Scratchin’ on the Eight Ball

Chapter One

“It’s a bust!” shouted the young boy as he ran through the dark room, clouds of pot smoke drifting in the air around him.

Seconds later, the front door burst open and dozens of stoned kids madly scattered as officers stormed into the party house. Scrambling away from the cops, two girls collided with a pole lamp and the lights went out. Running blindly, one boy kicked and shattered a bong situated on the hardwood floor. Another boy tripped over a case of beer, scattering ruptured cans in all directions. Wielding flashlights like light sabers, several cops leaped over the hissing cans in pursuit of a large man running toward the kitchen. As their beams pierced the darkness behind him, the man passed through a screen door and vanished into the night.

In the far corner of the dark party room, 13-year-old Reason Nelson realized he had to get out of the place. Totally bombed on Kool-aid mixed with Everclear, he clumsily lurched to his feet. Scooping up a jean jacket draped over the arm of his chair, Reason set his sights on the kitchen doorway. He then began to weave his way across the room.

He’d taken less than a dozen unsteady steps, when a beam of light stabbed him in the eyes. Reason froze.

The officer grinned at the sight of the small, seemingly harm- less, long-haired kid standing there before him. He gasped in surprise, however, when Reason lunged at him and swatted the flashlight out of his hand. Catching a glimpse of the black Harley T-shirt Reason wore, the cop bent down to retrieve his light.

Reason stumbled past him and into the kitchen. Still clutching the jean jacket, he hurled himself through the flimsy back door. Landing on the porch beyond, he rolled down the steps and into the yard.

Clenching one sleeve of the jacket between his teeth, Reason crawled forward and bumped heads with a German shepherd chained to a doghouse. The dog glanced at him, yet continued to gnaw on a bone. Offering him a drunken grin, Reason crawled into the doghouse and promptly passed out.

Moments later, the furious officer charged outside. He was three feet from the porch when the shepherd lunged at him, grazing the front of his trousers with his teeth. The cop leaped back, grateful for the short chain on the dog. He then retreated up the stairs, abandoning his search.

Inside the house, seated on the living room floor, a group of kids received citations from four officers. A black detective stood in one corner of the room, examining a backpack. In the pack, he discovered several bags containing a white powdery substance. He smiled as he snapped a set of handcuffs on an older boy standing beside the backpack.

He smiled again as he said, “This party is over.”

Birds sang to greet the dawn. Golden shafts of sunlight

illuminated the ghostly mist surrounding the doghouse. Faintly aware of the bird song outside, Reason shifted into a more comfortable position.

His eyes flew open when he felt a wet nose on his chin, and he stared up at the dog who had cordially shared his house. Gently shoving the shepherd to one side, Reason scooped up his jacket and crawled out through the doorway.

He was immediately startled by the burly man stepping out onto the porch behind him. Staring down at him in a drunken stupor, the guy growled, “Hey, you little punk, what are you doing to my dog?”

Ignoring the man, Reason leaped over a nearby fence, then ran down an alley, his long, dark hair trailing over his shoulders, his shaggy bangs swirling back over his ears.

At the end of the alley, he came within sight of the nearby park. Slipping the jean jacket on, Reason noticed that the sleeves appeared longer than usual. Puzzled by this discovery, he was about to examine the jacket when he heard someone shout, “Where the hell you been? I’ve been looking all over for you, Reason!”

Reason looked up to see another young boy seated on a moto- cross dirt bike near the park’s stone shelter. Black tangles of hair fell below Vince Patrick’s collar, and though his long bangs nearly obscured his blue eyes, they did not hide the angry glare he offered Reason.

Hesitantly approaching him, Reason said, “Whoa, if looks could kill, I’d be dead. What’s up, Vince?”

Unnerved by his hostile look, Reason cringed as Vince re- peated his question. “Where the hell you been?”

But before Reason could answer him, three older boys stepped out of the park shelter and surrounded him. Reason knew at once he was in serious trouble. Randy Farnbrook, Dan Colvert, and Monty Evans were major bullies who had picked on him on a weekly basis, ever since they’d met in elementary school.

