Night Fever

It was midnight on Sunday, and Clay Cullen still wasn’t home. He and the Harris boys were talking money, big money, and he was in the clouds over how much he was going to make.

“It’s easy,” Son told him carelessly. “All you have to do is give a little away to some of the wealthier kids. They’ll get a taste of it and then they’ll pay anything for it. Simple.”

“Yeah, but how do I find the right ones? How do I pick kids who won’t turn me in?” Clay asked.

“You’ve got a kid brother in school at Curry Station Elementary. Ask him. We might even give him a cut,” Son said, grinning.

Clay felt uneasy about that, but he didn’t say so. The thought of all that easy money made him giddy. Francine had started paying attention to him since he’d become friendly with her cousins the Harrises. Francine, with her pretty black hair and sultry blue eyes, who could have her pick of the seniors. Clay liked her a lot—enough to do anything to get her to notice him. Drugs weren’t that bad, he told himself. After all, people who used would get the stuff from somebody else if not from him. If only he didn’t feel so guilty....

“I’ll ask Mack tomorrow,” Clay promised.

Son’s small eyes narrowed. “Just one thing. Make sure your sister doesn’t find out. She works for a bunch of lawyers, and the D.A.’s in the same building.”

“Becky won’t find out,” Clay assured him.

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

Clay got out of the car. He’d kept his nose clean tonight so Becky wouldn’t get suspicious. He had to keep her in the dark. That shouldn’t be too hard, he reasoned. She loved him. That made her vulnerable.

The next morning, while Becky was upstairs dressing for work, Clay cornered Mack.

“You want to make some spending money?” he asked the younger boy with a calculating look.

“How?” Mack asked.

“Any of your friends do drugs?” Clay asked.

Mack hesitated. “Not really.”

“Oh.” Clay wondered if he should pursue it, but he heard Becky’s footsteps and clammed up. “We’ll talk about it some other time. Don’t mention this to Becky.”

Becky came in to find Mack glum and quiet and Clay looking nervous. She’d put on her blue jersey dress and her one pair of black patent leather high heels. She didn’t have a lot of clothes, but nobody at work mentioned that. They were a kind bunch of people, and she was neat and clean, even if she didn’t have the clothing budget that Maggie and Tess had.

She touched her tidy bun and finished fixing Mack’s lunch just in time to get him on the bus, frowning a little when Clay didn’t join him.

“How are you getting to school?” she asked Clay.

“Francine’s coming for me,” he said carelessly. “She drives a Corvette. Neat car—brand-new.”

She stared at him suspiciously. “Are you staying away from those Harris boys like I told you to?” she asked.

“Of course,” he replied innocently. Much easier to lie than to have a fight. Besides, she never seemed to know when he was lying.

She relaxed a little, even if she wasn’t wholly trusting of him these days. “And the counseling sessions?”

He glared at her. “I don’t need counseling.”

“I don’t care if you think you need it or not,” she said firmly. “Kilpatrick says you have to go.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Okay,” he said angrily. “I’ve got an appointment tomorrow with the psychologist. I’ll go.”

She sighed. “Good. That’s good, Clay.”

He narrowed his eyes and stared at her. “Just don’t throw any orders around, Becky. I’m a man, not a boy you can tell what to do.”

Before she could flare up at him, he went out the door in time to see the Corvette roar up. He got into it quickly and it sped off into the distance.

A few days later, Becky called the principal of Clay’s school to make sure he had been going. She was told that he had perfect attendance. He kept the counseling session, too, although Becky didn’t know that he ignored his psychologist’s advice. It had been three weeks since his arrest and he was apparently toeing the line. Thank God. She settled Granddad and went to work, her thoughts full of Kilpatrick.

She hadn’t run into him in the elevator lately. She wondered if he might have moved back to the courthouse until she glimpsed him at a dead run when she was on her way to lunch. Curious the way he moved, she thought wistfully, light on his feet and graceful as well. She loved to watch him move.

Kilpatrick was unaware of her studied scrutiny as he retrieved the blue Mercedes from the parking lot and drove himself to the garage that the elder Harris, C.T. by name, ran as a front for his drug operation. Everybody knew it, but proving it was the thing.

Harris was sixty, balding, and he had a beer belly. He never shaved. He had deep circles under his eyes and a big, perpetually red nose. He glared at Kilpatrick as the younger, taller man climbed out of his car at the curb.

“The big man himself,” Harris said with a surly grin. “Looking for something, prosecutor?”

“I wouldn’t find it,” Kilpatrick said. He paused in front of Harris and lit a cigar with slow, deliberate movements of his long fingers. “I’ve had my investigator checking out some rumors that I didn’t like. What he came up with, I didn’t like even more. So I thought I’d come and check it out personally.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“That you and Morrely are squaring off for a fight over territory. And that you’re moving on the kids at the local elementary school.”

“Who, me? Garbage! It’s garbage,” Harris said with mock indignation. “I don’t push to kids.”

“No, you don’t have to. Your sons do it for you.” He blew out a cloud of smoke, aiming it into the man’s face with cold intent. “So I came to tell you something. I’m watching the school, and I’m watching you. If one kid gets one spoon of coke, or one gram of crack, I’m going to nail you and your boys to the wall. Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do, I’ll get you. I wanted you to get that message in person.”

“Thanks for the warning, but you’re talking to the wrong guy. I’m just not into drugs. I run a garage here. I work on cars.” Harris peered past Kilpatrick to the Mercedes. “Nice job. I like foreign makes. I could fix it for you.”

“It doesn’t need fixing. But I’ll keep you in mind,” Kilpatrick said mockingly.

“You do that. Stop in any time.”

“Count on it.” Kilpatrick gave him a curt nod and climbed back into his car. Harris was glaring after him with a furious expression when he pulled out into traffic.

Later, Harris took his two sons aside. “Kilpatrick’s getting to me,” he said. “We can’t afford any slip-ups. Are you sure that Cullen boy’s dependable?”

“Sure he is!” Son said with a lazy grin. He was taller than his father, dark-haired and blue-eyed. Not a bad-looking boy, he outshone his chubby, red-faced younger brother.

“He’s going to be expendable if the D.A. comes too close,” the elder Harris said darkly. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No problem,” Son said easily. “That’s why we let him get caught with his pockets full of crack. Even though they didn’t hold him, they’ll remember it. Next time we can put his neck in a noose if we need to.”

“They can’t use his record against him in juvenile court,” the youngest Harris reminded them.

“Listen,” the man told his sons. “If Kilpatrick gets his hands on that boy again, he’ll try him as an adult. Bet on it. Just make sure the Cullen boy stays in your pockets. Meanwhile,” he added thoughtfully, “I’ve got to get Kilpatrick out of mine. I think it might be worthwhile to float a contract, before he gets his teeth into us.”

“Mike down at the Hayloft would know somebody,” Son told his father with narrowed eyes.