Read The Principal Cause of Death Online
Authors: Mark Richard Zubro
The Principal Cause of Death (2 page)
“Easy, Dan,” I said. “Do you really want to do this?”
“Oh, I really do, Mr. Mason. I really, truly do. I want to hurt you real bad.”
“Come on, Dan, give me the knife.”
“No way. Not until I'm done.” He made a pass in my direction with the weapon.
I moved so that one of the science tables stood between us. I hoped another late-staying teacher might pass the door, making for the lounge, as I had been. Perhaps even some of the kids staying late for clubs or sports who might have a locker at this end of the building. So far I heard nothing.
Dan advanced slowly, keeping himself between me and the door. He tried a brief lunge across the top of a table. It squeaked loudly as the weight of his body shoved it into me. The table's motion startled him and for a moment he tottered and stumbled. I grabbed for the arm with the knife and missed. The table swung again, unbalancing me. He lunged forward. I twisted, dropped to the floor, and felt, more than saw, the knife whish past my ear. I scrambled under a table. He flipped it over. I stood quickly and he came at me. I tried to dodge the knife and tripped over a table leg. As I fell, I saw the knife come slashing down. I threw my right arm up to ward off the blow. The knife tore through my sport jacket and several inches of me. I howled in pain and yanked my arm away. His thrust and my movement unbalanced him, and he fell.
Blind fury and aching pain took over. I was on him in an instant. His youth and energy allowed him to get to his feet, but seconds later I had the hand with the knife in a viselike grip. I heard a snap, the knife dropped, and he bellowed in pain. I didn't stop. Years of training and patience were gone in that instant. I wanted to hurt him, for every taunt, rude remark, stupid smirk, and asshole comment. My fist slamming into his midsection took most of
the fight out of him. A punch to the kidneys straightened him up. A knee to the groin doubled him back over. I shoved him as hard as I could. He tumbled backwards, slammed into the wall, then, slowing, slid down, coming to rest on his fucked-up teenaged ass.
the fight out of him. A punch to the kidneys straightened him up. A knee to the groin doubled him back over. I shoved him as hard as I could. He tumbled backwards, slammed into the wall, then, slowing, slid down, coming to rest on his fucked-up teenaged ass.
I heard a rustle in the doorway. Two kids I didn't know stood there, mouths agape, staring at the destruction. “Get help,” I ordered.
They disappeared.
I reached the intercom and punched the button for the office. Georgette Constantine came on. Suddenly I realized I was breathing heavily and could barely speak.
“Send help, Georgette,” I gasped, “to the science lab.”
She recognized my voice. “Mr. Mason, Tom, are you all right?”
“Just hurry, Georgette.”
I tore off my suit coat and examined my arm. The cut stretched for four inches about halfway between my elbow and wrist. It hurt like hell, but didn't bleed as much as I expected. Mustn't have hit a vein or artery. I felt woozy for a moment, and instinctively reached out for support. When my right arm hit the wall, I cried out in pain. For an instant, looking at the cut, I saw it went deep, to the bone.
I slumped into the teacher's chair to wait for help to arrive. Dan lay against the wall moaning, using his left hand alternately to try to ease his right wrist, clutch at his midsection, or cup his crotch.
“You busted my wrist, you bastard!”
I felt my anger subside and found guilt and remorse setting in. And then I was angry at myself anew for the last two feelings. The kid had attacked me. What was I supposed to do?
Minutes later janitors, administrators, teachers, and police filled the room. They took Dan off to the hospital. Meg drove me to the emergency room of River's Edge Community Medical Center. After the administration of antiseptic, stitches, bandages, and pain pills, we left the hospital.
She drove me back to school. I needed my briefcase
from my room. I also wanted to talk to any cops who might still be around.
from my room. I also wanted to talk to any cops who might still be around.
In the school office Georgette saw me and quickly came over to offer help and kind words. She clucked at the bandages and told me she could drive me home if necessary. I still wanted to get to the baseball game. It was already six, and I felt okay enough to drive. I told her no thanks.
But Jones came to the door of his office. “I want to talk to you. Now, Mr. Mason.”
