"I see what you mean about the kid's parents," I muttered.
"Yeah. The apple has not fallen far from the tree," replied Ben. "Well, come on, let's do this."
I knocked on the door, and we stood waiting for someone to answer. There was no reply, so after a couple of seconds, I knocked again, a little louder this time.
"Hold your damn horses!" a gruff voice shouted from inside. "I'm coming, damn it!"
After a few moments, someone flung open the door, and a tall, heavyset man stood glaring at us, holding a beer can in his hand. His dark hair was long and greasy, and his thick, flabby arms were covered with tattoos. He wore the leather vest and leather pants of a biker and sported a thick beard.
"Who the hell are you, and what the hell do you want?" he growled.
"I'm sure you recognize me, Mr. Stevens," Ben said. "You've been to my office enough times."
"Oh yeah, you're that teacher guy at Will's school. And what about this jock next to you?"
"This 'jock' is the new principal at JFK High," Ben informed.
"Hi, Mr. Stevens; I'm Everett James," I said, extending a hand to him.
He stared at my hand for a while but refused to shake it, so I lowered it, anger rising in me at this man's rude reaction. Still, I knew that I had to be professional, so I did my best to remain civil.
"We need to ask you about your son," said Ben.
"Uh, yeah, why the hell else would you be here? Well go on, spit it out; I don't have all day. What's that stupid little turd done now?"
"He was involved in a shooting that happened on the school premises," I added.
That seemed to shock some life into the bovine-like ogre, and his eyes widened with surprise. His attitude remained defiant, though.
"What?! You're sayin' my boy shot someone?! Like hell he did! I know he does some stupid things sometimes, but he ain't no killer!"
"No, no, he didn't shoot anyone. But he was buying drugs from the shooter, and we need to talk to him to find out who this person is."
"That little bastard. What was buying? Grass? Blow? I'll kick his damn ass when he gets back here. The drinking and the fighting and the vandalism and the stealing I can live with, but if he's getting' hooked on something like drugs, I'll crack that boy's skull wide open if it means some sense will get into it."
"I take it he's not here then," asked Ben.
"He hasn't been home since last night."
"Well, do us a favor, Mr. Stevens, please call us as soon as he comes back, okay? Here's my number, and here's Everett's cell number, too."
He took the paper with the numbers on it from Ben and stuffed it into the pocket of his grubby vest.
"Is that all?" he asked gruffly.
"Yes, that's all for now," Ben replied. "Thanks for your help, Mr. Stevens."
He didn't say anything else to us; he simply turned around and closed the door in our faces.
"Wow. If that's what he's like, I don't even want to imagine what his kid is like," I remarked.
"Like I said, he should have been expelled long ago. Anyway, come on, we have to get over to the Brownell house."
"Are they as nice as Mr. Stevens here was?"
"They've got a lot more money, but they might even be worse people than this slob, believe it or not."
"Oh boy. This is gonna be fun."