Trixie sat beside JP,
looking as if she could either start screaming like a banshee or bawling like a
baby. Naturally, the fact that she’d
become the lynchpin for his extortion plot left her in a sour mood -- but being
in a classroom with children a decade younger, staring and whispering and
gaping and questioning, made her regret waking up that morning. Or that month, more appropriately.
She didn’t even get a
desk of her own -- just a loose chair (a wobbly-legged one with gum stuck on
it, for that matter) pulled next to JP’s.
But with the exception of the young Hoigleheimer -- scribbling in a
notebook, even though class hadn’t started yet -- she had more than enough
personal space. The other children had
backed off, occupying the desks at the room’s fringes. In their eyes, she was practically
radioactive…and certainly not in the good, superhero-creating way.
A poor choice, indeed.
8:29 A.M.
Costs Accrued: $350.81
JP caught a glimpse of
Trixie’s furious/teary eyes, but paid them no mind. He just looked back at his notebook, slashing
away at it with his pencil. But then, he
started sliding it over in Trixie’s direction, and tapped at the sheet with his
eraser.
Trixie steeled herself
for the worst, and took another look.
YOU’RE DOING WELL. BETTER THAN I EXPECTED.
He slid his pencil down
a line, past a few doodles of dollar signs and quarters.
KEEP IT UP. JUST FOLLOW MY LEAD, AND IT’LL BE OVER BEFORE
YOU KNOW IT. DON’T MAKE ANY UNNECESSARY
MOTIONS. DON’T SHOW TOO MUCH
EMOTION. AND DON’T SPEAK. AT ALL.
Trixie’s face turned
into a full-on scowl as she glanced aside.
But she looked back at the notebook as JP started tapping against it. And rapidly, at that. She saw him purse his lips for a moment, and
then he started writing something out.
She had to strain a bit to make it out; his already-messy handwriting
suddenly looked like an abstract painting, and each letter had shrunken to a
fourth its size. But she just managed to
make it out.
THANKS.
Trixie would have
talked back to him if the bell hadn’t started rung. With the metal pings still vibrating through
the air, the stragglers shuffled into distant desks -- and with them came the
teacher.
“All right, all right,
class is in session…or something like that…whatever.” The teacher slumped into his chair at the
front of the room; even while sitting down, he still had a fair bit of height
to him. Unfortunately, he also looked as
if he’d either been mugged, or spent the last week with a hangover. A patchy suit jacket that sat uneven atop his
flimsy shoulders; a plum-hued dress shirt buttoned wrongly, and a tie that
dangled like an untended flag; a stooped posture, burdened by the satchel of
books he’d dragged into the room; a sunken face, half-shut eyes, and a
verifiable tumbleweed of hair affixed to his head.
Are all the folks in this town from a nuthouse? Trixie thought.
The teacher placed his
skeletal hands atop his desk. “So,
uh…yeah. I’m Mr. Nemo, your English
teacher. Everybody in the right class? Nobody from shop? ‘Cause we’re not here to do any baking.” He slipped his satchel off, and let it fall
to the ground with a thunderous crash.
“We’re here to read. Reading’s
the best. Lots of fun, and…damn, I’m
tired. Should’ve slept some this
weekend…well, whatever. More time for
books. Books rule.”
He ran a hand across
his face, oblivious to the students’ silence.
“So, uh…we’re gonna read a lot, so be sure to bring lots of books. Or something like that. So…uh…I guess that’s about it. Oh, wait, textbooks and workbooks…eh, we’ll
get those eventually. It’s the first
day. Do something fun. Like read.
And don’t bother me. Freakin’
kids, always getting in the way of me and my books…”
Yep. Gotta be from a nuthouse, Trixie
thought.
Nemo tilted his head
and started knocking against it, as if trying to pound a few pints of water out
of his brain. “So, uh, any
questions? ‘Cause, you know, if there
aren’t, the rest of the period is all yours.
Make friends, or read, or whatever.
It’ll be --”
JP’s hand shot up.
“Uh? Oh, yeah, you, the mean-looking kid next to
the freakishly huge middle-school girl.
What is it?”
“Sir, I have a unique
condition that you should probably know about,” said JP (ignoring Trixie’s sour
reaction). He reached into his notebook
and pulled out a few sheets, and brought them over to the teacher. “It’s a little complicated, so I should
probably explain.”
Nemo held them up to
the light, and turned them over in his hands a few times. “Huh.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was stuff from the president,
or something like that.” He cocked his
head. “Whoa. Are those watermarks? Huh.
