Inner City
She parked two blocks from
the school. “C’mon Dan, we’re late.”
“Drop me off in front,
Sharon. It’s not safe to walk back by yourself in this neighborhood.”
“You’re so thoughtful,”
Sharon said, rolling her eyes. “I’m going to make sure you’re enrolled. Let’s
go. No more stalling.”
A sign proclaimed “Parhurst
High School.” The building resembled a prison more than a school–two stories
high, consisting of grimy, yellow brick, with the first-floor windows barred.
Two security guards, armed with telescopic steel batons and carrying metal
detecting wands, stood in front.
Dan and Sharon started up
the steps. A guard blocked them. “State your business at PHS.”
“I’m Mrs. Klinenhoff,”
Sharon replied. “My foster son, Daniel Miller, is enrolling today. Mr. Rodeheaver
expects us.”
The other guard passed a wand over both of
them while the first searched Dan’s backpack and Sharon’s purse. The first
pointed and said, “Go through these doors, turn right, and take the first left.
The main office is the third door on the left. Rodeheaver’s office is behind
the reception area.”
They entered the main office. A heavyset
woman glanced up from her computer and went back to whatever she’d been doing.
The placard on her desk read “Frances Cullen.” After a few minutes, Dan began
to fidget.
Sharon was equally irritated, but knew it
would be better to let the receptionist, ensconced in a low-paying, dead-end
job in an inner-city school, have her victory. She grasped his arm before he
could say anything, murmuring, “Relax, Dan.” He cleared his throat, but said
nothing.
Another minute passed. Sharon said in a
level tone, “Excuse me, Ms. Cullen.”
Cullen slammed her hand on her desk.
“It’s Mrs. Cullen! Whadda you want?”
“I’m Mrs. Klinenhoff,” Sharon replied, an
edge to her voice. “This is Daniel Miller. He’s enrolling today. We have an appointment
with Mr. Rodeheaver. We’re late. Don’t make us later.”
Cullen inspected Dan–average height with
a wiry build. She picked up her phone and, before punching any buttons, said,
“The kid won’t last long in this hellhole.”
Dan started to say something, but Sharon
again squeezed his arm. Sotto voce she said, “Let it be. See if you can go one
day without getting into trouble.”
A tall, slender, thirtyish, black man
came out of a door. “I’m Mr. Rodeheaver. Come in.”
Rodeheaver led them into his office and
pointed to two chairs in front of a desk. He circled around, sat in the desk
chair, and glanced at an open folder. “Daniel, I see your grades were good at
your previous schools, but you kept getting into fights and getting suspended.
It’s too bad you couldn’t have stayed out of trouble. Frankly, you’re not in a
good situation here.”
Sharon frowned. “The foster-care people
said he’d get a clean slate at Parhurst.”
Rodeheaver grimaced. “He will, but the
atmosphere here is not exactly conducive to academics. Especially for him.”
“What singles him out?”
“To begin with, he’s white. He’s not
particularly big. About fifty percent of the school is black, thirty percent Hispanic,
and the rest are white. The blacks and the Hispanics each have a gang. They’re
the least of his problems. As long as he stays out of what they regard as their
territory, they’ll leave him alone. Most of the time. His biggest difficulty
will be the skinheads. They won’t. The black and Hispanic gangs protect their
own. For a price. The skinheads prey on everyone they regard as vulnerable.”
Dan shrugged. “I can take care of
myself.”
Rodeheaver raised his eyebrows. “I admire
your self-confidence. I hope it’s not misplaced.” He handed Dan a class schedule and a diagram of the school. Rodeheaver
explained that because of declining enrollment most of the classrooms on the
second floor were unused and had been taken over by the various gangs.
“I’ve indicated the primary gang areas,”
Rodeheaver said, tapping his finger on the diagram. “Stay out of them,
especially the skinhead area. First period is just about over. I’ll escort you
to your second period class when the bell sounds. Questions?”
Dan had none. Sharon hugged him, told him
to be careful, and left.
***
The rest of the morning was uneventful.
At lunch Dan got food and looked for a place to sit. There were a couple of
tables of white kids, but they had no empty seats. He started toward a table of
black students. By the way they glared at him, he knew he wouldn’t be welcome.
Seeing a group of skinheads, he walked in
the opposite direction. In the far corner he saw a table with a mixed-race group
of students, some of whom had been in his fourth period English class. There
were two empty seats.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked.
“No problem,” a white kid replied.
To his surprise Dan found the
conversation was a continuation of the discussion that’d been taking place in
the English class. He was even asked for his opinion.
Dan forced himself not to react when a
skinhead approached the table. He was big, several inches taller than Dan, with
a nose that’d been broken and not set properly. He had muscular arms, heavily
tattooed with Nazi insignia, and a large, protruding belly. He reached over the
shoulder of the girl across from Dan, squeezed her breast, and took her
dessert. The girl had tears in her eyes, but otherwise did nothing.
The boy to her right started to get up.
The skinhead regarded him with a feral grin. “You got something to say, douche
bag?” The boy sat back down, red in the face. The skinhead sauntered away.
The boy, clearly embarrassed, said, “I’d
give anything to see Bremer dead!”
“Don’t worry about it, Jeff,” the girl
said. She pulled his head to hers and gave him a peck on the lips. “If you
tried something he’d have his gang cut your balls off. I don’t want anything to
happen to you. Especially that.”
Dan couldn’t help asking, “Literally cut
his testicles off?”
