Knack (Benjamin Brown Book 1)

by Tom Twitchel

  “Okay. Well, I’m going to run over to Mr. Goodturn’s. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  When I hung up, my eyes focused on the stun gun I’d bought. It seemed very straightforward. I’d already charged it and clicked it on and off several times. The sparks and the visible electric arc between the two prongs had been impressive. The smell had been surprisingly strong, burnt oil and scorched metal. I wished I could smuggle it onto school grounds but then what would I do? It wasn’t as if I could practice with it. I idly wondered if Miss Lapham would mind letting me practice on her. Not nice, but funny to think about.

  Next to the stun gun was another package I had ordered. When I had been browsing for various things, I had found a novelty item that I had thought might be interesting. I pulled out one of several small boxes that had come in the package and broke the seal. Sliding the contents out of the box and fanning them in my hand I smiled, metal playing cards, thin and just a tad sharp along the edges. They were flexible but not flimsy. I decided to practice with them after I got back from Goodturn’s and laid them back down. The cards made me think of Billy. Endless games of Go Fish. I used to let him win just to watch him roll around on the floor laughing. He would probably be amazed at what I had learned and what I could do. Thoughts of him often came up at the most random moments.

  I started to get ready to leave when I stopped. Mr. Goodturn’s comment about bringing Miss Hoch peace still bothered me. I mean, I wanted her stopped, but that sounded permanent—like dead. I shuddered and my hands felt cold and clammy. Putting some kind of knack whammy on her was one thing. But murder? Video game mayhem was one thing. But doing something like that for real? If I was going to see him, I knew that we had to discuss it. Not being a victim anymore meant more than just fighting back. I didn’t want to run away from difficult conversations either.

  I’d left my jacket on so I just headed out without changing. I opened the door with my knack, closed it the same way and then locked it without using the key. I was getting better at protecting myself, and I wanted to get really good at fine control with my knack too.

  Mr. Goodturn was busy with a customer when I arrived so I browsed the shelves at the front of the store while I waited for them to finish up. Peeking through the shelves, I tried to figure out whether he was doing better after the difficult and emotional stuff he’d shared with me the night before.

  If I hadn’t known better, I would have assumed there was nothing going on that was a big deal. He looked like he always did, red hair making a fuzzy halo around his head, tiny hands moving through the air accentuating the details of whatever he was saying. But his shoulders did look a little hunched and there was an air of fatigue around him. It made me sad. I wished there was something I could do that would lessen his pain.

  While I waited for him to finish with his customer, I wandered over to a section of the shop that I didn’t hang out in often. Along the wall opposite from his work counter, there was another long glass case full of antique items and collectors editions of books and small art pieces. Above the case, there were three shelves attached to the wall. The center shelf was dominated by a large ornate clock. It was roughly three feet long and almost as high. Carved from some kind of dark wood with a swirling grain it was a representation of the classic three monkeys: hear no evil, see no evil and speak no evil. The detail was amazing. Even the hair on the monkeys’ bodies and faces had been meticulously rendered. Centered above the monkeys was the clock face. Roman numeral points and detailed metal hands decorated it. I was intrigued that it was always running ahead but seemed to run perfectly other than that. Except for see no evil, the monkey in the middle, the glass eyes of the monkeys were borderline spooky. They had the disturbing quality of seeming to follow you as you walked by.

  A hand on my shoulder made me almost jump out of my shoes.

  “My favorite piece in the whole shop,” said Mr. Goodturn.

  “Geez, you scared the…you really startled me. The monkeys almost look alive,” I said, laughing shakily.

  He smiled up at the clock. “Yes. They do don’t they? My little friends have been with me for as long as I can remember. It’s the only thing of value that I brought with me from Germany. I’ll never sell it. I just like having it in here so I can wink at my little friends throughout the day.”

  Yeah, that’s not creepy at all.

  “Can we talk? When you’re done with your customers?” I asked.

  He ran his thumbs under his suspenders and tugged down on them. “Done is done. It’s past closing time. Let’s go on upstairs. I’ll fix you dinner if you haven’t already eaten.”

  How had the time gotten away from me? I thought I had walked in an hour before closing. I wondered how long I had been mesmerized by the three monkeys.

  “No. I haven’t eaten yet. That would be great.” I didn’t eat over at his apartment very often but having a home-cooked meal was a real treat, even if many of them were heavy German dishes.

  We headed to the rear of the store where the elevator to the top floor was hidden in a dark corner. The door and frame were unremarkable. It could have been the door to a janitor’s closet.

  When we were inside the elevator, Mr. G punched the button to the second floor where his apartment took up the entire floor.

  “I assume you would like to continue our discussion from the weekend,” Mr. Goodturn said.

  I shifted nervously. “Yes, sir. And I thought maybe I could get your opinion on some stuff I’ve been dealing with at school.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “So soon in the school year? Ah, I guess that life knows no schedule or timeline other than its own. I’ll offer what insight I can, but my school days are so far in the past. I may not be of much help.”

  That sounded promising, as in not much at all. “Yeah, this stuff is pretty basic—mostly. You can probably help me look at it from…a different perspective.”

