Amateur Hour

Nina

When dinner was over, Janice kindly offered to help with the dishes, and wasn’t at all discommoded, when Nina accepted. Rather, she kept up a pleasant conversation about art, and proved to know a lot about it, on an instinctive level, without trying to sound like an expert.

This was a relief, as Nina had no use for experts. Experts confused her, and made her feel stupid. Janice asked simple questions, and listened to the answers. Nina had been afraid, from Teddy’s description of her intelligence, that she would turn out to be intimidating, but she wasn’t, in the least.

“Still want to see where I go, to sling globs of paint, on the floor?” Nina asked, when the last of the dishes were stacked neatly into the drainer.

“Very much,” Janice nodded, smiling.

Nina indicated the direction, with a tilt of her head, and Janice followed her back into the living room, stepping over the dogs, to get to the sliding glass door that led to the back yard. Raven lifted her head, for a moment, then dropped it again. Spike was out, cold, overcome by his good sized medium rare burger.

The air was cool, and refreshing, as they crossed the yard to a large shed that had a wheelchair ramp. The ramp was gently sloped, making it easier for Hannah to negotiate, on her own, if necessary.

Nina fed her key into the lock, and turned on the light switch. Janice’s face was such a study of reactions, that she had to laugh.

Janice closed her eyes, for a moment to inhale the scent, through her nose. When she opened them again, there was a look of astonishment at the organized chaos. Next came mild confusion, as Janice’s eyes seemed to be drawn in several directions, at once.

“I hardly know what to look at!” she exclaimed.

“Anything you want,” Nina shrugged. “Except for those,” she pointed toward a stack of paintings on one wall, turned to face it. “Those are embarrassing.”

“I’ll leave them alone, then,” Janice smiled.

This struck Nina as being uncommonly decent. Too often, people would insist on seeing someone’s worst work, if only to insist that it was good. She liked the respect.

There were several works on the walls, and Janice started with those. They were all works that Nina considered salable, if not very fine. Watching her face, she could see that Janice was of a similar opinion, though she seemed to like them more than Nina, herself, did.

“Those are mostly hanging there, for the paint to cure,” Nina remarked. “They’re dry, to the touch, but not quite hardened. The framed ones, against the near wall, are ready for the next Tribal Fair.”

“That’s where you show? Would you let me know, when the next one is? Or, is it not a public event?”

“It’s very public,” Nina smiled. “You and Liam would have a good time, I think. Liam would like the storytellers.”

“No, Liam would love the storytellers,” Janice laughed. “History is his meat and potatoes, but legend and folklore are his dessert. I see so many of these that I would buy, if I could afford them,” she added, as she went through the framed works.

“Everything’s negotiable. Hannah helps me set the starting prices — which are always too high. Some people enjoy haggling, and she’s in charge of that. I can’t do it — it makes me nervous.”

“She’s your agent, then,” Janice nodded. “I’ll bet she’s tough, too.”

“Depends. If she likes you, she’s more flexible. If she doesn’t…” Nina smiled, shrugging.

“What a wonderful, creative space this is!” Janice said, when she had finished looking through the paintings.

“A gift, from Teddy. I was happy enough, working in the house, but he insisted that I needed more room to spread out.”

“Thank you, for showing it to me.”

“No, thank you, for being my husband’s friend. He needs more than just me.”

“No one can be everything to their husbands or wives. I’m not all Liam needs, either.”

“I doubt that. You can talk to him, on his level. I can’t always do that, with Teddy. I understand him, you know, but I can’t… I’m not his equal.”

Janice came forward, and took her hand.

“It means more than you might think, that you understand him. It means even more, that you love him,” she said.

“I do, Janice.”

Guy

“You’re late,” she accused him, from somewhere in the shadows. Guy nearly jumped out of his loafers, at the sound of her voice.

“Damn, Steph! Give me a heart attack, why don’t you?” he chuckled, softly.

“I ought to give you a bloody nose.”

“For what? We saved a kid. Isn’t that a good thing?” he found her, finally, and stood close enough to her, that they could keep their voices low. “Want one?” he offered her a stick of gum, this time, rather than a cigarette. Chewing gum wasn’t forbidden, except during class. Some teachers didn’t bother to enforce that, either, unless they had a major stick up the ass.

