Dupree's Resolve

by Micheal Maxwell

  “So how much are you out?” Dupree made a note on the pad on his desk.

  “With the overdraft fees and all about twenty-five hundred. I got to keep my savings, that was a good thing. The bank wrote off the rest. I had to change banks.”

  “And Collins. Has he made any effort to make good on the check?”

  “Not really. He offered to do whatever he does, for me, to improve my business.”

  “I see.”

  “Doctor Paris fired him. Said he ran up a bunch of bills with decorators and paint and carpet people. Didn’t pay them, and kept the money. I figured he’d most likely do the same to me.”

  “You’re probably right. He’s a smooth operator. Have you been to college Gary?”

  “Yes, sir.” Gary looked shocked at the question. “UDub.”

  “What did it cost a year; do you remember?”

  “About ten thousand with books and stuff. I lived with my aunt.”

  “Here’s my suggestion. For the same cost of one semester, you have learned life lessons in banking, criminal justice, the law, the psychology of the criminal mind, and that’s probably worth more than anything you learned in college the first time around. What was your major?”

  “Anthropology.”

  “Use a lot of what you learned in the insurance biz?”

  “Well, sometimes I…”

  “Come on Gary, admit it. Not one bit. This lesson will save you money for the rest of your life. You’ll never do it again, and it’ll be a story to tell your kids and clients alike. You will be a walking testament for not cashing checks for people.” Dupree stood.

  “Keep an eye on the newspaper. Your friend Mr. Collins will be in there sooner or later, guaranteed.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna say? You can’t sue him?”

  “Collins? And get what? He has no paper trail. He’s pulled this little con before, guaranteed, and no doubt will do it again. That is until he slips up or gets too cocky, then he will be in jail. Trust me, I’ve seen this before.”

  “But, I want…”

  “You want your day in court, your pound of flesh, justice, right? We can do that. My retainer will be twenty-five hundred dollars. We will get a judgment against Mr. Collins and try to attach whatever wages we can prove, and I’m betting we can’t prove any. You’re still out five grand. Net loss? Five grand. If that will make you feel better or it will appease your wife in some way, I’ll be happy to do it. But I’ll be the only one to make any money. That is, besides Mr. Collins.”

  Gary Tompkins was a man defeated. He stood looking at the carpet and slowly shaking his head. Dupree could almost read his thoughts, ‘What am I going to tell my wife?’

  “What do I owe you?”

  “Nothing. Deduct whatever you think my time was worth from your losses.”

  Gary turned and left the office.

  Tomi entered Dupree’s office with a pink message slip. “That was quick.”

  “Nothing I could do.”

  “Resulting in you not billing any time. That’s the third one in the last week.”

  Dupree shrugged. “Beats getting bored from inactivity. Who’s next?”

  “Nothing until one o’clock.”

  * * *

  Samuel Falberg is a small-for-his-age tenth grader. He was adopted at two years old from an orphanage in China. A church missions’ group from Wisconsin took over the orphanage when it was abandoned, along with nearly a hundred children. They sent out an urgent request to pastors nationwide for families to adopt the children. Jill and Rick Falberg were one of three families that answered the call at Calvary Chapel of White Owl.

  When they arrived in China Sammy was still recovering from severe malnutrition and in need of months of medical care. Like Hannah in the Bible, Jill was unable to have children. She promised God that if she were given a child, she’d raise him to the glory of God. So, they named the boy Samuel, after the prophet of old, because like his name means, “God heard”.

  Sammy was homeschooled until his freshman year. To say he was sheltered would be a gross understatement. Only after entering high school was he allowed to play video games or watch PG movies. Being one of only three Asian kids at Mountain Valley High School, he is a bit of an oddity. Not having that group of friends most of his classmates have had since kindergarten, is even more of an obstacle to fitting in. Sammy is a top student with a friendly demeanor and a great smile. He is a quiet boy with only one or two close friends from church, both “Brainiacs”, and they mostly stick together. His friends have fourth-period lunch, and sadly, Sammy has fifth.

