The Fight for Kidsboro (11 page)

“That's what investigations are for,” Scott said, scratching his chin and raising his eyebrows.

At least
someone
was enjoying his job.

I felt obligated to go to Jill's trial, though I didn't really want to witness it. Jill didn't have much of a chance, in my opinion. Pete was the opposing lawyer, and I hoped that he would panic again like he had before. But he wasn't up against Valerie this time; Jill was defending herself. I had no idea what to expect from Pete.

Corey was suing for 30 starbills, which was a lot. Nobody in Kidsboro had 30 starbills lying around, except maybe Max, who probably had 30 starbills under his sofa cushion at home. Rumor had it that if Pete won the case, he'd get a third of the winnings. Ten starbills would be enough for him to live off of for a pretty long time.

And Jill was right when she said that Marcy may have bankrupted her. Jill didn't have 30 starbills to pay. Obviously, she'd used her father's computer and paper to create the newspaper, so she didn't actually have to cease production. But this would mean that all future profits she made at the newspaper would go to Corey for a long, long time. Jill wouldn't have anything for general expenses. She would be no better off than James the quack doctor. Plus, the newspaper was a business, and businesses were required to pay special business taxes. She would end up owing the city a lot of taxes after a while.

The jury would not be thinking about that, though. They would probably be thinking about doing something cool. Like nailing the press.

Court was called into session, and Pete made his opening statement. He basically just stated the facts—that the
Kidsboro Chronicle
had been irresponsible for printing something that was not true, and that Corey was going through public humiliation because of it.

Jill made her own opening remarks, admitting that she'd made a mistake, but that we all make mistakes. She offered to print a retraction stating that Corey did not, in fact, decorate his room with garbage.

She also questioned the amount Pete was asking for. “Thirty starbills? The paper doesn't make that in a whole year!” I noticed a couple of the people in the jury nodding their heads when she said this. Thirty starbills was too much. Jill had a good chance of getting the amount reduced to 15 or even five. Five she could handle.

Pete called his first witness. “I'd like to call Corey Hawkins to the stand.” Pete and Corey had obviously rehearsed this. Corey pretended to be very upset with the way people were treating him. He was practically in tears as he told a story about how somebody glued soda cans together to form a swan and put it in his front yard. It wasn't a pretty story, but the performance was so fake that I think it turned some of the jurors off. It was looking as if Jill might have a chance.

That is, until Pete called his second witness.

“I'd like to call Marcy Watson to the stand.” Marcy stepped up, ready to tell her story. The bailiff swore her in. “Marcy,” Pete began, “How would you describe your relationship with Corey?”

Marcy looked surprised by the question. “My relationship?”

“Yes. Are you friends?”

“Well …”

“Do you like him?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know.”

“Have you ever had him over for dinner? Done homework together?”

“No.”

“So you're not friends.”

“No. I guess not.”

“Are you enemies?”

“I wouldn't say that.”

There wasn't very much space for anyone to move in the meeting hall pavilion, but what room Pete did have, he made use of. He began to pace in little 12-inch circles, like a buzzard ready to feast.

“But isn't it true that in the third grade, you had a little … argument?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“An argument about a doll?” Marcy's eyes went to the floor. She knew what he was talking about.

“Marcy, didn't Corey steal your Baby Wetty doll and throw it down the sewer?”

Marcy flipped. “Are you trying to say I did this on purpose?” There was a murmur from the crowd.

“Just answer the question, please.” I had a feeling Pete had been waiting to say that.

“That was years ago!”

“Answer the question.”

“I forgot all about that.”

“Yes or no.”

“Yes, but …”

“And didn't you say, Marcy, and I quote, ‘I'll get you back for this if it's the last thing I do'?”

“I don't remember.”

“Is it possible that you said that?”

“I guess.”

“No further questions.”

Marcy stood up. “I didn't do this on purpose. Why would I still care about something that happened four years ago?”

The judge asked Marcy to sit down. I looked over at Jill, who had her head down.

When it was her turn, Jill called Marcy back up to the stand. She tried to make it clear that Marcy had no intention of getting back at Corey for something that had happened in the third grade. I didn't know if it was working or not.

The lawyers made their closing statements, and then left the decision to the five-person jury. After 10 minutes, it looked as though the jury would be arguing for a while, so I left. Jill was outside facing the opposite direction from Marcy. They still wouldn't speak to one another. I couldn't look at Jill as I passed her.

The jury came back in 45 minutes, and I honestly didn't have a clue what the verdict would be. I slid back into my seat and held my breath as one of jurors read off a slip of paper he held in his hand.