A black student shrugged. “Maybe. They’ve
bragged about doing it, but who knows for sure? They’re crazy! You’re new. You
don’t seem afraid. You should be. Stay clear of them. I’m Isaiah
Starkey. Call me Stark.”
“Dan Miller,” Dan said. He shook hands
with Starkey.
Everyone else introduced themselves. The
girl across from him was Andrea Provaski. Dan noted their table was the only
one that was mixed race. He asked about it.
“I be an intellectual,” Starkey said with
an exaggerated accent. He grinned. Speaking normally, he said, “Seriously, you
sat with the few kids who are genuinely trying to learn. If you fall into that
category, join us. The larger the group, the safer we feel. It is possible to graduate from this dump and
go to college. That’s our goal.”
***
Dan was running late after his fifth
period class. Against advice, he cut through skinhead territory. As he passed
an unused classroom, he saw two skinheads gazing into it. One of them moved to
intercept him, but Dan brushed by. The skinhead didn’t pursue the matter.
He
ignored me, Dan thought. What’s going
on in there?
Dan gritted his teeth, took one more
step, and stopped. Knowing he might be asking for trouble, he couldn’t resist
investigating.
Andrea Provaski was crying and thrashing
about. One skinhead was holding her by the arms while Bremer attempted to get
her clothes off.
Off to the side another skinhead had a
Hispanic girl on her knees, gripping her hair with one hand, and holding a
knife to her throat with his other hand. He was forcing her to give him oral sex.
Two more skinheads were restraining a struggling Hispanic boy. One of them was
saying, “When she’s done with Horst, she’ll do us. Then she can watch us cut
your nuts off, Avrondo. Afterward we’ll bang the white bitch. We’d do your
little piece too, but we don’t want to catch something from Spic pussy.”
It’s
none of your business, Dan thought. Don’t
get caught up in it. Get the hell out
of here.
Before he could leave he was shoved from
behind, propelling him into the room. He spun around. The two at the door had
been joined by a third. The new arrival held a large knife and roared, “Look
what I found! We can have fun with this asswipe.”
I’m
involved now whether I like it or not, Dan thought. I might as well make the most of it.
Moving with lightning speed, he punched
the one holding Provaski hard enough to break his nose and send him sprawling,
blood spurting. Dan grabbed Bremer, twisted his arm up behind his back, and
dislocated his shoulder. He shoved Bremer down, seized Horst, and threw him
against a wall.
The two holding Avrondo were distracted.
The Hispanic boy freed himself and kicked one of them in the groin, provoking a
scream as the skinhead fell to the floor. Avrondo faced the other, who pulled
out a switchblade.
“Andrea, get out of here!” Dan yelled.
“Take these others with you!”
Provaski had already straightened her
clothes. She grasped the Hispanic girl by the arm and pulled her toward the
door. The girl screamed, “Avrondo! Come on!”
Avrondo clearly wanted to do battle with
the skinhead facing him, but he looked around at the odds and followed the
girls out of the room.
The two skinheads who’d been at the door
advanced into the room, taking out their own knives. Four knife-wielding thugs
advanced on Dan.
He jumped onto the window ledge and
opened the window. Since it was on the second floor, the window wasn’t barred,
but it was twenty feet above the
ground. He jumped out, landing cat-like on his feet. Two of the skinheads were at
the window pointing at him and yelling. In seconds two others appeared at a
ground-floor door and started after him.
Rather than trying to escape, Dan stayed
at a pace where they could keep up. He headed for a wooded park area a few
blocks away. As he ran he debated how to confront them. The tradeoff was the
danger of injury versus the possibility of revealing his secret. He decided to
risk the latter. He ran into the park far enough that he couldn’t be seen from
the street, detoured off the path, and entered a copse of trees. He took off
his clothes, focused on his immediate goal, and changed.
The leopard moved silently toward the area
of the park where Dan had entered. He crouched in some bushes, motionless
except for the tip of his tail swishing back and forth.
The skinheads, almost out of breath,
entered the park and stopped. One of them wheezed, “Where did he go?”
“There’s some tracks over there,” the
other replied, pointing. “He’s gotta be hurt from jumping outta the window. He
won’t get far.”
The two were intent on the tracks and
didn’t notice the leopard. With a snarl it jumped on the one trailing and
ripped out his throat. The other heard the noise and whirled. Eyes wide, he
screamed. He tried to run but wasn’t fast enough. Seconds later he was also
dead.
The leopard dragged the bodies deeper
into the woods. He hid them behind an outcropping of rock, returned to the
copse where Dan’s clothes were, and changed.
Dan was on his hands and knees, panting heavily. After about a minute, his breathing
returned to normal.
Dan knew exactly what he’d done in
leopard form. He risked someone seeing him by taking time to smudge visible cat
tracks and kick dirt over the blood. Hopefully small scavengers would chew enough
of the bodies to make it difficult to tell how they’d died. Perhaps the cause
of the deaths would be inconclusive or attributed to feral dogs. Large cat paw
prints in the middle of a city would be much harder to explain. His safety
depended upon people not believing were-leopards existed.
Stephen J.
Tillman
Stephen Tillman is an emeritus
professor of mathematics at Wilkes University. He holds a Ph.D. in mathematics
from Brown University. An avid reader of mysteries and science fiction, he has
published several stories in both genres. He has had two fantasy/crime novels,
Leopard’s Daughter and Leopard’s Revenge, published by Azure Spider Publications.