Jimmy Templeton’s Thursday: High Noon.

This little part is finally completed, with marknew742's OK.  I should caution you on two things, though…
(1) This won't be the usual happy-go-lucky children's-PBS-influenced stuff I write, and
(2) We've got violence in this one.

Reader discretion is advised.

Jimmy's study hall was split down the middle.  The scrawny guys sat on the side closer to the door, and the big girls were stationed on the far side by the windows.  Jimmy didn't like that setup, since there was no way for anyone to sneak a gun to him through the window, but at least he wouldn't run a female gauntlet by leaving.  He'd simply have to wait it out until the girls fanned out. 

Looking at Bennett's mobile number on his cheapie "pay as you go" cell phone, Jimmy started poking at the keypad to send him a text message:  Where RU now?

The answer came back:  Can't say.

Jimmy sent another:  U got another … insurance policy?

The answer:  Where's urs?

Jimmy blanched.  He glanced over to Arielle and Merita.  Then he sent:  Lost it.

Answer:  Find it.

Jimmy sweated.  He sent:  Sum1 else got it.

Bennett: What?!  Who?!

Jimmy wrote reluctantly:  Ch1X0r5.

An uneasy few minutes passed.  Then Jimmy got the message back:

1D10+.  YOYO. 

Jimmy cringed.  He was on his own?  He sent back:  I was cornered!  They stole it from me!  I need another!

But instantly, the response said Bennett had blocked Jimmy's number.  Pocketing his phone, Jimmy buried his face in his hands.  Then he felt his phone vibrate.  He discreetly fished it out. 

It was a message from Morty Bank:  Dude, UOK?

He glanced over to the brown haired chap with the red windbreaker and the furrowed, concerned brow.  Jimmy just shook his head no. 

Mort sent another one:  Am on chat w/Pat.  Join in?

Jimmy gave him a shrug, spread his hands, and nodded yes. 

Patrick sent his message:  What's wrong?  U look like U've been drinking Brand X.

Jimmy:  I got bailed up by 4 chix. 🙁

Pat:  Who?

Jimmy:  Arielle, Sue, and Merita, and 1 other black girl.  The nuns.

Mort: Aha.  Big Sister.  They're OK.

Pat:  Did U talk to them?

Jimmy:  No…

Pat:  Did they do NEthing 2U?

Jimmy:  Hugged me.

Mort:  Lucky cuss. 😛

Jimmy:  I tried.  Gave them warnings and everything. 🙁

Pat:  Relax.  1 slip-up doesn't make U a eunuch.  Just keep 30 ft from 'em next time.  And remember… (heads up)

Jimmy glanced up at Pat, who looked back, pasted on a scowl for quasi-comic effect and held up a Public Enemy-esque fist.  "Unify!" he mouthed.  Jimmy stifled a chuckle, not feeling as dejected anymore.

The intercom sounded.  "Patrick O'Brien, please report to the principal's office.  Patrick O'Brien, please report to the principal's office."

Pat looked up.  Mr. Gregg?  What did he want HIM for?  Was this about the girlcott?

Most of the girls went "Oooooooooo," and one tauntingly muttered, "Whadja do THIS time, Patsy?"  Pat didn't even slow down.  He got out of his seat, grabbed his book bag, and looked to the teacher, who nodded at him to dismiss.  As Pat got his hall pass, though, he caught Jimmy's nod, and his discreetly uplifted fist right back at him.

Sue, who had witnessed the interchange quietly in the back corner, scratched at her desk with a fidget.  A nagging bad feeling wouldn't go away.  She raised her hand, claimed a need to go to the little girl's room, and got a hall pass from the teacher.

Following Pat, Sue tried to step as lightly and silently as possible, keeping about 50 feet behind him.  He was staying ahead, thanks to her slower, stealthier walk, but she kept up pace.  But just as he rounded the left corner down an intersecting hall, she heard scuffling from the right. 

"Ugh!  Stop!  Cut it out!"

"So, Fartley, where's your little buddy Benny?"  went one girl's voice.  Sue quickly recognized it.  Heather.  She and another girl, Steffi, had mixed a game of catch with the old sport of dwarf tossing.  And Farley Witherspoon was the dwarf.  He flew into Stef's arms, then back to Heather, then back to Steffi… who then "missed" her catch.  He slammed into a bank of lockers, bounced off a garbage can, and fell face down on the floor. 

"You didn't answer her question," went Steffi as she turned his way and kneeled on top of his legs.  "Where is he, sweet cheeks?" she probed, pinching his left buttock.

"Leave me alone, or I'll–!"

"Or you'll just take it," said Heather.

He drew a deep breath.  "ANTH–!" Thud!  Heather pinned his head down on the floor with one hand.

