Chapter 49

I let Vinney check on the guys on the ground and stepped back, partially ‘cause they might try something again, and partially because when the sheriff arrived, I didn’t think I should be anywhere near them.

The guy who I knocked out in the beginning woke up a few minutes after Vinney came back outside, but then he proceeded to puke his guts out. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I’d heard somewhere that it was the sign of a concussion. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem like he was going to try to get payback now that he was awake. Both Harry and the big guy were down for the count, and I was pretty sure I broke Harry’s collarbone, which I’d kicked straight on as he charged me. If I did, it would take a while to heal, and probably knock him out of sports until next fall. I didn’t feel bad about it. If he didn’t want to get hurt, he should have stayed away from me.

Just about the time the other kid woke up, Chef came charging outside. He must have stopped to put clothes on, because he was wearing shorts and a shirt, with the shirt on inside out, suggesting it had been thrown on in a hurry.

“What happened?” he asked after checking on the kids.

“I helped Vinney clean up a bit, and then he told me to head home. I came outside and these three guys plus one other who just left in their car were waiting at the bottom of the steps for me. The only reason I saw them before they attacked was because Vinney turned on the lights,” I said, pointing to their dark clothing. “For the last week, Harry there has been telling anyone who would listen that he was going to get me, and I’m pretty sure he was one of the guys who jumped me last year. I just defended myself.”

“Who made the first move?” Chef asked.

Partly, that question might have been because Chef always taught that Kung Fu should be used for defense, and never offense, but I knew at the moment Chef was being more practical than that. He was probably thinking about the videotape, the same as I had, and wondering what it would show when the sheriff looked at it.

“We moved at the same time. I started to move, and Harry yelled ‘get him.’ I jumped over the railing, knocking that kid out. The rest of them came at me, and I defended myself. Once I dropped the big guy, Paul ran to the car I think they came in and took off. Vinney came out and I told him to call the cops. That’s it.”

“Do you know them?”

“I know Harry,” I said, pointing at him. “And Paul who ran away. I think these two guys are on the football team with Harry, but I don’t know their names.”

“Okay, what...” Chef started to say, and paused as we heard sirens coming closer.

One of the things about living in a small town, it didn’t take long for the police to show up somewhere, especially this late at night when nothing else was happening.

“Let me do the talking,” Chef said.

I just nodded. I was praying, to myself, that one of the deputies would respond. I should have known my luck wouldn’t be that good. I recognized Sydney’s father through the windshield as he pulled up.

Chef started towards the car as the sheriff got out and said, “Sheriff, we have a bit of a situation here. I think if...”

I could see the moment the sheriff stopped listening to Chef, since it was the same moment he locked eyes with me.

“Hold on a sec, Chef Tang.”

Chef frowned and looked over at me. I was pretty sure he saw the look the sheriff had given me; but ever the patient man, he stepped back and waited. Chef was nearly the opposite of me in how he reacted to situations. He would always wait to see what happened before rushing in, where I always had to be saying or doing something. It was a skill I really needed to learn.

The sheriff went to Harry and his friends and looked them over, I guess to see how bad they were hurt. All three were clearly in pain, but at least to me, none looked to be injured in an immediately life-threatening way. What I didn’t like was that he was talking with them in hushed tones I couldn’t hear. He was probably asking about their condition, but he was also probably getting a very warped version of what happened if Harry held true to form.

I guess the sheriff felt the same way, because he pulled out his phone, called someone, and said, “I’m going to need a couple of ambulances at the Blue Ridge Restaurant and Bar off of US 441. Three injured juveniles, none critical. Maybe some broken bones. One possible concussion. Yeah. Yeah. I’ll be here.”

He put the phone back in his pocket and walked over to me.

“Stand up,” he said, pulling handcuffs off his belt.

I did as instructed. Mr. Eaves had drilled into my head multiple times, especially after the last brush with the law a month ago, that I should just follow commands and keep my mouth shut unless it was to say ‘I want a lawyer.’

“Hold up a second. These...”

“Chef,” he said, half turning from me to face Chef. “I appreciate you have a soft spot for this boy, but I have a job to do. You know I respect you, but I will arrest you along with him if you try and interfere. Just stay over there and let me do my job.”

Chef frowned but did as instructed. As I turned around, I did notice he was waving Vinney over to him, although I assumed it was to get Vinney out of the way. Chef was too smart to do anything foolish that might make things harder.

“You’re under arrest for assault,” he said, pulling my arms behind me and snapping on the handcuffs. “Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you if you wish. You can choose to waive these rights at any time. Now, do you want to tell me why you attacked these boys?”

“I want a lawyer.”

