Chaos Theory

by M Evonne Dobson

  A clinker. I reach in and pull it out. It’s soft lavender with a white swirl. Envelope three. I roll it around in my palm and stare at it. This is the first to land in the front. And it is the first and only time a marble has traveled from top to bottom like that. Double damn.

  ***

  At noon, I met Sandy and Sam in the lunchroom. None of us has seen Daniel. Even as we talk about it, he comes through the doors. I chase after him, but he sees me and he’s gone. I return to the table.

  “We have to get to Daniel,” Sam says.

  We have a plan now. We pursue the Julia angle. If she’s the user or the drug dealer, then she got them from someone. If we’re going to help Daniel, we need Julia’s dealer. Finding out why she committed suicide would be a nice plus.

  Sam the On Track says, “We have to get her laptop and smartphone. Daniel can do that.”

  “I know, but we don’t even know if he’ll work with us.”

  Sandy pushes. “We talked about it. You have the trigger! He doesn’t want anyone to know about Julia’s drugs! If you threaten to tell his parents, he’ll play.”

  I wish she wasn’t so eager to play that card.

  Sandy says, “If you don’t want to do it, I will.” She might back Team Daniel by default, but she isn’t forgiving him for dragging me into that drug deal and the late night hospital visit.

  I nix her takeover. “No. It’s my connection.” Well, not a true connection, but he’ll take it better from me. He might panic that Sam and Sandy know anything. We set a rule. We stay safe—no drug deals, nothing that puts us in danger, but Daniel’s not going forward without us.

  “By the way…” I pull out the three letters and shove them at Sandy. “These are for you.”

  Sandy’s eyebrows lift as she opens the envelopes. Sam leans in close, closer than necessary. Romantic sparks fly between them, which weren’t there last night. Sandy could probably feel his breath next to her ear. I shiver thinking about Gavin doing that. Tonight, there’d be more than lip-locking with Emerald Green Eyes. Is that too fast? With Sam looking over her shoulder, they read the letters. Sandy says, “Uh ohhh.” No exclamation marks.

  “Zonkers.” Sam says.

  I grin. “Yeah, you guys handle this. If it makes a difference to you, envelope three dropped a clinker.”

  Eleven

  After fifth period, I’m panicking—still no Daniel. When I do spot him, he slithers away. The pep band skips sixth period so, with my flute and bookbag in tow, I head to the bus out front. Sam and Sandy stand beside the bus’s open door and wave to me. One more last-ditch effort; I duck into the administration office.

  “Hey, Carl.” He’s a complete nerd, even more than me, and usually my stiffest science project competition. This year he’s opted for the robotics program. I don’t put it past him to do both and keep his science project a secret.

  “Hey, Kami. Your locker! Interesting science project.” The guy cracks a sly evil grin, looking like a super hero villain. Yeah, he’s doing both competitions. He knows I’m going to flame out.

  “Carl, I need a big favor. Can you get me someone’s phone number? There’s a major project due Monday and my partner ditched me. If I don’t get a hold of him, it’ll be me doing the whole thing by myself.” It’s a good angle to hit with Carl. Students ditch on him all the time and then roll in with an A on his hard work.

  He leans forward and shoots a glance toward the school secretary, who’s heading into the principal’s office. “Who is it?”

  “Daniel Jamison.”

  Carl’s head snaps back. “Triple D? So you did take him to the hospital last Friday night?”

  I put my foot in it and snap, “I just happened to be around when he got hurt.” Then I remember the story Sam and Sandy concocted. “We were at Broken Bone for our sociology project.”

  “Hey, no sweat off my back, but what a lousy partner.”

  I try not to grind my teeth. Everyone is so fast to judge Daniel. It isn’t fair. Carl spins around to a computer, types, and then scribbles the phone number on a Post-it note, handing it to me.

  He whispers, “It’s his home phone.”

  “Thanks, Carl. I owe you.”

  He laughs a deep muahh-ahhhh-ahhh like the comic book villains. Maybe Carl should write my locker and ask why no one likes him, but the world is better off with a lone wolf Carl. It’s too easy to see him surrounded by corrupt minions taking over the school’s science wing.

