The Quick Fix

by Jack D. Ferraiolo

  “Matthew, you seem to be under the impression that you and I are at the same point that we were a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Yeah, well, when someone has a hired goon knock me around, it kind of sticks in my memory.”

  “I am past that, even if you are not. Besides, we have more pressing matters to discuss.”

  “I didn’t know we were meeting right now,” I said. “I don’t have the box on me.”

  “Keep it,” he said. “Seems like my blackmailer is a step ahead of yours.”

  Before I could say anything, Vinny turned his head and nodded at Robbie, who reached into the backpack he was holding and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He walked over and handed it to Vinny, who then turned and handed it to me. I unfolded the paper. There was a message, written in all capital letters, stylized so that it would be impossible to tell who sent it just from the handwriting. It said, “Last Year vs. Lincoln, 1/17, you and a friend were chatting before the game. Didn’t know you were also posing for a picture, did you? I have the photo and I’m just so torn. What to do … what to do …” Then, written on the bottom: “Wednesday. Locker 416. $256 and 4 boxes of candy, or I start asking other people for advice.”

  “Two hundred and fifty-six dollars?” I said. “Odd amount. Are you going to pay it?”

  “At the moment, I don’t have a choice,” Vinny said.

  “They’re not going to stop once you pay them—you know that, don’t you? They’ll just ask for more.”

  “I realize that, yes,” he said. “Your concern for my finances is touching, Matthew.”

  “It’s not your finances I’m concerned about, Vincent. You don’t think I believe you’re here to ask my advice, do you?”

  Vinny smiled. “No.”

  I looked over Vinny’s shoulder at Robbie; he was holding a duffel bag.

  “For me? You shouldn’t have,” I said. “I mean that. You really shouldn’t have.”

  Vinny smiled again. “Now, I know doing a drop wasn’t part of our original agreement.” He pulled a roll of fives out of his pocket and held it out to me but not too far. He wanted me to reach for it. I didn’t.

  “So why do I deserve to have money thrown at me for such mundane tasks?” I asked.

  “You’re honest, Matthew. And you’re a professional.”

  “If I’m supposed to be flattered by this, you’ll have to compliment me on my eyes first,” I said. “How do I know that bag isn’t full of stolen exams, and Katie Kondo and her monitors aren’t waiting at my locker, ready to slap me in the face with a suspension notice?”

  Vinny snapped his fingers, then held his hand open. Robbie gave him the duffel bag. Vinny handed the bag to me, then nodded. I unzipped the bag. There were four boxes of candy and two stacks of five-dollar bills, each held together with a rubber band; one of the stacks had a single dollar bill folded and tucked under the band.

  I zipped the bag closed and handed it back to Vinny. He handed it back to Robbie.

  “What if I say no?” I asked.

  “Well, then, you’d force me to convince you, Matthew.”

  “Threat?” I asked.

  “Let’s just say that I’m not the only person with something at stake.” His gaze drifted from my face to over my right shoulder. I turned my head. Will was standing there, watching us. He looked angry and defiant but also fearful.

  I turned back to Vinny, an expression of disbelief on my face. “What was in that box?” I asked.

  “I tell you mine if you tell me yours,” Vinny said.

  I didn’t say anything.

  “No?” he said. “I didn’t think so. All you need to remember is that the basketball team—more specifically, one particular basketball player—is very important to this school. There’s no telling what would happen to this place if faith in that player was somehow betrayed. The word ‘riot’ comes to mind. People would get hurt. Some more than others.” Vinny’s eyes shifted back over to Will. I didn’t need to look this time.

  “That’s not on me,” I said.

  “It is now,” Vinny said.

  “You can find some other kid to do it.”

  “I could … and maybe the kid I find figures I didn’t pay him enough to do the job,” Vinny said. “Or maybe he’s got a sweet tooth and gets a little hungry, and maybe the duffel bag gets a little lighter before he drops it off.”

  “Nobody would be stupid enough to mess with you.”

  “Never underestimate the stupidity of others, Matthew.”