“Thanks. You quitting, or something?” she asked, unwrapping the stick.

“No — just think a lighter would be too noticeable, tonight.”

“Someone kicked over an anthill,” she agreed. I wonder who that could have been.”

“Yeah, okay. I did that. The place is crawling, now. What’s your point?” It had been a stressful weekend, and Guy could feel his temper starting to slip.

“None, I guess,” Steph sighed. “You had to get him out—I know that.”

“Good!” he snapped.

“And, you’ve upset the system. The fact that it was a necessary evil, doesn’t make it less of an evil.”

“Afraid of a few extra rent-a-cops, Steph?”

“Stop trying to pick a fight.”

“You’re the one who started in with threats to bloody my nose,” he shrugged, in the dark.

“Because I need your attention, hotshot.”

“I figured, since you’re the one who summoned me out here.” This was a cheap shot, and he knew it. Usually, he was the one who called the meets, and she had never complained. “What’s up?” he asked, trying to sound more reasonable.

“What’s up, is that they’ve announced early, this month. You did save a boy, and I’m not sorry about that. But, they’ve moved on to the next girl, now.”

“What?! How do you know?”

“I got a card, in the mail.”

“And, I got a bun in the oven,” he scoffed, not wanting to believe it.

He saw her dig into her pocket for something. Out came a small piece of card stock, folded to fit. Steph grabbed his hand, and put it in his palm, closing his fingers lightly over it.

“You won’t be able to see it, out here — not that there’s much to see, just my number, inside.”

Guy was at a loss for words.

“Okay,” he said, at last. “No need to panic.”

“Do I look panicked, vato? Better me than an actual student, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would, if it were your turn to get called for a ‘family emergency’. It’s mine, though, and who knows when that will be?” He paused, thinking. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Miles. She can get word out. My cover’s blown, with her, but I can save yours.”

“Who are you going to tell her to reach out to?”

“Christina’s my emergency contact. It’ll be the reverse order of things, but Julio will accept it. I’ll do it, tomorrow. We’re fine.”

“Who are you trying to convince, Guy?” She laughed quietly, then sighed. “Damn. They’ll probably start the meds, tomorrow. I might not always be able to cheek the pills, so if I start acting weird, you’ll know why.”

“Let’s find a tombstone. We can light one up, without being seen. No temp guard will go near the place, anyway.”

Without a word, Steph turned in the direction of the cemetery, and led the way. Guy followed closely, relying on her cat eyes to get them there, though the stones were pale enough, in the dark, for him to know when they had arrived.

The tallest of the stones wasn’t more than two and a quarter feet in height, but they could bend forward, when seated, to hide the flare of the lighter.

“Let’s just share that one,” she proposed, as he lit up the first smoke. “We don’t want to be out, too long. Thanks,” she added, when he passed her the cig.

“I’ve got you. You know that, right?” he asked.

“I know you do, as much as you can, anyway. I’m not scared—just a little nervous.” She released a smoky breath. “Man, I do not want to be drugged. The trick is to figure out what they’re giving me, and fake it, accordingly.”

“Where’s a PDR, when you need one, right?” Guy released a lungful of smoke into the air, and passed the cigarette.

“You know, that’s a good idea. I’ll bet there’s one, in the library. Maybe I can steal it.”

“Bet Mrs. Miles has one. She’s got a crazy bookshelf, in her office. All of Falconi’s crap, and some of her own, too. Want me to ask if I can borrow hers, and find a way to hand it off, to you?”

“You could try, I guess.”

“Maybe they won’t start doping you, right away. With Miller, they had an excuse. They switched up his anxiety meds, he said. They don’t already have you on anything, right?”

“Not so much as an allergy pill.”

“Wish I could say the same,” Guy chuckled ruefully. He’d had to give up, Saturday night, and beg for antihistamines at the infirmary. At least, they were working.

“You could be right. Terror seems to be a big part of all of it. It’d probably be better, if I acted like I was about to come unglued.”

“Which, you’re not.”

“Which, I’m not,” she agreed. “Want the last hit?”

