Suspect Red

by L. M. Elliott

  “Yes.”

  “Right before I saw you, my parents and I were in the receiving line congratulating Senator McCarthy on his wedding. He and Daddy got into a big political discussion. I guess it’s impossible not to with Senator McCarthy. Although Mrs. McCarthy seemed pretty annoyed since there were a lot of people waiting in that line to shake their hands.”

  Richard nodded.

  “Daddy was asking the senator who was next up to testify in front of his committee. And Senator McCarthy said, ‘A bunch of Red Foreign Service Officers.’ He said the State Department was just riddled with commie sympathizers—like a big, old house with termites. And that he was going ‘to find them and get them.’ A couple of people even applauded.”

  She lifted her lips to Richard’s ear so he could hear her whisper, and his heart almost exploded, it started beating so fast at the brush of her breath on his earlobe. “So I’m guessing Vladimir’s family is”—she almost crooned the next word—“subversive.”

  Dottie pulled back, and there was a wicked little smile on her face. “Daddy forbid me from trying out for cheerleading this year. He said my grades weren’t good enough. Well, when I spotted you just now, I had a brilliant idea.” She giggled. “I can’t think of a better way to get back at Daddy than going on a date.” She paused. “With a real Red. And besides, Vladimir is such a dreamboat.”

  The song ended. Dottie took Richard’s lapels in her hands and pulled him close, very close. Oh…my…Lord, his soul gasped. His imagination ran wild with hope. Could this be his first kiss? He could feel her breath on his lips. It smelled of peppermint. He could almost taste it.

  “So, do you think you could introduce us?” Dottie asked. She let go of his coat, patted his chest, and stepped back.

  “Wh-wh-what?”

  “Can you introduce me to your friend next week?” She clasped her hands together and held them under her chin, batting her eyelashes at him. “I’m hoping to get to know him before homecoming. Pretty please?”

  Richard felt slapped with ice water. The intoxicating spell of peppermint and wishes evaporated. What an idiot.

  “Richie?” She smiled sweetly.

  He shrugged and mumbled, “Sure.”

  Dottie squealed, clapped her hands, kissed him on the cheek, and then practically twirled off the dance floor, just as the band started playing the latest radio hit:

  How much is that doggie in the window?

  [Bark-bark]

  The one with the waggly tail…

  BOUNCE…swish…bounce, bounce…swish.

  Vladimir sank his shots at the free throw line and then bounce-passed the basketball to Richard. The two of them were in the high school gym, surrounded by a crowd of other boys just hanging out or fooling around on the basketball court, prepping for team tryouts the next week.

  Richard missed Vladimir’s pass entirely. He chased the ball into the bleachers, where a bunch of underclassmen sat lacing their black high-tops and yanking up their white athletic socks. They had all been favorites of the gym coach in junior high school. Fast, strong, and cunning, killer dodgeball players. Of course Jimmy was among them.

  “Catch much, spaz?” he asked. His buddies laughed at the sarcasm.

  “Give it up…Dick,” Jimmy’s new best friend added, his tone dumping a not-very-nice meaning onto Richard’s name.

  Why did his parents have to name him that? Bounce, bounce, bounce. Richard dribbled the ball angrily and came back to the key, his face as orange as the ball with mortification.

  “Don’t listen to those turkeys,” Vladimir reassured him. “You know what? Your dribble is decent. Maybe you can learn to be a ball handler.”

  Richard looked at Vladimir blankly.

  “A point guard. Geez. How can you not know anything about basketball? Kind of un-American, don’t you think?” he joked. He clapped his hands together and then held them out at chest level. “Throw me the ball.”

  Richard tossed it. “I know about baseball. Dad loves the Washington Senators. Maybe I can get him to take us to a game. How did you get so good at basketball?”

  Vladimir passed the ball back, and Richard actually caught it. “There you go! I guess I learned a lot just playing in the neighborhood. There was a lot of pickup ball in Brooklyn Heights. And I loooooove the Knicks.”

  Richard’s next throw was loopy, and Vladimir had to jump up to snag it. “Pop it when you pass, like this.” Vladimir flicked his wrist as he threw, giving the ball a stinging speed. “It keeps the direction straight.”

