Friends and Aquaintances - by Pho
part - 01
The sun was shining, the birds were singing and all was right
with the world. "Bullshit," thought Kermit Griffin but he wisely
withheld his opinion. Marilyn would not have approved. The
preacher continued his graveside remarks that 'to everything there
is a season, a time to be born, a time to die'. "Bullshit," Kermit
thought once more, "who's idea was it to get this jerk." David had
been too young to die, much too young. The boy had suffered so
much while Kermit was out saving the world, then to die just when
his life was looking up. The dour man shook his head slightly, 'die'
was the wrong word. David didn't just die, his life had been stolen.
The SOB's would pay, Kermit would see to that. He thought back to
the day he'd returned from some obscure third world country to find
his little brother missing, the first time.
******** flashback **********
"He's only seventeen, Marilyn, how can you not know where he
is?" Kermit was struggling to keep a tight rein on his temper but
was failing miserably.
"And I'm only twenty-four, big brother. I'm doing the best I
can but exactly how am I supposed to control someone who's already
six feet tall. Unlike you, I've never mastered the 'see death in
my eyes' look." She stood facing him, hands firmly planted on her
hips, lightning flashing in her eyes.
They stood like warriors, locked in mortal combat. Kermit
uncharacteristically was the first to avert his eyes. "I'm sorry,
Marilyn, I'm just worried about the kid."
Her anger faded but not the underlying tension. She paused,
obviously trying to plan her next words. "You should be worried,
Kermit. I..I think David's into the drug scene."
"No way in hell. He knows I'd tan his backside if he ever
got...."
"And when exactly would you be available to administer said
beating? Kermit, David's not stupid. He knows how seldom you
bother to come home. YOU'RE the last person he'd worry about."
Kermit winced as her words struck home. He was the oldest.
He'd known in his heart that his younger sister should never have
been saddled with the care of a teen-aged brother. Their parents'
wills named him both executor of their estate, and guardian for
his little brother. He assumed the responsibility in the eyes of
the court but readily abdicated his role to Marilyn to chase glory
in some little Asian war. War, hell, it hadn't even been big enough
to count as a war, more like a bad backyard brawl.
He spent days turning over the proverbial stones until he
finally found David, unconscious in a pool of his own vomit. The
sight of the boy's too-thin body shocked his older brother. Kermit
gently carried the kid to his car, strapped him in and took
him to the motel that Kermit was temporarily calling home. The
hours that followed were some of the most excruciating in his life.
Coming down from a heroin addiction was difficult in the best
of circumstances. Kermit made a snap decision based on misinformation
not to check his little brother into a rehabilitation facility. He
believed his reasoning to be sound. David was 'man' enough to take
the drugs, he could be 'man' enough to handle the repercussions. Less
than an hour into the violent withdrawals, Kermit changed his mind
and called an ambulance. Twelve long weeks of drug rehabilitation
therapy followed, along with a court ordered investigation of David Griffin's custody arrangements.
The family court judge found no evidence of neglect on Marilyn's part. Kermit, however, received a strong lecture on responsibility. Only his sister's calming presence kept the young man from telling
the judge exactly where to put his advice. Custody of the teen-aged David Griffin was assigned, jointly this time, to Kermit and Marilyn.
The next two years were peaceful ones for the Griffin siblings. David, despite his nightmare excursion into the drug scene, and subsequent recovery, managed to graduate high school with his class. Marilyn began seriously dating a young man from her office and was actually discussing marriage.
It had been two years in hell as far as Kermit was concerned. He struggled valiantly to control his roving urges. Each daily paper
with headlines of foreign skirmishes reawakened his mercenary instincts.
He'd enlisted in the army after high school, served one four year
hitch and was half-way through another when their parents were killed. The tragedy, combined with the drudgery of a peacetime army, led to
his early discharge. His original stint as a mercenary occurred
shortly thereafter. The line of bull that the young man fed both
himself as well as Marilyn was that he wouldn't be gone long and the money was good. The expenses involved in keeping her in community college and David in private school far exceeded their parents'
estate. His arguments finally persuaded her that he had to leave.
It was six months before he made it home, that time, but he had been right about the money.
When David was accepted into the police academy, Kermit was both proud and relieved. David had made a remarkable recovery from
his addiction. Even so, he might not have been accepted into the
academy without the recommendation of one of Kermit's mercenary
friends, Paul Blaisdell. Blaisdell's government credentials were
enough to persuade the review board to overlook the youngest Griffin's past drug problems. Shortly after David started school, Marilyn
began planning her wedding. Kermit, once again, put his own plans
on hold until after the wedding, then joined Paul Blaisdell in a
covert government mission in yet another nameless country.
