“Dad, I didn’t. That is not what—”
Mr. Kent stopped his son with a simple grab of his shoulder and a withering look. “Teenage boys—you’re all such idiots. Go catch up with her. Make sure she doesn’t find any trouble.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Aden ran to catch up to Maddie. “You’re disgusting,” she spat as he drew even with her.
“I didn’t mean it like that. Really, I didn’t.”
Maddie whirled around to face him. Aden stumbled in his haste to stop. “So, what did you exactly mean then? What does”—she jabbed Aden in the chest with her finger—“‘don’t men usually get something before being ordered around’ actually mean?”
“Um . . .” Aden’s words trailed off. There was nothing he could say to clean this up. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and started walking. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
Maddie’s eyes hurled daggers at Aden’s back. Huffing, she started walking again. She remained silent as she reached him. There was nothing to say, and she did not trust her words if she felt like speaking, which she did not.
So she went back to examining the neighborhood. The homes looked lived in to her. They had character. She found the McWannabe mansions in her own neighborhood empty and vacuous. The homes she walked by now told stories of family, joy, hardship, and triumphs. They were the homes that had raised generation after generation of families. Her neighborhood and the ones surrounding it were for raising a capital gains profit and nothing else.
This is America, she thought and nodded in affirmation of her declaration.
“What?” asked Aden, seeing her motion.
“I like this neighborhood.”
Aden glanced around. “The homes seem a little beat down. They could use some work.”
“That’s because they have lived a life.”
“Um, OK, if you say so.”
“I do.” After a moment, she continued. “How many Christmases have you had in your house? I mean the one with your mom?”
“I dunno. A couple. We just had it built a few years ago.”
Maddie motioned her hand from right to left. “That’s what I mean. These homes have probably had Christmas after Christmas. Some of them probably have rooms that have been the same for years.”
She imagined girls her older sister’s age coming home Christmas break after Christmas break with their rooms frozen in time. “I can imagine someone coming home from college to a room their parents haven’t touched.”
“Sounds chummy, but I’m not sure how many people are going to college from this neighborhood.”
Maddie rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a snob.”
“I’m not. I’m just saying that neighborhoods like this get run down when the original owners leave and poorer people move in and don’t take care of the house.”
“A regular social scientist, are you?”
“I don’t know what that means. But my mom’s a realtor. She started off selling houses like these.”
Maddie glanced at Aden and decided she would take another tack. “So, did you know your dad before?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“Did you grow up with him? What’s the story on how you ended up living with him suddenly, I guess?”
“Oh,” said Aden. He kicked at a stone as his face scrunched up. He struggled with how to answer. “Not really. He was around until I was five, I think. I remember some stuff, but not a lot. I don’t remember him being home a lot, so I’m not sure why we moved, but we did. She finally divorced him when I was ten.”
“Five years! It took her five years to divorce? Oh my God!”
Aden shrugged. “He wouldn’t sign the papers. Or maybe he was never around. I remember her screaming on the phone that not being around to sign the papers is exactly why she was divorcing him in the first place. Anyway, about a year later, she married my asshole stepdad.”
The words were rote, spoken by millions of teenagers in split households the whole country over. The venom in the tone, however, made Maddie pause in her steps. Aden kept walking, not realizing she had stopped. He turned around when he noticed she was not beside him. There was anger on his face.
“What makes him an asshole?”
“He just is.”
Ever-changing emotions flickered across his face like a television screen flipping from channel to channel—anger, frustration, pain, sadness, and shame. Maddie did not need to be told to leave it alone. She knew not to pry further.
“Well, hopefully, your real dad is better.”
“He’s not an asshole, but he’s still a large pain in my asshole.”
“Eww. Total TMI.”
Aden burst into maniacal laughter, the kind reserved for teenage boys after making fart jokes. Maddie was about to make another comment when something across the street caught her eye.
They had reached an area where homes gave way to small storefronts in strip retail centers. Across from them, an old man had just walked out of a Chinese takeout store. Several feet away, a gaggle of teenage boys broke from a car they had gathered around and began walking in the old man’s direction. Something in the scene bothered Maddie. It was an itch she could not place. Then she saw it.
A Spanish boy in the group nodded. A single black male several feet ahead of the walking senior started toward him. Then a couple of the boys in the group behind the black male held out their phones. Obviously, they planned to record what they were about to do.
Maddie narrowed her eyes and started to cross the street.
“Wha . . . why are you going over there?” said Aden. He hurried after Maddie. Halfway across the street, Maddie took off running like a guided missile. Aden cast his gaze ahead of her in time to see the Spanish teenager strike the old man on the side of the face.
“Aww, hell.”
The senior citizen dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. He had been knocked unconscious instantly. The group behind him had had enough time for one set of “oohs” and “aahs” before Maddie slid across the hood of a car, landed on the ground, and hit the Spanish male with a haymaker punch to the face. She followed up with a right-handed uppercut, then a roundhouse kick.
