Cry Havoc

Chapter 10
Traps

Chapter Description: from Book Two: Submission

saturday 23 september – 12:15 AM

“Straight ahead.” A snap, and the sound of film advancing.

“Look to your right.” A snap, and the sound of film advancing.

Troy “Impulse” Delvecchio, sneering and dismissive in the manner representative of his all-purpose idiom, made a point of telegraphing his utter detachment with regard to the gravity of the situation. He stepped away from the mugshot board with a casual chuckle and Rico “Recon” Velez took his place.

“Straight ahead. Look to your right.”

Peter “Loudmouth” Kim was the final of the three to saunter in front of the lined height chart and, when all was said and done, the intricacies of the booking procedure proceeded with comparatively little incident. There was an awful lot of ball-grabbing on the part of the defiant punks -- exaggeratedly theatrical fondlings of themselves, seasoned with outstretched tongues and audible sneers -- a brand of humor which routinely fell with a decided thud among the officers of the Maker’s Point Police Department. Catcalls towards female officers went mostly unacknowledged; some couldn’t help but giggle behind their hands at the deliciously unmitigated ignorance of a fold of miscreants too oblivious to appreciate their new station. It was one thing to be the recipient of unsolicited hoots and hollers from scraggly and outwardly antagonistic repeat offenders in their 30s and 40s. It was quite another to be harassed by these high school students. Babies, really… or, at least, that’s how the precinct regarded them. Little nuisances. Unruly toddlers, dressed ridiculously, who’d come to fetishize disorder and insolence, because it was within their purview, and because it was easy.

But Sheriff Leslie Brynner had an ace in the hole. At first, she had had second thoughts about going out in such traumatically brisk rainfall for what could have been, in the wrong place at the wrong time, a career ender for both her and the school administrator. But Vice Principal Kerry Benes was adamant. He swore up and down that the colorless liquid that had been in the vial was an experimental concoction of his brother Willis, who toiled away in some laboratory in Boston. Amusing effects... no contraindications... and completely undetectable in food.

So that’s exactly where Brynner put it.

The Tigers were arrogant to the last, eagerly chowing down on a surprisingly-palatable jailhouse version of meatloaf casserole, offering one another high-fives of congratulation in light of how they’d managed to get away with so much for so long.

All had full stomachs and empty plates when Brynner came to the drunk tank.

“Enjoy your meals?”

“Fucking sucked,” Impulse remarked.

“Well,” the Sheriff continued, “I have some news that might cheer you up. Mr. Benes isn’t pressing any charges.”

Recon turned around and rested on his elbow, the sudden motion eliciting a burp. “You shittin me?”

“No. You’re free to go.”

The Tigers were all smiles as they shuffled triumphantly out of the Maker’s Point PD.

So was Sheriff Brynner.

to be continued