  Punching in the number on my cell, I run to the bus where waiting Sandy and Sam see me and climb the steps. On the second ring, his mom answers. I say, “Hi. This is Kami from Daniel’s school. We’re doing a project together. Can you have him call me when he gets home?”

  Her voice is soft, friendly, and curious. “He’s just left for the skate park. He said school got out early because of the Fort Carroll game?”

  I freeze with my foot on the bus’s first step, right behind Sam. Early out for basketball players, cheerleaders, and pep band members, but not the general student population. “He just left?”

  “Yes, for Broken Bone.”

  Daniel’s planning another three goon session. “Thanks, I’ll try to catch him there.”

  I scramble backward and both Sam and Sandy turn to look at me. “Daniel’s going to the skate park.” There’s no time to argue. We agreed we aren’t going on drug deals. Yet, breaking that rule already, I run in front of the parked bus and barely miss stepping in front of a car. The driver throws on her brakes. I skirt it and head for EB.

  “Wait!” Sandy calls out.

  I glance back. Both she and Sam barrel full blast in front of the same car, instrument cases swinging as they round the front of the bus. They catch up as my key opens EB’s door lock. One look at their faces and it’s clear they’re going to break our first rule too. I should warn them off. I don’t.

  “What’s the plan?” Sam asks.

  I climb into EB. “I’m heading there.” Protection would be nice. For that matter, what reason do we have to be at the park? None of us are skateboarders. Inspiration hits as I turn my key in the ignition; something that handles both problems. Sandy lives in the neighborhood near Riverside Park. She can stop there on her way. “Pick up Brute. Meet me there.”

  Brute is Sandy’s giant black and white Newfoundland—more pony than dog. As a puppy, he was a cute, clumsy, and shaggy thing with bronze soulful eyes. He still has the eyes, but now they are inside one monstrous dog. He won’t hurt a flea, but with his hundred-plus-pound body as part of a defensive front, those three goons would think twice before coming after us.

  I slam EB into reverse, back her up, and then gun her out of the school parking lot with a loud squeal from her tires. That’s when I remember band’s two skip rule; pep band just become history. And damn it, hot and sexy grown-up Gavin is on that bus too. I’d blown him off again. Daniel so owed me.

  ***

  Coming down Sixth Street, the unmarked cop car is parked by the railroad underpass. Driving above the speed limit, I hit the brakes to slow and check it out. No one’s inside the car. I turn into the parking lot and park next to Daniel’s unoccupied Mustang.

  Tapping my fingers against the steering wheel, I wait, anxious for Sam and Sandy to arrive. Breaking the safety rule is one thing; being stupid is another. Then Sandy’s dark green rusted pickup turns into the parking lot. Inside and squashed between her and Sam is the huge excited dog. Only Brute is happy with the cramped quarters. He’s got his Frisbee in his mouth.

  Brute drools—a lot, Frisbee or not. Sam swipes at the flying slob on his cheek. They park and unload. The dog plows over the top of Sam, who manages to grab his leash. Sandy’s glowing with excitement. Team Daniel she’s not, but action queen she is. She also smells like baby powder again. She must have hugged her baby sister.

  “So how do we handle this?” Sam the Cautious asks. Fro
m his shifting feet to his wide eyes, it’s obvious he doesn’t want to be here. I modify my original plan a bit.

  “I walk across to Daniel. You guys stay here with Brute.”

  Sandy says, “Nope. Besides, Brute wants to be the hero.”

  She hadn’t seen Daniel’s beaten body. NCSI fan Sandy is wearing a TV flak jacket as strong as tissue paper. “This is serious, Sandy. Stay here. Look natural. Toss Brute’s Frisbee here in the parking lot.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m coming with you to Broken Bone.”

  Sam the Uncertain stammers, “If Sandy’s going, then I am too.”

  I give in and we head up the little hill to Sixth Street, wait for traffic to clear, and enter the area west of the skate park. Sam the I’m-just-in-the-park-with-my-dog, nope-no-interest-in-drug-deals grabs the sopping Frisbee and tosses it before Sandy has the leash unhooked. Brute drags her three feet before she lets go. The Newfoundland races for the Frisbee, picks it up, and returns to sit in front of his new BFF, still trailing the leash.

  Sam takes the wet Frisbee and shakes the slobber off it. “I don’t have to love your dog, do I? It’s not part of the bargain if we’re dating?”