  The door opened and we stepped into the long narrow hallway that opened onto the spacious entry to his apartment at the far end. The doorway to his home was decorated with two large pots on either side that held tall sculptured bushes. Surrounding each green sentry were several metal and ceramic pots containing flowers and plants of many varieties. The lobby ceiling stretched all the way to the roof above and was topped by a large skylight that let in natural light. The door itself was a tall hand-carved marvel on its own. A huge brass knocker hung in the middle, as if there would be any unknown guests that would arrive there without advance warning.

  The interior of his home was always a little intimidating to me. High ceilings, heavy wooden furnishings, and dark colors all created a mood of wealth and age. From outside or from within the pawnshop itself you would never suspect the size and grandeur of his “suite” as he called it.

  Dinner was amazing, as usual, fried sausage and fried potatoes with bacon and onions. The sausage probably weighed a pound all by itself. When I finished (every last bite, thank you very much) I was more than comfortably stuffed. We got up from the table and settled into two leather wingback chairs in what he called his sitting room, mine, a little too big for me and Mr. Goodturn’s scaled to fit him perfectly. Beautiful dark oil paintings featuring landscapes, Germany I guessed, hung on the walls around us. Tall glass-front bookcases ran along one wall and stretched almost to the ceiling. An antique library ladder that linked into a metal rail above the bookcases waited off to one side.

  Patting the arms of his chair, Mr. Goodturn smiled at me.

  “Well, my young friend, “What’s up?” I think is the way you young people start a conversation like this. Yes?”

  “Um, yeah, but that sounds weird coming from you. I had some things happen at school, and there’s this issue with a girl that I need some advice on.”

  “Ah. I’ll do what I can.” He wiggled himself firmly into his chair and laced his fingers over his belly.

  I laid everything out—all of it. I started with Justine and my difficulty in figuring out exactly what our relati
onship was and how it affected Maddy and me. I shared my frustration with Baffle and even told him about Baffle’s suspicions about him. I babbled on about my parents and my unresolved feelings about my mother and then I transitioned into my concerns about Oso and protecting myself. My run in with Munger I saved for last. He offered polite comments from time to time but didn’t interrupt much.

  When I wound down, he just looked at me through those massive lenses for a minute or two.

  “Benny, sometimes the best counsel is to keep your own counsel. What I mean by that is that I sense you know the wrong or right of a thing when you talk about it. You have a good heart and you are more intuitive than you give yourself credit for. As to your young lady friends, my best advice is that being open and honest, without being undiplomatic, is invariably the best course. But, keep in mind that my own interaction with women is no model for success with the fairer sex. In fact, I don’t think they even like being called the fairer sex these days, do they?”

  I shook my head. “No. Women’s power, equality, no chauvinism. It’s not PC.”

  “PC?”

  “Politically correct.”

  He chuckled. “Politics and the sexes. Amazing. As to your worries about Oso, I think they are well founded. There was a certain nobleness about him that evening, but as I think he told you, he is steeped in a culture that is about as different from you and me as it could possibly be. His desire to rise above that, to care more and do more, is admirable. He also told you that he didn’t believe that he could leave it behind. That his noble efforts and knacks had to be hidden from his gang. Distance and forgive me, being realistic, is highly advisable. In a difficult situation, his loyalties would be hard to predict. And the hooligan at your school? Be careful. Bullies are very often cowards too. The Internet video thing you kids do, and the fact that you embarrassed him in front of others, he might nurse his wounds, but he probably won’t forget. I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself.”

  It helped hearing it from someone else and Mr. Goodturn had a way with words that seemed to hit it all on the head.

  I nodded. “What do you think about Baffle? I don’t understand why he’s trying to be friends with the same guys that made him miserable for years.”

  “That’s not as easy to answer, not that any of my suggestions or thoughts are concrete solutions,” he said. Shaking his head and giving me a wry smile, he leaned back and looked at the ceiling. “Being a teen, as you are experiencing firsthand, is a tremendously difficult time in a person’s life. Samuel is trying to determine who he is and he is searching for affirmation, for a valuing relationship. The blond girl, the bullies who ask him for favors, they represent groups that aren’t obligated to validate him. Their attention, their approval, is very important to him. His parents owe him that, at least, that’s likely how he sees it. You and Madison are close friends whose approval he probably considers a given. And, like all young people, he yearns for independence. Those social currents in the river you all swim in are treacherous. He’s struggling. Madison’s advice to you, giving him room and letting Samuel come to you, is probably the right approach. I say probably because there are no ironclad proofs when it comes to personal relationships and the individual stressors that you face.”

  I began to feel as though I was being counseled by a professional psychologist. And thought for a moment that I was taking advantage of our relationship, that maybe I wasn’t being fair to him.

  “Is this all okay Mr. Goodturn? I mean, I don’t want to be like some whiny kid crying to you about things that aren’t important to you.”

  Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees and made a steeple with his fingers. He peered at me over the top of his glasses. “Benjamin, I am honored that you would share these things with me. It humbles me and I would never feel as though “stuff” you are wrestling with is unimportant. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”

  A lump started forming in my throat. How had I been so lucky to have this kind and wise man in my life?