********** end flashback ***********
"Kermit? Kermit? I..it's time." Marilyn's voice was shaking
as badly as her hands. Her words pulled him out of his daydream and
into his nightmare. He stared stupidly at her for a moment before tossing the single white rose he was holding into the open grave. Leaving his sister to the comfort of her husband's arms, he stalked purposely away, his life's course now set on the path of revenge.
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part - 02 ↑
"It's been over two years, Pop, and I still haven't figured
out how to say goodbye. It just doesn't seem right, somehow. You
were always bigger than life. Were you really that awe-inspiring
or was it just those stupid orange robes? God, we all looked like
a bunch of geeks. Shaved heads, robes, beads, Geez - we could've
been in a commune rather than a temple." Peter Caine stopped
speaking for a moment and stared wistfully across the lake. Sighing
he went on, "I'm sorry, Pop. That wasn't fair. You really believed
all that stuff you taught. So did I once, then I found the real
world or should I say it found me. I've tried, Pop, I've really
tried to remember what you said but it doesn't work in here. The
orphanage, that is. I've got to play by their rules, Pop. They
don't even know the rule book you used." A single tear trailed
down the fourteen year old boy's cheek. Memories came back unbidden
from the past.
*********** flashback ********
"Peter?"
"Yeah, eh, yes, Pop?"
Eyebrows squinted in displeasure, Kwai Chang Caine replied
severely, "Do not call me 'Pop'."
"Er, Sorry, P..Father."
"I understand that you have been fighting, without regard for
our teachings."
"Oh, No, Father, well, not exactly."
"What, exactly?"
The words tumbled out in a rush, "Daniel was in town with
Steven to get something for Master Chin Wo and the boys at the
store started making fun of them and Daniel tried to tell them
that diversity is good and that the world would be boring if all
people were the same and then the town boys sprayed tomato juice
all other them and I..I". The boy's voice faded away as he realized
that he was revealing too much, too soon.
Caine watched the emotions play over his only child's small
face with inner amusement. Peter could never hide anything from
anyone. His facial expressions were as eloquent as his flow of
chatter was constant. Caine, however, easily maintained his severe
countenance, "And you, what, my son?"
"I..I told them to stop or else." The child's words were barely
above a whisper.
"I see. I assume from the reports I have received that the
boys in question chose the 'else' condition?"
"Yes, Father."
"So you attacked them?"
Peter's head shot up angrily, "Did they say that? If they did,
then they're lying and I'll ..."
"You will DO nothing, my son. No, they did not say that. It
was simply a question on my part. Peter, I am very disappointed that
you elected to solve your problems with your fists. The Tao teaches
us that violence is never the answer, there is always another way."
"But, Father.." The boy's plaintive face tugged at his father's
heart.
"Do not interrupt, Peter."
"Yes, Father."
"The appropriate course of action would have been to humbly
accept the humiliation that these ill-mannered children sought to
inflict, and to return home quickly. The stained robes are ruined
but can be replaced, your reputation cannot."
"I don't understand, Father."
"Peter, today you allowed yourself to be goaded into battle
over clothing. Your friends were in danger of nothing but dirty
garments. You have branded yourself as an easy target, perhaps not easily defeated but still one who is quickly drawn into battle.
Sooner or later, if you allow your temper to control your actions,
you will be the one throwing the first punch. You will gain a
reputation as a troublemaker, even though WE will know it is not
the truth."
Peter eyed his father in confusion. He'd never strike first,
that would be .. He stopped, suddenly realizing that he HAD wanted
to hit the O'Neal boy's smirking face. What if Jimmy Spencer hadn't
punched at him, would he have put a fist into Carl's nose? Finally noticing that his father was still speaking, Peter pulled his
thoughts together to concentrate on Caine's words.
"My son, before we discuss your punishment for fighting, we
must discuss the other problem confronting us."
"Yes, Father." The boy sighed in resignation knowing that
his life was over.
"Why did you go to town without permission?"
"I..I don't know, Father."
The arched eyebrows spoke his father's disbelief louder than
any words could have.
Stammering, Peter continued, "I mean, I know that I wanted to
go with Daniel and Steven but I knew if I asked you, you would just
say no, like always."
"Did you think I would not find out?"
The boy's hazel eyes flashed his indignation, "No, Father. I
would have told you,.. when I got back."
"I see. And did you believe that I would not punish you because
of your honesty?" Secretly pleased at his son's reaction, Caine
struggled to maintain the 'stern parent' demeanor.
"No, Father, I was sure you would."
Kwai Chang Caine sternly observed his young son, "Indeed.
Very well, the lecture has ended. For fighting in town, you will
spend the next month on kitchen duty." Ignoring Peter's gasp of
dismay, Caine continued, "For disobeying me and going to town
without permission, whenever you are not in school or on kitchen
duty, you will stay in your room and meditate on the merits of
humility and obedience. This confinement will continue for at
least one week. I will review the situation again at that time."
