Carl Hiaasen - Hoot

As the figure drew closer, passing through the glow of the streetlights, the policeman could see it was a husky teenaged boy. The boy kept his head down and seemed to be in a hurry, though he wasn't running in a normal way; it was more of a wobbly lurch. Each step made a sharp clacking sound that echoed on the pavement.

When the boy came into range of the squad car's headlights, Officer Delinko noticed a flat rectangular object attached to each of his sneakers. Something very strange was going on.

The police officer flipped on the flashing blue lights and stepped out of the car. The surprised teenager halted and looked up. His pudgy chest was heaving and his face was slick with sweat.

Officer Delinko said, "Can I talk to you for a second, young man?"

"Nope," answered the boy, turning to bolt.

With rattraps on his feet, he didn't get far. Officer Delinko had no difficulty catching the boy and hustling him into the caged backseat of the police cruiser. The patrolman's seldom-used handcuffs worked splendidly.

"Why did you run?" he asked his young prisoner.

"I want a lawyer," the kid replied, stone-faced.

"Cute."

Officer Delinko put the squad car into a U-turn so he could take the boy to the police station. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he spotted another figure hurrying up the street, waving frantically.

Now what? thought the policeman, stepping on the brakes.

"Whoa! Wait up!" shouted the approaching figure, his unmistakable bald head glinting under the streetlights.

It was Leroy Branitt, a.k.a. Curly, the foreman of the Mother Paula's project. He was huffing and puffing when he reached the police car, and drooped wearily across the hood. His face was florid and smudged with dirt.

Officer Delinko leaned out the window and asked what was the matter.

"You caught him!" the foreman exclaimed breathlessly. "Way to go!"

"Caught who?" The policeman turned to appraise his prisoner in the backseat.

"Him! The little sneak who's been messin' up our place." Curly straightened and pointed accusingly at the teenager. "He tried to bust into my trailer tonight. Lucky I didn't shoot his fool head off."

Officer Delinko fought to contain his excitement. He'd actually done it! He'd caught the Mother Paula's vandal!

"I had him pinned and he got away," Curly was saying, "but not before I wrung his name outta him. It's Roy. Roy Eberhardt. Go ahead and ask him!"

"I don't need to," said Officer Delinko. "I know Roy Eberhardt, and that's not him."

"What!" Curly was fuming, as if he'd expected honesty from the young burglar.

Officer Delinko said, "I assume you want to press charges."

"You bet your shiny tin badge I do. This creep tried to blind me, too. Threw dirt in my eyes!"

"That's an assault," Officer Delinko said, "to go along with the attempted burglary, trespassing, destruction of private property, and so forth. Don't worry, I'll put it all in the report." He motioned to the passenger side and told Curly to hop in. "You'll need to come down to headquarters."

"My pleasure." Curly scowled at the sullen lump in the backseat. "You wanna hear how he got those ridiculous rattraps on his tootsies?"

"Later," said Officer Delinko. "I want to hear everything." This was the big break that the policeman had been waiting for. He could hardly wait to get to the station and pry a full confession out of the teenager.

From training films, Officer Delinko remembered that delicate psychology was necessary when dealing with uncooperative suspects. So in a deliberately mild voice, he said: "You know, young man, you can make this much easier on yourself."

"Yeah, right," the kid muttered from behind the mesh partition.

"You could start by telling us your real name."

"Gee, I forget."

Curly chuckled harshly. "Puttin' this one in jail is gonna be fun."

Officer Delinko shrugged. "Have it your way," he told the teenaged prisoner. "You got nuthin' to say, that's cool. You're entitled under the law."

The boy smiled crookedly. "What if I got a question?"

"Go right ahead and ask it."

"Okay, I will," said Dana Matherson. "Either of you dorks got a cigarette I could bum?"

The doorbell rang while the Eberhardts were eating lunch. "On a Sunday, honestly!" Roy's mother said. She believed that Sundays should be reserved for family activities.

"You've got a visitor," Roy's father said when he returned from answering the door.

Roy's stomach knotted because he wasn't expecting anybody. He suspected that something newsworthy must have happened last night at the pancake-house property.

"One of your buddies," Mr. Eberhardt said. "He says you guys had plans to go skateboarding."

"Oh." It had to be Garrett. Roy was almost dizzy with relief. "Yeah, I forgot."

"But, honey, you don't own a skateboard," Mrs. Eberhardt pointed out.

"It's all right. His friend brought an extra," said Mr. Eberhardt.

Roy rose from the table, hurriedly dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "Is it okay if I go?"

"Oh, Roy, it's Sunday," his mother objected.

"Please? Just for an hour."

He knew his parents would say yes. They were happy to think he was making friends at his new school.

Garrett was waiting on the front steps. He started to blurt something, but Roy signaled him to keep quiet until they were away from the house. Wordlessly they skated the sidewalk to the end of the block, where Garrett kicked off of his board and exclaimed: "You won't believe it-Dana Matherson got busted last night!"

"No way!" Roy was trying to act more surprised than he was. Obviously the Mother Paula's property had been under surveillance, just as he'd anticipated.

"The cops called my mom first this morning," Garrett reported. "He tried to break into a trailer to steal some stuff."

As the guidance counselor at Trace Middle School, Garrett's mother was notified whenever a student got into trouble with the law.

Garrett said, "Dude, here's the killer-Dana told 'em he was you!"

"Oh, nice."

"What a butthead, huh?"

"And they probably believed him," Roy said.

"Not even for a minute."

"Was he alone?" Roy asked. "Anybody else get arrested?"

Anybody like Beatrice Leep's stepbrother? he wanted to say.

"Nope. Just him," Garrett said, "and guess what-he's got a record!"

"A record?"

"A rap sheet, dude. Dana's been busted before, is what the cops told my mom."

Again, Roy wasn't exactly shocked by the news. "Busted for what?"

"Shoplifting, breakin' into Coke machines-stuff like that," Garrett said. "One time he even knocked down a lady and swiped her purse. Mom made me promise not to tell. It's supposed to be a secret, since Dana's still a minor."

"Right," said Roy sarcastically. "You wouldn't want to ruin his fine reputation."

"Whatever. Hey, you oughta be doin' somersaults."

"Yeah, what for?"

"'Cause my mom says they're gonna lock him up this time."

"Juvie hall?"

"No doubt," said Dana, "on account of his rap sheet."

"Wow," Roy said quietly.

He wasn't in the mood to turn somersaults, though he couldn't deny experiencing a sense of liberation. He was tired of being Dana Matherson's punching bag.

And while he felt guilty about making up the bogus cigarette story, Roy also couldn't help but think that putting Dana behind bars was a public service. He was a nasty kid. Maybe a hitch at juvenile hall would straighten him out.

"Hey, wanna do the skate park?" Garrett asked.

"Sure."

Roy got on his borrowed skateboard and pushed off hard with his right foot. The whole way to the park, he never once checked over his shoulder to see if he was being stalked. It felt good, the way Sundays ought to feel.

Curly awoke in his own bed, and why not?