"You're not gonna scream for help," she goaded.  "You're not gonna get up.  You're not gonna come at us.  You're not gonna try to get even later.  You're not gonna run away and cry to mommy or Ms. Dooda, or Mr. Gregg or your little buddies."  She knelt down beside him and spoke quietly in his ear.  "You're just.  Gonna.  Take it."

Farley felt Steff's fingers pinch his rump again.  He shuddered from the pain.  "Stmp mt!" he grunted through clenched-shut teeth teeth.  "Gmd dmmn ymm, STMP MT!!"

"Hey, I can't help it if you've got a cute, squeezable butt," Steffi taunted. 

"Beauty IS in the eye of the beholder," Heather added.

BAM!  Dashing low, Sue rammed shoulder first into Steffi like an airport limo doing 80.  That sent the pincher into Heather like a smoking billiard cue ball into 8-ball Heather, who then slammed against the wall and a drinking fountain, the latter being smashed askew so the water started leaking out the cracked pipes.

"Yeah, and sometimes a stupid beholder needs a black eye!" Sue snarled.  "Get off him!"

Rolling over to a seated position, Steffi stared up at her attacker.  "What the frack is YOUR problem?!" she stammered. 

"It's that there's one of her and two of us," Heather growled, getting up.  Steffi did too. 

"Better do the math again, girl," said someone from the other direction.  The two bully girls looked.  It was Chantelle. 

Farley trembled.  He was smack dab in the middle of 900 pounds of female force.

"Hey, bug off!" Heather said to Chantelle.  "Mind your own business!"

"We're just having a little fun," said Steffi.

"I dunno," Sue said.  "You havin' fun, Farley?"  He stared at the floor silently.

Chantelle drew closer.  She tried putting her reassuring chocolate-colored hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off.  Shaking her head, she turned to his tormenters.  "Look hard at him.  He's not smiling.  He looks like he's gonna cry.  He won't even let a cocoa goddess like me touch him now."

Sue added, "He told you to stop, and you wouldn't.  If this is your idea of fun, I'd hate to see what you'd do if you hated him."

"I said, mind your own business," Heather repeated huffily.

Chantelle's dark eyes narrowed.  "It's business like yours and Tenny's that got us metal detectors and wand searches at this school now.  If you hadn't kicked him and rolled him–"

"Hey, WE'RE not the losers packing guns,"  Steffi smirked.  She flexed and showed off a grapefruit-sized biceps which snapped the stitches in her yellow T-shirt's sleeve cuff.  "We don't need 'em."

"And we know you boys don't have them, now." jeered Heather, leaning in at Farley.

Farley glowered.  "There's always OUTSIDE," he whispered.

Heather started at that.  "What was that, little boy?!"

"You heard me just fine."

Heather reached over, grabbed him by the neck, and hoisted him up with one hand.  "No I didn't.  Say that again."  He rasped, unable to breathe, face turning red. 

"LET HIM GO!" Sue shouted, grabbing Heather's wrists, and backing her into the locker bank with a slam and a dent.  The thug girl kept their grasp.

"What's wrong, Fartley," Heather goaded, "something stuck in your throat?  Speak up!"

Chantelle looked down the hall the way Sue came. "Uh, yeah, Farley, I don't think the microphones picked it up."

"The what?" asked Steffi.  Chantelle jerked her head that way.  They all looked. 

Down the hall was a woman, about six feet, five inches tall in an ill-fitting navy blue sports jacket, big-and-tall jeans that didn't hug her hourglass waist or curvy hips right, and a black ball cap with a bright blonde ponytail sprouting down to her broad shoulders. 

And perched on one of her shoulders was a professional video camera. 

Cursing quickly, Heather dropped him to his feet, and she and Steffi darted off down the hall.  Without a word, the camerawoman tapped a button, nodded to the Big Sisters and Farley, and walked off toward the principal's office. 

Without a word, Farley then grabbed his books and dashed off to his next class just as silently.

"You're welcome," Chantelle muttered.

"We're not doing this for thanks," Sue said.

"Yeah, I know."

And after following him to make sure he made it back safely, the girls went back to study hall.  "What's up with the TV camera?" Sue wondered aloud.

"Dag if I know," Chantelle answered.

***

Pat poked his head into the office.  "Hello," he said to the room.  "Mr. Gregg wanted to see me?"

The secretary nodded.  "Now.  You'd better go right on in."

Pat went over to the door which was partly ajar.  That's when he spotted the electric cables running in.  Wondering what was up, he was about to knock.  The door swung right open.  "Pat!" exclaimed Mr. Gregg.  "Where the devil have you been?!"

