Trapped with a Way Out

by Jeffery Martinez

  Hans didn't show any impatience when he consented to make his question more specific. As for the name, he had figured that the boy's name was Vincentimir (all credit going to his lovely wife who had informed him of the name in such a kindly tone - one that made his ears bleed). But now he didn't feel especially inclined to force the boy to tell him his full name. Those that strayed from the right side of the law might typically prefer to keep their full, legal name a mystery…Hans' frowned for a moment, then lost the expression with this thought.

  Age. How you know my son - since you go to the same school - I want to know more about that. What illegal drugs, over the counter drugs, or prescription drugs you are on, if any. Do you regularly break into people's houses? Right now I can suspect you of attempting to burglarize my home. Your excuse for coming to see my son is weak. You only have a 5 dollar bill in your pocket and no wallet or identification. No driver's license. Have you ever been arrested? And etcetera.

  Vincent sighed off the weight of the lengthy list and any aggravation it kindled, moving around on the stool like a pacing, caged animal. Interrogations, interrogations…interrogations are not fun. "I'm seventeen…and I guess it's a compliment that you're making a face like I'm lying. Cool. And….er….Rodriguez and I are in the same art class…he sat by me once or twice…a few times. I am not on any drugs…as for prescription drugs…I don't think I'm crazy enough for the crazy pill….and I'm not sick. I don't really break into people's houses to steal things because that's a felony that could throw me in prison…and I don't really ever want to go to prison or jail. Some guys think it's cool, but that's not my thing. I like being…not behind bars. I don't do well when I'm stuck with other people…so prison would be hell…and I'd probably get stuck in there forever and die. Ummmm….and...the next question is….oh. Yeah, no I wasn't coming to steal anything. I looked around for the Chief or Female Rodriguez to let me in quietly, but they weren't here, so I just used the window. I wanted to sneak up on Rodriguez and scare him…so…hm… Yeah, I'd like to have more than five bucks in my pocket, but, hell, that's life. Someone wants to make a million dollars a day, but they ain't gonna. Right? I don't have a wallet. A waste of money…don't need to pay for something to hold my money when I've got a pocket. I have a school I.D. back where I live…along with a driver's license. My friend is into cars and stuff, so he helped me out in getting one when I was sixteen. And…the etcetera is the etcetera… I don't have anything to tell you without a question. I can't think too much…I'm kinda stupid. So-"

  Hans nodded at this, displeasing Vincent who managed to turn half of this feeling into amusement. The pen moved over the yellow pad again.

  Have you ever been arrested? Was now underlined.

  "Nope. I'm too fast for fat cops to catch. You had a hard time, right? And you're not out of shape or wearing the stupid uniform or anything."

  Hans began to write something else, but his pen halted when Vincent suddenly asked him a question.

  "Do you know when Rodriguez is getting back? Since he's not here, I'd still like to get a chance to scare the pants of him… It was supposed to be the highlight of my day and I spent five bucks and walked forever just to get here."

  Hans was watching Vincent while the boy spoke, but he did nothing afterwards to answer the question or make any comments.

  Have you ever hurt or exchanged any inappropriate comments with my children? - my daughter specifically.

  Not making sense of this, the boy screwed up his eyes, wrinkling his brow. His demeanor and tongue were loosening over time, without his knowledge. "I'm not gonna hurtFemale Rodriguez. Maybe, if she tried to kill me, but, I mean, even then that would all be by accident. If I hit a girl, I have a friend that would be ready to beat the tar out of me…and then, I don't want to hurt Rodriguez's sister. Female Rodriguez is his sister. I'm not going to hurt her-"

  Vincent squinted at something Hans wrote.

  You've never hit on my daughter or made any sexual suggestions to her.

  In the right setting, Vincent's expression could have made people laugh when his mouth gaped and twisted to the side, his eyes becoming large and then narrowed and twitchy, an overall expression or horror that rose to display itself for Hans' eyes to view, managing, for the first time, to draw empty confusion from the man.

