We headed up to the porch and knocked on the door. After a few moments, Mr. Stevens answered, still dressed in his greasy biker gear, but his time he had with him his son, William. His meaty paw was gripping a fistful of the boy's shirt, and his face was stormy with rage. William, a supposed “tough guy” at school, looked like he had been crying, and even with his steroid-pumped adolescent muscles, he looked like a scared little boy next to his obviously angry father.
“Here's this little punk,” his father growled. “Stupid little turd thought he could climb in through the window after dark and get his damn iPad. I thought he was a damn burglar, nearly took his head off with my shotgun! But when I found out it was him, I gave him a damn good ass-kicking, an ass-kicking that he better damn well remember next time he wants to get involved in whatever gang crap he's gotten himself into. You hear that boy? You try ‘n pull a stunt like this ever again, and I'll break your stupid neck! Now you go talk to these two, and I swear if you lie to them I'm gonna rip your arms outta their sockets. You're cleaning your damn self up after this. I spent time in the damn slammer, I know what it's like in there, and I don't want my boy to see the inside of a prison cell, ever. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” William whimpered, the little thug uncharacteristically timid.
“What?!” his father shouted. “I don't hear you, speak louder!”
“Yes... sir,” he said, speaking more forcefully.
“Alright, William,” I said, almost feeling a little sorry for the kid. Almost. “Now listen, kid, we already know you were involved in what happened to Kendrick. And we know you didn't pull the trigger, or instigate it, so you're not going to be in any serious trouble. But we are going to need you to cooperate with us here. There are two sides to this coin, you see; we can either get you off lightly, or we can get you into some very serious trouble. The choice is yours. You can lie and try to wiggle your way out of this, which is most certainly going to result in you getting into a lot of trouble, or you can answer our questions truthfully. If you choose the second option, we'll be able to get you off with a slap on the wrist, really, as long as you also agree to go to rehab. So, what's it gonna be?”
He shifted his feet around and stared at the floor. “I'll tell you the truth,” he answered reluctantly.
“Okay, so yesterday morning you were buying Rocket from a dealer on the JFK High premises, weren't you? You and your friend, right?”
“Yeah... yeah, we were.”
“And can you tell us what happened?” I asked him.
“That kid, Kendrick, he and his buddies were shooting hoops. I guess Kendrick needed to go to the bathroom or something because he stumbled on me and Leon, uh, buying Rocket behind the gym hall.”
“And why were you guys buying the drugs there?” Ben asked. “Why did this happen on a Saturday, on school premises?”
“I guess coz Mr. Mask—”
“Hang on,” I said, interrupting him. “You were buying from Mr. Mask himself?”
“Uh, yeah, we were. His friend, the one we usually bought from, I guess something happened to make him scared because he skipped town, he's gone. Mr
. Mask was selling the stuff himself, at least until he found a replacement for his dealer who ran away. He, uh, he actually offered the job to Leon and me. Said we could start making some real paper doing this, ya know?”
“And you better have said 'no' to that offer, you little punk, or I'll wring that neck a' yours!” his father snarled.
“Relax, relax, we didn't say yes,” William snapped.
“Well, what did you say?” I asked.
William's face reddened a bit, and he looked at the ground.
“Uh, we said, uh, we said we'd think about it,” William responded.
“Why you little—” his father growled as he lunged for his son. I managed to step between them and hold him off. It was a difficult enough job because he was rather large and very strong, not to mention very angry.
“Mr. Stevens,” I said as I struggled to hold him back. “Please, restrain yourself! Your son is cooperating here.”
He stepped back and raised his hands in an “I surrender” gesture, but his eyes were still full of rage and wrath.
“Alright, fine,” he muttered. “Go on, ask the boy what you gotta ask the boy. I'll... try not to kick his ass... I'll try.”
“Okay. Thank you,” I said, turning back to William, who was trembling with fright and staring at his angry father. “You heard him, he's not going to hurt you. Now let's get back to the questions. So, Mr. Mask is dealing now as his former dealer skipped town?”
“That's right, Mr. James.”
I turned to Ben and whispered, “That must be the guy we saw in the apartment building.”
He nodded. “It's gotta be him. So, now that he's out of the picture, it could just be Mr. Mask operating on his own for a while.”
“That might make him easier to catch,” I said. “But it also might make him a lot more dangerous – a cornered criminal is much more prone to acts of deadly violence.”