Two boys from the group filming everything ran toward Maddie, no doubt to help their friend. This time, Aden did not hesitate. He ran across the street, slipped between two parked cars, and rammed his shoulder into one of the boys. The boy flew into the side of a storefront wall but recovered and swung a punch at Aden. Aden dodged the punch and launched one of his own, catching his opponent in the stomach.
Maddie faced the approaching friends of the guy she had just sent to the ground. One reached Maddie ahead of the others but stopped and started dancing around on his feet, hands raised. “Come on, bitch!” he yelled.
Maddie obliged him, feinting a punch then snapping out a low kick. Her foot caught him just behind the knee, forcing him to stumble toward the ground. Maddie met his face with a straight punch. He fell backward and blood poured from his nose. Maddie leaped over him, forgetting him already. In front of her, Aden and another boy threw wild punches at each other.
Maddie could not tell if their blows were hitting their marks, but she did know the remaining boys were rushing to their friend’s side to help him against Aden.
One tackled Aden and knocked him to the concrete sidewalk. His friend managed to stay standing, and Maddie went right for him. Despite her training, she leaped into a flying kick that caught the unaware boy in the chest. He flew backward against a store window. Maddie ducked a punch coming toward her face from her right side, took a half step around, then threw her elbow back toward the puncher. Another burst of red fluid flying through the air filled her with satisfaction.
Now pandemonium reigned as more boys tried to join in the fight and people exited the surrounding stores to stare or yell at the fighting kids. Maddie heard the screeching sound of sirens getting louder. She knew the police were coming. A distant voice told her that was not good, but she did not stop. Sh
e continued to duck, weave, punch, and kick until she heard someone scream, “FIVE-0!” Some of the boys started running from the scene. Two cops dashed past Maddie in pursuit, while another faced her with a Taser pointed at her chest. Maddie raised her hands and stepped backward.
Chapter Forty-Three
Adrian Kent was just walking away from the porta potty when two veterans approached him.
“That’s some spunky daughter you have there.”
Mr. Kent laughed. “Well, you’re half right. Madison isn’t my daughter. She goes to my son’s high school, and I’m embarrassed to say they have gotten into a few altercations with each other. Today was their ‘community service,’ if you will, for their transgressions. But her spunkiness . . . you have no idea. The kid’s a total spit—”
The screech of police sirens interrupted him. Everyone turned to see two police cruisers racing down the street. Mr. Kent’s eyes followed them. He saw they were headed in the direction of his son and Maddie. A sudden pit formed in his stomach.
Somehow Mr. Kent knew Maddie and Aden were involved. His gut was guaranteeing that.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” said Mr. Kent as he turned and headed after the cruisers. In minutes, he had reached the scene. Several cruisers had stopped in the middle of the street, and clumps of people were gawking on either side. A few officers were talking to people and writing in notebooks they were holding. An ambulance was parked next to one cruiser with EMTs lifting someone into it. Mr. Kent spied Aden leaning against another police cruiser and talking to an officer. A few feet away, Madison stood with arms folded. Another officer was talking to her, but she did not appear to be responding. Mr. Kent made a beeline toward them.
“Officer, that’s my son, Aden. What’s going on here?”
The cop gave Mr. Kent a once-over. “And what’s your name, sir?”
“Adrian Kent.”
“And you’re his father?”
“Yes. I brought him and his friend,” said Adrian, pointing toward Maddie, “to the Habitat build down the street. They were on their way to the store. Can you tell me what’s going on here?”
The cop was moving too slow for Mr. Kent. He sighed and reached for his wallet. “Maybe we can move things along faster with some identification.” He handed the cop his wallet. The cop grunted in surprise after looking at it. Its contents seemed to satisfy him.
“Your son says he and his friend Madison were walking when they saw a seventy-year-old man get attacked. Looks like another knockout game. Seems as if the girl took exception to the game and hit the one responsible. At least that’s your son’s story. The girl,” he said, tilting his head in Maddie’s direction, “isn’t talking at all. Most of the fight was recorded on some left-behind cell phones, but we can’t tell if they weren’t part of the prank.”
“Oh, I can assure you officer, neither my son nor especially Madison would ever be involved in the knockout game. Can I speak with them a moment?”
“Given that you’re the father and he is a minor, sure. As for . . . Madison, is it? Technically, I need to reach out to her parents, but considering your credentials, I’ll put protocol aside. Just don’t leave. Hey, Dennis!” he shouted over to the officer speaking to Maddie. “The girl is with this gentleman. He’s going to talk to them for a moment.”
“Thank you, officer.” Mr. Kent waited till both men had walked out of earshot before stepping over to his son and motioning Madison over. Aden looked unconcerned. Maddie looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Her body language was rigid, eyes darting every which way. It struck Mr. Kent as odd.
“Madison, why haven’t you told the cops anything?”
“I can’t. I just can’t. It’s complicated, but this is not good. Not good. Mom is gonna freak. Ugh, what was I thinking?” She brought her hands to her head, bent over, and tugged at her hair like she wanted to pull it out.
“I’m sure when she gets the full story, she will be fine. This isn’t the same as what happened in school.” Mr. Kent turned to Aden. “The cop said it was the knockout game.”