"Uh, I got here as soon as I could.  What's up?"

Mr. Gregg held up a piece of printed paper.  "Did you write this?"

Pat peered at it.  It was his press release on the girlcott.  "Uh… yeeeaaahhh…"

"Our phone's been ringing off the hook over it!  Eight radio stations, three TV stations and the newspaper have been asking for you!"

Then in Mr. Gregg's office, he saw a camera tripod, and two men standing by it. One wore a jacket tie, and slacks from Botany 500.  The other was richly suntanned with a Hawaiian shirt and Levi's 501 jeans.  "Hey, you Pat O'Brien?" Mr. Way Casual Friday asked with a Cheech Marinesque voice.

"Yeah."  Pat squinted. "Hey, have I seen you before?"

"Him, maybe," he said with a coy smile.  "Me, doubt it.  Maybe you heard me before, though."

Then Pat's jaw dropped.  "Holy–!  You're Juan-Manuel Walkerton!  From WJDP-AM News Radio!"

"Yep," Juan said with a grin.  "Host of the One-Man Walking Freakshow.  Guilty as charged."

The suited man offered his hand.  "And I'm Stan Mensley, from WJDP-TV NewsCentral.  You've caused quite a stir."

"Well, thanks," Pat said, shaking it.  "Gee, no offense, but you looked taller on TV."

"None taken.  The camera always adds 3 inches and 15 pounds."

"The big muscle flip-flop sure hasn't helped us much, either," Juan-Manuel muttered.

"We were doing a piece on how the gender strength switch has affected our community," Stan continued.  "When we read that you were calling for some sort of boycott, we wanted to get the story straight from the source." 

Pat fiddled with his collar.  "Well," he mumbled, "the whole story's in the release."

"Pfft," went Juan. "We got super-nuns walking the halls, and metal detectors at the doors.  Your release didn't talk 'bout THAT.  We wanna hear it from YOU."

The door swung open.  The big, tall camerawoman shouldered the camera in lightly, and set it on the tripod. 

"Got some footage of some of the Big Sisters in action," she said to Stan.  "Stopped two girls from beating up one kid named Farley."

"Who?!" Pat started.

The camerawoman arched an eyebrow and small smile.  "You talking to me, handsome?"

Pat stopped himself.  Barely. Turning away, he focused on the two newsmen.  "There are some girls who are doing a protection escort here.  Dressed like nuns.  Big Sisters."

Juan-Manuel smirked a little.  "Girlcott almost ended, hah?"

Flushing red, Pat looked away from him and focused on Stan, who said, "Don't feel bad.  Monica can get anybody to talk when we can't.  We got her off internship and on a crew because of her savvy with the camera and to give her some field experience."

"Bull," she said.  "I'm the only person with the news team that can carry the equipment now.  Anyway, don't mind me, Pat, that time won't count."  She winked at him as she set up the lights and mics.  "It wasn't on tape."

Pat kept her in the corner of the eye, unconciously nodding yes.

"Anyway, bring us up to speed," Juan-Manuel said.  "You're telling the red-blooded teen guys no looking or talking to the ladies here. And the crazy thing is, a good number of them aren't.  What's the deal, man?"

Glancing at the principal and reporters, Pat took a breath.  And to think he would normally be doodling away in study hall and cramming for a Chemistry quiz.  For a second, he hoped… and actively wished, like on a star… that this would lead the WJDP evening news, and possibly even the national network. 

And with that, he quickly organized his thoughts and began to give them the straight dope.

***

In the basement of Arlington High School across town, Bennett Maple leaned forward over his new laptop, head in hands, eyes warm and fighting to stay open.  He'd downed his last Jolt cola back at 4 AM when he'd sneaked in here, and had been running on adrenaline and paranoia since sunrise.  He hadn't been able to catch any sleep.  Now the whole night's fatigue was coming down on him hard.

Lugging all those guns down there hadn't been easy.  He had to make several trips and watch his back every step.  Stashing the pickup and removing the license plate took more time than he wanted, too.

He had wondered whether or not he should've set up shop in his own school's basement.  Brassy, and the last thing anyone would've expected. 

No.  That would've been arrogant and stupid.  He had too much pressure on himself without playing Beat the Clock against the police setting up the metal detectors. 

Returning to his laptop, which he'd gotten from a new hacker budy in exchange for an old 8mm Nambu from World War II, he finished writing his essay, copied and pasted it, and clicked on an icon labeled lastword.exe.  His cell phone vibrated.  Pulling it out of his pocket, he checked the screen.  There was the password:  "Steal the Girdle."  He crept to the door.  He sent a message back:  "Hold your cell phone to the door, turn its ringtone on."

