"When You Can't Just Walk Away" XIX
by Myra Love
  Article # 481 Article Type: Weekly Serial

“He hasn’t come to yet, so he can’t answer any questions.” Those were the first words I heard when I woke up. The voice was an unfamiliar woman’s voice, very soft yet firm. I had a pounding headache, and I couldn’t get my eyes to focus. The room and the figure were a blue-gray blur.
“ We’ll have to talk to him as soon as he’s conscious,” I heard an adult male voice reply. It was grating and I didn’t particularly want to see the speaker. I pretended to be unconscious until I heard receding footsteps. Then I gingerly opened one eye.
I was in what looked like a hospital room. I couldn’t be sure because turning my head made the room spin. So I closed my eye again and drifted off.
When I finally woke up for good, I wiggled my toes and moved my jaw in a circle. Everything seemed to work. My mother was sitting across the room on a straight-backed chair. “It’s about time,” she grumbled. “The police have been hounding me. They want to talk to you. I told you to stay out of trouble.”
“ I’m not in trouble,” I said. “At least I don’t think I am.”
“ Well, that’s good. Your father has enough to worry about.”
“ The brain tumor?” I recalled, concerned.
“ No. There is no brain tumor. It’s glaucoma. I guess God got the wrong number when he talked to Clarence about his health.” She laughed at her own witty remark before she turned serious. “The paper reported an attempted murder in the convenience store by local youths. That is where you were found. The clerk, you know, the one who’s not Christian, but who’s nice anyway? Well, he was here all day yesterday in the waiting room. He told your father and me that you’re a hero.” She shook her head. “What a thing to say!”
So Yusuf was okay, but I was still trying to figure out what was up with my dad. “Is Dad still in the hospital?” I asked.
“ Oh no,” she said. “They let him go home Sunday morning. They’d have sent him home Saturday late afternoon, but he was so scared of the brain tumor that his blood pressure spiked.”
“ But you said he doesn’t have a brain tumor,” I asserted, confused.
“ Of course not,” she said, “but he thought he did.”
I tried to sit, but lifting my head made me dizzy.
“ He was here yesterday for a bit. He had to come in for a treatment. I drove him.” She clucked nervously. “You know how much he hates the way I drive.”
“ So he was here yesterday? I thought they let him go home yesterday.”
She shook her head. “No, they let him go home on Sunday, but he had to come back yesterday for treatment.”
“ Wait a minute,” I said, still feeling confused. “What day is today?”
“ Tuesday,” she replied, curtly. “They’re going to let you go home this afternoon, but first the police have to talk to you. That’s why I’m here. They told me a parent had to be present, and your father is in no mood to sit around while they question you.” She sniffed. “That means I have to do it.”
As if on cue, two men came into the room. One was Andy. He smiled at me, but it was a weak smile. “Hey, Buzz, how are you doing?” he asked.
“ I have a headache,” I replied, “but I feel okay otherwise.”
The other man was older than Andy and much stiffer. “You’re Rutherford Haynes, right?” he asked as if making a statement.
“ That’s right,” I replied. “But people call me Buzz.”
He sneered. “I don’t care what people call you.” He nodded at my mother. “Is that your mother?”
He was so obnoxious that I was tempted to say I’d never seen her before in my life, but I didn’t.
“ Yes,” my mother interjected, “I’m Mrs. Haynes, Buzz’s mother.”
The older man grunted and stuck a badge in my face. “I’m Detective Crewes. This is Officer Searle.”
I twisted to get away from the greasy smell on his fingers.
“ We need to ask you what happened the night you were hit in the head, Buzz,” Andy asked.
I opened my mouth, but the other cop held up his hand. “In good time,” he said. “First I want you to tell me how long you’ve been involved with that gang and how you decided to try to kill…” He stopped abruptly to open a folder and shuffled the papers until he found the one he wanted to refer to. “Yes, as I was saying, when and how did you decide to kill Yusuf Habib?” He pronounced the name “Yoosoof Hay-bibb.” He closed the folder and glared at me as if waiting for my first word to be a lie so he could arrest me.