Tall, blond-haired Randy stepped in front of Reason, while Dan and Monty firmly latched onto his arms. Reason tried to resist, but Randy lashed out and planted a fist on his left cheek.

He then stood back and spat, “Nelson, I knew you were scum, but I didn’t think you’d stoop so low as to narc!”

Stunned by the blow, Reason said, “Narc? What do you mean? I ain’t no narc!”

Randy snarled, “The party at Walker’s got busted last night. Everyone there got a ticket! The only one that didn’t get arrested was you! I say you narked for the cops!”

He gave Reason a sharp slap in the face. Reason recoiled from the blow, but the other two boys held him firmly in place. Randy glanced back at Vince Patrick, saying, “Even your ol’ buddy, here, thinks you narked. Ain’t that so, Vincent?”

Vince twisted his handgrips and shifted about uneasily on the seat of his bike. “All I said was, Reason went to Walker’s last night. I didn’t say . . .”

“You big pussy!” growled Randy. “Just admit it! Even you thought he narked!”

Vince looked up at Reason and flatly stated, “They really think it was you who narked on Walker’s party, Reason.”

Knowing that he was in for a beating, Reason lunged forward, causing Dan and Monty to lose their balance. He then wrenched his arms out of their grasp and slugged Dan, driving his knuckles into the boy’s nose. Dan kid fell to the ground, groaning in pain.

Elbowing Monty as he came up behind him, Reason then delivered a series of punches into Randy’s face. As Randy stag- gered away, cupping his bleeding nose, Reason made his break.

Shoving Vince off of his bike, Reason grabbed it and hopped on. He kicked viciously at the pedals, pulled a wheelie down the sidewalk, then swiftly pedaled toward the nearby street.

Racing away from the park, Reason wondered, What the hell is going on?

Trying to figure out why he was being accused of narking, he recalled the events at the party: A girl passed him a pipe. A boy clumsily spilled his beer. Two guys lifted a keg onto a table. A woman sat down on a nearby couch and draped a jacket over the armrest of his chair. Stairway to Heaven had just started to play in the background when someone yelled, “It’s a bust!” A man in a uniform ran past. Drunken kids scrambled about the room. A tall black man ran for the kitchen.

Reason skidded to a halt, spraying gravel across the street. He muttered under his breath, puzzled and angry that the fools at the park had falsely accused him of being a narc. Resting the pedal of the bike against the curb, he looked out across the nearby ball field. His hands hurting from punching Randy in the face, he flexed his fingers. He then noticed the sleeves of his jacket hung over his knuckles. The jean jacket he had worn to the party was faded and fit him perfectly. The one he now wore was two sizes too big and looked to be fairly new. Reason slipped out of it, realizing that in his haste to escape the bust, he had mistaken the jacket for his own.

Looking down at the buttoned pockets, he thought they might have money in them. He nearly ripped the button from the first pocket, and greedily dug his fingers inside to find it empty. Slipping his fingers into the second pocket, Reason discovered a small blue key.

Chapter Two

Suddenly, a car backfired behind him. Reason dropped the key. It bounced as it hit the pavement, and vanished into the gaping mouth of a nearby drain sewer.

Reason turned to see a dark green car bearing down on him. Tossing the jean jacket to the ground, he hurled himself away from Vince’s bike. Landing in the grass near the curb, Reason watched in stunned amazement as the bumper of the car clipped the dirt bike’s rear tire. The bike flew through the air, then landed in the street, its handlebars bending at awkward angles.

The car screeched to a halt. Four older boys climbed out of the vehicle and came charging across the sidewalk. Reason sprang up and took off running across Ballard ball field.

Clearing the length of the field, Reason encountered the high chain link which ran along its perimeter. He leaped up onto the fence, clawing desperately at the wire links. Managing to draw himself up and over the high bar at the top, he dropped into a nose dive, plummeting to the ground on the opposite side.

All four of the older guys scaled the fence and closed in on him. One boy grabbed Reason by the shoulders, roughly shoved him back against the fence, and then placed a forearm across his throat.

Reason peered up, noting the blotches of pimples covering the guy’s homely face. Hatred radiated from the older boy’s dark eyes as he whipped out a lock-blade knife and poked the tip of its blade into Reason’s left cheek. He snarled, “One fast swipe and you’ll have a scar on your face forever!”