He radiated anger as he seated himself behind his desk in his oversized chair. The most unusual thing about his office was that a bookcase and part of one wall were dedicated to polar bears. Cuddly white stuffed animals in all sizes filled the bookshelves. The pictures on the walls emphasized the mother bears with their cubs. The rest of the office contained a computer terminal, a fake-wood desk, brown-cloth-covered chairs, and a mustard-colored rug with flecks of gold throughout. The window in the wall behind him looked out on the changing leaves of a massive oak tree.
At thirty-one Jones was young to be the principal of one of the largest high schools in the state. He'd been picked for his ability, ambition, and drive.
His opening comment was, “How could you possibly assault a student?”
“Hold it.” I held up my arm. “What does this look like to you?”
“Bluefield said you attacked him, and he was just defending himself. The two kids who saw the end of the fight say you threw Bluefield across the room.”
“What about the student teacher?”
“Who?”
“A woman from Lincoln University. I've seen her around. Bluefield bloodied her nose and cut her lip. Or doesn't she count?”
He looked doubtful. “She never came to the office. Are you sure you aren't making this part up?”
This was the first administrator I'd met in all my years of teaching who wasn't a fool, who knew his job, who was willing to put in the work to make the school betterâand now he accused me of fabricating an attack on a teacher. I felt betrayed. I lost my temper.
“How dare you accuse me before you even hear my side of the story?”
“What we do have is the students at the door who saw you attacking a student.”
“Was I supposed to let myself be stabbed and slashed into ground meat?”
“We have policies and procedures to follow when a student attempts to assault a teacher.”
“This wasn't an attempt,” I said. “This was a success.” I found myself yelling at him. Not a bright idea, to yell at your boss, but I was pissed. “You know Bluefield's reputation and you know mine. Yet you believe him. What'd you do, accompany him to the hospital?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I've talked with him numerous times. We've established a relationship. You were one of the teachers he always complained about. Said you were out to get him.”
Some administrators use an odd ploy with troubled students. They get the kid to believe it is the two of them against the faculty, social workers, parents, and any other adult who might possibly want them to obey a rule. The administrator then becomes a “friend” to the kid. What happens then in staff meetings is that the administrator announces proudly that he or she never has any problems with the troubled kid. What it really means is they don't have any hassles with the kid, everybody else does, and the principal can blame everybody else for not getting along with the kid. Happens more often than you imagine.
“You ever talk to his parole officer?” I asked.
“I have spoken with him. He, along with everyone else who's dealt with Dan in the past few months, agrees that the boy has turned his life around. We were trying to help him, which you seem distinctly unable to do.”
I couldn't believe all these people had bought the idea that Dan had changed. “I've had more success with troubled kids in the past eighteen years than half the rest of the faculty put together.”
“I know about your reputation. I've talked with a number of parents, including the Bluefields. They had a lot of complaints about you. They said they've heard that you harass students, especially the ones with problems. That you're the cause of a lot of kids' difficulties.”
I responded with icy calm. “If you've had complaints, why haven't you told me before this?”
“This incident seemed to offer the best opportunity.”
“From whom did you receive complaints?”
“I'm not going to tell you their names. It would serve no useful purpose,” he said.
“The contract says you tell me who they are or the complaints don't get recognized in any way. Since you won't tell me, I assume the complaints don't exist and you're making them up. If necessary, you'll be dealing with an angry union on this, but even more, I can't believe a principal not backing up his teacher, especially in an assault case.”
Noise at the door caused us both to turn. “The police are here, Mr. Jones,” Georgette said. “You told me to interrupt as soon as they arrived.”
Two detectives walked in. I recognized Frank Murphy. I knew him from when he was with the juvenile division. We'd had some fairly spectacular successes with some very troubled kids. We'd also had our share of failures, kids lost to dysfunctional homes, legal and illegal chemicals, and suicides. I'd thought he was on vacation. Turned out he was leaving the next day.
Introductions done, Frank said, “I talked to the kid. My bet is he's lying.”
“I don't think he is,” Jones said.
“I do,” Frank said. He asked me what happened and I told him.
When I finished, Frank said, “First of all, we've got to find
this student teacher. Second, the kid's fingerprints are on the knife. I believe Tom here.”
this student teacher. Second, the kid's fingerprints are on the knife. I believe Tom here.”