  "Rodriguez's sister? Me? FEMALE RODRIGUEZ? She's RODRIGUEZ, only with boobs! But she's still Rodriguez! I'm not going to say- I- god, no… Okay." Vincent inhaled to compose himself and he set both of his arms on the counter, parallel to one another so as to make his back and shoulders as straight and serious as possible, his face resuming a more normal appearance. "What you don't get is that I…am natural girl-repellant." Hans continued to stare at Vincent and the boy's attempt at presenting him with concrete logic and fact. "Girls see me and they are pushed away by natural forces, you get it? Like the opposite of a magnet. Just-" Vincent put his hands together, green eyes following, and the pale hands were thrown apart as if the two had tossed each other way. "- pushed away, like that. That's me and girls, okay? Now, Rodriguez's sister is different. She isn't pushed-" Vincent repeated the example with his hands. "- away like normal. She's Rodriguez, just only female….you get it?"

  Vincent, with both of his palms turned up, offering his explanation to Hans' judgment, waited expectantly for the man to nod with a distant look and agree with him. However, the father's face was still blank with the loss of communication between himself and the teen, unable to comprehend anything Vincent had described. He just stared at the boy, again reminded of the teen's confession to stupidity, and then he frowned down at the yellow notepad to continue with his questions, struggling to remember what they were.

  Boobs are boobs, he thought with a small shake of his head and the memory of what teenage life had been like. It doesn't matter who they're related to, as long as it isn't you…. He had to shake his head once more and close his eyes in order to enable his hand to print the next question.

  How did you know where this house is?

  "Um. Rodriguez took me here one time." Vincent's eyes wandered away, forgetting the previous demand Hans had made to maintain eye-contact with him, but this time the man did not correct the boy…beginning to see him as such. The pale, red-eyed freak…intruder, was really just a kid…a 'space cadet', like his own son. Now it made some sense why Richard could tolerate this boy named Vincentimir, despite his obvious background.

  Vincent continued to speak with his eyes wandering while he checked on the archives of his memory. "And the Chief took me here a different time…and then another time…and another time. But this is actually the first time I've come here by myself…. Huh… That's kinda funny." Vincent smirked with a snort of humor, unknowingly pivoting on the stool he was sitting on, turning the seat one direction and then swinging his legs in the other so he would move. His eyes fell on Hans again and the smirk remained as a loose grin. "You know, you're not really so bad of a guy…not really. Lot's of people would do the same thing- Actually, no. They'd be so scared they'd shit themselves like freaken cowards, butyou're actually pretty damn cool because you fought back. You didn't just run off to get a phone to call the cops to come save you. Really. It's awesome to have a guy who does things like protect himself, because I don't really think the average guy does that now adays. People are scared to do that cuz then they think 'oh nooo, if I punch someone I'll get huuurrrrt, or maybe I'll get in trooouble'." Vincent ended his impersonation that mocked the 'average coward', with a renewed smirk and a chuckle that complimented the expression. He looked directly at Hans again, taking note of his disposition and appearance. "You know what? I kinda like you now. You're like the Chief, and I like the Chief, and you're - you remind me of my uncle, a lot. I haven't seen you smile or anything yet, so it seems like you're the type of guy that does a lot of frowning and glaring, a guy that puts the cowards that are terrified of him, in line. And you've got that big-ass gun." Vincent gestured towards the gun that had been forgotten, making Hans look at the weapon. Vi
ncent couldn't see the gun, but he assumed that Hans was keeping it in his lap since he hadn't seen him put it away or leave it somewhere on their way to the kitchen.

  "And that's not just some rinky-dink gun you got there. That's some serious business. That thing can blow through walls that aren't brick or anything super hard, and maybe even cars. That thing spits out pretty big bullets- Pretty damn powerful, and the long barrel makes it scary accurate. Like a goddamn sniper rifle in your hands- but I mean that like how it's smaller, easier to carry around, and you can conceal it and hold it up with one hand-"

  Vincent cut himself off to pay attention to what was being written on the yellow notepad.

  Are you a gun enthusiast? You have seen this gun somewhere else before?

  Vincent shrugged, not smiling anymore but not offended in any way. He had become more serious again.