One of the other teens yelled, “Do it, Wolfe! Cut him up!”

Wolfe leaned closer, applying more pressure with the knife. Reason felt the sharp point puncture his cheek. The cut was slight, but it stung badly. Tears came to his eyes, then trickled down his left cheek, mingling with a thin stream of blood.

Reason angrily cried, “What the hell’s your problem? What do you want from me?”

Wolfe spoke through clenched teeth. “You narked on Walker’s party last night. We lost out on a whole lot of cash! And you are going to pay!”

Reason stared at the knife. “You got it wrong! I ain’t narked on nobody! Now get the hell away from me, you crazy bastard!”

With that, he lunged backwards and swung his arm up, con- necting with Wolfe’s wrist and sending the knife sailing over the fence. Wolfe kneed Reason in the stomach, and he doubled over, falling to his knees. Wolfe was about to kick him when a blue Continental pulled into the swimming pool parking lot next to the ball park.

The four older boys curiously watched as a tall black man stepped out of the car and pointed a shotgun at them. He firmly said, “Afternoon, boys! About time you be leaving!”

The older kids edged away from Reason, exchanging fearful glances. The man with the gun casually shouldered the weapon, saying, “Move! Or I’m gonna open up on you!”

With that, the four teens turned and fled to the end of the field and disappeared into an alley.

The black man placed the shotgun in his car, then casually walked over and stood before Reason.

The huge black man grinned and said, “Well, little dude, looks like you been having a hard time. Slip me your hand.”

Ignoring the man’s outstretched hand, Reason slowly pulled himself to his feet and took two unsteady steps toward the nearby bleachers. Easing himself down on the bottom row of metal seats, he wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of one hand.

Nailing Reason with his intense gaze, the man asked, “Is your name Nelson? Reason Nelson?”

Reason answered, “Yeah. I suppose you’re after me too. Well, I can tell you right now, I didn’t narc on no damned party!”

The black man laughed. “Boy, you full of hellfire, ain’t you?”

He grinned again as he said, “My name is J. R. Brooks. Last night I was at that party. Earlier on, my old lady and I got into a fight, and she sat by herself in a corner to pout. She was sitting there brooding when the cops come crashing through the door. I escaped the damned bust. But instead of my jacket, I snatched up the wrong coat when I ran. Later, when I hooked up with my old lady, she claims she saw some scrawny, little long-haired kid booking out of that party, carrying my jacket.”

Not yet sure of what he was being accused of, Reason said, “I didn’t narc. Besides, how do you know I was even at that party?”

Brooks replied, “I’ve got sources. Now, let’s not get off the subject. You got my jacket or not?”

Reason stalled. “Uh, could I have mine back?”

Brooks snapped, “Kid, I don’t give a crap about that rag of yours! I want mine! If you took it, just tell me, and then we’ll go get it!”

Reason was now curious, thinking, This dude’s going berserk over a jacket? What’s so damn important about a dumb coat? Unless . . . that’s it! He’s after that key I dropped down the sewer! Hey, maybe Brooks might offer me a better deal than just a trade. Maybe some kind of reward!

Looking apologetically at Brooks, Reason said, “No. I don’t know nothing about no other jean jacket. There were a lot of kids booking out of that party. It could have been anyone. Sorry, but I didn’t take it. But if I find out who did–“

“But you was the kid,” said Brooks, “who was sitting there by my old lady! In all that chaos and confusion, our two jackets got swapped, right?”

“Swapped?” asked Reason. “I told you, I was too busy running from cops to worry about taking any jackets with me. Even my own. I just wanted to get the hell out of there.”

Brooks growled, “Look, I ain’t blaming you or nothing. I just want my coat back. No big deal.”

Shaking his head apologetically, Reason said, “It wasn’t me who took it. But I could probably find out who did. I mean, I knew practically all the stoners at that party. But could I ask you something?”

“What?” snapped Brooks.

Reason asked, “Why you so riled up over a missing jacket? I mean–“

Brooks reached down and latched onto the front of Reason’s shirt. Bringing his face an inch from his own, the big black man softly growled, “Kid, that’s none of your damned business! If I find out you was lying to me, there’s gonna be hell to pay. Understand?”

