by B K Stevens
“So Hill and a Richmond cop came to see me yesterday. So they asked me questions about you and your friend—and about the fight club, and about some guys named Ted Ramsey and Jefferson Davis Roberts. Around midnight, there were more cops, giving me a hard time. It didn’t go very far—nobody had anything solid—but I didn’t enjoy it much.”
Good, I thought, but didn’t say anything. It was hard. He’d killed Coach Colson, and he was standing a few feet away from me. I wanted to throw insults at him, call him every bad name I knew. But that’d be stupid. So I focused on my breathing, knowing he might attack any second, trying to be ready, trying not to feel too scared.
“I’ve got good news,” he said. “I’m thinking of moving on. I’m sick of Richmond, and I’ve got a good opportunity somewhere else. You’d like it if I left, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t have to worry about me showing up anymore. But I’ve got a debt I haven’t quite settled, so I’ve got a question you need to answer. Why did the cops ask me about Ted Ramsey?”
If I’d been thinking straight, I would’ve said, “Ted who?” It probably wouldn’t have fooled him, but at least it would’ve made sense. Instead, I said the dumbest thing possible. “I was looking at old yearbooks, I saw he went to Ridgecrest High the same time you did, and—”
“So did hundreds of other people. Tell me the truth. Don’t make me beat it out of you. You wouldn’t enjoy it, believe me.”
I did believe him—about that, if not about anything else. But I still didn’t understand what was going on, and I didn’t want to sic him on Marie. “I told Lieutenant Hill everything I know about you,” I said, “so you’ve got nothing to gain from beating me up. I don’t know anything else that could hurt you.”
He took another step forward. “But maybe you know something that could hurt someone else. Maybe you’re holding something back for blackmail. Tell me about Ramsey. Then I’ll leave, and you’ll never see me again.”
I let myself think about it. I’d give him some version of the truth, he’d drive away, and I’d be safe. Then I’d call the police. I’d call Marie and warn her.
But Davis had to know I’d do that. If I told him anything, he couldn’t just leave. He’d have to kill me.
So whether I told him about Marie or not, I was dead. The only question was whether he’d kill her, too.
I shook my head. “I’ve told you everything I know.”
He lunged forward, grabbing my jacket with both hands. Tough-guy grab, I thought desperately. But Aaron had shown us what to do when someone grabs your shirt with one hand. I didn’t know a defense against a two-handed grab.
“Tell me how you found out about Ramsey,” he said, and kneed me hard in the stomach.
It hurt like hell. I doubled over, struggling for breath.
“Not so tough, are you?” He grinned, still holding onto my jacket. “Look at you—I hit you once, and you’re ready to fall over. Just like that sissy coach. I thought it’d be fun to kill him, but it was too easy.”
So he’d admitted it. I’d known he’d done it on purpose, I’d known since the day of the tournament, but now he’d said it. That made it more real. No matter what happened, I had to hurt him. As I straightened up, I lifted my right fist and got him with a solid roundhouse punch to his face.
I heard him grunt, probably with surprise more than pain. He let go of my jacket and jumped back.
“You bastard,” he said, pressing his hand against his face. “You stupid little bastard.”
He went into a boxing stance and came at me, jabbing twice with his left fist and then punching with his right. But the blocks came to me automatically, maybe because of all the practice with Cassie. I didn’t let anything land. He aimed a kick at my thigh, at a pressure point, and I stopped it with a low block.
He jumped in close, grabbing my shoulders. I saw what was coming and lowered my head. He butted it, and it hurt plenty, but at least he’d caught the top of my head, not my forehead. That would’ve been worse.
He backed off a few steps. “You’re bleeding, kid. Had enough?”
I touched the top of my head, then brought my hand down. Yeah, I was bleeding. And I’d blocked the punches and the kick, but my arms hurt from absorbing all that force. I can’t keep this up, I thought. If I stick to defense, he’ll wear me down. Kadima, I remembered. I have to attack, and I can’t stop, not till it’s over.
