here so they get some witnesses as to what happened? I’d appreciate it.”

  Shouts of encouragement rang out from the crowd. No one moved other than a few students who raced toward the school as a squad car pulled up. Two Alameda County Sheriff’s deputies emerged on scene - one a tall, thin, short haired brunette woman with Whittier on her nametag, and the other a slightly shorter, stocky, flush faced man with crew-cut red hair and Pascolli on his nametag. Pascolli saw Bucci and called in for an ambulance.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dancing in the Dark

  “I forgot San Lorenzo is policed by the Alameda County Sheriff’s office,” Mike whispered to his cohorts. “It’s unincorporated and doesn’t have its own police department.”

  Whittier knelt next to the distressed Bucci while her partner went over to check on the immobile Sanderson. “What happened here?”

  “I can show you,” Denny said, holding up his iPad. He walked over and crouched next to Whittier. She watched the video without comment, gradually straightening away from Bucci. Denny saw her cringe when Mike popped Bucci’s arms. “You have to understand officer, this guy’s a giant. Mike couldn’t just let him loose with his sister Joanie still in danger.”

  Whittier gestured for Mike to come over. “This is pretty brutal. What’s the beef between you and the two on the ground? I heard what he said, but what’s the history?”

  “I don’t know this guy,” Mike pointed at Bucci, before gesturing at Sanderson. “It’s Brad Sanderson over there that can’t quit screwing around with us. He brought his cousin today to face off with us like you saw on the video. The cousin’s name is Bucci. He-”

  “Jud… Jud Bucci?” Pascolli heard Mike and joined them after he made sure Sanderson was not in danger. He knelt down to take a closer look at the writhing man. He smiled. “Now this is what I call karma, Anne. Bucci lives over on Via Madrid. We get complaints about him terrorizing his neighbors constant
ly.”

  “He’s that guy?” Whittier now took a closer look. “I should have recognized him but he’s a lot different looking when he’s crying on the ground.”

  Pascolli clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. “Don’t Anne. We’ll end up getting charged.”

  Whittier stood up again. “You’re right, Charlie. Hey, Jud, you play with the wrong target, huh? Is Sanderson able to speak?”

  “Not yet,” Pascolli answered. “Here come the EMT’s.”

  Pascolli waved the medical dispatch vehicle into the parking lot. When they were finished talking with the med techs, Whittier went over to take the student statements while Pascolli stayed with Mike, Denny, and Joanie. Principal Franz arrived a few minutes later. She hurried stern faced toward Mike.

  “Did you have to break the guy’s arms, Mike?”

  Mike glanced at the grinning Pascolli and watched the EMT’s loading Bucci into the ambulance. “He’s huge Ms. Franz… but in answer to your question truthfully, yes. I figure it will be a while before he messes with us now. If I’d simply did a catch and release, he’d probably be hunting us down by tomorrow.”

  “The Sheriff’s deputies know him, Ms. Franz,” Joanie added. “They get called out on complaints about him all the time for terrorizing his neighbors.”

  “That’s good enough for me.” Franz peered at Pascolli’s nametag. “I’ll finish up with Officer Pascolli here and get the kids back into school. Thanks for the heads up, Mr. Stossle. Your movie was a real eye opener this morning. I’ve already called Sanderson’s parents. He’s suspended as of right now. There’s never a dull moment with you three in my school.”

  “Sorry, Ms. Franz,” the three said together in harmony, evoking a short snort of a laugh from Franz and Pascolli as she walked with the deputy toward the group of students talking now to Whittier.

  After a brief conference with the deputies, Ms. Franz dismissed the students to their respective classes, following them toward the school. By the time Whittier and Pascolli walked back over to the Demon Inc members, Sanderson was being loaded into the ambulance.

  “Why are they taking Brad in?” Joanie asked.

  “They think he has a cracked rib,” Pascolli answered. “When he could talk he immediately started accusing you of attacking him and Bucci until I told him we have a movie of it. He shut up then. Sanderson’s the Arroyo quarterback, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” Mike replied.

  “You’re going to take some heat for this from the football team according to your principal,” Whittier said. “Bucci’s twenty-seven. If you’ll press charges we can get him for attacking a minor. Principal Franz says you’re only seventeen, Rawlins. She filled us in on your exploits. Charlie and I don’t know much about the ghost business, but we do know what you and Stossle did for the Manjetti kid.”

  “I’ll press charges,” Mike agreed. “Denny and Joanie will be witnesses too.”

  “Probably won’t be necessary,” Pascolli replied. “Once we show him the movie, he’ll plead out. If we need you to come down to the office to fill out the complaint or answer any questions I’ll call you.” Pascolli tore off a sheet from his notepad and handed it to Denny. “Here’s our phone numbers and e-mail addresses. Send us the link to that movie.”

  “Will do, Sir.”

  “I guess you kids can go on to class,” Whittier said. “Rawlins, how did you get that scar?”

  “I’ll send you the video,” Denny said. “You won’t believe it otherwise.”

  Whittier smiled. “Thanks, I guess I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Sorry this escalated so far,” Mike said. “They really caught us by surprise.”

  “With Bucci’s record I don’t doubt it,” Pascolli said. “Stay out of trouble today kids.”

  “Yes, Officer Pascolli,” the three teens repeated their mantra together which elicited laughter from the two deputies as they walked away.