I decided not to try to answer his first question and to make sure that I didn’t get tangled up in the second. “I didn’t decide to kill Yusuf,” I replied. “I consider him a friend.”
He snorted in disbelief. “Do you and your gang always shoot at your friends?” he asked.
“ I don’t have a gang,” I replied.
He shook his head. “That’s not what the information I have here indicates,” he growled, smacking his file folder.
I shrugged, sending a shooting pain up the back of my neck. “Well, your information is obviously flawed.”
“We can always go downtown to the station to talk,” he said. I knew it was supposed to be a threat. I looked over at my mother. She was sound asleep, snoring softly. I laughed.
“ What’s so damned funny?” the cop asked.
“ My mother is sound asleep,” I said, nodding in her direction. “Look!”
Andy tapped his colleague on the arm and drew him outside the room. When they came back in, Andy smiled tentatively at me, but I just looked at him stony-faced. Did they actually think “good cop, bad cop” was going to work?
“ Look, Buzz,” he began, “there’s nothing in the law books that requires your parent to be awake when we question you, but I think we’d better stop until she wakes up.”
I snorted. “I think we’d better stop all together,” I said. “You know why I was there when those guys tried to shoot Yusuf. It was because you screwed up.”
The other cop looked at Andy, then at me. “What’s this about?” he demanded.
“ I think I can answer that question,” a familiar, slightly hoarse, but to my ears utterly reassuring voice replied. I turned to see Miss Carswell standing in the doorway.
Andy, who’d seated himself when he came back into my room, jumped to his feet. “Miss Carswell, come in,” he said cheerfully. “I was hoping you’d show up.”
The detective glared at him then at Miss Carswell. “This is a criminal matter,” he said to her. “You have no standing here.”
She smiled at him. “Detective Crewes, isn’t it?” she asked.
He nodded.
“ Well, sir,” she said gently, “I’m just here to make sure you and Andy don’t get into trouble with the district attorney’s office.”
The detective stiffened. “May I?” she asked, indicating the chair Andy had occupied.
“ Please, take my seat,” Andy offered.
She sat down and cleared her throat. “Gentlemen,” she began, “I’d like to suggest that you hear what Buzz has to say without interrupting him. But before he begins, I have information that is pertinent to your investigation.”
“ What do you have to do with this case, Miss Carswell?” the detective demanded.
“ I’m the one who invited Buzz to confide in Andy… Officer Searle. I witnessed their conversation during which Buzz told Officer Searle what he knew about the thugs…er, the young men who were with him in the convenience store when the shot was fired. And I have spoken with Yusuf Habib, who told me exactly what happened when Buzz was assaulted in the store on Saturday night. I believe that if you listen to what I have to say and to Buzz and Yusuf, you may form a more accurate picture of what occurred.”
The detective coughed and looked at Andy. “What’s this about the kid confiding in you?”
“ I told you,” Andy said irritably. “I used him as an informant, but then called him off on Saturday once we got the gun. I don’t know anything more.”
The detective’s eyebrows shot up. “No, you didn’t tell me,” he said.
“ Yes, I did,” Andy replied, “but obviously you weren’t paying attention.”
Crewes grunted. “Well, I’m paying attention now.” He looked at Miss Carswell. “Go on.”
I was a little worried about what she might say, but she described my involvement with the Razors as if I’d been a gullible, lonely kid, which I suppose was true enough. “He was never involved in any of the housebreaks those boys carried out,” she said with a slight smile at me. “The worst thing he did was break my basement window, and he’s paying me for that.”
She finished her story, and I told mine in great detail. The only thing I left out was the feeling of curiosity that motivated me when I went with the Razors on Saturday afternoon and evening.
“ So why exactly did you disregard Officer Searle’s instructions to butt out once the gun had been removed?” the detective demanded.