He stepped toward me, grinning, sure he’d won.
“Kadima!” I shouted, and charged at him with a right front kick.
He blocked it, but I came at him again with a left elbow strike. Then I grabbed him around the neck with both hands, pulling his head down. Payback, I thought, and kneed his stomach as hard as I could, again and again, still pressing forward. He backed up, doubling over, gasping for air. I’d taken him by surprise—I could feel that.
I had to catch my own breath. I let go of him, shoving him back, and he stumbled, nearly losing his balance. I came forward again, and he backed up, throwing punches at my face. I blocked them, and now the blocks didn’t hurt as much. He’s getting weaker, I realized.
Energy surged through me. I shouted “kadima” again and hopped toward him, shoving off my back leg and turning to the side. I snapped my right arm forward, catching him with a fast backfist to his nose. He cried out, and I saw blood spurting.
Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop. I stepped forward, aiming a low side kick at his left knee. I felt my heel connect, heard something crack. I’d broken his kneecap.
He collapsed to the pavement. It took two seconds. I stood watching, still in a fighting stance, hardly believing it. It was like someone had stuck a pin into a balloon. One moment he was standing, and the next he was on the ground, cursing, groaning, blood still pouring from his nose. He leaned his head back, trying to breathe through his mouth, exposing his throat.
I could do it now, I thought. I could kick him in the throat, just like he kicked Coach. I could finish him.
But that wasn’t what this was about. You’re not trying to kill him, Aaron had said. You’re just giving yourself time to get away. I’d done that. It was over.
He struggled to get up. When he tried to put weight on his left leg, he cried out in pain, collapsing to the pavement again. He looked up at me, and I saw fear in his eyes.
I forced in air and found my voice. “I could kill you while you’re down,” I said. “That’s what you’d do. But I’m not like you. Thank God.”
I turned my back on him and ran.
Thirty-three
“We can’t let Cassie know,” I told my parents. “She’s got something planned for today. I don’t know what it is, but it’s important to her. We can’t ruin it by getting her worried about me.”
So when the police car arrived, Mom went upstairs to distract her, and Dad came outside with me to talk to the two uniformed cops. They’d been to the church, they said. No sign of Bobby Davis, except a little blood on the concrete. Was I sure it was really this guy from Richmond? Maybe I’d got in a fight with someone from school, and made up a story to explain the cut on my head to my parents.
“It was Davis,” I said. “Lieutenant Hill and some Richmond cops questioned him yesterday. So you should let Hill and the Richmond police know about this right away, and you should put out a bulletin or whatever about Davis’ car. It’s a silver Toyota. I didn’t get the license number, but Hill probably has it. Davis must’ve dragged himself to his car. Maybe he’s left town—he said he wanted to ‘move on’—but he might make more trouble here first.”
One cop shrugged. “I’ll tell the lieutenant when he gets in. Anyway, if you really broke this guy’s kneecap, he’s in no shape for making trouble. Or did you forget what you’d said about the kneecap?”
“I didn’t forget,” I said, getting angry. “It’s true. But Davis isn’t an ordinary guy. Even with a broken kneecap, he could be dangerous.”<
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“Yeah, he’s a professional karate killer,” the cop said. “You told us. But somehow a high-school kid outfought him. Great story. Get a doctor to look at that cut. And don’t get in more fights.”
I heard them laughing as they got in their car. Frustrated, I turned to my father. “You believe me, don’t you?”
“I always do,” he said. “I’ll call the station, try to make sure Hill gets the message right away. But first I’m taking you to the emergency room.”
“I’m okay. I just need to shower. And we’ve got to think of what to tell Cassie. She’ll expect me to drive her to school.”
We negotiated, finally agreeing Mom would tell Cassie I’d overslept and offer to take her out for pancakes on the way to school. Dad and I would sneak off to the hospital, and he’d call the station and then take me home for a shower.