He waited ten seconds.  Then he dialed the number that just messaged him.  He heard the Nokia beep chime a few seconds later.  Satisfied, he hung up, pocketed his phone, and pulled out his Walther P.38, just in case of a double-cross. 

It was an African-American guy, about 15.  "Yo, man," he said.  "You got it?"

Bennett nodded.  He reached in his pocket and handed the guy a .25 self-load pistol, butt forward.  He took it.  "Man, your eyes are all red.  You got a spare blunt?"

He shook his head no.  "Pulled an all nighter."

"Wrong place to sleep, man.  All those kids walking overhead."

"I'll catch up on my rest the first year I'm dead."

The guy nodded.  "Keep it tight, take it light." 

Closing the door, Bennett headed back to his chair, and went back to lastword.exe.  Using a hot key combination, he opened a notepad-like window, pasted his writing, saved it, and closed the window.  He shivered his head vigourously.  He debated whether or not to sleep through the afternoon, but he knew he might not wake up in time to disarm the attachment before midnight. 

Gotta set my phone's time alarm, he thought.  Gotta stay up, stay awake, and crash after ALL the teachers and students had left.  Then get the works, and high-tail it outta there.  Hmm… maybe later he could get up with his hacker buddy, and see about a little internet fraud.  Have fun with some credit cards, bank accounts, credit ratings, all on the dime of Steffi, Heather, and oh yes, Tenny and their families.  Celia and Jaws had been asking for it, too.  Then with enough ATM cash advances and account drains in his wallet, he'd gas up the truck and take off for a little holiday in Mexico.  Sure.  He didn't spend his Spanish class time dreaming of ways to fornicate with his classmates like all the other yahoos.

Bennett figured his hacker buddy would do it if they split the proceeds 50-50.  If he needed to sweeten the deal, another gun might do the trick.  Rifling through the selection in a gym bag, he found one that looked all right.  He'd say it was from Japan, too.  It was really a Chinese 9mm Makarov, but he wouldn't mention that.

***

Morty Bank dumped his books in his locker.  Finally, it was near time for shop class.  His refuge.  While he couldn't stop all the craziness going on today thanks to the muscle switch, at least a chunk of steel and wire won't give him any guff.  He was thinking of making a robot for carrying heavy things as a project.  Jimmy and Farley would probably love that.  Maybe they could ready it for Battlebots or Junkyard Wars, or some other TV show. 

As he reached in to find his Leatherman tool, somebody then leaned against him, pinning him into the locker.

"Excuse me," a beefy girl's low voice uttered, "I've lost my phone number.  Can I have yours?" And she dug in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.  He started to turn a little, but she pressed him a little harder, clamping down so he couldn't move any more..

"Don't say a word," she taunted softly.  "You don't wanna break your little girlcott.  Or your ribs.  Oh, it's one of those pay-as-you-go jobbies.  Need cash to recharge it."  And she grabbed and took his wallet.  "Now where's your fancy Swiss Army knife tool thing?  I need something for shop class since nobody'll talk to me, much less loan me theirs."

Then she then felt something hard and metallic poke against her ribs.  And from Morty's hand, she heard a quiet "k-click."

Crunch!  The thug girl crushed him into locker.  "Yo!" she yelled.  "Gun!  This guy's got a gun!"  Then she turned and whispered singsongily, "Thank you… now I got your stuff, and YOU'RE going downtown." 

A late 30-ish but still babelike red-haired woman in a professional dress and a grandmotherly type in a police uniform fast stepped it over.  "Morty?  Fresa?" asked the younger woman. "What's going on here?!"

"Mrs. K! I found this guy putting a gun in his locker, and caught him!" the goon girl lied.

"What?!" went Vice Principal K, truly surprised.  Are you sure?"

"Yeah.  I just asked him about it, and he poked me with it!"

Mrs. K looked at him with concern.  "Morty, is this true?" Morty just looked down the hallway at the clock.  "Well, did you?"

Silence.  Officer McGuillicuddy, a grandmother pressed into police duty here, wrinkled her nose.  She'd known Morty since she guided him through his kindergarten's street corner as a crossing guard.  Carrying a gun didn't sound like him at all.  "Answer the good woman's question, Mort.  It ain't rocket science," she pressed, trying to sound as good natured as possible.

Nothing.  Mrs. K began to get testy.  "Morton Wallace Bank, will you forget the girlcott for a second?  You're facing a very serious accusation.  If this is true, you face getting expelled and a possible criminal proceding in juvenile court." 

He wouldn't even look at her.  She shook her head.  "Doris, search him and his locker."