Alarmed by the anger he saw in the man’s eyes, Reason nod- ded. “Yeah. I get the picture.”

Brooks released his hold on his shirt. He then latched onto his neck and pulled him to his feet. “You don’t want to screw with me, kid. Not ever. If I have to track down every damned little doper who was at that party, I will. But if I end up coming back to you . . .”

“I’ll check around,” said Reason. “If I find out who took your jacket, I’ll give you a call. You in the phone book?”

Slowly removing his hand from Reason’s neck, Brooks peered at him, trying to decide if he was being lied to. Finally, though, he said, “Yeah. You do that. Maybe I’ll even give you some kind of reward if you find it.”

Reason was tempted to ask, “How much?” but instead he simply said, “Cool. Could I go now?”

Brooks nodded. “Remember what I said. Don’t screw with me.”

And as Reason walked away, he said, “I wouldn’t think of it.”

Chapter One

The party ended when a drunken boy shouted, “It’s a bust!”

A moment later, a company of cops stormed the house. Several kids inside the living room were so wasted they simply stared at the flashlight beams shimmering through clouds of pot smoke drifting in the air. Several other beer-chugging boys belched like frogs and laughed like lunatics as they plowed into a liquor cabinet, sending it crashing to the hardwood floor. Two other kids trampled over the cabinet’s broken bottles, and glass shards crunched beneath their feet, sounding like gunshots.

Startled by the loud pops and convinced that the cops were shooting at him, thirteen-year-old Reason Nelson snatched up his black leather jacket and fled down a narrow hallway. Three strides later, the long-haired, little kid kicked over a case of beer, spilling cans across the floor in front of him.

Beer cans spinning beneath his feet, Reason fought hard to keep his balance. But he was so ripped on the Everclear and THC coursing through his system that it was not easy to do. For long moments, small, shaggy-haired Reason looked like he was per-forming a bizarre version of Riverdance. He kicked. Stomped. Shuffled. Then plowed through the hissing cans. Until finally, he fell down, his leather jacket flying from his grasp.

Reason’s black shirt and jeans made him practically invisible there in the hallway, but as he reached down to pick up his jacket, the white Harley emblem on his shirt flashed in the shadows, catching the attention of a black detective two feet away. Detective Shepherd latched onto Reason, when suddenly, a large, muscular black man came hurtling into both of them. The detective and the man went down in a tangle of arms and legs, sending Reason crashing into the wall behind him.

Scooping up the leather jacket beside him, Reason scrambled back to his feet and darted into the kitchen. Swinging the jacket up and holding it like a shield, he hurled himself through a screen door and tumbled off the porch beyond. He landed in front of a Rottweiler chained to a doghouse.

Gasping in alarm, Reason threw up his hands to protect himself, but the huge dog merely glanced at him and continued to gnaw on his bone. Sighing in relief, Reason latched onto the jacket and scrambled into the doghouse.

Back inside the house, Detective Shepherd lost his grip on the large man. “Brooks!” he shouted. “Stop, you’re under arrest!”

But Brooks darted past him and through the mangled screen door. Two steps later, the Rott lunged at him, grazing the crotch of his pants with his teeth. Brooks leaped back, directly into the detective’s flying tackle. They fell in front of the dog.

Brooks came to his feet, a gun in his hand, and even as Shepherd sprang up and latched onto him, a fiery blast erupted from the muzzle of his pistol. Four more bullets passed through the air as Brooks repeatedly pulled the trigger.

The Rott bolted into his doghouse and slammed into Reason.

Stunned by the impact, Reason heard the thwacks! of the bullets plowing into the wood directly above his head. He then sank down beside the cowering dog and promptly passed out.

In the yard, Brooks poked Shepherd hard in the gut with the barrel of his gun, dropping him to his knees. Sprinting past the fallen detective, Brooks then vanished into the night.

Two hours later, Reason began to slowly come back to life. Small and scrawny as he was, the alcohol had royally kicked his butt, leaving the long-haired little kid fairly toasted. A deep dimple creased his chin and he scrunched up his freckle-spattered nose. He then sneezed, and awoke to find himself gazing at the Rottweiler. The dog stared at him, then gave him a friendly sniff.

