Chapter Twenty-Eight
Wearing his gang’s colors – bib overalls, and a black, white, and gray plaid
short-sleeve shirt, Stan Ramirez repeatedly tapped his tan work boot as he
waited near the bottom of the rusty black metallic staircase.
Those stupid computer geeks. They should have left the gym by now. What could be taking Tim and Paul so long? P.E. class is over and the end of sixth period bell rang a good five minutes ago.
A moment later, a number of freshmen left the high school extension of the K-12 school on their way toward their assigned bus and instinctively Stan turned toward them and frowned. Apparently, none of them was the one he was seeking.
When Cathy Skinner stepped off the bottom step of the staircase a couple of minutes later, it looked like she was about to head toward the gym.
“Hey, Stan,” she greeted just before passing. “Is there a particular reason you’re hanging around here? Perhaps you’d like to join me? We’re going to have a computer club meeting in just a few minutes.”
At first, Stan grimaced, then he quickly changed it to a fallacious smile – even though deep inside his pencil-thin abdomen, he could feel his washboard muscles tightening.
“No thanks, Cathy. I think I’ll pass,” he said while in the back of his mind he was thinking, I swear, if anyone else would have asked me something stupid like that I would have beaten the living crap out of them. But, since she’s the principal’s daughter… . “I’m only interested in playing games, not programming them. By the way, have you seen Paul Pontiac? I really need to have a word or two with him.”
Cathy gazed at the acting gang leader, displaying a scowl. “It all depends. What do you want to talk to him about?”
“Does it matter?” Stan almost snarled at the five-foot-ten blond standing next to him. “If I need to see him, then I need to see him. What the two of us need to discuss isn’t really any of your business.”
“But I’m making it my business, Stan," Cathy stated with a determined smile. “Do you think I’ve forgotten what Butch did to him a few weeks ago? And since Paul’s my boyfriend, I’m not about to let you or that worthless gang of yours have another shot at him … at least if I can help it.”
“What? You’re Paul’s assigned body guard now?” Stan chuckled. “That’s a real hoot.”
Cathy glared at the self-righteous smart aleck standing in front of her as if somehow he had miraculously transformed into a vampire, and she was ready to drive a silver stake through his ghoulish heart.
“Paul Pontiac really doesn’t need a body guard. I have no doubt that he can take care of himself,” she hissed while gazing into his yellowish-brown eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to look after him.”
Stan could see a rage building in her, and it reminded him of a wild tigress. He had never seen that side of her and admired it.
“Butch McGuire needs Paul's help,” he admitted. “That's why I need to talk to him.”
Cathy tilted her head as if what Stan had spoken was inconceivable. “You’re kidding, aren’t you? Paul was Butch’s victim. He literally beat the snot out of him. And you now want Paul to help Butch? … Are you losing your mind, Stan? ”
Stan glanced downward at the loose gravel surrounding his worn boots.
“Listen. I know what Butch did was wrong. And because of the beating he gave Paul, he’s facing some really serious charges … some that could send him to prison for the rest of his life.”
“So?” Cathy said displaying a small grin. “The moron’s finally going to get what he deserves.”
“I know. And a lot of people would agree with you,” Stan confessed, even though his eyes involuntarily hardened. “But you don’t really know Butch the way I do Cathy. You’ve only seen his rough side.”
“There’s another side to him?” She couldn’t help but let loose a small laugh. “I certainly haven’t seen it.”
Stan nodded his understanding and became solemn. “Yeah, I'm afraid there is, Cathy. But he would never show it ‘cause … and please don’t repeat this. … he’s afraid others wouldn’t accept him if they knew the tortured person he really is. You know, deep inside.”
Doubt flashed across Cathy’s face, yet something told her this definitely wasn’t the time to verbalize it. “What do you mean?”
Stan hesitated. “Do you promise you’ll never reveal to anyone what I’m about to tell you? I need to know ‘cause if Butch ever found out I told someone he’d kill me.”
Cathy watched as fear crept across Stan’s face like a malevolent mask... and then promised.
First taking an in-depth examination of everything surrounding them, Stan cleared his throat, then took a second scan, so he could be assured that no one besides Cathy would ever hear the forbidden words he was about to speak.
“I don’t know exactly how much you know about Butch’s past Cathy. And we’re talking about the things that occurred before he and his mother moved to Gibsonville,” Stan began as his eyes nervously flickered. “But those times certainly weren’t pretty, and I sometimes wonder how Butch manages to survive as well as he does.”
“Oh?” Cathy raised an eyebrow and a tragic scene from one of Dicken’s tales began to mentally manifest itself.
“Yeah.” Stan then unexpectedly stopped and glanced upward as if for an indistinct reason, he was perplexed.
“Let's start with this,” he continued a moment later. “You know George McGuire, who is doing time at the Guilford County Prison farm because of a shoplifting charge, isn’t Butch’s real dad – don’t you? … He’s only Butch’s stepfather.”
“No. I didn’t,” Cathy said looking puzzled. “The two of them sure look alike.”
“I know. But ask Reverend Graham, the preacher at your church. He’ll tell you. George McGuire is actually Butch’s stepfather. And even though the guy has a natural knack for getting himself into legal trouble, he’s been a heck of a lot better father than Butch’s real Dad.”
Cathy gazed at Stan as if she had dubieties. “How’s so?”
“Well.” Stan paused so he could get the words in the right order. “According to what Butch told me, not only was his real father a no-good worthless drug addict, he was also extremely abusive.”
Cathy’s pupils instantly widened. “Abusive as in …?”
“You got it,” Stan said with a nod. “Not only was the man verbally and physically abusive in the worse way imaginable ever since Butch was four years old, he also prostituted him in order to get the money needed to cover his addiction.”
“Oh my gawd!” Cathy yelped as her palms unconsciously partially tightened into a fist. “That’s unbelievable, Stan. Didn’t Butch’s mother do anything to stop it?”
“Eventually she did. … But it took several years for her to build up the nerve ‘cause the monster she married was not only physically and verbally abusing her as well; he repeatedly threatened to kill her if she dared to tell anyone about what he was doing. And believe me; from the way Butch described his real dad, the man was more than big enough to easily do it.”
“I see,” Cathy said after taking a second to absorb what she had just been told. “So what finally changed?”
“One day the guy made a mistake and ended up in jail on some drug charges. And while he was incarcerated, she somehow found the courage to file charges.”
“Did they stick?” Cathy looked tense.
“Yeah. The state gave him twenty years with no chance of parole. And a few months afterwards when the jerk was finally sent to prison, the two of them moved to Gibsonville, and she divorced him.”
“Wow,” Cathy caught herself saying. “It’s no wonder …”
Stan grinned a subtle grin and proceeded to scan the parking lot, once again.
After a short period of time had passed, “So do you think you could help me find Paul, so I can try to convince him to help get Butch’s charges reduced? If he'd be willing, my gang’s thinking about making him an offer that could make both him and Tim a couple of Gibsonville School heroes.”
“Gibsonville School heroes?” Cathy’s narrowed eyes revealed her bewilderment. “How could that be?”
“Do you recall how the Regional football trophy disappeared from the school’s display case during last year’s Christmas holiday?”
Cathy gestured that she did.
“Well, if Paul were willing to help Butch. I believe my gang could arrange it so he and Tim would ‘accidentally’ find the trophy and return it.”
“Thus making them heroes,” Cathy spat as if each word spoken had been coated in garlic.
Stan affirmatively nodded.