He couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed that Jerm wasn’t waiting for him. He’d played the scene out in his head, over and over, where Jerm would smirk at him and say something about his mom. Kevin had decided he wasn’t going to say anything anyway. He wanted to keep it as simple as possible. As soon as Jerm said something, anything, Kevin would reach into his backpack, rip open the Velcro, and pull out the Smith & Wesson.
He imagined the stunned look of terror on their faces when they finally realized that they had pushed around the wrong kid. That was the part he lingered on, every night since he had made his decision to steal his mom’s revolver. The gun wasn’t only for show; he wasn’t going to use it just to scare them. If the Incident had taught him nothing else, it taught him that you never draw your weapon unless you are fully prepared to use it. When he pulled it out, he was going to aim square at Jerm and the assholes’ chests and start squeezing the trigger as fast as possible. He wanted to put giant holes in them; they deserved it.
Kevin was still lost in the images of their faces as the realization hit them that they were about to die, when the door to the boys’ bathroom banged open behind him and he heard Morgan say, “No fucking way she let you touch her tits.”
A pause. Then, “Thought something smelled like shit out here.” Jerm.
Kevin almost dropped his backpack. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t turn around.
They came up behind him. Jerm said, “Did Chief Mommy pack you a nice lunch today?”
Kevin felt his backpack yanked violently to the side, dragging him with it. He slammed into the lockers. As they passed, Morgan said, “You stink, bitch. Tell your mommy to give you a bath.”
They continued down the hallway, Javier protesting. “Fuck you guys if you don’t believe me. She let me feel her up. Swear to God. Next time, you watch, I’m gonna get her to suck my dick.”
Jerm shook his head. “Is that what you tell yourself when you jerk off, dude?”
“Touching your cousin is kinda gross, dude,” Morgan said.
“I told you, she’s a fucking second cousin, man. Like, we’re hardly even related.”
“And you’re gonna see her, when, next fucking family reunion? When’s that? Ten fucking years?”
“Fuck you guys. Y’all are just jealous.”
Kevin watched them as they sauntered away, without giving him so much as a backward glance. He thought about how easy it would be to pull out the Model 686, shout, “Hey!” and when they turned around, start shooting.
The thought almost made him smile.
And that was enough. Simply knowing that he had the power of life and death over the bullies made everything okay. He waited until they had turned the corner, heading upstairs, before he took a shivering, shaking breath. He slumped against the lockers, marveling at how much his hands were shaking. He didn’t know whether he was going to laugh or cry.
In the end, he put his backpack in his locker, took out his math book and binder, then slammed the door. He double-checked it was locked and went to class.
Sheriff Hoyt was a little guy with a big hat and a bigger gun. He was seriously fucking irritated that Sandy was already at the scene of the crime when he and his boys had taken down a goddamn cold-blooded murderer. There hadn’t been a murder in Manchester County in over three years. Without an occasional murder, the absence of serious crime skewed the books, made it look like they were slacking off. That their law-enforcement presence wasn’t absolutely necessary.
Sheriff Hoyt firmly believed it didn’t hurt the people in Manchester County to be reminded once in a while to appreciate just how much they needed their sheriff.
A scared populace was a compliant populace.
But here was Sandy, fucking up the works again, just by doing her job.
She knew all this, knew it before she even walked out onto the porch, and wasn’t surprised at all to see Kurt’s body at the bottom of the steps. She wouldn’t particularly miss Kurt; the man was a cockroach and should have been made to pay long ago for all the pain he had inflicted on his wife.
Nevertheless, the law was supposed to obey the rules. They weren’t supposed to just go around shooting people because they felt it was justified and nobody would cause a ruckus over whoever ended up dead. Her report could complicate things for the sheriff.
While his deputies stood over Kurt’s corpse making jokes, one of them took Kurt’s shotgun and casually laid it on the grass near the body. Sandy pretended not to notice as she leaned against the side of Sheriff Hoyt’s cruiser.
He paced around the driveway, looking back at her every once in a while. “All I’m askin’ is that you back me up here. Save me a lot of bullshit red tape.” He spread his arms wide. “Ain’t nothing for you to mention in your report that he was in an agitated state of mind, and wouldn’t relinquish his shotgun. Simple as that.”
He got closer and stopped pacing. Looked straight into her eyes. He was one of the few cops that stood at her height, and it chafed him something godawful. He dropped his voice, became her best pal. “Look. I know it ain’t easy for you. Lord knows, I know. And we both know that I can make things easier for you. Didn’t work out that my boy was elected. Fine. I am a man who can accept defeat gracefully. However, I do expect everyone under me to accept my authority.”
“I’m not under your authority, Sheriff. Thought we understood each other.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that the law enforcement agencies in this county understand each other. This son of a bitch murdered his wife. Let’s not kid ourselves. We took care of this particular problem. No tears will be shed. We’ll find the wife’s body, and case closed.”
“Find the body, and the DA decides whether the case is closed or not. No body, and we don’t know for sure if there was a murder or if Ingrid finally had enough and ran away. Technically speaking, Sheriff, if you don’t have a body, you have a missing person.”
Sheriff Hoyt looked like he wanted to punch her. “Gonna stand there and tell me this son of a bitch didn’t pound his wife into fucking hamburger on a regular basis?”
Part of Sandy, deep down, the tired part, wanted to simply say, “Okay. Sure. Whatever.” It would be so much easier if she simply submitted to Hoyt.
She couldn’t. She had met plenty of men like Sheriff Hoyt. Men who took their rarefied positions for granted and expected everybody else to do the same. These were the men that ruled their little kingdoms. If you stuck out, you or members of your family could be isolated and subdued, simply if you didn’t fit within Sheriff Hoyt’s narrow definition of normal and decent and law-abiding. When Kevin came along, his birth was met with outright hostility from the town, as if Sandy and her son had been set ablaze with the sin of green hellfire.
“Yeah. He beat her. But where is she?”
“Then what’s the problem? He killed her. We’ll find her,” Sheriff Hoyt said. “Seems to me, we took care of a menace to our society. It’s what communities do when they are threatened. They elect men like me to take out the trash. In the end, it don’t matter two shits what you think or say. You go ahead and put your concerns in the report. Fact is, now that I think about it, you didn’t see jack shit. You were inside, and couldn’t see what was actually happening. Fine. I’ll deal with the extra headaches. It won’t matter in the end. But you, you don’t wanna support me or my men, fine and dandy. You’re not gonna like the shitstorm that’ll follow.”
“I’ll keep my umbrella handy,” Sandy said.