  Sandy laughs and drops a kiss on his cheek. Sam grins and lofts the wet Frisbee again—long and hard. It hits the railroad embankment. Brute charges off.

  Inside Broken Bone, Daniel’s doing warm-ups, making those long, leisurely passes around the three concrete bowls. No goons in sight. Had I gotten kicked out of band AND missed my nuclear-hot date with Emerald Green Eyes for nothing?

  Sam points up toward the railway bridge. “Why’s there a homeless guy up there?”

  Sandy shades her eyes from the bright winter sun. “The wind must be brutal.”

  Up there, a man huddles down in blankets between the bushes. Sunlight glints off glass—binoculars. “Not a homeless guy—Daniel’s handler. Change of plans. You guys wait here. If three ugly goons show up, text me, okay?”

  “Sure.” Sam basks in Sandy’s approval of seeing the cop and throws the Frisbee again.

  Backtracking along Sixth Street and under the railroad overpass, I reach the unmarked police car. Next to it there are footprints leading up the snowy embankment. Grabbing onto small bushes to haul myself along, I follow them. Given the marks in the snow, Gravel Voice (ninety-nine percent sure that’s him up there) had more problems doing it. Once on the railroad tracks, it’s an easy if blustery walk to the man huddled under his blanket. The wind whips against my face as I come up behind him.

  ***

  The skate park’s concrete dome curves upward like an origami crane’s wings, providing Gravel Voice with an unobstructed view of the action. He’s got an open Thermos that reeks of power-spiced chili, but it’s getting cold. One gloved hand holds his binoculars, while the other has a cell phone cupped to his ear. Because of the wind, he’s yelling into it:

  “I know he’s my first CI, but he’s not what he’s supposed to be. He’s out of his element. He’s going to get hurt again.”

  CI is the term Sandy uses for snitch; CI for confidential informant. Up above him, I squat down and listen without a bit of guilt. This creep thought I wanted to buy drugs. This creep intimidated me into backing off. Even Daniel hadn’t managed that. Anger bunches up my muscles. I really hate this guy. From below, Sandy waves. Gravel Voice is too busy to notice. His binocs are trained on the dome itself. From this vantage point, he also has a clear shot of the bike path leading to Joint Row where Daniel had been beaten.

  Gravel Voice listens some more. Then he says, “I know. I know. I heard it all at that conference like everyone else. They drilled it into my head that dime pushers can be pros at hiding their drug involvement, but this is not adding up.”

  Balancing on my two feet, I slide down into his sightline. The binocs drop and his hand reaches for his sidearm, upsetting his chili. All that goody goodness oozes down the incline. Caught off guard, he’s slow—really slow. I stare at him, and yeah, he can tell that I’m PO’d.

  He says into the phone, “I’ll have to call you back.” Slowly his weapon hand relaxes. “And you would be?”

  “The girl you assumed wanted to buy drugs, you creep.”

  Twelve

  Yeah, I called a small town cop a creep. That’s not smart. One word from him and every police officer in town will be on my case. They might follow me around looking for every speed and roll-through-stop sign violation that I make. But, he ticked me off.

  “Kami?”

  “The one and only. It worked, you know, for a while. I backed off, but not anymore.”

  That gets to him. Is he seeing his snitch’s value disappear?

  I pile on. “What happens if I tell everyone that he’s a confidential informant? How’d that go over at the cop shop?”

  Down in the parking lot, the three goons exit a beat-up Chevy and wait for traffic to cross Sixth Street. Time’s up. Grinding my teeth so hard Gravel Voice should hear it, I head straight down the embankment. “For the record, I won’t do that, because Daniel wouldn’t want me to. But he isn’t alone anymore. We’re helping him.”

  He stops me as I pass him, grabbing my arm. “This is dangerous.”

  “Dah. Who was there when he was beat up? You?”

  “Our communication got messed up. Besides, I thought he knew what he was doing.”

  “Did you guys even try to confirm if Daniel told you the truth?”

  His sudden slack face and shifting eyes say it all. I snort, but need to be down there with Daniel. That means I head straight down the embankment, and if goon squad spots Gravel Voice? Well, too bad.