  He often sits by himself at lunch and either reads or plays a game on his phone. No one pays any attention and he is left alone. So, when his phone buzzed with a new message, there wasn’t anyone in the room of two hundred plus kids that saw the color drain from his face.

  The image was of an older adult male and a teenage boy engaging in a sexual act. The faces were obscured. Sammy panicked when he read the message. Come join the fun. Mr. Happy.

  This is what his parents argued would happen if he got a phone. If they found out, his phone was gone. Sammy turned off his phone and sat in silence. Who did this? Why would they think he would like these horrible pictures? Is my name on some porno website? What do I do? His emotions bubbled just below the surface. He was scared, angry, and terrified people would know. Tears began to stream down his cheeks. He wiped them with an unused napkin from his lunch. He began to pray with his eyes closed.

  “Sammy?”

  When he opened his eyes, a girl from his chemistry class was seated across from him. “I’m Lizzie. I’m in Chem with you. Are you OK?”

  Lizzie was bordering on plump with braces and glasses. Her beautiful, long auburn hair went almost to her elbows. She was the kind of awkward ugly duckling that would grow into a lovely, sensitive swan as she grew older.

  “Are you OK? Do you need a friend? What are you doing?” Lizzie was a talker.

  “Don’t make fun. I was praying.”

  “Why would I make fun? I pray all the time. I mean all the time. The only thing that helps me survive this place is God’s love.” She gave Sammy a gentle smile. “Can I pray for you? I mean later.” Her rapid-fire onslaught of words slowed to a soft, concerned tone.

  “Sure.” Sammy was fighting back a tsunami of emotion. He was not used to being approached with kindness, let alone from a girl. “I need it.”

  “What’s the matter? Maybe I can help.”

  For some reason, Sammy trusted this girl with the big brown eyes, who just a moment ago was a stranger. Maybe it was their common faith. Their belief in the power of prayer. Whatever the reason, he needed someone. Right now.

  “Somebody sent me a dirty picture. I was totally surprised. I don’t know why anyone would do that. It was sent to me.”

  “You need to tell somebody. Besides me, I mean. An adult.” Lizzie looked at her phone. “We’ve got eight minutes until the bell rings. Call your mom or dad.”

  “I don’t know. What would I say?”

  “Somebody sent me a porno picture. Let them take it from there. Call the cops. Have them call the cops.” Lizzie was back to her staccato barrage of words. “There are laws to protect people. Especially kids.”

  “You think?”

  “Sure. You want to talk to the school counselor or a teacher?”

  “No!” Sammy reacted as if slapped.

  “OK, OK. Then one of your parents it is. Do it.”

  Sammy turned his phone back on. Moments later he hit his mom’s work phone number.

  “Hey, sweetie. What’s going on?”

  Hearing his mother’s voice sent tears streaming down Sammy’s cheeks. He couldn’t speak. Lizzie reached out and took the phone.

  “Hi Mrs. Falberg, this is Lizzie, I’m a friend of Sammy’s. He’s pretty upset. So, I’ll talk for him. Someone sent a dirty picture to his phone. We’ve been praying so…”

  “Where are you?”

  “T
he cafeteria. I think he probably needs to go home. I know I would. Mostly he needs you and his dad.”

  “Tell him to stay right where he is, I’m on my way. Thank you, Lizzie. Keep praying, please.”

  For the first time, Lizzie sat quietly. Her eyes closed, her lips barely moving, earnestly praying for her new friend.

  When the bell rang, they didn’t move.

  “You’re going to be tardy.” Sammy was scared of being late. He couldn’t imagine a tardy on his progress report or report card.

  “My middle name is Tardy. I’ll stay with you until your mom gets here.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Of course. That’s what friends do.”

  “Thank you.” Sammy was struck by this girl’s kindness. Does this mean she was his girlfriend? He felt his cheeks redden.

  Lizzie chatted nonstop. She pulled Sammy out of his shell, and he nearly forgot about the picture on his phone. They talked about school, grades, church, youth group, tv shows, video games, and never got close to the subject of boyfriends or girlfriends.

