Ridley Pearson - Power Play

Philby stood there watching, sick to his stomach.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Finn blurted out as he climbed atop his BMX bike. It wasn’t just any bike, but a trick bike capable of doing stunts and jumps. Being on the bike gave him a height advantage over Charlene, which he appreciated.

“You don’t have to sound so pleased,” she said sarcastically.

“I didn’t mean…It’s just that Evans High-”

“Happens to be playing your school in soccer today,” said Charlene.

“I didn’t think soccer had cheerleaders.”

“Am I dressed like a cheerleader?” In fact she wore tight jean shorts and an equally tight T-shirt. “Where are you headed?” Charlene asked.

“I’m going to see Wanda.”

“I kind of figured that. Mind if I hitch a ride?”

The bike was small. Finn had ridden with Amanda before-on the seat behind him, while he stayed up on the pedals-but it felt a little weird to offer the same thing to Charlene.

“I don’t bite,” she said when he hesitated.

“No problem,” Finn said, glancing around in the mass of kids, hoping Amanda wasn’t among them.

Finn climbed off, helped Charlene on, and then straddled the bar. He rode away quickly. The message from Philby had injected a sense of panic in him. Wayne. Wanda. The police. He pedaled hard.

“We’re meeting my mom. Only adults can bail someone out of jail,” Finn said.

“And your mom agreed?”

“We’ll see.”

“You haven’t asked her?”

“Not exactly.” He changed subjects. “You got Philby’s text about tonight?”

“Yes,” Charlene said. “Do you know what it’s about?”

“Only that Wayne told us we had to be there at eight.”

“Why?”

“No idea.”

“What do you think he wants?”

“It’s got to be important,” Finn answered.

“Do you know what he told Philby, exactly?”

“Why all the questions?” Finn asked. Charlene never asked so many questions; she was more of a “tell me what to do and I’ll do it” person.

“I don’t know. Curious, I guess. Am I asking a lot of questions?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe I’m nervous,” she said. “I talk a lot when I’m nervous.” She put her hands on Finn’s hips to steady herself on the seat.

Now he was nervous, too. He kept glancing back, worried that Amanda would see them despite the fact he was now several blocks from school.

“We’re not supposed to use our computers at home,” he said.

“Yeah, I got that,” she said. “Hey, how come Wayne contacted Philby instead of you?”

Another question.

“I don’t know. I don’t have computer lab the way he does. I suppose that could be it.” But it bothered him much more than he let on. Wayne referred to him as the leader; Wayne usually contacted him, not Philby. Was his leadership role of the Keepers in jeopardy? Had he done something wrong?

“What do you think it all means?” she asked. “Wayne contacting Philby. Wanda getting arrested. I thought with Maleficent and Chernabog locked up this stuff wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“It wasn’t,” he said.

“So?”

“So I guess things never go as planned.”

Finn’s mother was an actual rocket scientist. She’d eventually left NASA to raise Finn and his sister, the dual commitment proving to be too much, but she remained the smartest woman he’d ever met. And the fairest. Whereas his father got angry and upset about Finn’s escapades as a Kingdom Keeper, his mother, a huge fan of everything Disney, supported Wayne’s effort to keep the magic alive in the Parks. What was to Finn’s father a silly ambition fraught with physical danger and risk was to his mother on the level of national importance. Because of this, he had recently opened up to her more, sharing the challenges the Keepers faced, sometimes even asking for her help. This was one of those times.

Mrs. Whitman, currently a brunette, was thin, happy-faced, and athletic. She hardly wore any makeup. Her shoes were what she called “practical” and her earrings “artistic.”

“Bailing someone out requires money,” she said from the other side of the kitchen counter. Finn and Charlene were both eating bowls of breakfast cereal.

“I know that. I’m sure Wayne will pay you back.”

“And a bail bondsman. You put up a small amount and the bail bondsman promises the rest. It’s complicated. If the person misses her appearance in court, then the bail bondsman loses his money, and in this case, we would have to repay him.”

“She won’t miss anything,” Finn said. “Please, Mom.”

“It would mean taking money out of our savings. Your father would never approve of such a thing.”

“But if Wayne repays you, it’s only gone for a day or two. Right?”

“ If he repays me, yes. But you’ve no way to reach him. Correct?”

Finn hung his head shamefully. “Yeah.”

“In two weeks the bank statements will arrive. By that time we have to have the money back in the account.”

“Does that mean you’re going to do it?” Finn didn’t even try to contain his excitement.

“Not a word to your father,” she said.

The sign out front read: city of orlando, police headquarters. It was a normal-looking office high-rise. Finn, Charlene, and Mrs. Whitman checked in at a lobby reception desk and rode the elevator.

It was not the dismal, smelly, dimly lit space that Finn anticipated from television, but instead, more a combination of post office and doctor’s office. There were some decent chairs to sit in, copies of newspapers and magazines. The overhead lighting was bright, the smell not nearly as bad as he’d expected.

A man in uniform sat behind a window of thick glass. He looked pleasant enough.

Finn’s mother spoke to him for several minutes. She handed him stuff from the bail bondsman, filled out something on a clipboard. Showed her driver’s license. It reminded Finn of her returning shoes at Nordstrom, or paying for an oil change.

“We can’t get her out tonight,” Mrs. Whitman reported to Charlene and her son. “Some problem with the courts. I can return tomorrow morning. Tuesday at the latest.”

“She has to stay here?” Finn said. “That’s terrible.”

“She’s going to make bail,” his mother said. “It’s just delayed a little. But we’re allowed to see her.”

Finn felt a huge weight lift. “YES!” he said, fist-pumping. “You are totally awesome!”

If Mrs. Whitman could have floated off the floor, she might have. “Come on. What are you waiting for?”

The three had gone through security to enter the building, but they were put through it again before entering the jail. The room they were shown to was plain. It looked like a very small version of their school lunchroom with six green plastic picnic tables bolted to the floor, overhead tube lighting, and lots of acoustic tile.

Wanda looked older than Finn remembered. She wore an orange jumpsuit with orlando city jail written across the front. Her hair was stringy. She’d been crying.

Finn, his mother, and Charlene sat on the bench facing her. A guard stood just outside the door.

“So, how are you?” Finn asked.

Wanda smirked, her twisted smile telling him more than he wanted to know. “Been better,” she said.

“We’ve posted bail,” Mrs. Whitman said. “Tomorrow sometime, I’m told.”

“Thank you so much, but I wouldn’t count on it. I’ve been told by the attorney they appointed that they may try for Homeland Security charges. That’s probably why the delay.”