“The jury finds for the plaintiff, Corey Hawkins. For the full amount of the suit.” All 30 starbills. Corey and Pete gave each other high fives while Jill immediately left the room. I ran after her.

“Jill!” I shouted. I finally caught up to her.

“Go away,” she said softly.

“Jill, I'm sorry.”

She stopped suddenly and I almost ran into her. She looked at me with her hands on her hips. “Thanks a lot.” She took off and I didn't follow her.

9

FALLING APART

I
WAS SITTING IN MY
office, staring at the wall, when Scott came bursting in. “You gotta see this,” he said, and didn't wait for me to get up.

We ran to McAlister Park, which was on the other side of Whit's End. There was a gathering of about 20 kids, some Kidsboro residents, some not. I wasn't quite sure what was happening, but Max and several of his friends were pushing five other kids (all Kidsboro residents) on the merry-go-round. The riders didn't appear to be having fun—but Max and his friends did.

“What are they doing?'

“Max and his friends have been pushing these guys on the merry-go-round for about an hour now, nonstop.”

“An hour?”

“It gets worse. About 15 minutes ago, they went into phase two. They forced them to eat greasy potato chips. A full bag each.”

“
Forced
them? How?”

“You tell me. Why do you think these guys owe anything to Max?”

“You think they all borrowed money from him?”

“I've got no proof. But it sure looks that way.”

Scott left to go sneak around a bit. No one noticed me as I moved a little closer. The five boys on the merry-go-round were looking very green. A large piece of cardboard with writing on It was propped up near the merry-go-round. As I studied it more closely, I realized It was a sign asking for predictions on which kid would throw up first. No one had done so yet, but by the looks of the victims, that wasn't too far away. There was also another friend of Max's videotaping the entire thing and giving a play-by-play commentary.

I wondered what I should do. Since they were not within the Kidsboro city limits, there was nothing that I could do legally. I had no authority over Max. We were both just kids in a park. But there had to be another way that I could make him pay for his cruelty.

Scott ran up and handed me a piece of paper. “Look at this,” he said. “I found it in James's backpack.”

“What are you doing going through people's backpacks?”

“It was open.”

I looked at the paper. “What is it?”

“A loan contract between James and Max. Max gave James a loan of five starbills, at 50 percent interest, compounded monthly.”

I quickly did some math in my head and soon figured out that James would owe Max about 16 starbills in just three months. Max was the only person in Kidsboro who could afford to pay off 16 starbills.

“And look at this right here,” Scott went on, pointing to the bottom of the page. “It says that if James doesn't make monthly payments, then Max will decide how payment will be made.”

“Meaning James will have to be his slave.”

“Bingo.”

“Meaning he'll have to do his homework and play along with him and his friends while they put him on the vomit machine.”

“Exactly.”

I couldn't figure out how someone as smart as James could be so naïve. Maybe he was so desperate to hold on to his house that he temporarily lost his common sense. Max was using my program to humiliate people.

“Okay. Max can't get away with this.” I stomped over to him. He was pulling a six-pack of soda out of a black box. He seemed happy to see me, which annoyed me a lot.

“Hey …my good friend Ryan! You're just in time. We're fix in' to go into phase three. The warm soda phase.” He laughed. “Won't that be the coolest?”

“I need to talk to you about this, Max.” I held up the contract. “It was in James's book bag.”

“Hey! What are you doin' goin' through people's book bags?”

“It was open.”

Max looked at the paper and smiled. “Oh, yeah. One of my little goodies. What a great idea this turned out to be, huh?”

“You can't do this.”

He didn't stop smiling. “I can't?”

“You can't make him pay back his loan by spinning him on a merry-go-round for an hour.”

“Oh, but you know what? Strangest thing. Right here in the contract. See that? That right there says I can.”

“I don't care what this lousy contract says.”

His smile disappeared. “The city charter states that all legal documents are binding. This is a legal document, signed by me, James, and a certified lawyer of Kidsboro.” I looked at it again. Pete's signature was at the bottom. Another person I needed to scold. “According to this
legal
document, I can charge any interest rate I want, and I can collect it however I want.”

He was right. He could make these kids spin until their eyeballs faced the backs of their heads, and I couldn't do anything about it.

“How many people have you got under contract?” I asked, not wanting to know.

“Five,” he said smiling. “Hey, we're going into phase three. You're welcome to stay.” He took off with the warm soda.

Five. And if my memory served me correctly, that was exactly the number of people whose lives had been “saved” by the Everybody Works program.