I thought for a moment. “I knew it wasn’t over,” I said. “I tried to tell him that. I even tried to call him again, but he didn’t pick up.” I looked at Miss Carswell. “I tried you too, but you didn’t answer either.”
“ Saturday?” she asked.
I nodded.
“ I was visiting a friend all day,” she replied.
“ And I called the police station later,” I went on. “I thought someone was always at the phone there, but I got voice mail and left a message.”
The two policemen exchanged glances. “I’ll check the tape when I get back,” Andy said. “It’s possible.”
When I finished my account, the detective sighed and reached for his cell phone. “I’ll call this in to the station,” he said, sounding a bit disappointed. “They’ll send out a car to pick up the other kids.” He glanced at Miss Carswell. “Then we’ll talk to the Arab.” His eyes shifted to me. “If his story agrees with yours, you’re off the hook.”
Both policemen said good-bye to Miss Carswell and left. I was glad to see them go. “What a couple of jerks!” I mumbled.
Miss Carswell laughed. “Andy’s really not bad, but he needs to remember to check all his brilliant ideas for practicality and legality.”
I sighed. “He almost got me killed.”
She shook her head. “You almost got yourself killed, Buzz! Whatever possessed you to go back out with those hoodlums once Andy told you the police had the gun? Your job was finished.”
“ I don’t know,” I said. “You said it the other day—I couldn’t just walk away, not only because I knew they would make me pay for it later, but because I had the feeling I had to be there. It was sort of like being drawn to the scene of an accident about to happen, if you know what I mean.”
“ I don’t,” she said, sounding severe. Then she sighed. “Well, I suppose it was for the best. If you hadn’t been there, they would probably have shot Yusuf.” She smiled. “He thinks you’re as big a hero as Susie does. She says hello, by the way, and her mother thinks you’re a genius. Susie got a B minus on her test. All the answers were right, but that foolish woman didn’t think she’d shown her work.”
“ I don’t really know what happened,” I said tentatively. “The last thing I remember is making a run for it and getting tripped by Sean. Then I woke up in the hospital.”
“ After Sean tripped you, Mark Fogg hit you on the back of the head with the pistol. According to Yusuf he also kicked you in the head a couple of times. Apparently your other friends were about to join in when Yusuf leaped over the counter, baseball bat in hand. He paused only long enough to hit the alarm. When the police arrived, the thugs scattered. A couple of officers rounded them up, and one officer went into the store. He found Yusuf, baseball bat still in hand, bent over you. He confiscated the bat, called for an ambulance, and took Yusuf down to the station to question him. In vain, as it turned out. Yusuf was so upset that when he tried to tell the officer what had happened he kept reverting to Arabic and French. In the meantime, Mark, Sean, Jeremy, and Michael told the police that you’d tried to shoot Yusuf. They claimed they’d intervened and subdued you, but then Yusuf jumped over the counter and bashed you with a baseball bat.” She sighed. “If the police had been more attentive, they’d have seen that the lump and contusions on your head couldn’t have come from a baseball bat.”
I shivered slightly before asking, “So why did it take so long for me to come to? The whole thing happened Saturday night, and today is already Tuesday. I have some vague memories of being wheeled around on a gurney yesterday, but Sunday is totally missing.”
She cleared her throat. “You suffered a severe concussion, as well as considerable blood loss from the contusions on your scalp.” She didn’t make eye contact, so I knew there was more she wasn’t telling me.
“ And?” I asked.
She sighed. “When you were first brought into the hospital you had a seizure. It was a one-time occurrence, but it set off warning bells. That’s why they did so many tests and why they’ve kept you here so long.”
“ A seizure?” I repeated. “So what does that mean?”
“ You may have suffered some brain damage, though it’s unlikely. You are awake and quite lucid and you haven’t had any more seizures.”
“ I have one hell of a headache though,” I complained.
“ Well, they haven’t given you any painkillers because those would have biased the test results. All I can say is that I’m glad you have medical insurance.”
“ I do?”