“Nah. You go ahead.”

The end of the cigarette flared, as Steph pulled in the last drag, before butting it, stone cold, against a nearby rock.

“I’ll get rid of it,” Guy offered.

“You’re so paranoid,” she laughed. “I promise you, I can be trusted to dispose of a butt.”

“I know. Gimme.”

She sighed, and handed the butt over. Guy pocketed it, hopped up, and pulled Steph to her feet.

***

Steph

They were about ten paces out of the woods, when Guy hissed a curse under his breath. Steph followed his gaze, and she was aghast, when she saw what he had seen. It was one of the temporary guards, of course, and he was heading straight for them.

From the slowness of his pace, he hadn’t seen them yet—but the moment he glanced up from his phone, he would. Steph turned to stare at Guy, with widened eyes.

“Sorry,” he whispered, before seizing her and dragging her hard against himself. He proceeded to kiss her, with all the fervor of a libidinous teenager.

She caught on, after the first instant of shock. By the time the guard had spotted them and yelled, “Hey! You!”, she had even worked the top three buttons loose, on Guy’s shirt.

“Break it up!” the guard shouted, trotting toward them, the beam of his flashlight bouncing.

Steph and Guy separated, both looking flushed and flustered, but not quite guilty. Steph was aware of Guy drawing himself up, straight, like a macho teen, ready to do battle. She hoped he wouldn’t get too cocky.

As the guard drew close, she caught the smell of liquor on his breath. The school was evidently hiring the best of the best, for extra grounds patrol, she mused.

“Let’s see your badges,” he demanded, a little breathlessly, as he drew up.

“You first,” Guy challenged.

Oh, yes — he was going to go with cocky and belligerent. She wanted to roll her eyes, but instead, she put on a face of mute appeal for mercy, and complied with the guard’s demand.

“Stephanie Howard,” the guard muttered.

“He reads,” Guy remarked, to no one, in particular.

“How about you, smart guy?”

“I said: you, first. I don’t know you. You could be some kidnapping pervert, for all I know.” He reached out, to draw Steph closer to him, and slightly behind.

The guard stared at him. Guy stared back.

“Punk,” the guard said, finally, and held up his temporary employee badge, to dangle in front of Guy’s eyes.

“No name, no photo. Like I said, you could be anyone.”

“One way to find out. Let’s take a walk, to the Security desk.”

“Yeah, let’s do that. You smell like a whole bar, dude.”

“Sir, we can forget all about this, can’t we?” Steph spoke up. “You had a little nip. No big deal. And we… we had a little kiss. Also no big deal. Please,” she teared up, and there was a catch in her voice. “I can’t get expelled. I just can’t!”

“I’m supposed to report any students out of bounds, Miss…what was your name, again?”

“Harrell,” Steph supplied, without blinking. “Stacy Harrell. I understand, sir, but, we’re not really doing anything. I love him, sir.”

The guard blew air out between his teeth, in another boozy wave.

“Go on,” he said. “Get back inside. If I catch you again…”

“Thank you, sir! Thank you—you won’t. Come on Gary,” she tugged at Guy’s wrist. Guy put up a token resistance, then allowed her to drag him away, to a door that was unlocked, and led nowhere.

They waited, peeking through the window, until the guard had ambled away, before leaving their bolt-hole for the real door.

On the other side of it, Steph sagged against the nearest wall, and Guy burst into laughter.

“Something tells me you’ve talked your way out of a ticket or two,” he said, when he was able.

“Button your shirt, you degenerate,” she grinned back.

“If I’d known you were going to try to undress me, I’d have grabbed you, sooner, Stacy,” he retorted, doing up the buttons.

Steph blushed, and she was glad it was too dark for him to see it.

Her humor ebbed, as they traversed the dark and deserted old wing, and she began to brood. At the junction where they usually parted, Guy snagged her wrist.

“I have got you, you know,” he assured her.

“I know. But, if anything does happen to me—“

“Nothing will.” His tone was adamant.

“If it does — will you look in on Galen, from time to time?”

“Shut up, Steph,” he growled, before she could say more. He put a hand on each of her shoulders. “Don’t you dare give me last requests. I plan to be there with my camera, to get pictures of you, ugly crying at the kid’s wedding.”