  Richard imitated him and the ball made a slap when it hit Vladimir’s upheld hands.

  “Better!” Vladimir grinned. “Stick with me, kid! I’ll get you ready for tryouts. Let’s keep practicing your pass.” He threw the ball at Richard’s chest.

  It bounced off Richard and ricocheted under the bleachers. He had to half crawl under the seats to pull it out and came back up sneezing from the dust, expecting Vladimir to ridicule him, too. He would if he were trying to help someone and that kid kept screwing up.

  But Vladimir didn’t. “Maybe you’re thinking too hard about this. Let’s talk as we pass. Deal?”

  Well, that certainly was better than focusing on how unathletic he was.

  Richard tossed the ball to Vladimir, who zinged it back at him.

  Wouldn’t it be swell to actually make the JV squad with Vladimir? To be on par with Jimmy? Richard had never even considered trying out for a team before—which is part of why his classmates never had time for him. To belong, really belong, to the world of fourteen-year-old boys seemed to require a good uppercut or a linebacker’s hulk or a solid bank shot.

  Vladimir, on the other hand, was a shoo-in for the team. He had a great arcing shot he sank from the outside over and over with a clean swish—all net, no rim. He hadn’t missed a foul shot yet, either.

  Richard might as well kiss this new friendship good-bye. Once Vladimir made the team, no way the jocks would let him hang out with Richard. It’d mar all the guys’ social standing to have one of them be friendly with a loser. Richard had experienced that brush-off a dozen times in junior high school.

  Lost in these despairing thoughts, he totally missed the ball again. This time it rolled up to the toes of a pair of saddle shoes.

  Dottie’s.

  Please God, can the floor just open and swallow me now, he prayed.

  “Hi, Richard.” She smiled meaningfully at him. “Who’s your friend?”

  Richard was so flustered that he started to say “But you know who he is,” when Vladimir sauntered up.

  “Vladimir White,” he introduced himself and held out his hand.

  She took it. And then, rather than shaking it, Vladimir bowed a bit, turned over her hand, and kissed the back of it. “Charmed to meet you, Miss…miss?”

  Dottie’s mouth popped open, then closed. She pressed her lips together as a pink glow lit up her cheeks like a sunrise. Finally, she giggled and murmured, “Dottie Glover.”

  Vladimir smiled.

  She smiled.

  He still held her hand.

  Boy oh boy, the guy is smooth as apple butter, Richard fumed.

  WHAM. Bounce, bounce, bounce.

  WHAM. Bounce, bounce, bounce.

  WHAM. WHAM.

  The three of them turned toward the noise.

  “What a bunch of morons,” muttered Vladimir.

  The bleacher boys were hurling their balls against the backboard to see who could ricochet it the farthest back onto the court. They were laughing and egging each other on.

  Then Jimmy tried to jump high enough to grab the rim and hang on to it.

  One after another, the others followed his lead—all missing, since they hadn’t had a sufficient growth spurt yet to reach that high. But Jimmy was the biggest and strongest. He actually managed to grab the hoop and hang, just as two of his buddies’ shots pelted the backboard.

  CRAAAAAAAAAAACK.

  The backboard split under Jimmy’s weight and the bombardment of ba
lls. The hoop buckled and drooped, peeling down a veneer of wood with it and dumping Jimmy to the court on his butt. He backpedaled like a crab while all the others stood, gaping at the mangled basket in horror.

  “Now you’ve done it,” squeaked a boy standing in the corner.

  Richard recognized him. His name was Eddie. The kid really struggled in school. One of Abigail’s friends who ran the PTA had mounted a campaign to get Eddie transferred to an institution set up specifically for students who had trouble keeping up developmentally and academically. The boys were pretty merciless to him. A lot of the girls, too. A few even said their parents believed in sterilization laws to keep the intellectually disabled from having children.

  “Shut up, stupid!” Jimmy shouted.

  One of his buddies strode over and grabbed Eddie up by the shirt. “You’re cruising for a bruising, germ.”

  “HEY!” The booming voice of the school’s head coach reverberated through the gym and silenced all else. “What happened? Who’s responsible for this? Get your butts in line. NOW!”