Sighing with a shrug, Mrs. McGuillicuddy pulled out her Garrett scan wand, had Morty spread his legs and badly bruised arms, and picked up his pocket change and locker key.  She then searched the locker and found his Leatherman tool and a Zippo cigarette lighter with a King of Clubs on it.  No gun.  She held up the lighter.  "You smoke?" she asked. 

He didn't speak.  Mrs. K folded her arms, growing exasperated.  "Will you answer her question or it's confiscated!" 

Morty looked a little tense about that.  Fresa leaned back with a smug grin.   

Mrs. McGuillicuddy tried again.  "Look, Mort, sweetie, I know you're too smart to put something on fire to your mouth.  What's this doing–"

Then down the hall she saw an African American man pushing a mop bucket, talking to a spike-haired youth in a black T-shirt, and getting ready to mop the floor.  She half-smiled.  "More'n one way to skin a cat.  Hey Leroy!  Can you come here a sec?"

Cocking his head, the janitor left the guy and pushed his mop and bucket over.  "Sure, whatcha want, Miz Doris?"

"This guy's not talking to us.  Maybe you can.  Can you ask why he's got this lighter?"

Puzzled, Leroy nodded.  "Hey, man, whassup with the lighter?"

Morty glanced for one second at the wise officer, and back at Leroy.  "It's a memento from my uncle Jack in the Army.  He gave it to me before he was sent to Afghanistan."

Mrs. K nodded knowingly.  "So Leroy, think you can ask him about the gun?"

Leroy's eyebrows shot up.  "Gun?  What's she talkin' 'bout, Morty?"

"Fresa said she caught me putting a gun in my locker, Leroy," Morty said.  "That's a lie.  She pinned me in my locker and stole my wallet and cell phone."

Fresa recoiled.  "THAT'S a lie, you little maggot!"

The spiked-hair guy looked up at her noisy snap.  Mrs. McGuillicuddy scanned her.  "Mind emptying your pockets?"

Fresa held up her hands.  "You can't do that.  Right to privacy."

Mrs. K then got an idea, and pulled out her cell phone.  "What's your mobile number, Morty?"  No answer.  She sighed.  "Leroy?"

"What's the number, man?"

Monty nodded.  "555-6432."

Flipping her own open, Mrs. K then punched it in.  And they waited.  One ring.  Two.  Three.  Dead silence.

Fresa smirked with satisfaction.  "Gotta go to class." 

Then the lean, shrimpy, scruffy looking guy with spiked hair pulled out a Palm Pilot.  "Hey, Morty, you should never say your cellie number out loud`where anyone can hear it." He pecked away at his PDA. "Any shmuck can use it to bill their own calls to your number.  Also, a leet bunghole can use it to hack into your cellie and do all sorts of rotten things to it.  Like take it off mute…"

He punched something, and the Nokia theme sounded in Fresa's pocket. She twitched nervously. "That must be mine… I'll call back."

"Or," Spike-hair continued, "change and download all sorts of stuff like mobile viruses… or ringtones that'll get you in trouble with the teachers or the 'rents."  He pecked on the PDA some more.

And the thug girl's pocket sounded:  "You have a ho on line 1, 2, 3, 4, and 6.  That's a ho on line 1, 2, 3, 4, and 6."

Fresa stomped toward the PDA boy.  "You little–!"

"You big–!"  Mrs. Guillicuddy grabbed her.

"All right, Fresa!" snapped Mrs. K.  "Empty pockets!  NOW!"

And after a quick patdown and emptying, they pulled out a cell phone and wallet, complete with Morty's student I.D.  "These yours?"  Mrs. K asked.

"Are they?" went Leroy.

Mort nodded.  "Yep."

"Did you give Fresa permission to take them?"

"Did you, man?"

"Nope."

"Morty, get down to the school nurse and get those bruises checked.  Forget the boycott."  Mrs. K leveled her eyes at the would-be mugger.  "Fresa, you just got yourself two days of in-school suspension."

Fresa was livid. "You little pukes, I swear I'm gonna–"

"You're gonna go right down to my office before you make it three days!"

"I–!"

"You wanna go for expulsion!?"

And Mrs. K and Mrs. McGuillicuddy carted her off.

Leroy shook his head.  "Man, if I gotta stay your messenger service, I'm askin' for a raise. Best get you to the nurse."

The PDA guy tapped Morty's elbow.  "How about we water the daisies first?"

"Yeah," went Morty. "'scuze us, Leroy?"

"A'ight." 

And the youths headed into the little boy's room.  Mort stuck out his hand. "Hey, thanks a heap there… uh…"

"Hackman.  Hackman Reynolds," And they shook.  "Just call me Haxor."  He pulled out a pack of Camels from his shirt pocket. 