He leaned in and kissed her. “Got it?” he asked.

“Why did you do that?”

“It seemed nicer than shaking you.” He released her shoulders. “Gonna file a sexual harassment case with HR?”

“Probably,” she laughed. “When we get an HR department.”

“Good. Goals are your friends.” He reached up, extracted a religious medal from the neckline of his shirt, and pulled it from around his neck. “This is St. Michael,” he said, looping the chain over her head. “The ultimate defender.”

“Guy, no!” she protested.

“Don’t get all nervous. It doesn’t mean we’re going steady.”

“If anyone sees it, it’ll be gone.“

“Religious medals are allowed, as long as they’re kept tucked in. Just yell, ‘First Amendment’, if they try to confiscate it.”

“What about you?”

“St. Michael and I are so close, I call him ‘Mike’, when we get together for beers on Friday night. Go to bed. Get some sleep. See you in Lit class.”

“G’night, then.”

“Night.”

He watched her walk away, for as long as he could see her — which wasn’t very long. The deep shadows swallowed her, well before her footfalls began to fade. Guy turned, and began his trip back toward the supply room that opened at the other end onto a corridor that led to his own dorm.

Steph was rattled, but he thought she would hold up. If it hadn’t been for her worries about her son, he would be certain of it. This wasn’t their first case, together, but it was the first where they hadn’t been able to communicate as easily as picking up a phone.

He tripped on something, muttered a profanity, and turned on his flashlight. A coiled extension cord. Steph would have seen that, he thought, smirking to himself. Maybe he’d better learn to echo-locate.

**************

Janice

“I just wanted to ask you how Miller is doing,” Guy said. “Have you heard any word, since Friday, Mrs. Miles?”

“I have, and he’s well. Do you want to know where he is?” She had no intention of telling him, of course. Janice had already decided she wouldn’t be a party to getting Tucker and Lisa in trouble, if she could help it.

“No,” he replied, surprising her. “I don’t — not now, anyway. Just your asking tells me he’s not back with his parents. So, no. All I wanted to know was that he’s all right.”

“He’s with good people, and he’s very well and safe.” She paused. “Is that all, Mr. Ramirez?” she asked, shifting some papers on her desk.

She knew it wasn’t. His concern for Rob Miller was genuine, but he wouldn’t have come, without another purpose. He wouldn’t have come, without a request, more to the point.

“No,” he admitted. “I need a favor, ma’am. It’s not a dangerous favor, but it’s critical.”

“What do you need?” Her tone was wary.

“I need you to call someone, for me. My sister.”

“Your sister?”

“My right hand to God—she’s my sister.” He held up his right hand, as he spoke, and looked too earnest for Janice to doubt him. “I need help, from my agency. She’s the only indirect contact they would accept.”

“What’s the message?”

Guy gestured toward a pen and pad, on her desk, with a questioning look. Janice nodded. He scribbled a phone number on the top page, and pushed the pad in her direction.

“Her name is Christina,” he said. “Just tell her that Guillermo says, ‘S.O.S’— she’ll know what it means.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. But, it’s crucial.” His face was grim and there was a hint of desperation, in his eyes.

“Are you in danger, Mr. Ramirez?” Janice frowned.

“Not me, no. A friend.”

“Is any time better to reach your sister than another?”

“No—she works from home. Her phone is always right next to her. I will say, the sooner you can do it, the better.”

“You could use my phone, right now, and you could speak to her, yourself.”

Guy smote his brow. “Why didn’t I think of that? Do you speak any foreign languages, Mrs. Miles?” he asked, with a hint of a smile.

“French. I suppose it’s a species of French, rather than the Parisian version. Why?”

“No reason,” he shook his head, his smile broadening, a little.

Wearing a puzzled smile of her own, Janice got up, with her phone and came around the desk, to hand it to him, in passing. She went to the door, locked it, and came back to her desk.

The call went through, and she could vaguely hear a female voice, on the other end, as he held the device to his ear.