While Dad drove us to the hospital, I texted Graciana, Berk, and Joseph, telling them what happened, warning them to watch out for Davis. But I bet he’s left town, I thought. I bet he won’t go back to Richmond, either. He’s already in trouble with the police in both places, and he told me things he shouldn’t have. Plus he’s injured, and he said he had “a good opportunity somewhere else.” I bet that’s where he’s gone, to heal up and start over. Someday he might come back for revenge, but it probably won’t be soon. Maybe he’ll never bother.
Dad reached Hill, and he showed up at the hospital right after the doctor finished my stitches. Hill listened to my story soberly, not making cracks, taking notes.
“He admitted to killing Colson intentionally,” I said. “He said he’d thought killing him would be fun, but it was too easy.”
Hill nodded. “And he admitted he was Jefferson Davis Roberts?”
“Practically. When I said he and Ted Ramsey went to Ridgecrest High at the same time, he said, ‘So did hundreds of other people.’ He wouldn’t have said that unless—”
“—unless he was Roberts. Good enough for me.” Hill wrote it down. “Damn! When I talked to him yesterday, he smirked at me. He knew I couldn’t press charges for what he did back then. Roberts skipped town before we even got his fingerprints.”
“But can’t you press charges about Coach Colson’s murder?”
“Based on one thing he said to you? Too shaky. But you and Widrig can testify to the assault Wednesday night, and you can testify to the assault today. That’s what Roberts would’ve been charged with if he hadn’t run off—assault. ” He snapped his notebook shut. “You got a concussion?”
“The doctor doesn’t think so. Will you put out a bulletin about Davis’ car?”
“Already done. That scumbag’s not getting away from me again, not after two more assaults.”
“And what about the person Davis was working for? He was obviously working for somebody when he killed Coach Colson. He said—”
“Davis said he thought killing Colson would be fun. Probably, that’s why he did it—not that we can prove even that. Don’t get caught up in crazy theories about hired killers.”
I shook my head in frustration. “Why did Davis keep asking me about Ted Ramsey, then?”
“How do I know? Maybe he was just surprised I mentioned him. I got no proof of a connection between those two. I talked to all Roberts’ friends back then, and Ramsey wasn’t one of them. I don’t think they even knew each other.”
“There has to be a connection,” I said, and thought for a minute. “Marie Ramsey talked to you after her sister died, right?”
“Yeah.” Hill chuckled. “She’s even better at coming up with crazy stuff than you are. She made some wild accusations.”
“Maybe she wasn’t right about everything. But remember the text messages Nina sent? The first one ended, ‘Take that, Big Brother.’ Doesn’t it sound like she was defying Ted about something? And if he was at the bridge, and she defied him in person—well, you saw what he did to Marie.”
Hill’s face stiffened. “I don’t know if he did anything to her. She’s still saying an intruder beat her up. Maybe that’s true. Or maybe you did it.”
“You know I didn’t.” I said, relieved Marie hadn’t accused me. “You know it was Ted. He’s got a history of assault, and he’s hit Marie before. It probably won’t be long before he hits her again.”
“Look, I gave her every opportunity to tell me about him. She wouldn’t. Maybe she figures if she told the truth this time, he’d hurt her worse next time. Maybe she’s right. That’s how it is in these domestic cases. Sometimes, if we push too hard, we make things worse.”
I understood what he was saying, but it wasn’t right. “Will you talk to Marie one more time? She’s getting discharged today—you could go upstairs, talk to her before she leaves the hospital. Even if you think there’s no chance Ted killed Nina, will you run the possibility past Marie, mention the last line in the text message? If she thinks he might’ve killed Nina, maybe that’ll make her tell you the truth about who beat her up. Then you could at least put him in jail for a while, right?”
Hill chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know if that’d do her any good long-term, but I’ll think about it. Anyway, as far as you’re concerned, this thing’s over.”
He walked away. I didn’t know if I’d done the right thing or not, but getting Ted Ramsey locked up while we tried to figure things out seemed like a good idea. And maybe we’d think of some other way to help Marie.