Suddenly, golden light streamed through the bullet holes in the wall of the doghouse, grazing Reason’s face.

“Reason?” came from the yard outside. “Reason?”

Carefully pushing the dog out of his way, Reason crawled out through the door, dragging the jacket with him. The dog growled at the black-haired kid shining a flashlight into Reason’s eyes. “Reason!” the boy yelled. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Reason said, “Not so loud, Vince. Don’t rile the dog.”

Vince skidded to a stop ten feet away, his long, black hair curling up on the collar of his flannel shirt. “You need to get home! The party here at Walker’s got busted tonight! Everyone got arrested, except you! Randy and the Colverts think you narced!”

Hardly believing he was serious about something so absurd, Reason said, “Me? A narc? Get real!”

“Just go!” Vince said. “Get on my bike and ride like hell for your house, Reason! I’ll meet up with you later.”

Baffled by his attitude, Reason patted the dog one last time, then joined Vince in the alley. “Just chill. Take some Ritalin or something, and settle down, Vince.”

Reason Nelson and Vince Kelly had started first grade together, their antics bonding them in a strange way. They ended this last year at elementary school, expelled for staging a fire extinguisher fight, and as they entered seventh grade, the boys had been arrested for driving carts into a pond at a local golf course. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time the juvenile judge had dealt with them, and after this latest incident, he had sentenced them to probation.

The boys lived in a small suburb of Lincoln, Nebraska, called Havelock. In its early days, Havelock had been a bustling railroad town for the Burlington. In their time, the area housed a lot of rowdy juveniles that they found them-selves attracted to. They hung out together at Havelock Park. It was there one hot summer night that they’d been introduced to their first joint. Which is where their current troubles started. And little did they know, things were going to get worse.

Shivering in the chill night air, Reason slipped on the leather jacket, noticing at once that the sleeves were too long.

As they neared the end of the alley, Vince became even more insistent, saying, “Just take my bike and go, Reason!”

It was then that Reason stopped to examine the long sleeves of the jacket. The leather jacket he’d taken to the party fit him perfectly. The one he now had on was three sizes too large and looked to be fairly new. Reason slipped out of it, wondering whose jacket he’d picked up in all the chaos.

He searched the pockets, thinking they might have money in them. In the first, he dug his fingers inside to find it empty. In the second pocket, how-ever, he discovered a small blue key.

“Let me see that,” Vince said, reaching out to grab it.

Instinctively, Reason withdrew his hand, and fumbled and dropped the key. He cursed as it bounced in the street and vanished into the mouth of a nearby drain sewer.

Focusing on the manhole situated in the grass next to the street, Reason dropped the jacket beside it. Stabbing his middle finger into the small hole of the heavy, metal cover, he said, “Help me lift this, Vince. It weighs a ton!”

“Oh, hell!” Vince cried. “It’s Randy!”

Glancing back at the three older boys stepping out of the alley behind them, Reason quickly rose to his feet.

Tall, lanky Randy Farnbrook, with his short-cropped blond hair and pimply face, was a major bully who had made Reason’s years at elementary school a living hell. The other two boys, Dan and Monty Colvert, were large, stocky twin brothers who followed Randy like obedient guard dogs.

Without warning, Randy struck Reason on the chin. The sudden blow caused him to reel backwards, directly into Dan and Monty.

“What’s the going rate for a narc?” Randy asked, his bad breath invading Reason’s nostrils. “How much did the cops pay you?”

Stunned by the blow to his chin, Reason said nothing.

Randy snarled, “Walker’s party got busted tonight! The only one that didn’t get arrested was you! I say you narced for the cops! You big pussy! Just admit it! How much did they pay you?”

“Randy,” Vince said, “just leave him alone!”

As Randy glanced back at Vince, Reason rammed Monty in the gut with an elbow, and then threw a rapid-fire punch at Randy, sending him staggering into the street with a bloody nose. Reason then snatched up Vince’s bike and hopped on the seat. “Just go, Reason!” Vince whispered.

