The tone of her voice left little doubt that Marcella believed strongly in her cause and was itching for a fight. He had always admired her, and Woods as well, and he really didn’t want trouble. For the most part, the local bar — the lawyers and judges — knew one another well and strived to get along. There was nothing to be gained by fighting and bickering, regardless of the conflicts they dealt with. It was a civilized bar and they took pride in their professionalism.
He stood, scratched his head, and said, “Well, I’m not sure what’s happening here, Marcella. I do not recall hearing anything about a fight.”
“The jailers are blaming you. They told us you are reprimanding the boys for fighting in jail. Is this true?”
“No, it is not. This is the first I’ve heard about it. I’m not sure what’s going on.”
“Listen, Frank, this is what’s going on. The Lambert boys were arrested Tuesday night and charged with armed robbery. The guy with the gun, and the driver of the car, posted bail Wednesday morning and is having his fun on social media. His family has money. The Lamberts do not. Once in jail, they were attacked by another juvenile named Jock. I’m sure you know of him, and he’s already out. We have managed to beg and borrow the money necessary to post bail, ten thousand dollars each, which, in my opinion, is excessive, but nonetheless we have the money and we want the boys out. Now.”
Had they been in the courtroom, His Honor would consider gently suggesting that Mrs. Boone relax her tone a bit. He felt as though he was being reprimanded. But the courtroom was far away, and he was standing in the middle of his den, in his pajamas, and he felt all of his power draining away.
He said, “Marcella, I swear I do not remember anything about a fight.”
“I’m not surprised. That jail is a zoo and you know how often the paperwork gets lost. May I suggest you call down there and instruct them to get the boys ready to be released? I’ve just talked to the bail bondsman and he can meet us at the jail in an hour. As I said, Frank, we have the money.”
It was such a silly fight, and a small one. And he knew she was not going away. His Honor really wanted to crawl back into his recliner, snuggle under his quilt, and try to resume his nap. “Sure, Marcella.”
“Thank you, Frank. And tell Caroline I’ll see her at the luncheon next Wednesday.”
“Will do.”
An hour later, Theo and his mother met Daisy Lambert at the jail. Mr. Bob Hawley of Action Bail Bonds arrived on time and was all smiles. Mrs. Boone wrote two one thousand dollar checks from the firm’s trust account, and Daisy signed the necessary paperwork. It took another hour to round up the Lambert boys. They were given their cell phones and personal effects, then handed over to their mother. When they walked outside, they stopped and took a long, deep breath of fresh air, and soaked up the sunshine. After a round of hugs and thank-yous, Woody and Tony hopped in the car with Daisy and sped away.
As Theo and his mother watched them disappear, he said, “Well, that was easy.”
The last thing Woody had in mind for his first full afternoon of freedom, and a Saturday no less, was to slog his way through a pile of homework. However, he had no choice. Pursuant to an agreement hammered out by his mother, Mr. Mount, Mrs. Gladwell, and Theo, he dutifully reported to Strattenburg Middle at two p.m. for an intense study session.
When he arrived, Woody admitted, but only to himself, that he had actually missed the place. He met Theo and Mr. Mount in their empty homeroom and was glad to see them. They spent half an hour talking about his days in jail, and Woody quickly grew to enjoy his own stories. There were some laughs, and for the moment his legal troubles were somewhere else. Under Mr. Mount’s guidance, they studied for three straight hours.
That night, the gang surrounded Woody. Theo, Chase, Brian, Justin, Ricardo, and Aaron met him at Guff’s for a frozen yogurt, then they walked to the downtown cinema and watched Spider-Man 7. By ten, Woody was back home watching late night TV with his mother and Tony, eating popcorn and laughing about how much they missed Jock.
Chapter 15
By Monday morning, the entire eighth grade knew that Woody was free and returning to school. To avoid attention, he arrived early and secured himself in homeroom with Mr. Mount. His facial wounds were still visible and he was tired of talking about them. On the one hand, he was embarrassed by his arrest and legal troubles, but on the other hand he was thrilled to be back at school with his buddies. And if the girls wanted to smile and say hello, that was okay, too. Several times during the morning, as he was once again welcomed back, he said, “Yeah, Theo got me out.”
Theo wanted no credit whatsoever. He had helped a friend in need, something he would readily do again. He was delighted to see Woody smiling. They had hit the books hard over the weekend and Woody seemed eager to catch up. Their teachers — Madame Monique in Spanish, Miss Garman in Geometry, Mr. Tubcheck in Chemistry, and, of course Mr. Mount in Government — acted as though Woody had never missed a class. Each quietly offered to meet with him after school for extra tutoring.
At lunch, Theo and April Finnemore bought a sandwich and sat together on the playground, alone. They had not spoken much in the past days. Theo had been so preoccupied with Woody’s bail that he had neglected her. April was a quiet, shy girl from a troubled family and she needed Theo’s attention. She was different, a loner who enjoyed reading and painting. Her style of dress was whispered to be “artsy,” and she cut her hair short. She had few girlfriends and didn’t want any. The other girls were too busy staring at their phones, gossiping about one another, and April considered them to be “airheads.”
“Did you really get him out, Theo?” she asked.
Theo rarely bragged. His parents had taught him to be humble and let his actions speak for themselves. Nobody likes a braggart, his father had said many times, especially around the golf course where big talking was not unusual.
But with April, Theo felt secure. She would never repeat anything. So he took a deep breath and replayed the entire story.
Monday afternoon brought the required visit to see Uncle Ike. Theo had mixed feelings about it because Ike was generally in a foul mood and had nothing good to say about anything or anybody. He was a lonely old man with few friends and no family. His wife divorced him long ago when he went to prison and his adult children were far away and too busy to call. But as Theo grew older, he began to wonder if Ike was as unhappy as he let on. He played poker at least once a week with a group of retired lawyers and cops. He knew more courthouse gossip than anyone. He was in a weird book club that read only biographies. Elsa had once dropped a hint that Ike had a longtime lady friend in another town. Theo suspected that being grumpy was just part of Ike’s routine.
“How’s my favorite nephew?” he asked as Theo fell into the creaky leather chair. Judge settled next to his feet. Same question every Monday.
“I’m your only nephew. My buddy got out. Thanks for the loan.”
“Don’t mention it. How’s he doing?”
“He came back to school today and was like a hero. You want to hear about his armed robbery?”
“Sure.” Ike wheeled around his swivel chair, reached into a small fridge, removed a can of beer and a can of ginger ale. He turned a knob on his stereo and lowered the volume so that Bob Dylan could barely be heard. He popped the top and swung his feet onto his desk. Same old sandals.