"That's against school rules, y'know," Morty said with a wink in his voice.

"So's assault and mugging."

"Point."

And with a k-click from his Zippo, Mort lit up Haxor's smoke.

***

"How long are you planning to keep this up?" Juan asked.

"I'm shooting for a week, and we'll go from there," said Pat.  "We may continue it if we haven't seen things get better."

"So you're giving even the Big Sisters and teachers the cold shoulder, too?" asked Stan.

Pat nodded.  "If I have to make one exception, I'd have to make them for everyone.  As long as they keep their distance, they can do what they want."

Juan tilted his head and leaned in.  "What about mamas and sisters?  They on your eesht list, too?"

Pat sighed as he steepled his fingers.  "I can't speak for everybody on that one.  They're gonna have to make their own judgement call.  Me, my mom and dad saw what I was doing and gave their support.  While Mom's not all that happy about it, she's been packing my lunches and respecting my space.  She's one of the few reasons I can think of to look forward to the girlcott's end."

He checked the clock.  The interview had gone into the next period, way longer than he expected.  And frankly, dealing with algebra or even Celia would've seemed easier.

***

Jimmy Templeton settled in his chair in the computer lab and pecked away.  He was grateful that the teacher let him surf and chat during his lunch period.  Sure, there was a no-food-or-drink rule, but frankly, the day had pretty much killed what little appetite he had left.  He logged into the instant messenger, and found a buddy online.

JimmyT800:  Hey, there, Drew! 😀 How's evra li'l thin'?
GruesomeDrewsome:  The usual. 
JimmyT800:  That bad, hah? 
GruesomeDrewsome:  SSDD here at Arlington
JimmyT800:  Not much better here.  At least you don't have metal detectors.
GruesomeDrewsome: o.O;; say what now??
JimmyT800:  Some student passed out guns to the boys yesterday evening, and another guy tipped off the school.  We're getting searched.
GruesomeDrewsome:  Dag.  Who?
JimmyT800:  Who what?
GruesomeDrewsome:  Who passed out the guns?

Jimmy silently self-debated whether or not to stay loyal, especially since Bennett left him to the wolves.  After a minute of pondering.

JimmyT800:  Can't say I know.
GruesomeDrewsome:  Have the girls gotten THAT bad on bullying? /o.o
JimmyT800:  I know we got some pretty rotten ones.
GruesomeDrewsome:  Dude… had YOU thought of bringing a gun?

Another minute passed.  Finally, Jimmy just typed:

JimmyT800:  …
GruesomeDrewsome:  Man… hey, maybe you can transfer here.
JimmyT800:  Maybe.
GruesomeDrewsome:  Well, it's not quite the People's Republic here.  Yet.  But I have noticed something going down.  Maybe drugs.
JimmyT800:  You sure? 😮
GruesomeDrewsome:  Some guys have been going regularly to the furnace room in the basement, and coming out later.  I've been monitoring it. 
GruesomeDrewsome:  I can give you a live webcam if you want.
JimmyT800:  Alright.

And after a moment to send and accept, Jimmy's monitor had a small window showing a hallway.  It was vacant there and then. 

JimmyT800:  How often do they come around?
GruesomeDrewsome:  Roughly every 20 or 30 min.  They go over… and come back a few minutes later.
JimmyT800:  Hmmm…

Then Jimmy felt a massive overshadowing presence.  He glanced over… and then he quickly went back to his monitor and got very self-centered with his conversation.

Feeling a tap at her elbow, Arielle peeked back at Merita, who shook her head no.  "He'll talk when he's ready," Merita whispered.  "Not before."

"Should we walk around for another sweep, then?" Arielle whispered back.

"Good idea."

And only their footsteps made any noise as they left.

***

Bennett stared at his laptop.  He'd been thinking of Jill, and the taunts she'd made on the internet saying nobody would ever find her or her abductee Anthony.  There was someone else who needed a at dead minimum a few pellets upside the head.

Then he thought of something he hadn't followed up on… could there be any way to trace her IP address with enough hacking?  He wondered why no one else had thought of that.  Maybe he could talk Haxor into trying, searching, and zeroing in on her.  Then he could drive over at midnight, sneak up as best he could, and give her the classic KGB Howdy… one silenced slug at the back of the skull, with no warning at all. 

And, if Anthony were still alive, get him to safety, and then do his credit card spree and dash for the border.  Maybe give Tone a little bonus for his trouble.

Bennett's bladder ached.  All that cola had finally come full circle.  He sat down, crossing his legs as long as he could.  He searched around for a bottle to use, but it didn't look like it would do the job.  Finally, his excretory system sent up the white flag.  Bennett HAD to take a leak.