Dad tried to talk me into resting at home all day, but I didn’t want to miss the test. And I had a million thoughts going through my head and needed to talk them over with Graciana. I grabbed a quick shower, grabbed my book bag. Before I left my room, I opened my desk drawer, took out the yellow pad Coach had left on the bench the day of the tournament, and turned to the comments about me. There they were, surrounded by doodles of squirrels and fish and two flowering trees. “Really quick backfist,” Coach had written. “Wow.”
I’d broken Bobby Davis’ nose with a quick backfist. It helped save my life. Coach had taught me the backfist, had made me practice till it was focused and powerful. I owed Aaron a lot. Without his help, I never could’ve stood up to Davis. But Coach had been part of this morning’s victory, too. I’d used what he’d taught me to defeat the man who’d killed him.
I stuffed the yellow pad into my book bag. Somehow, I wanted it with me today.
Dr. Lombardo was in the office when I went there to sign in. When she saw me, she frowned.
“You’re almost two hours late, Matt,” she said. “That’s automatic detention.”
I held up the note the doctor had given me. “Emergency room excuse.”
“Emergency room? I hope it was nothing serious.”
Of course not, I thought. Who goes to the emergency room for something serious? “Not too bad,” I said. My hair mostly covered the stitches, and I’d worn a long-sleeved shirt to hide the bruises.
“Good. Ms. Quinn gave me the final figures for the bake sale. Over eight hundred dollars, including cash donations. That’s impressive. You and your friends did a fine job.”
“Thanks. Everybody worked hard.” Except Suzette, I thought, but kept that to myself.
“I’m glad to hear it.” She hesitated. “You took some missteps with the memorial issue, but that’s in the past. You’ve redeemed yourself with this bake sale. It was a highly positive experience, for the school and the entire community, and it was a lovely tribute to Mr. Colson. It’s a fitting way to end your efforts on his behalf. Do you understand what I’m saying, Matt?”
You’re saying I better not try to do anything more, I thought, like find out who hired Bobby Davis to kill him. “I understand,” I said. “Before I go to class, may I stop by Mr. Quinn’s office? I want to drop something off.”
Instantly, she looked alarmed. “What is it? Let me see it.”
Talk about paranoid. I handed her the packet Cassie and I had w
orked on. “It’s that time management packet he gave me last week. Remember?”
As she leafed through it, her face cleared. “Fine. He’s not in his office now—I’ll put this on his desk. I won’t be here next year, Matt, but I’ll follow Ridgecrest High basketball online. I’m sure you’ll be a fine captain.”
“Thanks.” So that’s my reward if I keep my mouth shut, I thought. She doesn’t want any more trouble to cloud her last weeks at Ridgecrest High or jeopardize her new job.
I made it to English just as the period began. The test went fine. Answers for definitions and identifications came smoothly, and I had plenty I wanted to say for the essay questions. It was hard to stop writing when Ms. Nguyen called time.
When class ended, Graciana was waiting in the hall. “I couldn’t believe it. Are you okay?”
I came close to kissing her. Right there in the hall in front of everyone, even though I didn’t have any right to do it, I came close. It just felt so damn good to see her. But I caught myself in time. “Fine. I could use a ride home, though. I’ve got things to tell you.”
“Of course.” She touched my shoulder. “Thank God, Matt,” she said softly. “Thank God.”
Then Mr. Quinn was standing next to us. I didn’t see him walking toward us, didn’t hear him. He was just there. “I’d like to talk to you, Matt,” he said. “Graciana, shouldn’t you get to class?”
“On my way,” she said. “See you later, Matt.”
“I’ll walk you to your next class.” Mr. Quinn fell into step beside me. “I saw the schedule you left on my desk. Impressive. Everything was detailed and specific, and you worded your goals and objectives well. Frankly, I hadn’t expected you to do such a thorough job.”
That’s because you don’t know Cassie, I thought. “Thanks.”
“I hope it’s a sign that things are settling down for you,” he said, “that you’re putting everything in perspective. You’ve seemed—distracted lately. Troubled.”