  “Sir, I have another question, but I don’t want to offend you.” My hands were tugging nervously at the stitching in my jeans.

  “I’m sure you will be gentle.” He smiled.

  Rubbing my sweaty palms on my pants, I said, “The other night, you said we were going to give Miss Hoch peace. That sounds kind of like…like her being permanently stopped—dead.” My mouth felt very dry.

  He closed his eyes and nodded his head in tiny little jerky movements. Opening his eyes, he looked at me and said, “Benjamin, I trust you. I have shared things with you that I haven’t disclosed to anyone else in the world. Tonight, you asked me for some counsel, and as your friend, I have tried to do my best in that regard. I want to ask something of you.”

  He looked expectantly at me.

  “Of course,” I replied.

  “Trust me.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The next day was a lesson on the inevitability of consequences. The vice-principal didn’t even let me get into my first class; he was waiting by the door in the hall. At least he’d spared me the awkwardness of being called out of class over the P.A. That was always ominous and everybody in every classroom heard it. I was happy to avoid that kind of fame. Our vice-principal, Mr. Conroy, was as tall as he was thin, well over six feet. Thin face, long thin nose and a fierce brush cut that looked military grade. But he had a reputation that contrasted with his severe appearance. The entire student body loved him. Well, not everybody, but you know what I mean. The principal, Miss Black, left all the day-to-day policing to Mr. Conroy. She preferred photo ops.

  He didn’t speak on the way to his office and I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. It certainly made me uncomfortable. As we walked through the waiting room, I noticed the casual interest of the staff. Most of them met my eyes and although I wasn’t picking up anything negative, it still made me nervous.

  Mr. Conroy closed the door behind us and I took a seat in front of his desk. There were two chairs facing it and for no particular reason I took the same one I’d been sitting in on the second to last day of school the year before.

  He walked around his desk and sat down in his high-backed leather office chair. All of the furniture was gray and plastic except for his chair. It was black. I wondered if that choice was a statement of some kind.

  The top of his desk was completely clear. Only a large pad and a computer monitor that sat off to the side broke the gray monotony of its surface.

  “We meet again, Mr. Brown. About once a year so far. Do you know why you’re here?” he asked. His eyes roved over the room while he talked.

  “Yes, sir.” What else could it possibly be? I was curious if Munger had been in there yet.

  “And that would be…?” he leaned back and continued to look at the ceiling, the walls, everywhere but at me.

  “What happened in the hall between me and Coby Munger at the end of the day? Yesterday, at the end of the day.” I hadn’t even been in the office five minutes and I was already tongue-tied.

  His chair tilted forward, his eyes dropped to mine and he nodded. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  It seemed like a good time to offer as little commentary as possible. I kept my mouth shut.

  “I spoke with three other students yesterday afternoon. They all told the same story and except for some embellishing, they all sounded fairly identical. Mr. Munger will be visiting me when you and I are done. Would you like to tell me your version of the events? Before you start, you should know that I’ve seen the videos.”

  I had spent some time thinking about my response. I had cooked up an elaborate story about tripping and accidentally falling into Coby and his buddy, but I had decided on something much simpler.

  I decided to tell the truth.

  “I was running in the hall and Coby tripped me. He made a crack about my handicap. When I got up, I hit him in the junk with my backpack and then punched him in the jaw. He fell, so did his frie
nd. They threatened me with getting even and I took off.” I thought being straight to the point with no drama would be a good start.

  I must have guessed right because Mr. Conroy started laughing. Not some polite little chuckle. A big throw-your-head-back belly laugh. He got himself under control pretty fast and then he stared at me for an uncomfortable moment.

  “You know, that is the most succinct and untheatrical answer I have ever gotten to any question I’ve asked a student under similar circumstances? Usually, I get the silent option or a ridiculous lie about how it was all some clumsy misunderstanding. And you know what Mr. Brown?”

  “Sir?” I wasn’t sure he really wanted a response, but I didn’t want to be rude.

  “I like honesty! If I got a little more of that, my job at this school would be one heck of a lot easier.”

  “Yes, sir.” No snappy patter from me, he seemed to be on a roll.

  “So, your beautifully brief recounting of yesterday’s little scuffle matches up darn close to the stories I heard yesterday, which makes me happy. But it poses a problem too.”

  “Sir?” Eventually, I was going to have to string another sentence together but my short answers seemed to be working for the moment.

  He put his arms up on the desk and laid his hands flat on it. “My problem is that Coby Munger and the boys that he runs with will be looking for payback when I discipline them. They are going to try to harass you. And, in addition to that, I have Rusty Witkowski to worry about.”

  “What?” One word but it definitely was the right one. What in the heck did Rusty Witkowski have to do with it?

  “Rusty has been expelled from his new school and has, as of this morning, been served a restraining order informing him that he is not to come within five hundred feet of school grounds. We’re concerned about him, and he is friends with Coby Munger.”

  I thought my squeamish expression said enough without speaking.

  “Exactly. So, I’m letting you know that Mr. Munger and Mr. Felton are going to be suspended. You need to watch out when you leave school property and when you arrive in the morning. That’s number one. Then we have another problem.”