This actually looks like the real deal.”
“I know it sounds
crazy, but those are definitely real documents,” said JP, taking the papers back. He showed them off to the class, official
seal and all. “The Federal Bureau of
Investigation has declared me a VIP to be protected and defended at all costs;
if I fell into the wrong hands, it would be a threat to national security…but,
taking me out of my natural environment would only make me more liable to
kidnapping. So…”
He pointed at
Trixie. “She’s my bodyguard.”
The hell I am! But in spite
of Trixie’s silent outburst, JP gestured for her to stand beside her -- and in
spite of her worries, she did exactly that.
All right, ya little brat. What’ve ya been cookin’ up in that head o’
yours?
“Don’t let her looks
fool you -- she’s good at her job,” said JP, gesturing towards her as if trying
to sell a new car. “They call her
PTX-40A -- the best-trained bodyguard the feds have to offer. But the hellish training she went through
left her with a few…well, let’s call them defects. For one thing, she’s mute. And for another, she has a difficult time
perceiving and responding to anything other than orders from her
superiors. And me, of course. But even then, it’s a crap shoot.”
“Huh. Soooooo…what’s with the clothes?” Nemo asked.
“If you had been
trained from birth in nothing but CQC and governmental procedures, and then
suddenly had to try and blend into a middle school setting, wouldn’t you look a little tacky?”
“Uh…probably. But then again, I stopped caring about the
question about a second after I asked it, so…yeah. I believe you, or something like that.” He grabbed a dictionary-sized book out of his
satchel. “You do whatever. I’ve got words to read.”
“You do that,” JP said
with a nod. “Anyway, there’s one other
quirk you all should be aware of. PTX
here has a certain affliction; she needs money, or else she gets a little
antsy. And by antsy I mean she threatens
to snap the neck of anyone that crosses her.
So I’d highly recommend leaving a few dollars and cents lying around as
tribute. I’d sure hate for there to be a
murder on school grounds.”
That’s way too obvious, JP! Trixie thought, forcing herself to stay
still. Yer gonna blow your story wide open if ya keep that up!
“You seriously think
we’re just going to accept a lie like that?” a girl in the back of the room
asked. “What kind of fools do you take
us for?”
See? I knew it! She
and JP both looked at the other classmates -- some staring at them with bulging
eyes, some with quivering fingers, and a healthy percentage holding one eyebrow
arched. That little outburst had helped
crack JP’s little act; murmurs and laughs started making their way through the
room. But no matter the look on the
kids’ faces or the words they spoke, both the belle and the brat could feel the
disbelief flooding the room, threatening to drown them. If they wanted to pull off the charade,
they’d have to put on a show.
JP pressed a palm to
his forehead. “You’d think that my word
alone would be enough, but I guess not.
Jeez, why is everyone nowadays so damn cynical?”
How ‘bout ya ask yerself that first, pal? Trixie thought.
“Fine. I had a feeling this might happen.” JP stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’ll give you all the evidence you need. But after this, PTX might be expecting an
extra-high tribute from you.” He shot an eye toward Trixie. “PTX.
Execute: Phaeton Maneuver.”
I ain’t a damn robot, kid! And
-- wait, what’s a Phaeton Maneuver? What
am I supposed to do? She started to
flinch. Aw hell, they’re all starin’ at me!
If I don’t do somethin’, then…
All right, I’m gonna wing it! She
swept JP into her arms and held him like a bride -- and then, jumped atop a
desk in the center of the room.
“Not bad, PTX,” said
JP, slipping out of her grasp and heading back to the front of the room (amidst
a slew of gasps and whispers). “Although
by the looks of things, you’re about two-thirds of a second slow. Maybe it’s time for you to go back to
training.”
Nothin’ is ever good enough for ya, is it? Trixie wondered as she
trudged behind him.
“Huh. So I guess that wasn’t enough to prove my
case, huh? Fine. Then how about this?” He looked through the crowd, and ran his
index finger across them. “Hmmm, let’s
see here…how about…” His finger came to
a halt. “You. Andre.
Come up here for a minute.”
Andre slid out of his
seat and stepped to the front of the room.
“Wh-what do I do now?”
“Just this.” JP pulled his cell phone out of his jacket
pocket, and punched in a number. “When
it stops ringing, just start talking.’”
He tossed the phone to Andre.