Jones said, “I'm sure there will be an investigation by the school board into this.”
Frank shrugged. “That's nice. As far as the police are concerned this is a pretty open-and-shut case. The kid's a menace. He's been inside the station more than any other teenager for the past two years. If this goes to court, I know who a jury would believe.”
Minutes later the cops walked out, leaving a frustrated Jones unable to press charges right then, even if he wanted to. I got up to leave.
His voice stopped me. He spoke loudly, “This isn't over yet, Mason. You may be buddies with the cops, but the school district will have the final say in this matter.” His voice softened. “And, Mr. Mason,” he said, “I'll thank you never to raise your voice in this office again. I don't accept that kind of treatment from anyone.”
I rested my hand on the doorknob. I didn't dramatically shout “Fuck you, go to hell, drop dead.” Nor did I apologize. I gazed at his youthful face and said, “I feel sorry for you.” If I hadn't banged the door shut, my studied calm might have been more effective.
In the outer office all the lights were out. Through the glass walls I could see Georgette in the hallway, waiting for me.
She wore a light sweater and clutched her purse in her right hand. Her glasses dangled from a chain around her neck. She fluttered to my side. “I heard your voices,” she said. “I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but you were both so loud. He better not try to get rid of you, Mr. Mason. He'll have a tough time. The union won't let him get away with it. Let me know if I can help.”
I'd been so angry, I hadn't realized how loud we'd been. I said, “Thank you, Georgette. That's very kind.”
She moved her head closer, so her lips were only an inch or so from my ear. “I'm scared of him, Mr. Mason. I think
he wants to get rid of me. I'm not young and pretty, and I'm sure that's what he wants.”
he wants to get rid of me. I'm not young and pretty, and I'm sure that's what he wants.”
I patted Georgette's arm encouragingly. She might have had a befuddled act that could win Academy Awards, and at least once a year she got involved in some major office screw-up, but her reports for the state were always perfect, the attendance records and budget items correct to the last dot, and she was a helpful refuge for many a bewildered teacher. She could run almost any computer program invented and knew how to explain each one so that even the most befuddled teacher could understand it.
“I think he'd have a tough time firing you, Georgette.”
“I hope so.” She clutched her glasses in her right hand and shook them at me. “He's been interviewing secretaries these past few days, but I think he wants to bring in his secretary from his last job. I've done a little calling around on my own.” She nodded significantly and moved closer. “He deserves to be yelled at. He's always so nice and polite on the outside, but he's a snake.”
We walked down the corridor together. I gave her what words of reassurance I could. At the main entrance to the building she turned to walk out to the parking lot, and I trudged back to my classroom.
The lights in the main hall flicked off as I reached the turn by the faculty lounge. A figure emerged from the doorway. By the light from the lounge I could see it was Donna Dalrymple, our resident psychologist. Through clenched teeth she said, “May I see you please, Mr. Mason?”
I agreed. She led the way to her office which was in the new section of the school.
In the past couple of years they'd finished several new wings. This was the newest and the worst. Its roof leaked after heavy rains and since, like all the new sections, it had unopenable windows, so it was totally dependent on the heating and air-conditioning for comfort regulation. The system never seemed to work right. You might get bitter cold in the middle of September because the air-conditioning
decided to stay on high, or you could get Sahara-like heat in early June. The weirdest days were when rooms right next to each other might have completely separate climates. You could step from one to the other and go from rain forest to polar ice cap.
decided to stay on high, or you could get Sahara-like heat in early June. The weirdest days were when rooms right next to each other might have completely separate climates. You could step from one to the other and go from rain forest to polar ice cap.
Other books
Rules of Passion by Sara Bennett - Greentree Sisters 02 - Rules of Passion
Grave Peril by Jim Butcher
Ghoul of My Dreams (Larue Donavan Series Book 4) by Rose Pressey
Behind Closed Doors by Terry Towers
Her Secret Agent Man by Cindy Dees
After The End by Melissa Gibbo
Tempted by Two Angels [Notorious Nephilim 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) by Carolyn Rosewood
The Bond That Built Us by KK Bauer
Borealis by Ronald Malfi
The Kiss by Joan Lingard