Dead Ends (20 page)

“BILLY D.!”

It was all wrong. I mean, I could see it with my own eyes and knew it was reality, but I couldn't wrap my brain around it. It was just …
wrong
.

One boy was curled up on the ground, a bloody mess but breathing. Another boy propped himself up against a tree, clutching his gut and puking. And standing above them both, with one hand wrapped around what looked like a thick tree branch and the other hand curled in the tightest fist I'd seen him make yet, was Billy D.

He was breathing hard, his face red and streaked with dried tears, and he had his feet planted in the stance I'd taught him. He'd stopped pounding the kid at his feet when he heard my scream, but his whole body was still tense, frozen at the sight of me.

Questions fell off my lips too fast to make sense. “What? How did you … ? Why? How … ?” I took a breath. “Dude, what the hell happened?”

Billy's muscles slacked a little, and he started to shake, but he didn't answer.

Behind me, I heard the squawk of a radio and the officer saying something into it. An instant later, he was at my side. He put a hand on my chest. “Son, I'm going to need you to back up.”

I pulled away from his hand and took only the smallest step backward.

“Are you Billy?” the officer asked. He knelt next to the bloodied boy on the ground but kept his eyes on Billy the whole time.

Billy said nothing, but I saw him tense up again.

The officer was working on the boy on the ground one-handed, checking his wrist for a heart rate and his arms for broken bones. The boy rolled over on his own and propped himself up on one elbow. He was either still catching his breath or too scared to speak. I didn't recognize him. He wasn't one of the potheads who'd scared Billy, and neither was his buddy.

The officer stood to address Billy again. “Are you Billy?” he repeated more firmly.

“Billy!”
Mrs. Drum's scream came from behind us.

Guess that answered that question. I turned my head just enough to see that she and Mom were a short distance away, probably where the officer had told them to wait, but Mrs. Drum had broken free of my mom's grasp and was moving closer.

“It's him,” I said.

“Billy, do whatever the officer says.” Mrs. Drum was almost next to me now.

The officer put out an arm, silently warning us both to stay back. To Billy he said, “Drop your weapon.”

“That's not a
weapon
,” I said.

“I told you to back up!” the officer barked without turning around.

I didn't take my eyes off Billy, but a familiar
whoop
told me a second squad car had pulled up behind us. Just what we needed—another cop, so they could circle Billy like some caged animal.

The officer tried a softer approach with Billy. “It's all right. You're all right. But I'm gonna need you to drop your weapon, son.”

Poor choice of words
, I thought.
Poor, poor choice.

“I'm not your son!” Billy screamed.

Told you
. I put my hands in my pockets and leaned back on my heels.
Should have just let me handle it.

The bloody boy on the ground scooted away at the sound of Billy's shriek. He was bruised and scraped, for sure, but he was moving just fine. Billy hadn't done any serious damage from what I could see.

The boy sitting against the tree had caught his breath and joined the ruckus now.

“Shoot him!” he shouted at the officer. “Shoot him! He's crazy!”

“You shut your mouth!” I said.

The officer looked back at me. “
You
shut
your
mouth. That's the last time I'm going to warn you.”

Every voice that added to the chorus got louder, until it was all just a collage of screams. The second officer was at the scene now, moving toward Billy's back. The whole thing was about to get ugly. Fear and frustration were an explosive combination inside of me, and I couldn't stop myself from crying out.

“Billy D.! Drop the fucking thing, already!”

Billy obeyed my command in an instant, letting the chunk of wood drop with a thud. On the ground, I could see it was not part of a tree but a broken piece of the wooden railroad ties that surrounded the sandbox.

The officer noticed Billy's response and used a hand to gesture me forward. “Keep talking,” he said.

“Oh,
now
I'm allowed to talk?”

He gave me a glare that put the one Mom always used to shame.

“Fine.” I stepped toward Billy. “Billy D., it's cool, man. You're not in trouble or anything.”

“Oh yeah, he is!” the kid against the tree spat. “That little retard is going to jail!”

I snapped my head to the side. “If I hear one more word out of your mouth, I swear to God, I'll—”

“Be quiet!” the officer's voice cut me off.

I whipped my head around and saw it wasn't me he was barking at. His eyes were on the kid at the tree.

“And don't go anywhere,” the officer warned as the kid struggled to stand up. “We want to talk to all of you.”

“See, Billy?” I said. “They just want to talk to you. That's all. Just talk.”

“Just talk?” Billy asked in a small voice. He dropped his fighting stance and took on his usual hunch. It was a good move, I thought. It made him look more like a little kid and less like a psychotic, tie-toting attempted murderer.

“Yeah. Let's just go with the officers.” I moved closer to Billy until he was within arm's length. “You tell them what happened, and—”

“I'll tell you what happened!” the kid at the tree said, lumbering toward us. He stretched his arm out to point a finger at Billy and looked at the cops. “That freak jumped us!”

“Don't you call my son a freak!”

Billy's mom had been so quiet, I'd almost forgotten she was there. Now she stood with her fists clenched at her side, looking like she wanted to do more damage to this kid than Billy had.

“That's what happened!” Mrs. Drum powered on, pleading with the officers. “They called him names. They attacked him. He had to defend himself!” She covered the distance to Billy in two strides and wrapped him in a hug. Billy kept his arms to his sides, not returning the embrace. He looked like he was in shock.

“
Us?
Attack
him
?” the kid said. “No way! He came after us first!”

Mrs. Drum scoffed. “Oh, I seriously doubt that.”

“He did!” the kid with the blood and the bruises spoke up, stepping into the circle. “He hit us first.”

“Yeah, right,” I said.

“No, that's true,” Billy said quietly. “I hit them first.”