“Yup. Some kid hit an old man, and he dropped like a rock. Maddie was heading across the street just before he hit him. You can guess the rest,” Aden finished with a shrug.
“I take it from the road rash on your face you didn’t stand by?”
“No, sir, I did not.”
Mr. Kent nodded his approval. “Good man. OK. This is probably going to take a little sorting out. We may need to go down to the station.”
“I need to avoid that. Can’t we just tell them what happened and leave?”
“No, Madison, I don’t think so. They have video.” Mr. Kent stopped speaking. Madison’s face had turned chalk white, and her eyes were frantic. The sight gave him pause. He realized she was scared, which seemed out of character. Something else was going on. He looked over at the cops, then past them to a group of teenage age boys they had handcuffed. An idea sprung into his head. “Wait here.”
Without another word, Mr. Kent walked over to a cop who appeared to be in charge of the scene. Aden was curious about it all. He had not missed how the cop had altered his attitude after looking at his dad’s wallet. He watched as his father pulled it out again. This time this new cop did not seem happy with what he saw. He got more agitated with whatever his dad was saying to him. After a few moments, during most of which it appeared his dad was apologizing, Mr. Kent handed the cop a business card then walked back over to them.
“OK, Aden, Madison, we can go.”
Maddie did not waste a millisecond. She bolted from the police cruiser she was leaning against. Mr. Kent was positive that if she was alone, she would be running. Aden hung back with his father.
“What did you say to them?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Maddie froze, then took a moment to compose herself. When she felt steady enough to speak normally, she turned back to Aden and his dad. “Did you give them my full name? I don’t want them knowing my real identity.”
The phrase was so out of place, it stopped Mr. Kent in his tracks. He reached out to Maddie’s shoulders, turned her around, and pushed her forward. “Madison, you can’t get into a brawl in the middle of the street in front of dozens of people and expect to remain anonymous. What are you worried about, young lady?”
“Nothing. I just . . . I’m just worried about my parents getting a call from the police.” Maddie bit her bottom lip as she finished the sentence, unable to hide the glowing tell of a lie, or at least that she was holding something back.
“I’ll talk to your parents. It will all be OK.”
“Ha! That is not going to help. Trust me.”
They were almost past the retail shop area when a small black girl ran from the doorway of a spin-and-wash laundromat. She appeared to be around eight years old, with hair full of twirling curls. A stack of flyers filled her small hands. She stepped in front of Maddie and thrust a flyer at her.
“Have you seen my sister?”
Maddie almost tripped over the girl but took the flyer. It showed four black-and-white pictures of a black teenage girl a few years older than Maddie. Beneath the pictures appeared the name “Shalonda Reese” in large letters with the word “Missing” written under it. A day and the location where she was last seen, what she was wearing, and a contact number were also listed. Maddie knelt down to the little girl.
“I’m sorry, but we’re not from around here, sweetie. Where is your mom?”
“I’m sorry, young lady,” said a voice behind her. “Tamara, I told you to stay by the door.”
“I don’t wanna. I wanna find my sister.”
The plea in the little girl’s voice broke Maddie’s heart. Her own problems dissipated. Maddie turned to the woman. She presumed she was the girl’s mother.
“She was supposed to wait while I used the bathroom. Been out walking the neighborhood this whole morning. Finally caught up with me. Have you seen this girl?”
“No, I’m, I mean we’re,” said
Maddie, pointing to Aden and Mr. Kent, “not from around here.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your daughter, ma’am. The police are just up the street. Have you spoken with them yet?” asked Mr. Kent.
A rueful look crossed the woman’s face as two other people, each with a stack of flyers, stepped over to the group. Each looked like they were suffering from heartburn. Maddie presumed that was because they had overheard Mr. Kent’s question.
“I’ve spoken to the police, but they don’t think she’s missing. I’ve been told they think she has run off with her boyfriend . . . or someone else,” said the woman.
“I don’t like him. He always smells funny,” said Tamara.
“Hush, baby. It’s not nice to talk about people like that.”
“Why? He can’t hear me. He isn’t here, and he does smell funny, and he took my sister away.”
Tears burst out of the little girl’s eyes as she grabbed on to her mother. The people helping them pass out flyers watched the scene with quiet resignation. It was clear this scene had played out quite a bit before.
“Shh, baby. Don’t worry, we’ll find your big sister.”
“Promise?” she asked behind a sniffle.
Her mother paused. The answer stuck in her throat. “I promise. We will find out what happened to her.”
The change in wording was not lost on Maddie. It sent a chill down her spine. She tried to imagine how she would react if her sister went missing. Her mind could not entertain the thought for even a millisecond.
“Why don’t the police think she’s missing?” asked Maddie.
“Her boyfriend is a bit of a user. And she follows his lead, unfortunately. He disappeared a few months back, and she went looking for him. Police wrote it up then as a runaway situation. Her boyfriend is missing again, and so is she. Plus . . .” The woman’s voice broke. Maddie finished the sentence for her.
“The . . . people the news has been talking about,” said Maddie, leaving out the dead portion for the benefit of young Tamara.
The Madison Jennings Series Box Set Page 24