He then heard the bell.  He checked his watch.  It was nearly lunchtime back at his own school.  The crowd shuffled overhead.  He figured he'd zip out, join the masses, find the toilet and unload, and hustle back as quickly and quietly as he could. 

Running a wedge of wood under the door to chock it, he prepped and pocketed his Walther P.38 and cell phone, peeked out the door, and headed up. 

***

Jimmy checked his watch.  Not many minutes before he had to log out and go to his next class.  Then he squinted at the webcam.  And he flinched.

JimmyT800:  WTF?!
GruesomeDrewsome:  Huh?  What is it?
JimmyT800:  What's Bennett doing there?
GruesomeDrewsome:  Who's he?

Jimmy checked himself just as he wrote.

JimmyT800:  He's someone from my school.  One of my best buddies.
GruesomeDrewsome:  The guy that just left now?
JimmyT800:  yeah
GruesomeDrewsome:  I never saw him go in.  What's he doing here?
JimmyT800:  I just asked YOU that!
GruesomeDrewsome:  I've been saving this to disk for a while… I think you'd better do the same.

And despite his sense of dread, Jimmy pecked at the keyboard to record the stream.

***

"Well, thank you very much, Mr. O'Brien," Stan Mensley said, offering his hand.  "You've been most informative, and we really appreciate your time and words." 

"My pleasure," Pat said, shaking.

"And hey," Juan said, offering a business card.  "If we can arrange it, we'd like to have you as a guest on a future edition of the Freakshow.  Love to have you, man."

"Thanks," said Pat with a smile.

"Oh, and we'll also be looking around the campus for other students' and teachers' views," said Stan.  "Man on the street stuff." 

"Cool."

"You'd better get to your next class," Mr. Gregg said.

Monica picked up the camera, and followed the reporters out into the hall. 

"Hey!  HEY!" yelled someone coming up behind them.  It was Heather.  Pat kept going without looking back.

"You're not actually gonna use that, are you?"

"Use what?" asked Stan.

"You know… the tape of me and Steff."

"It's news," Monica said non-committingly.

"Look, you can't use that," Heather said.  "Right to privacy here."

"Public place, and right of free press here," Juan countered. "If we use it, we'll just blur out your faces.  Privacy preserved."

"Preserved?! What about our clothes? Anyone in school will STILL know it's us!"

"Best we can do," Stan said.

Heather made a grab for the camera.  The bigger, stronger Monica countered her quickly, and grabbed her wrist with one hand.

"You don't want to do that," the camerawoman said.  "This baby costs about seven grand."

"This could get me expelled!" Heather wailed.

"You should have thought of that before you beat that kid down.  Now you wouldn't know where we could find the nun girls, would you?"

Heather made some suggestions on where to look before she stomped off, but they weren't acceptable for broadcast prime time.

***

Bennett didn't even stop to wash his hands.  He just buckled up, and ducked out of the boy's bathroom, and headed back the way he came.  Nobody from this school paid him any attention.  For that he was thankful.

"Benny!  Hey Benny!"  SMACK! went a big palm "playfully" roughly against his back.  "What in the world are YOU doing here?" 

Oh no!  Not HER!  He began to dash off but that oversized hand caught his shoulder and spun him around. 

Standing in his school's very taut track uniform was a hulking Tenny. 

"So, you came here to see the cross country meet today?" she said with a mocking smile.

Bennett tried to take off again, but she kept her grip.  "Hey, that's not very polite," she said.  "Especially since you ditched me the other afternoon, and stayed away from me yesterday."  He glowered silently.  "Aw, come on, whassamatter?  Cat got your tongue?  Hey, what say we find a hillside for another ride? Just like last time!" 

That was all he needed.  He started to fish in his coat.  But Tenny saw that.  "Hey, whatcha got there?"  And she grabbed his wrist with the other hand and pulled it out…

…and stared down the barrel of an old World War II pistol.

"What the!?" she exclaimed.

***

Jimmy turned sheet white at the web cam picture.  "Oh great almighty… no… Bennett… let him go, let him go!" 

GruesomeDrewsome:  WTF?!?  Jimmy, you getting this?!

Jimmy nodded vacantly.

Sue came in.  "Let who go?"  Arielle and Merita followed.  Then they saw all saw the picture.  "Oh no!" she whispered

"What in the–?!" exclaimed Merita.

Arielle just stood still, paralyzed.

And just then on the camera, Tenny squeezed hard on Bennett's hand and made him drop the gun.  She then put a heavy foot on it, and scooped it up.

GruesomeDrewsome:  Dude, you still there>!

Jimmy snapped out of it and typed.

JimmyT800:  Yeah, yeah, we're getting this
GruesomeDrewsome:  We?