*********** end flashback ************
"Peter?"
"Yes, Pop?"
"Huh?"
Peter quickly wiped the tears from his eyes, "I'm sorry, Kyle.
My mind was elsewhere."
"That's OK." The other teenager pretended not to notice the
tears. "I'm sorry but Warden, uh, Headmaster Smith sent me to
get you. I would have pretended I couldn't find you but he's in
a real bad mood. That fight you had with Andrew really sent him
over the edge."
Peter moaned, "I know. It was Andrew's fault but Smith will
never believe me. You know that."
"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, Peter."
"Not your fault, Kyle. I shouldn't have let Andrew goad me
into fighting him."
"Maybe Smith won't .."
"Yeah, and tomorrow we'll all wake up in OZ. Dammit, you'd
think I'd know better by now." Peter buried his face in his
hands.
The other boy placed a slender hand on his friend's shoulder.
"Well, I better get a move on. The old fart doesn't like to
be kept waiting when he's in one of his righteous moods." Peter
stood and walked slowly toward the administration building, much
like a condemned man walking to the gallows.
Kyle watched with sad eyes as his friend walked away. He knew
Peter was right. Smith was in a 'righteous' mood and Peter Caine
would pay the price for it. Kyle cringed, in spite of himself, as
he recalled the way Smith had fondled the thick leather strap when
he'd ordered Kyle to 'fetch that miscreant Caine to him immediately'.
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part - 03 ↑
It had taken the better part of three days but Paul Blaisdell
had finally located Kermit Griffin in a seedy bar located in an
even seedier part of town. Paul stood just inside the doorway and
watched the younger man for a moment. Kermit sat slouched on his
barstool, glass clutched in one hand, bottle in the other. As
Paul watched, the young mercenary poured himself another drink.
Unsteady hands sent more liquid onto the bar than into the glass
but the man pouring it did not seem to notice. The bartender was
apparently used to this scene because, as Kermit lifted the glass
to drink, the man quickly swiped at the counter with a dirty rag.
Kermit drained his glass and started to pour another. He tipped the
bottle and held it shakily above the glass. Slamming the bottle onto
the bar, he lifted his glass once more and drank deeply. Confusion
played over his features as he eyed the glass. Tipping the bottle
once more, Kermit moved his face to within inches of its mouth and
squinted. The realization slowly dawned that the bottle was empty.
"BARF..EN..FER, anuther boffle"
Paul placed a hand carefully on Kermit's shoulder and shook his
head at the bartender. The man serving at the counter wisely moved
to the other end of the room. Kermit whirled to counter the 'attack'
and fell face first to the floor.
Blaisdell reached down to assist his friend to his feet. "Kermit,
you've had enough."
"Enuf wat?" The slurred tones combined with the question proved
to Paul that controlling Kermit would be relatively simple, for now.
Placing Kermit's arm over his shoulders, Paul started toward the door.
"Hey, Mister!"
Paul glanced back at the bartender.
"He still owes for that last bottle."
Paul tossed the man a twenty, then pulled the drunken Kermit
Griffin out the door. Together they stumbled down the road, Kermit
swaying like a flag in the breeze. Paul carefully propped the other
man against his car and searched for his keys. He shook his head
and cursed softly as Kermit Griffin slid down the side of his
Ford and plopped gracelessly onto the curb. Blaisdell opened the
passenger door and heaved the loudly snoring man into the seat. He maneuvered the seat belt around the limp figure and slammed the door shut. Sighing heavily, he slipped quickly into the driver's side
and started the engine. Only then did he realize that he did not
know where to take Kermit. Marilyn was locked in her own grief
and didn't need her brother's drunken state added to her problems.
Home was also out of the question. Annie alone would not have been
an issue and could probably have talked sense into this kid better
than he could but the girls were home. That left, the lake house.
Grinning, he started the engine and drove quickly away.
*****************************
Kermit Griffin was awake. At least he thought he was. True
his eyes were still closed and he didn't recall moving lately, but
he was sure he was awake. He carefully opened one eye, and instantly
regretted it. The blinding light was excruciatingly painful and
the movement of his eyelid brought on waves of nausea. He opted
to stay perfectly still for a moment longer, just to recover his
senses. The nausea faded and he dared to open his eye again. The
damn light was still there but the movement didn't seem to hurt as
badly as before. Encouraged, he tried the other eye and met, once
again, with success. Moving as slowly as possible, he repositioned
all vital limbs and bravely attempted to stand. That action proved
to be a mistake. Gagging uncontrollably he glanced desperately
through squinted eyes for somewhere to run.
