Crank Series: Crank Part 44

A rapist.

A serial killer.

Brendan.

Lucky me.

I drew a cop.

The black and white approached slowly, crept past.

Brake lights flashed.

Thank G.o.d I thought to reach into my pocket and toss the contents into the weeds as he pulled to the shoulder, red and blue revolving.

I wasn't high, but I felt buzzed.

I wasn't holding, but I broke out in fear sweat.

Gooseb.u.mps popped out like disturbed wasps.

How much would he notice?

How much more would he guess?

(And how much did guesses count?)

He Got Out of His Car

Evening, young lady.

His flashlight found my face, concentrating on my eyes.

Kind of late to be out alone.

My mouth felt paralyzed.

All I could do was nod.

Going somewhere important?

I drew a deep breath. Exhaled slowly. "Just to a friend's."

Do you realize it's after curfew?

I wanted to say something smart. What I said was, "It is?"

Do your parents know you're out?

Parents? Couldn't involve them!

"Th ...they're out of town."

I see. Then I can't take you home.

Yes! He couldn't take me home.

Relief segued into apprehension.

Looks like I'll have to take you in.

In? Where was "in"?

He couldn't mean jail?

Tsk. Wittenberg isn't a good place ...

Juvenile hall? I was dead!

Mom would kill me.

... for a nice girl like you.

He escorted me to his car, put me into the backseat.

What's your name, anyway?

If I told him my real name, they might call home anyway. "Uh..."

Tough question?

It never crossed my mind I couldn't get out without it.

You have to answer it sooner or later.

"Bree," I said. "Bree... Wagner."

I Wasn't Scared-Yet

They asked me lots of questions.

I made up every answer, the most important one being, "My parents can't be reached.

May I call my brother?"

They handed me the phone.

I could only hope he was home.

Brrrng... brrrng... brrrng...

"Chase? It's Bree-your sister?

Listen, I got picked up for curfew..."

I had rousted him up out of deep crash h.e.l.l. It took a few minutes for him to come to.

"Since our mom and dad are out of town, they brought me to Wittenberg..."

Somehow he got my drift. He told me to chill, he'd see what he could do.

No more questions. No tests. Not even the rush of a strip search.

They marched me down to a holding cell, gave me four solid hours to wonder what came next.

No word from my family. Not Kristina's. Surely not Bree's.

They took my clothes, gave me baggy gray sweats, a.s.signed me a bed in the dormitory.

I joined the general population.

I wonder where that term came from.

They were not general at all.

Roomie #1, Lucinda, was a g.a.n.g.b.a.n.ger, involved in a drive-by.

Roomie #2, Felice, was in for wrecking a Caddie, carjacked at knifepoint.

Roomie #3, Rose, had beaten up her mother-with the b.u.t.t of her gun.

Of course, she had a good excuse.

All of us had one thing in common: a total infatuation with the monster.

Tell you the truth, that scared me a little. But not that much.

Tough Girls

I let Bree do my trash talking.

Kristina stuck with honesty.

Somehow, Lucinda and I found an odd rapport.

And by the time Chase called my parents to let me know where they could find me (can you believe it takes a real parent to get you out of juvie?) and they released me bright and early, Monday morning, I was a tougher girl with a new connection.

Cause and Effect

The admitting clerk was irate.

She had to redo all the paperwork, using my real name.

She made me wait for almost two hours while she drank coffee and shuffled files.

The counselor a.s.signed to my case was unsympathetic. He read my folder, nodding and hmmming.

He told me being a loser was easy, then ordered 24 hours community service.

Scott sulked like a p.i.s.sed puppy. He would have preferred lockup to my picking up trash along the highway.

He refused to say one word, and his silence told me all I needed to know.

Mom manufactured a plethora of tears to accompany her long-suffering mother diatribe.

She had plenty to say about deceit, distress, and s.e.xually transmitted diseases.