Move to Strike

by Perri O'shaughnessy

  He dropped back, and in that moment of weakness, that single moment when he didn’t stubbornly insist on winning, the Cutlass smelled his frailty and pressed in for the kill. He had one last thought as he tried and failed to drop out of the competition for space on the ramp, that they were in the grip of a shared insanity, this aggressive foolhardiness, barreling along at seventy miles an hour, traveling through space without regard for place or time . . . when he heard a crash, felt his leg crack, and heard someone howl like a baby. . . .

  PART TWO

  He is in the dream, his right hand pushing the knife into the murderer’s back, watching for the murderer’s terror, but the murderer is laughing. The murderer is glad to die.

  He’s surprised and lessens the pressure for a moment. He wants the murderer to turn around and fight. But the head turns away from him, back to face the cabin door.

  The cold moves over them.

  The murderer leans toward the door and then pushes back against the knife, wanting to get it over with. The wind presses against them both. The murderer laughs and laughs.

  He can feel the shaking of the body, the quick spasms. He reaches around with his left hand and claps his hand over the laughing mouth. The lips of the murderer are warm and his breath is like a breath of fire.

  His hand burns.

  CHAPTER 8

  TUESDAY NIGHT, THE night before the transfer hearing, Day Thirteen in stir, always a total nothing even when Nikki was outside, and she’d just used up all her telephone time listening to Daria carry on. Somewhere in the middle of her fake good cheer and maddeningly trivial gossip, Daria had passed on one piece of real news. Aunt Beth had come out of the blue and offered to take care of the rent arrears. They weren’t going to lose their home after all. “It’s just like I told you, Nikki,” Daria had said in that infuriating way she had, all roses and cupcakes and Girl Scouts. “Things have a way of working out.” Well, they had worked out one more time, rescuing them from the gutter for now, until the next big crisis and the next bad boyfriend came along.

  On the bunk, arms tucked behind her head, trying to block out the noise, Nikki fretted. The racket, the three roommates, even the clothes that were too tight across the crotch, obviously designed for some squat toad, didn’t bother her as much as not having the telephone right there so she could talk to somebody. She wanted to call Bob, tell him about the people here, the things she had heard. She wanted him to tell her that his mom would get her out tomorrow, that she would be going home. She missed the Net, and her guitar. Daria had some kind of new job starting tomorrow and would be getting home exhausted and she wouldn’t be there to make sure Daria ate something hot.

  A shout from somewhere nearby made the hair on her arms stand straight up. She still couldn’t believe she was in Juvie. She kicked off her shoes and there was something wet like beads of sweat or tears on her face that she wiped away with her hand. Until all this shit came down, she could have passed for a normal person. From now on, she was blighted.

  Well, maybe she did belong here. Everything in her life had changed a long time ago. The world was just catching up to how much she had changed along with it. Up until she was ten years old, she had fit in. She joined Brownies and learned to knit with the other girls, even though Daria bought her the wrong-sized needles and yarn that was too fine.

  Then came the night her father didn’t come home. She was in fifth grade, Mrs. Bennett’s class, the best speller, the best out-loud reader. She loved her teacher, who had black hair that came down into a low point over her forehead, forming two mirror-image question marks on the sides of her face. She liked doing well just to see Mrs. Bennett smile.

  When he didn’t come home after work, Daria had kept his dinner warm in the oven until it charred. Then she called everyone they knew on the phone. Then she had sat up all night on the living-room rug shivering, without even bothering to light the fire two feet away.

  Nikki had waited under her bed. She had thought that if she hid there and wasn’t so obvious about waiting, he would not be too afraid of how much they needed him to come on home.

  But she went to sleep. She hadn’t even been able to do that right.

  Another noise zigzagged her mind back to Bob. If only she could reach him. She liked him because he didn’t think like the other kids. He was like an alien, never fitting in but so cool about it, like he had something special going for him or was planning to return to his home planet and just didn’t give a shit about Earth. She knew he was younger; it just didn’t matter. He had confidence in himself.