  “Hi, guys.” Rick Falberg’s voice seemed to thunder in the empty cafeteria. The campus supervisor who escorted him stayed in the doorway.

  Sammy stood. He tried his best not to move, but he broke and ran for his dad. Rick Falberg was a big, solid man. He played football at the University of Montana and kept in shape playing Rugby with a group of fellow firefighters on Saturday afternoons, rain or shine.

  Jill Falberg patted Sammy’s shoulder as he disappeared in his father’s embrace, then continued on to where Lizzie sat quietly.

  “You must be Lizzie. I’m Jill. Thank you so much for helping Sammy. He’s kind of a sensitive guy. What on earth happened?”

  “I was sitting a couple of tables over and I saw that Sammy was crying, so I felt like I should see if he was OK. I guess somebody sent him a picture of an older man and a teenage boy, well you know…” Lizzie shrugged shyly.

  “Oh, dear Lord.” Jill threw her hands over her mouth. “He is a pretty sheltered kid. Oh, my goodness.”

  “Right? I don’t think anybody would be prepared for that. So, by the time I got to him he was praying. So, I took a deep breath and sat down to see If there was anything I could do.”

  Jill moved in and gave Lizzie a hug. Tears streaming down her face, she said a one-sentence prayer thanking God for Lizzie and her friendship. Jill and Lizzie turned and approached Rick and Sammy.

  “We’re going to take a walk to the principal’s office. Want to come along?” Rick was trying his best to remain calm and keep his ferocious anger in check.

  “You need to get back to class, don’t you?” Jill asked.

  “I’ll need a re-admit slip,” Lizzie replied.

  “Can I help with that?”

  “Yes, please.”

  The principal’s secretary was a woman in her mid-fifties and gatekeeper for the man at the head of the school. Rick briefly, calmly, explained the situation.

  “There’s no one with or scheduled to see him. We’ll get you right in.” The secretary stood and went into the principal’s office.

  Seconds later Mr. Bishop was at the door welcoming Sammy and his parents into his office. Jill lagged behind for a brief moment and explained Lizzie’s presence to the secretary.

  “We got this.” The secretary patted Lizzie on the shoulder and headed for the phone on her desk.

  Mr. Bishop was a jovial man in his mid-forties. He wore a pullover sweater with the school’s name embossed in gold over his heart.

  “Let me preface our chat here today by saying, what is said here won’t leave these four walls. So, Sam, you don’t have to worry about anybody finding out and giving you a hard time. Cool?”

  “Yes, sir.” The adults could almost feel Sammy’s relief.

  “First off, you are not alone, buddy. I have had three other students, or their parents, contact me in the last twenty-four hours. This seems to be a random posting but we are treating it as if it were intentional. Have you deleted the picture?

  “No, sir. I shut my phone off when I saw it. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Thank goodness. All the other boys deleted the offending material immediately.”

  “Material? You say that as if it were plural.” Rick was not happy with the thought of a continued pattern of attacks.

  “A couple of the students received several but were too scared or ashamed to tell anybody. I’m proud of you, Sam, for having the courage to call your folks.

  It was only because of Lizzie, he thought.

  There was a quick rap on the door. The principal waved someone in.

  “Hello.” A man in a dark suit smiled broadly. “I’m Phillip McCourter. I’m a detective.”

  “Hey, Phil.”

  “Rick!” The detective offered his hand. “Rick and I have worked together on a couple of suspicious fires. Now, somebody bring me up to speed.”

  Rick introduced Sammy and Jill, then gave a quick summary of what was going on.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Sammy. Your dad is quite a bragger.” McCourter shook hands with Sammy. “Can I have a look at your phone?”

  “Sure.” Sammy handed over the phone.

  It only took a moment for the detective to find the offending message. He didn’t change expressions or react in any way. “Can I hang on to this until tomorrow? I’d like our tech people to run some tests.

