Unknown - High School Scandals

And he heard something else,, the monotonous repetition of the tape deck.

Roberta F. was a living wonder, but not over and over again. The bugs, he thought; if there was a monitor somewhere, the guy would think Dallas had turned on the music and left home, using the noise as a cover up.

Quickly, he turned Kathy over and hissed it in her ear, “Grab your clothes and slide under the bed. Stay quiet, no matter what happens. I think we may get a visitor.”

Reacting without panic, but with swift movements, Kathy did as she was told, asking no useless questions. She was out of sight before he stood up. Dallas found his robe, put it on, then moved into the living room.

There was a 12 gauge shotgun in the closet, one he used to hunt birds with until he learned firsthand how it felt to be hunted, in Nam. Picking up the gun, he found the box of shells on a top shelf, then fed three into the pump.

When it snapped shut, the sound of the bolt was loud in the room, masked only by the song hammering there.

By the time Dallas settled, himself into the closet and was thinking that his hunch was a loser, that he might squat there for wasted hours while Kathy cringed under the dusty bed-the kitchen door opened and shut.

Taking a firm grip on the stock of the shotgun, Dallas thought: the tapes. He’s grabbing this chance to change the tapes, or to check the mikes one by one. Or maybe the man was after something else. He could have something to plant, like the baggie left in his car earlier today.

Dallas slid out of the closet and used one toe to pull the plug from the wall.

The tape deck suddenly stopped making noise. The man stopped where he was, in the middle of the room, and stood very still.

“Put your hands on top your head,” Dallas said. “Slowly, I mean. I’m talking from behind a 12 gauge pump mister. From here, it’ll cut you in half.”

“Oh shit,” the guy said softly, and followed orders, to the letter, standing stiff and with his shoulders hunched against what might be a storm of shot.

“Now turn around,” Dallas said, “just as easy.”

The man had a livid bruise across one cheekbone; he was one of the guys who’d jumped Dallas on the beach. His eyes were wide now, and his hands shook on top his bead. “L-look, buddy…”

“The music,” Dallas said. You heard it play over and over, and you thought I sneaked out. What do you want?”

“Nothing buddy-oh shit man! Don’t jiggle that shotgun around like that!”

“I keep Number Four shot in it,” Dallas said. “They’ll probably fuck up the far wall, after they go through you. What do you want here?”

The man’s hands trembled harder. “Look, I didn’t mean-I told Harry that you were some kind of goddamned pro, and that I didn’t want to screw around with you any more. Not after you nearly busted my head.”

“You’re wasting time,” Dallas said, playing with the cocked hammer of the shotgun.

“Don’t!” the man said sharply. “Harry-that’s Harry Sladermann, the bastard-he said to come over here because you’d sneak out if you could. He wanted me to-to leave something here.”

“Grass,” Dallas said. “Just a little bag of grass, right?”

“Look,” the man said rapidly, “I never touch the stuff buddy, and it wasn’t my idea. I ain’t-I don’t carry a gun; the bag is in my shirt pocket Can I drop it on the floor?”

“Just take it out and hold it by two fingers,” Dallas ordered. “Easy-buddy.

There, that’s right. Okay, now lift that hand with the baggie in it, right up to your mouth.”

“Oh nO, man! You ain’t going to make me eat…”

“I can blow your legs off at about the knees, or cave in your skull with the gun barrel. Eat it, you son of a bitch!”

It was over in a second or two, a confused crunching and gagging and swallowing. After he choked down the pot and its cellophane wrap, the man looked a little green, and stood swaying there.

“Be damned sure you don’t puke it up,” Dallas said. “Stand there until it takes good hold. Then I’ll let you get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”

Shaking his head, the man said, “I’ll probably die from this fucking stuff.

It’s dope, and I’ll probably die from It anyway. I told that damned Harry… “ eyes bulging, he said in a whisper, “and I’m telling him now. This house is bugged man. I forgot all about those damned bugs, and Harry is hearing everything I’m saying.”

Dallas pretended surprise. “Bugged? I’ll be damned. Wait until I get to that bastard Sladermann! I’ll have his license yanked so quick,…”

“Can I go?” the man asked plaintively. “Look buddy, I’ve had it. If this dope don’t kill me, I’ll leave town soon as I can. I’ve had it with Harry and bullshitting around with a pro, frying to set you up. Can I go buddy?”

Relenting, Dallas said, “The pot won’t kill you. It might make you sick as hell, or high as hell, or a combination of both. But it won’t kill you unless you get so stoned you run your car into something.”

“I’ll walk,” the man said, cautiously lowering his hands. “I’ll walk all the way out of town, I swear.”

“Start hiking,” Dallas said. “and-have a good night.”

“Oh shit,” the man said, and slouched hurriedly out the back door, the way he’d come.

“That was neat, how you handled him,” Kathy said breathlessly. “And it’s good to be able to talk out loud now that you’ve taken all the bugs apart. Your phone’s bugged to, but of course I won’t call you with anything important. It’s much more fun coming to you in person.”

Dallas toasted himself with a shot of bourbon, and splashed a little in another glass for her. She made a crinkled face and barely finished it, and he said, “We’ve sure as hell put a roadblock in their way. I don’t think they’ll stop trying to bug my place though; give them a day or two, and they’ll have new ones in.”

She frowned. “Even after you’ve found out they’re doing it?”

“I have, to try to think like Sladermann,” he explained. “And he’d figure that if I found one set, I wouldn’t be expecting another one. They’ll be in the same places, too-operating on the same precept. If I’m suspicious, I should look elsewhere for the mikes.”

“Wow,” Kathy said, looking cute and delicious, wrapped only in a fuzzy bath towel. “And they get all uptight when we stage a protest.”

He touched her cheek. “I’m a they, Kathy, by age and position, if not by inclination. And I don’t believe that way.”

She shook her head emphatically. “You’re so different. You’re like one of us, only older and neater. People like my father and Mr. Kingston and Sladermann-they know you’re not like them, and they hate you for it.”

“I’m not defending them,” he said, putting his glass down and taking her by the hand to lead her back toward the bedroom. “But I’m standing up for what I believe. And what time are you supposed to be home?”

She rubbed against him like a kitten, and the same kind of purr was in her voice as she, answered, “Daddy gets uncomfortable around me, especially if I don’t wear many clothes. So to keep me out of the house as much as possible, he pretends to believe me when I tell him I’m staying over with other girls, or I have to go to the library, or anything. We have time for something else, teacher darling.”

At the bed he said, “I can’t blame your daddy for eyeing you. You’d drive any man out of his mind, and if I was in his place, with you hanging around all the time, swinging that gorgeous little ass and poking those sweet little tits at me…”

She pulled him to the bed. “What? What would you do-daddy?”