  He was her only friend, in fact, except for the Net and the bands she listened to at night.

  Not that she’d ever let him know that pathetic fact.

  The lights went out, and she pulled the covers over her. Last year, she had still been trying to fit in, going to dances and stuff like that. She yawned, thinking about Scott. What a difference between a friend and a boyfriend. Scott was a boyfriend, an ex-boyfriend actually at this point since he hadn’t even bothered to call and see how she was doing. A boyfriend who pushed you around and taught you things.

  If she had a phone, she was so messed up tonight she might just call Scott instead. She was so bored and so scared at the same time, and the kinds of things you did with Scott put you right there on the roller coaster, too panicked about the deathfall to worry about anything else. There was something to be said for that.

  Then she wouldn’t be lying here worrying about whether Daria had remembered to pay the water bill after the rent or that she was gonna be locked up forever, or about the big transfer hearing coming up.

  She wouldn’t be worrying that the police would search her house and find what she’d buried in the woods behind the house.

  “Back on the record,” Judge Harold Vasquez said.

  They sat in the small Juvenile Courtroom in Placerville again as if two hard weeks hadn’t gone by: Nikki in her Gothic black to convey her disaffection; Nina in her black lawyer suit to lend her dignity; Harold Vasquez in his black judicial robes for the sake of authority; Daria in a black leotard under her fluffy skirt because she hadn’t read the rule book on appropriate dress for court; and Beth in a black skirt because she was in mourning. Barbara Banning’s vivid red stood out, to symbolize prosecutorial confidence. Also appearing was Barbet Schroeder of the Tahoe Mirror, scribbling notes in back, Pearl Smith from the Probation Department, the clerk and reporter, and Nikki’s history teacher from the high school Nikki had attended until Bill Sykes’s death. The teacher was still in his twenties, nervous but game.

  “All right,” Vasquez said. “We are very close to the fifteen-day limit specified for this minor to remain in temporary custody, so I sincerely hope you are all ready to go.”

  “Ready, Your Honor.”

  “We are ready, Your Honor.”

  Vasquez read from the paperwork. “I have before me a verified petition to declare Nicole Zack a ward of the court pursuant to section 602 of the Welfare and Institutions Code. The District Attorney’s Office has in its discretion instituted these proceedings pursuant to subdivision (b) of section 650 and Section 26500 of the Government Code.

  “Now, Ms. Zack, I’m going to speak directly to you because you are the person with the most at stake in this hearing. This petition requests that I make a finding that you are not a fit and proper subject to be dealt with under the Juvenile Court law. Before I could do that, I must conclude that you would not be amenable to the care, treatment, and training program available through the facilities of the Juvenile Court. And to decide that, I must consider five factors: the degree of criminal sophistication exhibited by you; whether you can be rehabilitated by the age when Juvenile Court jurisdiction would expire; your previous delinquent history; the success of any previous attempts by the Juvenile Court to rehabilitate you; and, last but not least, the circumstances and gravity of the offense you are alleged to have committed.

  “The petition specifies that the crime involved is a felony and it contai
ns a statement of the facts which have brought you into this court. I also have a report from the Probation Department regarding your behavioral patterns and social history. Attached to that is a Victim Impact Statement submitted by Beth Sykes, who was the wife of the decedent. Ms. Reilly, have you and your client and your client’s mother received and reviewed those reports?”

  “We have.”

  “Any luck locating the father?” Vasquez asked Barbara.

  “Not at this point,” Barbara said. “He’s not in the system and he doesn’t have a driver’s license in this state.”

  “Too bad. Now, Ms. Zack, what I’m going to do today is look at some factors which will help me decide whether or not I should follow the recommendation of the district attorney. I am going to pay particular attention to this report by the probation officer assigned to your case, which I have already read. Ms. Reilly, do you have any other witnesses you would like to have heard on this issue?”