  "No. Not really. I don't look up guns or anything like that. I don't follow the latest models or 'weapons technology', whatever it's called. And no…I wouldn't have seen your gun somewhere before, but it's not completely uncommon to come across a gun collector, maybe, who has some interesting or uncommon guns. I know a gun enthusiast, or collector. And it's not some stupid young guy or punk who's gonna go around waving guns and shooting people like a worthless, stupid, scumbag. Okay? It's some adult. An older adult, too, older than you. He just has a collection and I've seen it. He has it protected so it's not dangerous. Everything's in cases and locked up so some dumbass can't come in and steal it to go on a shooting spree. Could've been him that had it, or maybe someone else…might've even been a movie. But…I don't know. …I do think I recognize it a little, a lot. Kinda do and kinda don't… maybe I'm making a mistake or..."

  Vincent quieted, watching Hans cautiously now to see how much suspicion the man's face was capable of showing. The green eyes had hardened with hostility again.

  Where did you see it? The pen demanded with a sharp jab into the notepad.

  "I really don't know." Shoulders covered by a black jacket lifted and then pale hands left the counter to show in some way that he was telling the truth.

  Hans' scowl darkened, but he let his eyes flick down to the counter. This 'Vincentimir' is just a kid. Not a really bright kid either…

  His hand swept over the notepad.

  I don't want you to ever expose my kids to guns.

  A few seconds went by while Vincent stared at the ink. He gradually moved his stare to Hans and the quiet lengthened. "And you say that while having one of those in your lap?"

  It was quiet again, Hans frowning with an un-amused look. In the end, he decided to ignore the retort.

  This gun is one of a kind. It can't be bought at a store or from any other distributor.

  Hm… Rodriguez's dad really is an interesting guy. Red moved over the permanent scar that wrapped around the base of the man's neck, as if something had been looped around it…branding him forever so he could never forget its shape. Most likely the wound had something to do with his incapability to speak.

  Not wanting to be rude, the teen transferred his attention to the notepad, scanning Hans' clothes along the way. Then he looked in the direction of the man's lap, wondering for a moment if he was sitting on a stool or a chair, assuming the latter with a second thought of how tall the chair would have to be to accommodate someone at this counter.

  A custom made gun, huh. Jake's dad had a few of those in his collection, his most prized ones actually being the few guns his uncle had made for him… Walter tended to make guns only once in a great, long while. He designed them, crafted them, sometimes patenting them. Vincent was pretty sure his uncle had done some business with the army. The US army…maybe sold some stuff in England and Russia… The drawn blue-prints suggested the source of shared genes that gave the uncle and nephew something in common. Skill with a pen or pencil and putting down ideas in the form of images.

  Talk of custom guns made the teen homesick for a home that had evaporated over a year ago, and the product of this sickness solidified in the form of a forlorn look that came to occupy his face, an emptiness that Hans could not make sense of.

  Did the boy dislike being wrong that much? Or did he want a gun like this for himself?

  Both of these possibilities left a bad impression on Hans, but the impression soon filled out again, erasing itself, when the man was unable to label Vincent's expression as one of petty desire or shallow disappointment.

  I think I'll get more information from Richard. She must know more about the kid. She's not the type to allow a stranger into her home…

  Though Vincentimir had been identified as a kid at this point, Hans was unable to forgive Vincent for the fact that he had chosen to sneak into his house without permission. He still had doubts, but his antipathy regarding Vincent had been diminished.

  Exhaling, Hans let himself check his watch, taking his eyes from the teen's expression to revive reality. He was a busy man with responsibilities that needed the attention the boy had stolen.

  The hour hand was just past the eleven, and the minute hand had passed the fifteen minute mark. 11:17 a.m.

  Damn it. The kid had taken up a lot of his time. An annoyed frown that affected every aspect of Hans' face directed itself to the pale teen, and then the man stood up, dragging the notepad towards himself and spinning the pen between his fingers to get a good grip to write.

  Come with me.