  “And if I’m still not convinced?” I asked.

  Vinny sighed. “Well, then, you’ll have to talk to Jacob and Harold.”

  I looked over at the two hulking guards. They smiled at me. One of them waved.

  “I want what I want, Matthew … and what I want is for you to do the drop. What condition you are in when you say yes is up to you.”

  Jenny looked at me, as if daring me to say no, just so she could watch me get roughed up.

  “Is this the original?” I asked, holding up the blackmail note.

  Vinny nodded.

  “Any way I can get a copy?”

  Robbie handed Vinny another piece of paper, and he held it out to me. I glanced at both before handing him back the original. I folded up the copy and slipped it into my pocket.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  “The drop is tomorrow afternoon. I’ll expect an answer first thing tomorrow morning,” Vinny said. He looked at me for an extra beat, to let me know that he meant it, and then he turned and walked out. Robbie followed close behind him, but Jenny lingered for a moment.

  “You should live up to your principles, Matty-boy, and just say no,” she said in a mocking tone. “I want to see Jacob and Harold here knock you around a little. Or a lot.”

  Jacob and Harold didn’t look like they liked Jenny speaking for them, but they kept quiet.

  “Hey, Jenny, how long do you think before Vinny realizes that he should’ve stuck with your sister?” I asked. She clenched her jaw, and the tendons in her neck stood at attention. “What am I saying?” I continued. “He probably already does, because the only thing you appear to be good at is overplaying your hand.”

  She took a step toward me, her left hand moving behind her toward her waistband, reaching for the squirt gun I assumed was there. “You want to see what else I’m good at, Matty-boy?” she hissed.

  I looked over at Jacob, who was looking at Harold, who was already taking a hesitant step toward Jenny. She outranked him, but he had orders from a higher power.

  Just as her hand was about to wrap around her squirter, Vinny called out from the hallway. “Jennifer. Time to leave.”

  Her hand stopped. She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. She knew if she popped me now, she might as well squirt herself, too. Kids who don’t follow Vinny’s orders end up in the Outs, no matter what their “rank.” She knew this, but she was still taking a moment to mull it over.

  “Hey, lapdog, your master’s calling,” I said, not able to keep myself from pouring more gas on the fire.

  Her hand made a small movement toward her waistband but then stopped again. Harold had taken another step toward her, this one more sure. She turned to him. “Where do you think you’re going, you clumsy idiot?” she snarled. He shrugged and smiled. If she was lashing out at him, then she was done with me. As if to prove it, she turned and stomped toward the door.

  Jacob shot me a look that managed to be both amused and threatening.

  “What can I say?” I said. “I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Next time try,” Jacob said, “or the only person who will be able to help you will be the nurse.”

  The two bruisers each gave me a surprisingly dainty little wave, then walked out.

  I turned to see Will’s reaction to all of this, but he was already gone.

  hallways were full of kids, as they always were in between classes. No Will in sight, but it was easy to figure out where he’d been: he’d left a trail of d
isappointed people.

  “You think he’s okay?” one girl asked her friend.

  “I wonder what’s wrong with him?” another girl said to no one in particular.

  The bell rang. Kids filtered into their classrooms. For a moment, I considered doing the same. I had enough heat on me from classmates … I didn’t need to add any from teachers. But I had a feeling if I let Will go, I’d be letting the first real lead of this case slip right through my fingers.

  I caught up to him two hallways later, in a section that led right into a stairwell. There were lockers there but no classrooms. I ducked back around the corner without him seeing me. I could hear his sneakers squeak as he paced. When I heard his steps moving away from me, I snuck a peek. He was walking with his head down, staring at the floor. I heard footsteps echoing through the stairwell at the end of the hall. Will stopped short with a loud squeak. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the footsteps on the stairs or because he had spotted me. I held my breath.

  “Pete,” he said.

  From the other end of hall, I heard “Will.” The voice belonged to Peter Kuhn, ex-teammate and former tandem superstar on the Franklin Middle School basketball team.