“Uh…okay, I
guess.” Andre pressed his ear against
the phone. “Hey, this is Andre, and I’m
here with JP --”
“DON’T MOVE! WHOEVER YOU ARE, WHEREVER YOU ARE, I WILL
FIND YOU! I WILL STOMP YOU INTO A FINE
POWDER AND SPREAD YOU ACROSS MY STEAK AS SEASONING! KNOW WHY?
BECAUSE THIS IS THE USA, AND YOU HAD BETTER NOT MESS WITH ONE OF ITS
KIDS! YOU THINK LABY LIBERTY IS JUST
GONNA STAND AROUND AND LET YOU MISERABLE LITTLE TERRORIST BASTARDS STRUT
AROUND, EATING WHERE YOU WANNA EAT AND USING OUR FLAGS AS NINETY-NINE CENT
TOILET PAPER? NO, YOU DUMBASS! BECAUSE I AM THE WARRIOR OF AMERICA, AND I AM
COMPLETELY IMMORTAL TO ALL YOUR EAGLE-PUNCHING SHENANIGANS! IF YOU SO MUCH AS TAKE A BREATH -- JUST ONE
-- I WILL SMELL IT. I WILL JUMP UP INTO
THE SKY AND COME CRASHING DOWN UPON YOU WITH SO MUCH JUDICIAL FORCE THAT YOUR
WHOLE DAMN CONTINENT WILL BLAST OFF INTO SPACE!
DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? DO! NOT!
CROSS! MY! COUNTRY!”
Everyone in the room
just stared at the phone. JP hadn’t set
it to speaker mode, nor had he done anything to raise the volume. Whoever had spoken did so just as he would
with any other phone. He just spoke loud
enough to shake the walls of the classroom.
Not surprisingly, Andre
broke into tears. He dropped the phone,
and -- with one hand pressed to his likely-shattered eardrum -- he dashed out
of the room.
JP picked up the phone
and pocketed it. “That was the panic
button,” he explained. “Why send one
bodyguard to protect a VIP when you can send two?”
“That still doesn’t
prove anything!” said the girl in the back.
“Lie all you want, but you can’t fool me!”
“What the hell is it
going to take to convince you, then?” JP asked.
“You want me to throw myself out there and get nabbed by terrorists? Is that it?”
Trixie watched JP’s
motions. Once so lax and full of
swagger, they’d started to grow a bit tense.
The same went for his face; his brow just kept twitching, and his mouth
started curling into a sneer. Even with
all his best moves, JP had more than strained their trust; considering that she
knew who his other bodyguard was the moment “steak” was mentioned, he’d started
running out of ammo. Just had to make it complicated, didn’t ya?
Trixie thought. Wonder if there’s anythin’ I can do to help. Maybe…
As JP moved about,
Trixie caught a glimpse of the back of his head -- and something peculiar in
its center. It wobbled a bit across his
hair, but she could make out the shape fairly easily. A circle, and a small one at that; still,
she’d have a hard time failing to notice that red dot, no matter how ti-
Wait a sec. A red dot? Aimin’ at his head? It took all of a nanosecond for Trixie to
put it together. Oh SHI-
Ka-SHATTER!
The window behind JP
burst into pieces, and tumbled into the room.
But JP himself got tackled to the ground; Trixie threw her weight into
him, and together they skidded across the tiles. Shaken, but otherwise unharmed.
And the cause? Trixie,
JP, and every student in class saw it: an arrow, lodged deep into the opposite
wall. An arrow that had missed the
returning Andre by about half a hair’s width.
Not surprisingly, Andre passed out.
Nemo looked up from his
book. He stared at the arrow, the broken
window, and Andre in turn. And then he
went right back to reading.
8:34 A.M.
Time Until JP’s Kidnapping: 1 Hour 34 Minutes
TO BE HEARTINUED…
I couldn't help of wonder if it's a bit inspired from personal experience...JP and all :). I have read a generous fragment of your post and, I must confess my opinion regarding your ability to think big, hasn't changed. You seem to have an astonishing ease in rolling your words out, I am more of a dialogue freak, myself...I am still at awe here :).
ReplyDeletePersonal experience...can't say that's a factor in this story's case (and given the "slightly" improbable events to come, that's a definite statement).
ReplyDeleteBut that aside...thinking big? Ease in rolling my words out? Well, those are certainly comments that I never would have imagined receiving -- or even thought about -- but even so, I thank you for them, AND for stopping by and giving my stuff a read.
I just figured I've got to do what I can to become a writing hero -- and earn the right to swagger my way through town one day.