Nodding at him, Reason swiftly pedaled away, setting his sights on the ball-field of Ballard Park three blocks ahead of him.

Chapter Two

When Reason drew even with Ballard, he stomped hard on the brakes, causing a spray of gravel to pepper the park’s metal sign beyond the street. Thoroughly liking the plinks of the gravel bits striking the metal, Reason leaned the bike against the curb, intending to vent his rage on the park sign by hammering on it with his fists.

“Narc!” he yelled instead, flexing his knuckles that were still sore from punching Randy in the nose. “Sure, I ditched the cops! But what was I sup-posed to do? Stay there and get arrested?”

Tires screeched from the street behind him.

Reason looked back to see a green Thunderbird pulling up to the curb. The car’s front bumper struck Vince’s bike, sending it sailing through the air. As the bike crashed to the ground thirty feet away, the car stopped and an older kid madly clawed at his door handle to exit the vehicle.

Reason darted toward Ballard Park.

Bolting onto the ballfield, he passed through the chalk lines of the diamond etched in the dirt, leaving tiny puffs of white dust trailing behind him. He ran the length of the field and hastily scaled the tall chain-link fence blocking his path on the opposite side. He then plummeted to the ground, cursing in frustration as the Thunderbird screeched to a stop in the parking lot in front of him.

The driver immediately climbed out of the car and approached Reason. The beefy, older teen casually walked over and placed the tip of a pocket knife against Reason’s left cheek. “You the little punk who narced?” he asked.

Grinning, he poked the tip of his knife into Reason’s cheek.

Reason flinched and tears trickled down his face, seeping into the shallow cut. At the sight of his own blood on the knife, he stood there in a daze, barely listening to the guy rant about him narcing on Walker’s party. The older boy then slapped him, forcing him to drop to his knees. Reason doubled over, fully expecting to be attacked, but instead spotted a blue Continental coming across the ballfield parking lot. The car glided up beside the Thunderbird and a huge black man stepped out, armed with a shotgun. “Move on, Wolfe!” he ordered.

Backing away from the large man, Wolfe said, “But Walker sent me to find him.”

“Now I found him,” the man said. “So go away, Wolfman.”

Wolfe wisely backed off and walked back to his Thunderbird. He didn’t even glance back as he drove away down the street.

Lowering his shotgun, the man walked over to Reason. “Little white dude,” he asked, “is your name Reason Nelson?”

Pulling himself to his feet, Reason said, “Who wants to know?”

“Brooks,” the man said, casually. “Ever heard of me?”

“Yeah,” Reason said, wiping blood from his cheek with the back of one hand. “Kids say you’re the biggest dealer in T-town. They say that you caught two other dealers selling drugs in T-town, and that you shoved them into a garbage truck and turned on the trash compactor. Kids say that you just stood there and laughed when those guys started screaming and getting crunched.”

“Oh,” Brooks said. “Do I look that threatening to you?”

Trying not to flinch as he met the man’s fierce gaze, Reason said, “No. Maybe. I don’t know. Why you asking me all this?”

Brooks smiled. “No need to get all fidgety on me. But I’m glad you know who I am. You see, I was at Walker’s party when that bust went down.”

“I didn’t narc!” Reason firmly declared.

Still smiling, Brooks said, “Walker claims you were at his party, but didn’t see you after the bust went down.”

Reason lied, “It wasn’t me.”

“Walker says it was,” Brooks said. “In all that chaos tonight, I lost my leather jacket. When I went back to Walker’s to get it, he gave me another jacket that was too small to be mine. I’d say our jackets got swapped and you ended up with mine.”

Reason said, “I was too busy running from cops to worry about my jacket. But I know most of the stoners from the party, so I could ask around for you. Any chance of a finder’s fee?”

“Finder’s fee?” Brooks snapped. “Yeah, fifty bucks. But you need to come with me and we’ll go look for it.”

“No,” Reason said. “I’ll just find out who took your jacket, then snag it and take it over to Walker. Okay?”

“Kid,” Brooks warned, tapping the barrel of his shotgun with one finger. “Don’t play games with me.”

Alarmed by the hostility he saw in the man’s eyes, Reason was just thinking how much it would hurt to be crushed in a trash compactor, when three bikers came roaring into the parking lot.

