High School Honey

by Bill Bowler

Chapter 9: After the Dance

Flea pushed through the crowd, sprinted out the door, and stumbled down the slope towards the parking lot. Floater was right behind him, laughing and howling. At the bottom of the slope, Flea turned right and Floater ran left, along the embankment, and across the street. He disappeared into the backyard of a house.

Over his shoulder, Flea saw Jack the Bear and Bloman come out the cafeteria entrance and start down the slope. Flea crouched and ran across the lot, in and out of sight behind parked cars, and into the woods that bordered school property. Ten yards into the dark woods, he tripped on a half-buried cinder block, grunted as he hit the ground, and stayed down motionless, the wind knocked out of him. He could hear voices approaching from the parking lot.

“He can’t have gone far.”

“I want that delinquent arrested!”

The voices grew louder as they came in Flea’s direction.

“He must have gone into these woods.” Flea heard Baer’s voice almost over him. Flea sprang to his feet and dashed off.

He heard Jack on his heels, gasping from the exertion. Flea was putting distance between them when Jack fired into the air.

“Halt! Halt or I’ll shoot!”

Flea stopped running and turned to face Baer. Jack spun him around, threw the cuffs on him, and led him back to the parking lot, to the squad car. An ambulance with Nick in the back pulled out of the lot and raced off with its red light flashing and siren howling towards Pasquanack Valley Hospital.

Jack drove to Police Headquarters with Flea handcuffed in the back seat. When they entered the building, he told the Desk Sergeant to phone Flea’s parents and ask them to come down.

Flea was surprised to see Floater sitting in the squad room near Baer’s desk. Floater had climbed over a gate into a fenced in backyard and been cornered there by a police officer even quicker than Flea had been tracked down in the woods.

Baer sat Flea down at the side of his desk. “Now what happened?”

Flea said nothing.

“It will go easier for you if you cooperate. Now what’s the big problem?

Flea remained silent. Jack began to fill out his report.

“You have nothing to say for yourself?”

“Not to you.”

Jack put down his pen and escorted Flea to a detention cell. Flea heard the lock click and found himself alone in a small, bare, room. He paced back and forth, isolated and powerless, trapped in timelessness in the locked and windowless cell. His thoughts turned to Honey, how she had returned his embrace when they danced, how she had pressed against his body.

The key turned in the lock and the door opened. Jack led Flea out. His parents had arrived.

Mr. Fleanor was, like his son, short, physically powerful, and extremely reticent. Both father and son spoke in grunts and mumbles. Mr. Fleanor had had gone from job to job the past few years: custodian, plumber, groundskeeper, and, currently, handyman. When he spoke, he spoke softly and lowered his eyes. He seemed to have been unjustly beaten down by life somehow. Yet, he was still strong, with the muscular arms of a working man.

Mr. Fleanor was Catholic, and his wife had borne him twelve children over the past twenty-five years. Their second son, John, was their pride and joy, a good boy, respectful and considerate of his mother, and a good influence on the younger ones, unlike the eldest son, Michael Jr., who had gotten involved with drugs.

Mrs. Fleanor seemed almost a martyr, eternally carrying a wailing baby in her arms with a gaggle of infants and hollering children clinging to the hem of her dress, while her husband silently and gloomily watched television in the semi-darkness. Mrs. Fleanor, too, seemed beaten down by life, if only by the sheer physical exertion of giving birth. But she was uncomplaining, bore her lot stoically, and conscientiously gave her children individual attention and care, though her care had to be divided by twelve.

“What happened?” Mr. Fleanor looked down at the floor and mumbled to Officer Baer.

“Your son arrived on the school premises in an intoxicated condition, and assaulted a youth from Pasquanack.”

Mrs. Fleanor wept quietly.

The phone on Officer Baer’s desk rang and he picked it up. “Yes?.. Yes, sir... No, sir, I don’t think that will be necessary... I don’t see why you should. I have him here now and his parents. We have the whole thing straightened out... Yes, why don’t you leave that to me... I think that’s reasonable. Yes. It’s too bad this thing had to happen, but they’re just boys... Right. Good-night, sir.”

Officer Baer hung up and turned to the Fleanors. “The parents of the victim are not pressing charges as long as you agree to cover their son’s medical expenses. His nose was broken, but it’s not the first time. You can take the boy home now. I’ll release him in your custody. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”

Mrs. Fleanor hugged her son and led him out with Mr. Fleanor shuffling along beside them.

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Loom had also been called to come down to the station house to retrieve their son.

“What happened?” Mrs. Loom demanded coldly of Officer Baer.

“Your son was involved in an assault and battery incident at the high school.”

“My son never struck anyone in his life! It’s a lie!”

“Actually, it was young Fleanor who committed the battery. Your son was an accessory.”

“I told you, Sam! It’s that instigator.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Mr. Loom.

“Fortunately,” said Jack, “the victim is not pressing charges. You can take your boy home now.”

Mrs. Loom held her son by the shoulders at arm’s length.

“I know who’s at the bottom of this. That instigator! He’s fallen under a bad influence, Officer. I’ve tried to prevent him from keeping such company. Lord knows I’ve tried. He’s at an impressionable age. He won’t listen to reason. And what can I do? I’m only his mother. Do you think he’ll listen to his mother? Not on your life! And his father...”

“Not now, Doris.” Mr. Loom’s voice cut like steel and his words fell like stones. Mrs. Loom fell silent.

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