I gaped at Billy. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Well, dude, in that case—stop talking.”

We sat on the sidewalk with our backs up against one of the cop cars—me, Billy D., and the big mouth. The officers had called an ambulance for the bloodied kid, which I thought was unnecessary and definitely not a good sign for the deep shit Billy was probably in. They let me sit with Billy, since I was the only one he seemed to be listening to, but they made his mom stand back. When she kept insisting on a lawyer and spouting her own versions of what
must
have happened, they finally suggested she go get that attorney and get him down to the police station as soon as possible, because that's where Billy was going.

She nearly lost it then, but Mom had a soothing way with her and managed to get her in the car with promises that Billy would be okay and that the best thing they could do was get him some help and meet him at the station. It was almost
comical how convincing Mom was because I knew there was no way in hell
she
would have let
me
out of her sight if I were in this much trouble.

Leaning against the squad car, Billy focused on his hands, picking little bits of dried blood off his fingers—none of it his own. He'd gone mute since the cops set him down on the sidewalk. In contrast, the other kid couldn't shut up.

He went on and on about how he and the other boy were just messing around at the playground, skipping school, when Billy came up acting all weird and just staring at them and not talking.

“Then this retard just ducks down and rams his head into my gut,” the kid said.

“If you call him a retard again—” I growled.

“Oh yeah, what are you gonna do?” The boy leaned across Billy to me, but an officer pushed him firmly back against the car.

I wished they'd put him in cuffs, but that might mean they'd have to cuff Billy, too.

“Looks like I don't have to do anything,” I said. “My boy Billy D. here already kicked your ass.”

“I could take this 'tard! He just surprised me.”

“What did I tell you about that word?”

“Knock it off,” the officer said. He was down on one knee in front of us.

“Well, then he just went crazy,” Big Mouth continued. “Joe went to help me up, and this kid hit him in the back with that stick or whatever and just kept hitting him. Jacked him up good, too.” He sneered at Billy. “You're going to jail for sure …
retard.
”

I held my breath, trying to control the itch in my palms. My only comfort was the fact that the officer looked just as disgusted by Big Mouth as I was. And when he looked at Billy, his expression was much kinder. “Is that how it happened?” he asked.

Billy methodically picked at his bloody fingers and refused to meet the officer's eye.

“His mom told him not to talk without a lawyer,” I said.

The officer nodded. “Then he'll have to tell us his side of the story at the station.”

Billy looked up at that, fear all over his face. “They're taking me to jail?” he whispered to me.

“Not jail,” I said. I looked at the officer for confirmation. “Right? Just the police station.”

“That's right.”

“That's okay, then,” I told Billy. “And I'll go with you, so it's going to be fine.”

“You can't come with him.” The officer shook his head at me. “You can meet him down there with his mom, if you like, but he's gotta come with us. You'll have to take your own car.”

“I don't
have
a car,” I said bitterly.

“Sorry.” The officer stood. “Then you'll have to go on home. We don't give free rides to the station.”

“Oh yeah?” I said. Then, fast as lightning, I swung my arm all the way around Billy D. and landed a fist smack into Big Mouth's face. His head made a satisfying
thunk
as it hit the metal car door behind him.

I looked up at the cop. “How 'bout now?”

• • • X • • •

The police station was brighter and cheerier than I'd imagined.

There were lots of windows and clean carpet and shiny desks. Billy and I were seated at one of those desks, across from the officer who had helped us with the search. The cop who'd been called in for backup was questioning Big Mouth at another desk.

Our officer made small talk with us, blabbering on about the station's recent remodel and how it almost made him want to get off the streets and become a desk jockey. He let me call my mom to explain why I, too, would be needing a lawyer, then we all just sat there and waited for moms and attorneys to show up before anyone agreed to start talking.

But Billy couldn't help himself. After a few minutes of silently watching the officer type up his report, Billy burst out, “Dane, I didn't mean to!”

I was too startled by his explosion to tell him to be quiet. “What do you mean, you didn't mean to?”

“I didn't mean to make that one kid go to the hospital.”

“That kid's just being a pussy. He's fine.”

The officer across the desk cleared his throat. “Lucky your friend here's not a little stronger. He could have done some real damage,” he said to me.

He's stronger than you know.

I glared at the officer, willing him to look away, which he did. I lowered my voice when I spoke to Billy again.

“What happened?”

I knew I shouldn't ask him in front of the cop. I knew we
should wait for all the legal know-it-alls, but I was going crazy not knowing, and by the way Billy was fidgeting around in his chair, I could tell he was going crazy not telling me.

“I didn't go to school today,” Billy said.

“Yeah, that part I got.”

“You made me mad.”

Maybe Billy's mom was right. Maybe this was somehow my fault.

“I went to Seely's,” Billy continued. “But she wasn't home. And I couldn't remember where she put the key.”

Billy looked embarrassed at that last bit, so I just nodded, encouraging him to keep talking.

“But I didn't want to go to school, and I was really,
really
mad at you.”

“Uh-huh. You mentioned that.”

“And I remembered the other time I was mad at you was 'cause you tried to make me beat up those boys.”

I winced and glanced over at the cop. Sure enough, he was listening. But there was no stopping Billy now that he'd started to spill.

“And I was at Seely's house by the park and thinking about how I could fight, and I could show you, and then maybe we wouldn't get mad at each other anymore.”

I wished the seat of my chair would open up and swallow me. The more Billy talked, the more his crime sounded like
my
idea. I almost believed it myself.

“And I thought how you said you don't hit retards or girls, but hitting everyone else is okay—”

“Not
everyone
else—”

“Because that was different, and I didn't know
why
it was different and those guys were right there, over in the park and—”

“Billy D., slow down.”