“I was going to the john,” Donato said. “This was last Monday. I had Electrical Wiring that period, you know? Mr. Abrahms. He give me the room pass, and so I was going to the john.”
The kids were listening intently. Dave looked out at their faces, and for a moment, he wished he had the same attention when he was teaching.
“Go on,” Rourke prompted.
“Well, like the john is at the end of the hall, you know? So I was coming down the hall, just going to the john, like I said, when this guy comes out the staircase and grabs me by the collar.”
“Yes, and what happened then?”
“So he rams me up against the wall, with his hand all twisted in my collar, and then he says, ‘You got any money, kid?’”
“What did you answer?”
“I said I didn’t have no money. Hell, I had a quarter for my milk and carfare, but I didn’t feel like giving it to no shakedown artist.” Donato nodded his head in righteous indignation.
“What happened then?” Rourke asked.
“The guy began slapping me around,” Donato said, embarrassed.
“Slapping you around how?”
“Well, he hit me on the face, just slapping me, you know? And then when I told him I still didn’t have no money, he kicked me in the...” Donato stopped and looked at Dave. “He kicked me... down there,” he completed.
“What did you do?”
“What could I do?” Donato asked plaintively. “You ever get kicked in the nuts?”
The boys started laughing, and Dave was tempted to laugh himself.
“Order in the court!” Rourke shouted, and the kids laughed for just an instant longer before they sobered. Rourke stared at them menacingly, and then turned his attention back to Donato.
“Did you give this boy your money?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Donato said softly. He looked at Rourke pleadingly, and then he looked at the boys in the classroom. “I didn’t want no rupture. I didn’t want to get hurt. I...” He let the sentence trail.
“You gave him the quarter for your milk and carfare, is that right?”
“Yeah,” Donato said, almost whispering now.
The room was very quiet. Rourke walked away from Donato, and Dave watched, wondering what was coming next, beginning to get a little interested in spite of his earlier protests against the trial.
Rourke whirled suddenly and stabbed his forefinger at the gathered boys. “Look out there, Donato!” he said. “Look out there and tell me who this boy was!”
Donato stared out at the upturned faces, as if he were trying to recognize one of them.
“Who was it?” Rourke prompted. “Do you see the boy out there?”
“Yes,” Donato said, his voice dry. “Yes, I... I see him.”
“Who?” Rourke said.
Donato hesitated, wetting his lips again and staring out at the boys. The room was terribly silent now, as if every boy was holding his breath.
“I don’t think he remembers, teach,” Carlton said slowly.
His eyes sought Donato’s, holding them, and there was no longer a smile on his face. His mouth was very thin, and he continued to stare at Donato until Donato lowered his head and looked at the floor.
“Who was it?” Rourke said again.
Donato hesitated once more. “I... I don’t re—” he started, and then he cut himself short, aware of the eyes of the boys on him. Dave watched him, realizing that Donato could not back down now. He’d come this far, he’d told of the mugging, and he’d admitted he recognized the boy out there. The boy was obviously Carlton, and now Carlton had frightened him into silence, but if Donato kept that silence, he’d be acknowledging the yellow streak that ran down his back. He fidgeted in the chair for a few moments, wrestling with his delicate problem.
Then he blurted, “Sanchez! Sanchez is the one who did it!”
Rourke’s eyes popped wide. “Sanchez? You said—”
“I don’t care what I said. It was him, Sanchez!” He pointed a trembling finger. “Him, him!” he screamed.
“This is ridiculous,” Dave said, “Sanchez is one of my best—”
“Quiet,” Rourke snapped. “Keep quiet, Dave.”
The kids were excited now. They all knew Sanchez, and they knew him for a quiet Puerto Rican who never caused anyone a bit of trouble. Their heads swiveled to where he sat in the center of the room, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Me?” he asked. A tremulous smile formed on his thin face, and he began shaking his head. “No, this is a mistake.” He looked at Donato, and then he looked at Rourke, and then he looked at Dave. He kept shaking his head, and when he turned back to Donato, he said, “I did not take your money, Donato.”
“Don’t tell me!” Donato yelled, trying to save face by using bluster. “Don’t I know who kicked me? Don’t I know who—”
“Get the hell off that chair,” Rourke said quietly.
Donato stopped talking. He looked at Rourke sullenly and then got to his feet. “Sure,” he said. He slouched to the back of the room, took his seat, and then glared defiantly at the class. At the front of the room, Carlton was smiling.
“Next witness,” Rourke said tightly. He looked at Dave, and there was a strange mixture of determination and anger in his eyes, and for a moment Dave was puzzled.
“Danny Gilden,” Rourke said, and a short blond boy over near the windows stood and came to the chair at the front of the room.
“Man, you sure got a lot of witnesses,” Carlton said, smiling. “This mugger must be a millionaire by now, huh, teach?”
“Shut up, Carlton,” Rourke said. “This isn’t over yet.”
“It ain’t? Hell, I thought they already fingered your man. Sanchez, ain’t it?”
Sanchez was not a big boy, nor was he a particularly bright boy. He sat in his seat now, more perplexed than outraged, sure he had been a victim of mistaken identity, not aware of the unsubtle extortion going on around him. Gilden was already seated in the chair at the front of the room. Rourke suddenly seemed to remember a bit of legal procedure he’d forgotten before, a bit that had made it easier for Donato to lie.
He looked at Gilden now and asked, “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
Gilden hesitated. He eyed Carlton and then swallowed the lump in his throat.
“Go on,” Carlton said, amused. “Swear.”
“Can’t you control your own class?” Rourke asked Dave. “For God’s sake, I’ve got enough on my mind without—”
“Let’s be quiet, Carlton,” Dave said mildly.
“Why sure, teach,” Carlton said. “I was only trying to help things along. I’m as anxious as anybody to see justice done here.”
“Well...”
“What do you say, Gilden?” Rourke asked. “Do you swear?”
“I... I do,” Gilden said.
“Tell us about your mugging,” Rourke said. “Tell the court.”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly no mugging,” Gilden said, hedging.
“What do you mean, it wasn’t a mugging? You were beat up, weren’t you?”
“Well, yeah, I suppose. I mean, I guess you could call it that.”
“You told me your assailant had a—”
“My what?”
“The boy who beat you up. You said he had a pair of homemade brass knuckles, fashioned from the handle of a garbage can lid. You said he used those on your face. Wouldn’t you call that a beating?”
“Well, yeah, I suppose.”
“What else would you call it?”
“That, I guess.”
The class began laughing. They were beginning to enjoy this immensely. They could see that Gilden was scared stiff, and they enjoyed his discomfort, and they leaned forward in their seats to better enjoy his discomfort. Dave glanced at his watch. There were still twenty minutes left to the period, and he wished they would hurry up and pass.