  Everyone scrambled, including Richard. But Vladimir sauntered, dribbling.

  The gym teacher walked the lineup. “You have to the count of twenty for the meathead who broke the basket to fess up. “One, two, three…”

  The boys squirmed and frowned.

  “Five, six, seven…”

  They looked down at their feet. Richard bit his lip. It would feel pretty darn good to finally give Jimmy some pain, to arrange some justice for all the times he’d bullied Richard. But ratting on another kid was a guaranteed ticket to social nowheresville. A snitch was a pariah.

  “Nine, ten, eleven…” The coach paused. “Okay, you jokers, if no one says anything, you all get detention.”

  A few of the boys elbowed each other, looking toward Eddie. Richard started to feel queasy watching them out of the corner of his eye. He could see an unspoken conspiracy forming to make a kid who wouldn’t know how to defend himself the fall guy. Eddie was just different enough, and had had enough scrapes with teachers for breaking rules before, that pointing the finger at him would seem totally plausible. All those guys had to do was keep their story straight among them. And if enough people named Eddie, he’d be convicted for sure.

  “Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…” The gym teacher had also noticed the boys’ glances toward Eddie. He paced his way there, slowing his counting until he stood toe-to-toe with him. Poor Eddie looked like he was about to pee his pants.

  “What do you have to say about this?” The teacher lowered his voice to a nasty snarl. “Retard.”

  Eddie started shaking his head violently, repeating, “No, no, no, no.”

  The teacher grabbed Eddie’s collar. “Stop acting like an idiot! Fess up. I know you did this. Only a retard would break the basket and ruin the gym for everyone else. I always said you had no business at this school.”

  Some of the boys starting sniggering. Jimmy grinned outright with relief.

  Vladimir stiffened. “What an SOB,” he muttered.

  The coach gave Eddie a short but jarring shake. “Come on. Out with it.”

  Eddie burst out crying.

  “Leave him alone!” Vladimir exploded. “He didn’t do it!”

  The coach stopped midshake. Then, in what felt like a second flat, he was standing eye-to-eye with Vladimir. “Then who the heck did?” he thundered.

  Richard could sense the line of boys trembling. He sure was.

  But Vladimir didn’t wince. And he didn’t point the finger at anyone. “We were all screwing around. Just too many balls being thrown at the basket at the same time. Sorry, Coach.”

  What? Was he nuts? thought Richard. He’d get them all thrown in the hoosegow. They might not be able to try out for the team, even. And he and Vladimir hadn’t done anything!

  The teacher eyed Vladimir. “Okay, wise guy. You’re in charge of organizing the fund-raisers to replace the basket. Meanwhile, all of you donkeys will spend the next two weeks staying after school to bang chalk out of erasers and clean the school grounds. I’ll ask the janitors what other things need doing. Bet they’d like a break from scrubbing toilets.”

  The oaths the boys muttered were nothing compared to the hot hatred in the looks they threw toward Vladimir and then Richard.

  Richard’s heart sank. Even if he did get a chance to try out for the team, these guys would find a way to squeeze him out of play in retribution for being Vladimir’s friend. Guilty by association, after all. And God knows what they’d do to Vladimir.

  And what about Dottie? He dared to glance over to the sidelines. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Dottie looked like she might swoon as she gazed at Vladimir. Richard could almost see little hearts popping over her head like in Looney Tunes cartoons.

  Great. In one moment of altruism, Vladimir had fouled Richard out of gaining any respect from boys who’d humiliated him for years, plus he’d made off with the girl of his dreams.

  When Richard got home, totally dejected, he could hear another interrogation. Following the agitated voices, he tiptoed down the front hallway and peeked around the dining room door. Ginny was sitting at the kitchen table across from Don and Abigail. Their parents did not look happy. A paper lay on top of the table between them. Richard flattened himself against the wall to eavesdrop.

  “Jackie Kennedy told me to,” Ginny was saying.

  “Mrs. Kennedy told you to start a petition saying the Air Force had accused some Red-leaning pinko lieutenant unfairly?” Don asked, his voice quaking with suppressed anger.