“Damn!” Brooks spat in disgust as the three men parked their Harleys beside his car.

Reason decided that their business with Brooks had nothing to do with him. He waited until Brooks began talking to the men, then casually stood up. “Kid,” Brooks said, glancing back at him. “Stay put. I ain’t through with you yet.”

But the moment Brooks turned back to exchange heated words with the three bikers, Reason darted across the ballfield.

“Fifty bucks for his jacket?” he whispered as he picked up Vince’s mangled bike. “I think not! He’s after that key I dropped! And he’s gonna pay more than fifty bucks to get it back!”

Reason thought about returning to the sewer drain three blocks away, but he figured he’d need a crowbar to pry up the heavy manhole lid so he simply headed for home.

He traveled down the next two blocks, constantly glancing back to see if Brooks might be following him. He was tempted to dump Vince’s bike, but he simply kept moving, fixing his sights on the tall stone cross in front of Saint Patrick’s church four blocks ahead of him.

In a few short minutes, he trudged past Saint Pat’s and spotted the two-story Nelson house half a block away. It stood out for it was the only blue house on a block full of plain white houses.

Reason lived there with his older brother and their mother, who supported them by working at May’s Cafe in Havelock. She worked long hours leaving Reason unsupervised. As a result, he was always finding himself in trouble. His probation officer said he lacked proper motivation to get his act together. His mom claimed it was the lack of a father who had died when Reason was three. She also said he needed constant attention and constantly made vibes to get it, and that he had a big hole in his heart from lack of love, and he was determined to fill it.

Reason respected his older brother and listened to him, when he didn’t interfere with his own plans. But despite this, he set his own limits on when he came home at night, and if he would go to school or not. This sometimes caused a conflict with his brother, not to mention the constant fights about how much liquor and pot came into his life. Boone was always lecturing him and confiscating his bags, claiming that he would end up a burnout because of his constant use.

As far Boone was concerned, the Nelson house was a drug-free zone, and he meant to keep it that way.

Chapter Three

Reason cut across the yard but came to an abrupt halt when he spotted Vince sprawled out on the porch swing. “I’ll be go to hell!” Vince snapped when he saw his mangled bike. “Damn, Reason! What did you do? Crash?”

“Sorry,” Reason said, wheeling the bike up beside the porch.

Vince descended the steps, staring angrily at his broken handlebars. He then noticed the cut on Reason’s face. “Whoa!” he said, his anger quickly fading. “You did crash!”

“Did you pick up that jacket I dropped?” Reason asked.

Pointing up at the leather jacket on the porch swing, Vince said, “Yeah, but what the hell happened to you, Reason?”

As Reason told him about his encounter with Wolfe, Vince stared at the cut on his cheek, looking like he was going to faint. He shook his head in amaze-ment, however, when Reason told him about being rescued by the notorious Brooks.

“Brooks?” Vince said. “What was he doing in Havelock?”

“He was at Walker’s party tonight, too,” Reason said. “Somehow I ended up with his jacket. Now he’s offering fifty bucks to get it back. But what he really wants is that key I dropped down the sewer. We need to go nab it. Once we do, we’ll contact Brooks to negotiate a better deal.”

“A better deal?” Vince asked. “Brooks ain’t someone to mess with, Reason. Fifty bucks sounds good to me.”

They both fell silent as Reason’s older brother stepped out onto the porch. Tall and slender, nineteen-year-old Boone Nelson wore his black hair in a long, braided tail. Most folks assumed that he was a biker or a stoner, but he didn’t own a bike and he didn’t do drugs. In fact, after their father died in a motorcycle accident ten years ago, Boone took it upon himself to supervise Reason. If he wasn’t constantly scolding him about breaking his curfew or skipping school, he was cutting off his supply of weed.

Reason grimaced when Boone asked, “How did you get that cut on your cheek? Have you been in another fight?”

“He got stabbed,” Vince said.

“Stabbed?” Boone said in disbelief.

Shooting Vince an annoyed look, Reason allowed his brother to guide him toward the door. “Vince,” Boone said, “grab a wet wash cloth from the kitchen, okay?”