  With that Hans left the counter, pausing at the edge of the kitchen to make sure Vincent was coming with him, and then he strode over tiles with a quick pace the boy did not enjoy mimicking. But Vincent forgot his discomfortwith the introduction of curiosity that animated his eyes, giving them energy to roam about the interior of the Rodriguezs' master bedroom.

  All of the dark wood furniture….the size….and it was so shiny.

  Red gawked at the expensive luxury that radiated from a single leather reading chair in the corner with a bookcase that had a rail set up in a style similar to a whiteboard at the teen's school. One bookcase in front of a much longer bookcase, that could be pushed in one direction or the other to reveal a different half of the back bookcase… And it was filled with books, even magazines related to science that were in the order of the dates they had been published.

  Hans stood in the middle of the room with another shiny object in his hand, pondering where he should place the teen that was currently fascinated with his bookcase and was sliding the movable section, pausing to look at the different books. He approached the boy when Vincent was still distracted and bent down to grab the rail that cut through part of the carpeted floor, checking to see if his fingers could slip around it. Vincent looked down to see what he was doing, blinking at the odd behavior and frowning when he heard a familiar metallic clicking sound, but he forgot about the sound for a moment when Hans, without warning, grabbed the teen's arm and pulled it down towards the rail. The metallic sound came again and in the next moment, Vincent was bent over and staring at the shining bracelet on his wrist…which was attached to another metal bracelet that was secured to the bookcase's rail.

  Gaping at the police grade handcuffs and stupefied into silence, Vincent stared at the cuffs, pulling at them once, in disbelief, to see if he was truly stuck. A heavy hand clamped down on his thin shoulder, startling the boy that transferred his gape to the stern man beside him. Hans shook his head and pointed down at the cuffs, in this way telling Vincent to look at them. With another jolt upsetting his nerves, Vincent was pushed down to his knees and then released and presented with a book labeled Oliver Twist, by Charles Dickens, selected randomly by Hans.

  When Vincent did nothing but stare at him, Hans lost his patience and resorted to stuffing the book in the teen's hood before striding from the bookcase to leave the room. Vincent's body twisted to watch him go, still gaping and numb with surprise.

  Seconds before the door closed behind Hans, the boy managed to gasp out an outraged 'HEY!', but by then it was already too late. Hans had escaped and left Vincent handcu
ffed to a bookshelf, most likely for the purpose of encouraging the boy to educate himself and prevent him from getting into any mischief so Hans could resume his schedule for the day.

  Without the heart to break the bookcase (it belonged to the Chief and it was too cool to break), the teen kneeled on the carpet, gazing blankly about the room, getting a handle on his new situation. He frowned and angrily sat back on his heels to glare at the books, guessing what Hans was trying to tell him about his intellect - that it was limited and needed two freaken bookcases worth of improvement. Feeling the hard shape of the book in his hood, Vincent snatched it out with a growl, then manipulated his body so that he was sitting on the floor with the book flattening the carpet, pushed down by his hand. But with time, Vincent's eyes drooped with boredom and he glanced at the book that was becoming more and more attractive.

  Locked up without anything else to satiate his lust for entertainment, Vincent opened the cover of the book and frowned all the while his eyes scanned the tiny print, developing murderous hatred for the Beadle and the men that abused poor little Oliver Twist who was just a young boy who was hungry…and wanted just a little bit more than the pitiful amount of food he had to live off of.

  There's nothing wrong with wanting just a little bit more in life.

  No harm in asking a simple question.

  Vincent sat with his back against the shelves of the bookcase, pulling his knees up to his chest with his cuffed hand encircling his ankle while his other hand supported the book his eyes devoured. And so, time flew by.

  When Rodriguez and his sister opened the garage and found their father's glistening, black Rolls Royce inside, beaming grins instantly brightened their faces. Rodriguez parked quickly, and safely, and threw open his door when his sister was already closing the passenger door, and both rushed into the house, aiming for their mother's office where their father occasionally set up a home office. But they found it depressingly empty. Swinging their blonde heads to scan the area, William' blue eyes widened and then sparkled with excitement when they landed on the glass door that opened to the back yard.