She nodded. “Through your mother’s job.”
“ Oh, I didn’t know,” I replied. “Speaking of my mother, you’d think she was the one hit over the head the way she’s slept through everything.”
Miss Carswell went over to my mother and shook her very gently. “It’s time to go home,” she said when my mother’s eyes opened. “They’ll be here to get you to sign the paperwork in a few minutes.”
“ Paperwork?” my mother asked groggily.
“ The release papers for Buzz,” Miss Carswell explained.
“ Where’s Clarence?” my mother demanded peevishly. “Why am I the one stuck dealing with the messes the boy gets into?”
“ I’m sure he’s down in the waiting room by now,” Miss Carswell replied. “His treatment was supposed to be finished a half-hour ago. He can’t go anywhere without us, so don’t worry.”
My mother snorted. “You don’t know how much trouble he can stir up. He’s as bad as the boy.”
Miss Carswell didn’t respond to my mother’s comments about my father, but she did defend me. “Buzz isn’t in any trouble. He’s done something quite heroic. Foolish and dangerous though it was. In fact, I’d be surprised if there wasn’t a reward for him once those boys are arrested and prosecuted. They broke into a lot of homes, you know.”
My mother stared at her blankly for a moment, then shook her head. “If he’s not in trouble, why do the police want to talk to him?”
“ They did talk to me, Mom,” I said, trying not to sound as impatient as I felt. “You slept through it.”
“ Well, I’m tired,” she grumbled. “I’ve hardly had any sleep since Saturday, what with both you and your father in the hospital.”
Further conversation was cut short by the appearance of a woman with forms to be signed. She handed them to me. “You’ll need a parent or guardian to sign those,” she said, looking from my mother to Miss Carswell to me. “Your clothes are in the closet.” She frowned. “You are well enough to dress yourself, aren’t you?” Then she sighed without waiting for an answer. “We’re short-staffed right now. I don’t have anyone to help you, but I’ll send an orderly to wheel you out.”
Before I had a chance to say anything, she was gone. I took the papers and read them, relieved that my eyes could focus. “Here, Mom,” I said, once I’d finished. “There’s a place down at the bottom for you to sign.”
She grunted and came over to get the paperwork. “Got a pen?” she asked me.
I shook my head, which made me a little dizzy, but only a little. Miss Carswell reached into her bag and pulled out a fountain pen. She uncapped it and handed it to my mother, who regarded it for a second as if it were a dangerous weapon.
“ Where did you get this?” she demanded, signing her name quickly as if she expected the fountain pen to bite.
Miss Carswell smiled. “I have a lot of them,” she said, not exactly answering my mother’s question.
My mother shook her head. “No one uses them anymore, you know. They spit ink and make a mess.”
“ Not if they’re properly adjusted,” Miss Carswell, replied, taking the pen from my mother’s hand, recapping it, and depositing it in her bag.
“ They write too wet,” my mother argued. “Everything smears unless you use blotting paper.” She shook her head. “Who wants to carry around blotting paper?”
Miss Carswell picked up the form my mother had signed and ran her hand over it. “Not wet at all. And I didn’t use blotting paper.”
My mother chuckled. “Well, I’ll be!” she announced, shaking her head. To my surprise she twinkled at Miss Carswell. “Are you going to drive us home in a buggy?” she asked.
Drive us home? Us? Miss Carswell? My face must have shouted my curiosity because Miss Carswell said, “Your father can’t see well enough to drive, Buzz. And your mother is tired. So I offered them a ride.” She smiled. “And you can come along too, if you like.”
I felt shell-shocked. “But…”
“ Just because I’m a hopelessly irredeemable heathen,” she said with a straight face, “doesn’t mean I can’t drive.”
My mother smiled. “Clarence says there’s hope for everyone. Anyone can see the light.”
Then she stood up and Miss Carswell, who’d gotten my clothes out of the closet for me, took her arm. “Let’s wait outside while this young man gets dressed.”


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