  “Kami.” Worry might have softened his voice. “Take this.” He yanks off a glove and pulls out a business card from his wallet. “Anytime, day or night.”

  I take it. Gravel Voice has a name, Detective Bob Davidson. A cool exit down the hill would have been nice; instead I slip and slide, finally ending up scooting down on my butt. At the base, Sam, Sandy, and Brute wait. Fifty yards away, the goons head under the dome.

  “What do we do?” Sam the Fearful asks.

  “Follow me. United front.”

  Sandy grins. “Cool.”

  I’m terrified. “No smiling. Look mean.”

  Side by side, along with droll-slinging Brute, we cross to Broken Bone. Daniel rides his board up the highest bowl, slides the rim, and then balances rock solid for ages on the edge. Then he rocks it off the perilous rise, finishing his run.

  Daniel sees us first. His jaw literally drops. The skaters clear space for my crew. It’s feeling like West Side Story’s gang rumble. Gang? Right, our pep band t-shirts under our open coats and school-colored knit caps on our heads scream gang.

  Daniel’s short temper blows. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Saving your butt.” I turn to the goons. “Nothing happens here today.” And isn’t that like a cop-show actor—the one bluffing without a gun or backup?

  “She your protection squad?” Goon One asks. “Listen, Bud, you come back and you’ll get what you got last time. This is our territory. We don’t want your stinking drugs on our turf.”

  Now who’s sounding like a movie? Then the goon spits in Daniel’s face and waits, just itching for Daniel to fight.

  Sandy thrusts Brute’s leash into my hand, and she body locks against Daniel who’s zeroing in on the goon. Her voice changes into someone I don’t know. “Come on, honey. I don’t want to see a fight.” Her hand slips into Daniel’s open jacket and brushes from his chest to his waist. “You can do this another time. I don’t want to see any blood, okay?”

  Isn’t that a scene in one of those old film noir movies? Whatever. It works and it’s brilliant. Then Sandy drags Daniel away. Sam, Brute, and I follow.

  Goon One calls after us, “Yeah, head home with your honey.” He makes smooching noises and the goons laugh.


  Daniel grabs his backpack, while I grab his board where he left it. He holds his temper until we cross Sixth Street and drop down into the parking lot, out of sight of the skate park. Then he rips Sandy’s hand away. She’d worked it around his waist as she dragged him toward the cars. He rounds on me. “What the hell are you doing? I said to stay out of my life. You’re supposed to be on the Fort Carroll bus.”

  Sandy jumps on his words. “Kami’s here to help your sorry ass!” She steps up in his face. “You be nice to her, because you owe her big-time!” To me, she says, “Get this creep up to speed and get what we need.” She takes Brute’s leash from my hand. “We’ll drop Brute off at home and meet you guys at the lair.” Then she heads for her pickup.

  Watching my BFF march away, Sam shoots me the craziest smile. “Isn’t she great?” Then he runs to catch up with Sandy.

  I’m wowed too. Sandy’s fast on her feet, but that fast? And she’d hit the testosterone-stand-off right out of the skate park without anyone getting hurt.

  Daniel stares at my friends as they drive off. He makes fists, the same way he’d done manhandling his backpack at the library and MA. Clink. Clink. Clink. Then like an erupting volcano he slams his hand into the hood of his classic Mustang. “Don’t get involved. It’s dangerous.”

  This guy really doesn’t understand money. You don’t pound a classic car to make a point.

  Then he says, “You’re like a butt zit! How did you know I was here?”

  Seriously, butt zit? “I called your mom.”

  This time, he kicks the door. There are now two huge dents in his car. They join several others from earlier assaults. “Get out of my life! Stay away from my family. Got that?”

  “It’s over, Daniel. I know about Julia.”

  Fear. All over his face. His vulnerability sends an unfamiliar feeling rocketing through me.

  He tries to bluff. “Julia’s not part of this.”

  I check that illogical feeling and stick to what I know best—facts. “Yes, she was. Those drugs weren’t yours. They were hers. I found a drug stash where you never go, but Julia did.” That’s circumstantial evidence for Julia dealing, but miles away from implicating Daniel. “And I heard you talking with Gravel Voice at the hospital. You’re his CI. You’re trading jail time for the name of her supplier.”