  Denny immediately turned on Mike. “You know, Mike, you are without a doubt a living illustration of that old cliché about ‘diving into a shit pile and coming up smelling like a rose’. Is that some kind of new superpower? I figured we’d be expelled, arrested, or both.”

  Mike put an arm around Denny’s shoulders, steering him toward the school with a smiling Joanie following. “It’s like this, Den… just another day in Demon Inc land. Don’t forget we have a ghost to expel and a full out assault later in the day for a light appetizer.”

  “We’re going to need a shot and beer tonight if we’re still alive,” Denny muttered. “I’m going to end up in rehab by the time I’m sixteen.”

  “You won’t have time. Our schedule won’t allow it.”

  “Besides, you’re going to have to tutor me through Physics,” Joanie added, patting Denny’s shoulder.

  * * *

  Mike had gone over it and over it, trying to figure a safe way to expel the Haunt from inside Ansel. No scenario seemed doable other than one on one with her. He sat in history class listening to similarities between unions in America in the twentieth century as opposed to now. He jotted down an outline for how he would attack the idea they were the same circumstances on his iPad. Mike disliked the American history teacher for a number of reasons, foremost being the man’s ignorance of American history. At times, Mike wondered how in the world the guy could have gotten this far, faking a knowledge of American history or any history for that matter. The guy hadn’t even known what the thirteen stripes on the flag meant when another classmate asked, which in itself was sad. When Mike answered the question for Mr. Solitaroff, he apparently went on the teacher’s black list. Since Solotaroff only gave quizzes and tests in multiple choice format, Mike had straight A’s so far. Since Solotaroff wasn’t his first know nothing teacher in the public school system, Mike had already warned his parents. Dan and Jenny Rawlins were incredibly good at backing their kids when they were in the right. Mike knew if Solotaroff ever tried to screw him over, he’d have to go face to face with involved parents.

  “Mr. Rawlins,” Solotaroff called out, jolting Mike out of his reverie. “Since you’ve been the buzz around school this morning thanks to another violent episode with a star Arroyo High School quarterback that got the student suspended, maybe you have an opinion on our union topic.”

  All encompassing silence enveloped the room within a split second of Solotaroff’s statement. Every eye was on Mike. He looked around with a smile, while hitting record on his iPad. The way things were going so far today, Mike figured this conversation might take a turn for the worse too. “I do know something about unions. I have a belief that in this day and age, they represent the underachieving population very well. They hold back everyone else.”

  Mike’s input caused an undercurrent of amusement that Solotaroff reacted to with an aggravated wave of his hand, and what Mike thought of as his belligerent stare of nonsense.

  “I think your cavalier attitude toward workers’ rights may also be an underlying base for your more violent tendencies, Mr. Rawlins. Did you know the companies sent thugs out with clubs and guns to intimidate union advocates?”

  “Yes, I do know that unions were the bane of corporate America, and at one time they were much needed. I know those times are in the past. I also know that no matter how much things have changed, the unions don’t change. They don’t police their own membership by helping the companies rid themselves of slackers who only want to get their ninety day trial period out of the way so they can bleed the company dry of anything they can get, and they have embraced the illegal aliens as a way to cloud and further their anachronistic movement. They are anti everything that made this country great now. They should fade off into history, satisfied that they represented the common man when he needed it. Instead, they resist their obsolescence by creating new boogey men to fight against, making millionaires out of union leaders who could care less about the people they represent.”

  Solotaroff looked as if his head would explode. His lips moved in projected res
ponses, but no words flowed. He slammed his clipboard down on his desk as an undercurrent of approval rose amongst the other students. He pointed at Mike. “This is how they win! The slavers who bleed the populace dry with false oratory and thugs that enforce their point of view. They-”

  “My Dad was a marine in the Gulf War,” Mike interrupted. “He believes in America. He believes this is the land of opportunity. He taught me that I didn’t need a mystical protector to protect my rights as a worker. He taught me all I need to succeed was passion for what I wanted to do in life, and the skill to get it done.”

  Some of the kids applauded, which sent Solotaroff into a fever. He moved to Mike’s desk, his face red, and his fists clenched. “You should be more careful what you spew out in public, Mr. Rawlins!”

  Mike stood up, his six foot five frame dwarfing Solotaroff’s stance. “I know you’re upset with being disagreed with, but you’re making a fool of yourself. I have a suspicion about what you believe in, Mr. Solotaroff, and while I know you have the objectionable right to profess it here in a classroom, perhaps you should refrain from illustrating it with your behavior, or at least show some restraint.”

  Solotaroff was so angry, his right fist briefly oscillated next to his side, his intention to take a swing at Mike apparent to everyone. Mike reached out and grabbed Solotaroff’s fist. He squeezed slowly. Solotaroff’s face reflected each stage of Mike’s closing vice, from anger to disbelief, to trying to pry Mike’s hand away. Mike released him.

  “Debate between right and wrong is a good thing, Mr. Solotaroff. I doubt I believe in a single thing you do. I also doubt you know anything whatsoever about America or its soul. Having you here to espouse everything that would doom this great nation bothers me in a way I can’t even describe. I don’t want to underestimate the intelligence of my classmates though. They probably know when they’re being conned.”

  Solotaroff had stumbled back after being released, rubbing his hand. “Get out of my classroom, Rawlins! Go to Principal Franz’s office immediately. I will call ahead so she knows what you’ve been up to.”