  “Sure.” Sammy wasn’t sure he ever wanted to see it again.

  “Look, here’s the deal. A total of thirteen boys here at the school have gotten these kinds of photos. They are all from the same batch of images; One photoshoot, if you will. Some got them almost two weeks ago and just came forward. Two guys got them this morning just before second period.” The detective crossed his arms and nodded at Mr. Bishop.

  “We would appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone of our meeting today, or that you received the picture. This is a police matter, but because so many of our students are involved, I have been asked to act as a kind of liaison for the students and parents. We are a small school and a small town. This kind of thing spreads like wildfire through the school and the community. We want to catch whoever is sending these disgusting images to our children. If word gets out, he may stop, making it even harder than it is to catch him.”

  “Not a word from me.” Rick was the first to speak. “Sammy?”

  “Me neither.”

  “Same goes for me.” Jill nodded in agreement.

  The detective squatted down next to Sammy. “Sam, I need your help. If you hear anything, I mean anything, about another student getting any of these pictures, I need to know. Got it?”

  “I don’t know many people here. This is just my second year.”

  “But your ears work, right? Kids are loud, especially coming into classes. I remember. I’m not that old, you know.” The detective grinned. “Keep your ears open. Get a name or at least a real good description for who is talking. Understood?”

  “Then slip quietly into the office and tell Mrs. Fremont, my secretary, what you heard. Can you do that for us?” The principal injected.

  “I guess so.”

  “Then we’re a team. I will get your phone back to you as soon as I can.”

  “That’s OK. Take your time.”

  “What, no withdrawals?” The detective teased.

  Sammy shook his head.

  “So, Sammy, you want to head back to class or wait until the bell rings?”

  “We thought maybe he could…”

  “Wait until the bell.”

  “I will be in touch as soon as I have anything worth sharing.” Mr. Bishop stood signaling the end of the meeting.

  “I’ll drop off Sam’s phone at the fire station when we finish with it. It’ll give us a chance to catch up, Rick.”

  “Works for me.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jill. You’re even prettier than Rick said!” McCourter smiled at Rick.

  “Watch out, he’s a real smoothie
.”

  “I have all the smoothie I can handle with you. Thank you very much.” Laughter broke the stress in the room. Everyone left the room except Sammy.

  “Where should I wait?”

  “The counseling office is nice and warm and you wouldn’t look out of place.”

  “Thanks.” Sammy picked up his backpack and went out to where his parents waited.

  “You gonna be OK, sport?”

  “I’m good. Thanks for coming, dad. I didn’t think you would have time.”

  “When it comes to you, I’ve got nothing but time.” Rick patted Sammy on the shoulder.

  “I’m proud of you Sammy. This wasn’t easy. Thank your friend Lizzie for me. She’s a good friend.”

  Sammy didn’t have the heart to tell his mother they just met.

  CHAPTER 7

  The neighborhood was an embarrassment to White Owl, twenty-year-old spec homes where most became rentals, and were poorly maintained. There were beat-up pickup trucks in the driveways; Toyotas and souped-up Hondas, a few older American SUVs, and a spattering of Jeeps, and a Subaru or two. The early afternoon quiet was just the calm before the storm.

  Perlang chuckled at how easily he was able to find the address for the phone number from Frankie’s phone. His old friend, Cindy Glenfield at Olson’s Office Supply didn’t even question his request to get into the phone’s address book. She connected to an app that found a street address the phone number was connected to. It wouldn’t have been so easy, but most of the town’s cell phones were purchased at Olson’s, and nine out of ten of them she set up herself.

  He turned up the street written across the sticky note on his dash. Half-way down the block, he saw the house with the number he was looking for. It was like a pimple on the face of a magazine cover model. If the other houses were run down, this one was run over. The lawn was uncut and a dead yellow-gold. The front and side of the house were two different colors, one tan, one blue. The garage door was half collapsed and the victim of a graffiti wanna be. One of the front windows was covered with cardboard and duct tape. A beat-up, dirty, maroon Saturn was parked in the drive.