Jimmy glanced around.  The girls didn't look at him, eyes glued to the screen.

JimmyT800:  Other girls can see this.

Then he started feeling sick.  He saw Tenny pull Bennett close, and point the gun at him.

***

"Me, oh my, my oh me," Tenny said, looking over the pistol, then at her captive.  She snickered.  "I shoulda guessed you'd spaz and try something like this.  Can't ever take a joke."  She then put a one arm lock around his neck, and pointed the gun up his butt.  "Maybe you need a good colonic, hmm?  Cuz yer so anal retentive?"

Bennett then took a very deep breath.  "ANTHONY!!!" he screamed, making Tenny jump.  "ANTHONY!  ANTHONY!  ANTHONY! ANTHGLrmp!"

"Will you shut up!?" Tenny snapped,  her arm locking around his throat. "I coulda pulled the trigger!  Jeez!"

Then she heard footsteps running up.

"Let him go!"

"Drop him, ya oversized buffalo!"

"Put him down!"

K-click! K-click K-click! Click! Shak-shak!

Tenny stared around, and heard other students gasp, swear, and take the Lord's name in vain, and scatter back.  And for good reason. 

In a semi-circle were some half-dozen teenage boys, with loaded pistols pointed right at her. 

***

"Dude…" Jimmy exclaimed, trembling.

Finally, Merita snapped out of it, fished out her cell phone, hit 911, and described the situation to the operator.

Sue felt sour in her stomach.  She wanted to do something… anything.  But what? 

"– yeah, this is over at Arlington High," Merita reported.  "It's two of our students over there, one Tenny Delany, and Bennett Maple.  Tenny's got Bennett in a headlock and a gun, and about five or six other guys are pointing guns at her! — We're seeing all this on webcam — oh no!  She's using Bennett as a human shield!  Got them between the boys and herself!  Yes, she's still got the gun pointed at Bennett's head."

"You stupid sow!" Arielle exclaimed.  "Drop the gun already!"

***

An eerie silence hung in Arlington High's halls, punctuated only by others with cell phones calling 911 too.

Bennett then suddenly seemed to drop all anxiety. "Take the shot, guys," he said flatly.

Tenny then tensed.  "You do, and I'll cap your little buddy here!  If you don't cap him for me!"

"You can hit a gallon milk jug, can't you?" Bennett escalated. "Take the shot!"

The pack of gun toters looked to each other nervously, then back to Bennett.

Tenny then leaned into his ear.  "You better call them off.  Pretty soon the police are gonna be here.  And one of two things will happen.  You'll all surrender, and they get the guns.  Or, they'll shoot to kill, and they'll get the guns.  And as for you, even if you survive, well…" and then she singsonged, "don't drop the soap."

Bennett scanned the hall.  And each of the pistols, and the boys pointing them.

"You've all lost anyway," Tenny goaded. "You wanna lose just something or everything?"

Bennett sighed and lowered his head.  And he whispered lowly, "Get a spot ready at the card table, Grandad."

He raised it again.  "As my dear departed grandfather would say… I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees.

"Guys… BLOW HER BRAINS OUT!!!"

Paf!  Paf paf! Paf paf pafpaf!  And the string-of-firecrackers sound banged for six seconds.  Red dots splotched over Tenny and Bennett's bodies.  The big girl grunted and flinched a lot like she was getting hit with bricks.  Bennett got hit in the cheek, and once in the throat.

Thirty-five shots were fired in all.  Twenty-five of them hit a body. 

And at the very end, the last one plunged right into Tenny's left temple.

She stood staring forward vacantly, like she couldn't believe what just happened. 

Then with one rock back, she then toppled forward with Bennett like a chopped tree, and collapsed forward, face down on top of him.

The boys stared silently for a few moments.  Then terror settled in as they figured out what they'd just done.

"Class dismissed!" one shouted panickedly.  And they all scattered in different directions out of the building, fleeing the loudening sirens and the bodies with pooling blood underneath.

***

"BENNETT!" Jimmy shrieked.

Sue held both hands to her mouth in horror.  Merita shuddered, and stood silently, reporting nothing else.  Arielle lowered her head, made the sign of the cross, and uttered a prayer. 

Unnoticed, Morty and another student, David, had slipped behind and seen the spectacle.

"Should we tell anyone?" David asked quietly.

Morty looked down the hall.  "Too late."  And he pointed at the other students fishing out their cell phones, and chattering anxiously.

Sue then felt a hand touch her forearm.  "Sue?"

She looked down to the computer chair.  Jimmy looked up from it, teary eyes pleading.

And their arms wrapped around each other in a very sad, very real hug.

To Be Continued…