  Nina said, “Ms. Zack’s history teacher didn’t have an opportunity to speak to the probation office investigator. He’s here today. Also, my client’s mother would like an opportunity to speak.”

  “Fine. Let’s start with the report.”

  Probation officer Pearl Smith stood up and summarized the report for the record while Nikki twitched in her chair. Pearl had tried to find some socially acceptable threads in Nikki’s life, but hadn’t been very successful. She started with Nikki’s eleventh-grade report card, in which Nikki had scraped by with a C-minus average, a number of detentions, enough cut classes to result in a suspension earlier in the year, and a general consensus among the teachers that Nikki could not care less about her studies.

  “Anything to add?” Vasquez asked Nina when this sorry record had been summarized.

  “This would be a good time for me to call Mr. Edwards in,” Nina said. Nikki’s history teacher came forward and sat down, clearing his throat excessively before speaking, even more nervous than before.

  “I’ve only had Nikki this past semester,” he said. “But we have talked often before and after class. I can’t understand her general lack of interest or progress in school, because I know she’s bright. She’s a reader, with a passionate interest in history. She’s read everything I’ve suggested to her besides doing very well on her tests. She has tremendous potential, and certainly with some help she can be rehabilitated, even if she has committed a crime. It would be a tragedy for her to be put into the adult system. If she could be allowed to be on probation or something, I would be glad to act as her independent studies coordinator. I like Nikki and I want to help any way I can.”

  “Thank you,” the judge said. He was nodding, but Nina knew what would come next. “Ms. Banning, any questions?”

  “It’s nice of you to come to Nikki’s aid, Mr. Edwards,” Barbara said. “The two of you share a similar political philosophy, am I correct?”

  “We-ell, you might say that.”

  “You encouraged her to write a paper on Che Guevara advocating the violent overthrow of our system of government and you gave her an A on that paper, did you not?”

  “It was a good paper,” Mr. Edwards answered, fidgeting.

  “Ms. Zack is—what? An anarchist? A nihilist? A Communist?”

  “A student.”

  “How lucky for her that she fell under your guidance. Has she ever expressed an interest in assassination of public figures?”

  “No, no . . .”

  Barbara pulled out the essay Henry had been waving at Nina in his office. “Read to us from the second page of this essay by Ms. Zack, which I’m about to submit to the court. The portion I’ve marked.”

  He took the essay and read. “ ‘Sometimes the only way to stop the oppression is through summary execution of political oppressors who cannot be dealt with in any other way.’ Let me explain . . .”

  “Let me see that,” Vasquez said.

  By now, Nina had read the essay several times. She saw in it all the grandiose arrogance that masked immaturity but found nothing evil about a young girl’s bumpy political awakening. She felt incensed enough by Barbara’s insinuations about Nikki’s work to interrupt. “She’s old enough to stick in State Prison but not old enough to be granted ordinary First Amendment rights. Is that the way it should be? Why shouldn’t she have opinions? We’re talking about her intelligence, her potential . . .”

  “Exactly. Her potential to commit more murders,” Barbara said.

  “That’s enough,” Judge Vasquez said. “Let me read.” He read the whole thing. When he looked up, he had a grave expression on his face. He thanked Mr. Edwards, who gave Nikki an encouraging nod as he left.

  “Well, let’s turn back to the report,” the judge said. Pearl noted that Nikki had joined no school clubs, had no extracurricular activities, was not a member of a church, had no record of volunteer work, had few friends, and was not employed. As she discussed Nikki’s contacts with law enforcement and her association with Scott Cabano, Nikki slid down farther and farther in her chair.

  “I’d like to call Daria Zack,” Nina said when this recitation was complete.

  Daria tried to speak calmly. “Your Honor, what you’re reading and what Nikki really is like are so different that—it’s just that Nikki doesn’t fit into a conventional mold. She doesn’t join clubs or run for school president or work on the school newspaper. She’ll never make homecoming queen. But does that mean you should send her into the adult court?