  Last winter, the basketball team had been piling up wins, rolling along unbeaten and seemingly unbeatable. Most schools had one player that no one could handle; the Frank had two: Will Atkins and Peter Kuhn. Will had sprouted at an early age and could dominate the low post. Peter hadn’t sprouted at all. He was small but wiry, fast, and agile. His court vision was incredible, and he made a lot of passes that looked like optical illusions. He was also deadly from fifteen feet. This presented other teams with a whole host of problems. Have the defense collapse on Will, and Pete would kill you from the outside; contest Pete too much on the perimeter, and he’d just pump it inside to Will. Neither of them was selfish; all they wanted to do was win. And they did … until it all fell apart.

  There were only five games left in the regular season, and talk had already turned to the state championship tournament. Our involvement was considered a given. The only question was whether we’d run the table or not. Because of Will and Pete, the prevailing opinion was that we would. It was assumed that we’d sweep our last five games and head into the tournament undefeated, the clear favorites to win it all. We were at home, facing Carver Middle School, a cream-puff team. Everyone was already talking about our next game, which was against Colgate, the only team that could possibly provide a challenge to our undefeated season. As so often happens when you’re looking too far in front of you, someone creeps up from behind and whacks you in the head.

  About five plays into the Carver game, everyone knew something was wrong. Pete wasn’t passing to Will. Carver’s best defender was covering Pete, which meant that Will was completely open, but Pete refused to pass to him. At first, everyone thought it was a strategy, that our team knew that Carver was planning something to combat Will on the inside … all they had to do was trick Pete into passing to him and we’d fall into their trap. But then we’d look at our coach, who was trying frantically to get Pete to pass to Will. Pete wouldn’t do it. Instead, he’d pass to Charlie Hutchins, who would promptly turn it over. Or he’d hoist up an off-balance three with a hand or two in his face. When Carver figured out that this wasn’t some scheme, they pulled their guy off Will and started double-teaming Pete, forcing turnovers, getting him to make bad passes or off-balance shots.

  Will still scored twenty that game, but most of them were on put-backs or the result of hustling after the latest air ball that Pete threw up. It wasn’t enough. Carver won by fifteen. Everyone was stunned as they filed out of the gym that day, the same question on everyone’s lips: What the heck was up with Pete?

  Shortly after the Carver debacle, several kids saw Pete talking to Vinny Biggs. Actually, it was more like arguing. A rumor started to spread: Pete was in with Vinny and had thrown the game. Because Carver was a heavy underdog, the payoff would’ve been substantial. There was no hard evidence, but it was the best explanation for Pete’s performance. People couldn’t believe it. Not Pete.

  Then came the disclosure of Pete’s addiction to Pixy Stix, followed rapidly by the revelation that he was stealing cameras from his classmates to pay for that addiction, and suddenly the idea that Pete would throw a game for a big payoff didn’t seem so far-fetched.

  The basketball team had earlier proved to be a unifying force in a school that was becoming more and more fractured, but all of that was getting wiped out as news about Pete spread. Kids were losing hope that there was anything left at the Frank not tainted by corruption.

  Pete rode the pine for the next game. The official word was that he had a pulled hamstring. It might have been more believable if he actually had a limp. That was the Colgate game. Will was able to keep it close. He put up thirty in a losing effort, almost all of it against a fierce double-team. After the game, Pete was thrown off the team. He’d been a mess ever since.

  Will fought valiantly for the rest of the season, and he got his points every game. The problem was that he was surrounded by subpar players. Teams let him score his points, but they didn’t let him beat them. We won just two out of the last five games. It was enough to get into the State Tournament. It was also enough to give teams a glimpse of how to beat us. We got bounced in the first round.

  The losing didn’t affect Will’s popularity, though. If anything, it made him even more popular than before. Kids looked up to him. When faced with an impossible task, he wouldn’t quit. It’s not an exaggeration to say that Will kept hope alive at the Frank; in fact, that might not be giving him enough credit.