Vince picked up Brooks’s jacket from the swing and followed the two brothers into the house. Tossing the jacket on the couch, he hurried into the kitchen, while Boone sat Reason down in a chair. “Now what the hell hap-pened?”

Silently stalling, Reason was relieved when Vince came back carrying a wash cloth. “Speak,” Boone said. “I’m listening.”

Reason grimaced, but remained silent as Boone used the damp cloth to gently dab at the cut on his cheek.

When Boone finished cleaning the wound, he pulled up a chair, spun it around backwards and sat down, placing his folded arms on the backrest. “Damn it, Reason! What happened?”

Finally, Reason wilted under his stern gaze, and though he failed to mention the key, the rest of the story came spilling out. The bust. Hiding in the dog-house. The fight with Randy. Wolfe poking him with the knife. Brooks pulling a shotgun on Wolfe. The timely arrival of the bikers and his escape from Brooks.

“I’m calling Rockenbach and Simants!” Boone said as he headed for the kitchen phone. “I know you’re a dumb ass for going to Walker’s party, but you’ll be a dead dumb ass if rumors circulate that you’re a narc! We need to get this straightened out.”

“Rockenbach and Simants?” Reason said, grinning at Vince. “Wolfe is gonna get hurt. They’ll pulverize him!”

“Yeah,” Vince said. “Wolfe’s a dead man. But, Reason? Ain’t you gonna tell Boone about that key?”

“No way,” Reason whispered.

When Boone returned to the living room, he said, “We’ll have to deal with this in the morning. George said he’d round up the guys and meet us at the park tomorrow.”

Reason tried then to slink off to his room, knowing a lecture was soon to come from Boone. He was halfway down the hallway, when Boone snapped, “A damned party? What if you’d been busted? One more arrest and your probation will be revoked! Hell, you ain’t a little kid anymore, Reason! If you violate your terms now, you just can’t use your sad smile and your big blue eyes on your P.O. to broker a deal for pardon!”

“I know,” Reason muttered.

“You can’t,” Boone said, “take advantage of Miss Thurston’s second chance! Last time in court, remember how she tried to convince Judge Sully that you’re not a hardcore delinquent? She even defended you, claiming you were like a modern-day Huck Finn that needed to be rescued, instead of punished.”

Reason shrugged and said nothing.

“But Judge Sully,” Boone said, “didn’t see it that way, did he? Not after the last prank you guys pulled! And don’t blame Vince for driving those carts into that pond! You’ve been blaming him ever since you were a little kid. In second grade when you two were expelled for that fire extinguisher fight at school. In fifth grade when I caught you both smoking that joint. In sixth, when I caught you guys with a six-pack of beer. This past year in seventh grade when you both got sick after too many wine coolers. It’s always Vince! But Judge Sully didn’t give a damn about who the instigator was on this last prank! Because who ended up in the most trouble?”

Reason remained silent. Boone had made his point. After he and Vince had been arrested for the incident at the golf course, Vince had lucked out with probation while Reason had been sent to the detention center for an evaluation. While detained at the center, counselors there nailed Reason with hard facts, reminding him that before he was ten years old he had been charged with vandalism, egging a police cruiser, and stuffing an M-80 in a toilet at a skating rink. Fully convinced that he had a substance abuse problem, the counselors recommended that Reason remain confined to undergo treatment. Despite their evaluation Reason’s probation officer per-suaded the juvenile judge to let him off with probation.

Later in her office, Reason swore to Miss Thurston that he’d never get into trouble again, and as she drove him back to Havelock he assured her she wouldn’t be sorry she’d given him a second chance.

Even as Boone continued to rant at him, Reason remembered he’d swore he wouldn’t screw up again. No way did he want to be sent back to detention. He had begged for a second chance. But unfortunately, despite Miss Thurs-ton’s pardon, once Reason returned to Havelock he continued to get into trouble. For him, it was just too hard not to.

He knew he shouldn’t have taken advantage of her second chance, but he now wished Boone would quit ripping on him about going to the party. “I know!” he suddenly blurted. “I screwed up! Sorry. It won’t happen again!”

“And,” Boone muttered, “just how many times have I heard that before?”