  “No, Daddy. Mrs. Kennedy told me that if I wanted to be an inquiring camera girl that I needed to keep up on the news. So I watched See It Now, and Mr. Murrow said that…”

  Abigail broke in. “Honey, you snuck downstairs after bedtime to watch TV?”

  “I can’t help it, Mom, if CBS changed the show from Sunday at six thirty to Tuesday at ten thirty.”

  “Listen, missy, bedtime is bedtime. Especially on a school night. Don, do you think we should ground her from the TV for a week?”

  Don ignored his wife and instead addressed Ginny with her full name, which said a lot to Richard about how much trouble she was in. “Virginia, do you understand what you are claiming in this petition and why your teacher called us?”

  “Of course, I do, Daddy. I wrote the petition myself, you know.” Wow, thought Richard, that was pretty sassy. She sounded like…like him. He frowned.

  “Mr. Murrow was very clear about it,” Ginny continued in that adult tone she was so good at mimicking. “He said that Lieutenant Radulovich was dishonorably discharged just because his father read Serbian newspapers and his sister might be a pinko. Even the Air Force said the lieutenant hadn’t done anything wrong himself. Mr. Murrow said that all the evidence against him was hidden in a sealed envelope.”

  She cleared her throat. “Mr. Murrow said that wasn’t very American because the stuff in the envelope could just be hearsay or gossip or slander, not hard fact. I wrote it down—‘hearsay or gossip or slander, not hard fact.’ Then his reporters interviewed a nice lady in Lieutenant Radulovich’s hometown. She’s passing around a petition. She’s asking the Air Force to let him back in. It’s the fair thing to do, don’t you think, Daddy? So I made a petition, too. That’s all.”

  Don and Abigail were silent. Listening, Richard at first felt an odd sense of vindication. The darling of the family was losing her shine a bit. But he knew this wasn’t good for his little sister. He could imagine how much Don’s hands might be shaking right now. This was exactly the kind of stuff that really set him off.

  Abigail was the first to speak. “What if Mr. Hoover finds out? Isn’t signing petitions what landed so many Hollywood stars and writers on blacklists?”

  But Don clearly wasn’t listening to Abigail. Something about Ginny’s speech seemed to have rattled Don. Richard could hear it in his voice.

  “Ginny,” he began, somehow both patient and stern, “President Eisenhower and Mr. Hoover and Con
gress and a bunch of other smart men know how bad people like Communists can wheedle their way into our government and corrupt us. They…we…believe that someone serving in our armed forces, or in the State Department, for instance, might become a security risk if he has a family member who’s a left-leaning liberal or a radical. Here’s how, honey: the man could be blackmailed to act contrary to national security. Commie agents could threaten to expose that man’s father or sister if he doesn’t help them and their cause.

  “Or worse, say that American diplomat or serviceman has a relative he loves still living in a Soviet bloc country—like Czechoslovakia.” Don was trying hard to keep a fatherly tone, but his voice was becoming progressively harsher. “Those Red governments could throw that uncle or cousin in prison if our guy doesn’t pass on our secrets. See what I’m saying?”

  Richard frowned at the mention of Czechoslovakia—technically Vladimir’s homeland. He dared to peek around the edge of the door again and watched Don reach across the table to pick up Ginny’s petition.

  “Sometimes, if we don’t act on our suspicions, if we don’t investigate things that may seem small or just purely coincidental, really bad things can happen—things that destroy our national security, things that hurt or kill lots of people.”

  Don shot to his feet. His head was down and his back was toward Richard, but the scared look on Ginny’s face told how much anger must be on Don’s. What his dad said next sounded like a roar—one of his explosive moments that always seemed to come out of nowhere, like a whiplash of heat lightning in a sky that was only sort of cloudy.

  “And if a person is stupid and doesn’t follow the orders of superiors who know better, innocent people can die. They die!” Don pounded the table with his fist making Ginny and Abigail jump in their seats. Then he tore Ginny’s petition to shreds.

  “Daddy!” she wailed.

  Don turned abruptly and walked out of the room, slamming the wall hard as he exited.

  He ran straight into Richard.

  “What are you looking at?” he snarled and stormed on.