“Fine,” he said, grabbing me roughly by the handcuffs and turning me so I was facing the other way and he was behind me.

Chef was on a cell phone, which looked like Vinney’s, when the sheriff turned around.

“Mr. Eaves will meet you at the station,” Chef said, as I was marched towards the car.

I just nodded and continued walking toward the sheriff’s car. I was pushed roughly into the backseat. I was furious. He hadn’t asked me for my side of the story until after he put handcuffs on me and had told Chef to shut up when he started to explain what had happened. Instead, he heard whatever Harry had to say, heard that it confirmed what he already thought about me, and decided I was guilty then and there.

Considering he was there when my car windows were broken and knew their track record of attacking me, it boggled my mind that commonsense didn’t take over, at least for a second, for him to see this was all bullshit. It goes to show what happens when you decide someone is one way, and refuse to see them as anything else, unable to give anyone a chance to prove you wrong. I hoped I wasn’t like that. I wasn’t worried about people like Dad or Aaron, since they’d proven themselves time and again. Even Mom had shown who she was, although I think that was more complicated. Just like with Kat, abuse tended to produce strange results. Still, it was another lesson I’d need to think about. Assuming I didn’t end up in prison for defending myself.

I sat in the back of the car for what felt like hours, although with my hands behind my back, there was no real way of knowing. My arms started to ache, and I could see Chef look over at me regularly, but there was nothing he could do. I did see he had Vinney take my guitar back inside, which I was grateful for. Eventually, two ambulances showed up and they took the three injured kids away. Only then did the sheriff say something to Chef before getting in the car and driving me to the station.

He didn’t ask me any questions and I offered him nothing during the drive. I’d thought maybe he’d lecture me about my violent nature or whatever bullshit he chose as my negative trait today, but I guess asking for my lawyer was the magic phrase. One thing was for sure, I wasn’t going to be the one to talk. In the other instances there might have been reasons to talk, but in this situation, in the back of a cop car with my hands cuffed behind my back, the only thing to do was to shut up and wait for my lawyer.

He put me into one of the holding cells where I sat for a while. For all the trouble I’d been in so far, this was the first time I was actually in a jail cell. It was quiet. A lot quieter than I thought it would be. There were only two other people in the cell with me, both passed out and snoring, probably drunks picked up for public intoxication.

Time slipped by. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, and I think I might have even fallen asleep for a minute. I was so tired. I’d gotten up early that morning for school and, if I guessed right, it was now somewhere between three and four in the morning, which meant I’d been awake for almost twenty-one hours, give or take. That included a lot of practice sessions, a stage show, and a fight, all of which took a lot of energy.

“Nelson,” a voice said, causing me to jerk upright.

It was the sheriff, standing by the door of the cell.

“Your lawyer is here.”

He led me through the main part of the sheriff’s station to a room on the other side of the not-very-big building that said Interview on the wall. Inside, Mr. Eaves was sitting at a small table.

“Give me a moment with my client,” Mr. Eaves, who looked exhausted but was still dressed, like usual, in a suit, said.

“Only a few. It’s late and we’re about to switch shifts. Otherwise, he can go to Asheville for processing and you can interview him there.”

The door closed behind him and I said, “I don’t want to go to Asheville.”

“I know. Did you talk to them?”

“Not a word, but you should talk to Chef. He has cameras...”

“I know, I saw the video. It helps, but it isn’t a slam dunk by any means. It’s very hard to tell who moved first and there’s no sound, so any claim that you were minding your own business and were attacked is going to be harder to prove.”

“But they were out there, standing around the bottom of the porch, in the dark, for who knows how long. That has to count for something. Harry also broke my windows, and the sheriff was there, so that should also count.”

“Did either of you see this boy break your windows?”

“No, but I’m sure it was him.”

“It’s not what you’re sure about; it’s what you can prove. The only thing that helps you is the way those four boys were there in the dark, waiting. We scrubbed back a few hours and they seemed to be out there from ten pm on, but most of that time they just looked like more of the crowd, albeit dressed very plainly all in the same color. They hung around a car that was in the parking lot even after the last patron left, then moved to where we saw them once the lights came back on.”

“What about Paul? Has anyone talked to him?”

“I believe the sheriff went and talked to him while you were waiting on me. I’m not sure yet. Now, I’m going to call him back in here, and he’s going to ask you questions. I want you to look at me after he asks each question. If I nod, answer it, otherwise, I will speak for you when I don’t want you to answer a question. Most importantly, only answer the question he asks, and answer as specifically and directly as possible. Don’t elaborate. Don’t add flavor. Don’t expand on it. If he asks you what time it is, you say four. Not AM. Not PM. Let him ask another question if he wants more information. Got it?”