  “As a matter of fact, Nikki has many interests and activities. She loves to go mountain biking in the forest. She’s a wonderful guitar player and has a beautiful voice. And she is learning everything there is to know about computers. She writes poetry and she loves to read. She thinks about the suffering of so many people in this world and it makes her angry, Your Honor, but she’d never harm a fly. She didn’t kill her uncle. Even Beth, my sister, who wrote that letter to you—you’ll see that she doesn’t believe Nikki had anything to do with it. Nikki has learned to cook and balance a checkbook and help me in so many ways”—Daria started to break down but pulled herself together—“and if you’ll let her come home and remember that she’s very young and just needs a little help, then I—I will try to take better care of her. Please, Your Honor.” She wiped her eyes.

  Vasquez listened seriously.

  Barbara took over, making everything Daria said sound sinister, twisting Nikki again into a loner terrorist caught just in time. But Daria didn’t cry anymore. She sat with her back straight and answered the scathing questions as well as she could. Vasquez himself winced a few times. Maybe he didn’t care for Barbara’s combative style either.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Zack,” the judge said, excusing Daria. “Anything else, Ms. Reilly?”

  “This is a very young girl who has never been accused of a serious crime,” Nina said. “The United States Supreme Court has pointed out in Kent v. United States that this short and informal hearing is at the same time a critically important action determining vitally important statutory rights of this child. I know the court will read between the lines of that report and see that there is every opportunity for rehabilitation for this child within the juvenile system, assuming she is found to have committed the felony, which is very much in dispute. Yes, she’s a loner, a reader, a thinker. That only makes her more amenable to the help this court can give.”

  Vasquez nodded. “Ms. Banning?”

  “She’s a loner, all right, and she’s been getting into deeper and deeper trouble each time. She’s charged with a vicious—let’s not forget that—a vicious crime. Of course Beth Sykes spoke up for her—she’s Beth Sykes’s niece. And who else came to speak today? One single teacher who sounds like he ought to be teaching in Cuba, and her mother! As for her being intelligent, the Unabomber is intelligent too. I fail to see how that makes her more amenable to rehabilitation. The district attorney’s office doesn’t decide to request that this court waive its jurisdiction lightly. Our recommendation is based on long experience wh
ich the court should weigh heavily. Thank you.”

  Silence. Nikki sat so still she appeared to have stopped breathing.

  Vasquez set down the papers, straightened his robe, and blinked a couple of times. Finally he said, “I appreciate the hard work of all parties concerned today. This is a very difficult decision for me. I want to be very careful not to send a child into the adult criminal courts without good reason. In this case, after fully considering the report and attachments and the testimony today, I am going to grant the petition of the district attorney’s office.”

  He went on, listing his reasons and conclusions, but Nina didn’t hear him any more. Nikki knew exactly what was happening. She looked back wildly at Daria. Barbara allowed a tiny smile to play on her lips. Nikki belonged to her and Henry now.

  They had lost this round.

  But at the last moment Vasquez tossed the defense a bone. Over Barbara’s vociferous objections, Nikki was placed on home supervision with electronic surveillance. She would be wearing a monitor on her ankle and was not allowed to leave the vicinity of her home without express permission.

  So happy was Nikki that she would be imminently released from Juvie, she didn’t seem to care about the rest. “I’ve got me a ball and chain,” she said cheerfully, as her mom and Nina finally left the premises with her after she had been processed.

  Nina said, “I’m depending on you to follow the rules, Nikki.”

  “You won’t be going back to school right now,” Daria said. Her mood was much more somber. “The judge said you can’t leave the house.”

  “A long vacation. All right!”

  “I’ll have to get you a tutor.”

  “Daria, get a clue. We have no money. How you going to hire a tutor?”

  “There’s only one more month of school before summer. Maybe we can work with your teachers. Get you into independent studies with Mr. Edwards.”