  When we started the new season, everyone soon realized that the team finally had some decent players to back Will up. Some kids came back taller and more coordinated. There was even a sixth grader who was a hotshot point guard with slick moves, reminiscent of a young Pete. Hope had been restored.

  I stole another quick peek around the corner. Will had his back to me. Pete was at the other end of the hallway, facing me. His eyes drifted past Will, but I couldn’t tell if he saw me or was just having a hard time focusing. I ducked back.

  “What did you give me to hold?” Will yelled.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What was in the box?”

  “Box?” Pete asked. “It was a decorative piece of wood, worth a lot of money. My grand—”

  I heard something slam into a locker; by the sound of it, I guessed it was Pete. “Stop lying to me!” Will yelled. “I swear to God, Pete, I still care about you. We were close, man … like brothers … But I will kill you. Don’t think I won’t. Melissa got put in the Outs because I trusted you! Now tell me what was in the damn box!”

  “I need a little Stix, man … just a little …”

  “Tell me what was in the box!”

  “I need some Stix … give me some Stix and I’ll tell you …” Pete’s tone had changed. His breathing was shallower; his voice was oily with desperation. “Just one, brother … come on …”

  Will sighed. “What happened to you?” His voice was filled with frustration and pity.

  “What happened?” Pete asked. “What happened? Don’t pretend like you don’t know!”

  “Shut up.”

  “NO! You don’t tell me to shut up!” he cried, like a little boy throwing a tantrum. “You hear me? You lost that right! Got it?”

  “You’re pathetic.”

  “Yeah, I’m pathetic! That’s right, Peter Kuhn is a damn pity case, but Will Atkins, hoo, boy! Will is a frickin’ hero! That’s the word around school! Have you heard? ’Cause I’ve heard it! I hear it every damn day!”

  There were sounds of a scuffle.

  “Tell me what you gave me to hold!” Will spit out through gritted teeth.

  “It was a box. All right, I admit it. You happy?” Pete cried. “Go ahead and guess what was in it. Go ahead. Three guesses, and then I’ll tell you. You want a hint?”

  “You little scumba—”

>   “You want a hint? Here … I’ll give you a hint. It’s worth a lot of money to a lot of different people. Some of them want to pay to make it disappear. And some … well, some want to pay to—”

  “That’s enough,” Will said. There were sounds like someone was shaking a shirt that had just come out of the dryer. “I’m through with you, Pete. You hear me? Through.”

  “Oh, you’re through with me?” Pete said. “No, no … I’m through with yo— Hey! Ow! OW!”

  Will was doing something to Pete, but I didn’t want to blow my cover by looking. Whatever it was, it sounded painful.

  “If I go down, you’re going to take the heat,” Will said. “All of it. You think it was bad before?”

  “They won’t— Nobody will—”

  “Oh, no? Why? Who are they going to believe: Me? Or some burned-out Stixer like you? You’re an ugly footnote to this school’s history. That’s it. And the only thing you’ll have to worry about is what’ll happen first: you getting thrown out of school or Vinny Biggs putting you in the Outs.”

  There was a pause. Even the sounds of the struggle stopped. “I knew you were crazy,” Will said, “but I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to try and blackmail Vinny.”

  “Blackmail Vinny? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “That’s it. Play dumb. And while you’re at it, you might as well play sick, too,” Will said. “Maybe take a few days off … like a hundred and sixty …” I heard the meaty sound of two bodies colliding, followed by the metallic bang! of one of those bodies hitting a locker.

  Then the squeak of Will’s sneakers echoed through the stairwell as he walked away.

  I peeked around the corner. Pete was sitting on the floor with his back against a locker. His knees were up, with his elbows resting on them. His eyes were closed, and he was wiping his face with the palms of his hands, over and over and over again. Then he stopped, his hands still covering his face. He sat there for a minute, then lifted his head up. I ducked around the corner before he could see me.

  I heard him root around in his pockets, then pull something out. From the sound of it, it was his cell phone. I heard him punch in some numbers.