Guy proceeded to address her, by name, followed by a spate of rather impatient Spanish, as he was constantly interrupted, that consisted of many ‘si’s’ with a ‘no’ or two thrown in. These, and the occasional ‘mira’, were about the extent of Janice’s Spanish. Finally, he was able to get down to the business of the call. He ended it with a gentle laugh and ‘te amo’.

“Thank you, Mrs. Miles,” he said, handing the phone back, to her. “You may have just helped me save another student.”

“I’m glad to have, if I did.”

“You did. It’s up to me, now, and to my firm. I was able to give Christina more details, speaking to her, directly.”

“Details you didn’t want me to know?” she asked, with a small smile.

“For your own good, yes. For your own safety.”

“Your sister is safe, though?”

“Safe as houses, as the British say. You’re here, she’s not.”

“I’m not a student,” she pointed out.

“You don’t have to be a student, to be in danger, here. You only have to come to the attention of the wrong people. If I knew who they were, I could tell you who to avoid.”

“Is that what happened to Mr. Falconi?”

The question startled him. She could see that he was considering how much to tell her.

“I think so,” he replied, after a pause. “He was helping me, or trying to. Mr. Falconi was gathering information. All I can figure is that he must have asked something, of the wrong person.”

“I thought he had some sort of breakdown.”

“It looked that way.” There was a beat, before he continued. “Falconi was a good guy– maybe a little too good. He was well educated and stable, but a bit naive. He was inclined to give almost everyone the benefit of the doubt. You’re more perceptive. I believe you’ve seen some things.”

“I have — some very strange things.”

Guy nodded. “Falconi knew, on an academic level, that bad things existed, but he’d never seen them, except from the remove of a camera, or a printed page. This place was his first brush with evil, firsthand. Popped his bubble. But, he didn’t know how to proceed, from there. He didn’t know how to be careful, or subtle. He must have raised someone’s hackles, so they took care of him.”

“I thought he was still alive. Isn’t he?”

“As far as I know,” Guy shrugged. “But, he wasn’t in good shape, when they carted him out of here. I believe he was drugged into his psychotic break. All the ingredients are right there, in the infirmary. Everything you could ask for, to control or ‘modify the behavior’ of a troubled teen—or truly screw him up. I blame myself, for not looking out for the poor fool better.”

“How could you have foreseen it?”

“It’s my job to be suspicious, Mrs. Miles. Or, it’s a survival instinct. Either way, I should have used it on his behalf, since the man had none, of his own. I don’t think you need this warning, but I’ll give it to you, anyway: Never take food or drink from someone you don’t know well, and never leave your own unattended, in the lounge, either.”

“I learned that, when I was eighteen, and old enough to go to a bar, for the first time. My Mama gave me a whole lecture on it.”

“Just remember what she told you, then, and apply it to your soda, tea, and coffee, when you’re at work. Now—“ he sighed a bit, as he rose from the chair, opposite. “I have to get back to being a punk kid.”

“Someday, when this is all settled, I’d love to talk to you about that.”

“Someday, we will,” he smiled. “It’s a weird career.”

Janice noticed he was scanning her bookshelves. She swiveled in her chair, look, as well. Most of the contents were leftovers, and some of them had looked like they could potentially be useful, so Janice hadn’t felt any compulsion to clear them out. She wondered what could have piqued Guy’s interest.

“See something you want to read?” she asked, glancing back at him.

“I don’t suppose I could borrow that PDR?” He indicated a copy of the Physician’s Desk Reference, on the third shelf. “The latest one?”

“Sure. I have one of my own. Help yourself.”

“Thank you, so much,” he said, snagging it.

“Keep it, if you want. I have the same edition, in one of my drawers.”

“You’re the best, Mrs. Miles.”

“It’s not as if it’s a contraband book,” she observed, confused by the depth of his gratitude.

“No, just one that you can’t take out of the library.”

“You’re welcome to it, and any of those older editions, if you want them.”

Guy hesitated for a second, then took the next newest edition, as well.

“Thank you,” he repeated, as he stuffed the two paperbacks into his bag.

It was a clear, PVC bag, like her own work satchel. It occurred to Janice that the game was heavily rigged, when one side had to show all of their cards, against a house that revealed nothing. She couldn’t imagine living with so little privacy, every hour of the day.