Paul heard the toilet flush and put down the book he'd been
engrossed in. Moving quickly to the kitchen he reached into the
refrigerator and removed his grandfather's hang-over cure. Walking softly toward the bedroom, he listened carefully for any noise that might alert him to the condition of its occupant. Hearing none, he
quietly pushed open the door and looked around. Kermit lay curled
in a fetal position on the floor of the small bathroom. He'd
obviously just barely made it to the toilet then collapsed. Paul
placed the hang-over cure on the night stand and walked swiftly
into the bathroom. He'd barely gotten there as Kermit attempted
to push himself upward toward the toilet bowl. Paul lifted the
young man and held him firmly through rounds of vomiting.
Only when the spasms appeared to be totally gone, and Kermit
lay moaning on the floor, begging to die, did Paul release him
and move to get the 'cure'. Thinking, "Kid, this is gonna hurt
you worse than me," Paul tilted the young mercenary's head back
and forced the 'cure' down his throat.
Two hours later Kermit was capable of lucid conversation. Paul
eyed him warily as the younger man stumbled to the sofa in the main
room and collapsed.
"Feeling better?"
"I'll be better if you stop shouting." Kermit groaned and closed
his eyes. "Thanks, Paul."
"You're welcome. Kermit, I'm really sorry about David."
"Yeah, thanks."
"How can I help?"
"Help me find the SOB's who killed him."
"And do what?"
"Kill them." Kermit met Paul's gaze unflinching.
"No can do, Kermit."
"Paul .."
"No, Kermit, David was a cop. The fact that they gave him a
formal funeral means they know he wasn't dirty. They'll find whoever killed your brother."
"I'VE got to find them. David would expect .."
"David would expect you to live your life and not throw it
away by seeking revenge for his death."
"You can't know that. You never met him."
"Didn't have to meet him. I know his brother. I know what he
would want if the situation was reversed. You expect me to believe
that the kid brother would be any different."
Kermit glared at his older friend. Paul continued, "Right now
there's a mission I need your brand of expertise on, my friend.
It's right up your alley. Lots of lives on the line, plenty of
danger, and low pay."
"Not no, but hell no. I got people to kill."
"I'll make a deal with you, Kermit. You run this mission
for me and when you get back, I'll help you track these guys
down." Paul held up his hand as Kermit started to speak, "No,
Kermit, I won't help you track them to kill them but I will help
you bring them to justice."
"I don't like it."
"It's the best offer you're going to get. Take it or leave it."
Paul's voice had gone cold.
Kermit turned away for a moment, then met his friend's eyes,
"I don't appear to have a choice, do I?"
Paul grinned, "Actually no. Now about that assignment .."
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part - 04 ↑
Peter Caine sat anxiously on the front steps of Pineridge.
He'd been watching the drive for over an hour. Paul was never
late. Well, almost never. But he always called if he was going
to be late. And Peter could never remember a time when Paul had
been delayed when Annie and the girls were with him. Maybe, maybe
something was wrong. Maybe they'd had a wreck and were hurt o..or
killed. Or maybe, just maybe, they'd decided that they didn't
want Peter along for this weekend's trip. The back seat of the
Ford WAS crowded when he joined the Blaisdell girls, Carolyn and
Kelly, on its worn vinyl seats. Maybe the trip would be too cramped
with Peter on board. But surely they'd call, wouldn't they? Peter
was sure Annie would see to that, at least.
The sound of an approaching car caught his attention. Rising,
he stood on tip-toe, trying to see over the gates from the steps.
He knew that his view would be unobstructed if he climbed onto the
stone lions that stood on either side of the door. For a moment,
he almost gave into the temptation, but they were too far off the
ground. The last thing he wanted was to get stuck up there in
panic mode with Paul, Annie and the girls coming up the drive.
Particularly not in front of Paul. It was bad enough that most
of the kids at Pineridge knew how terrified he got when he was up
high, but Peter couldn't stand the thought that Paul might learn
what a coward he really was. He shaded his eyes and stared
unblinking at the gate. A small sob escaped his lips as the Chevy
van entered the grounds. He buried his head against his knees
and struggled to contain his tears, ignoring the slamming car door
and the approaching footsteps.
"Peter? Son, I'm sorry we're late but we had to pick up a friend
at the airport."
"P..Paul? I..I thought.." Peter stopped speaking, swiped his
eyes, and clambered quickly to his feet, "It's OK. I'll understand
if you want to cancel and spend time with your friend. We can go
to the lake another weekend."
Paul looked in exasperation at the gangly youth standing in
front of him. No child of fourteen should be this polite, this
controlled, particularly since this weekend at the lake had been
in the works for over a month. The boy should be sulking, not
understanding. Paul gently lifted the teen's head until he could
see his eyes, "Peter, there is no way we're canceling the weekend.
ALL of us have been looking forward to it. We're just bringing my
friend along."
"Really?" The whispered reply was almost missed by the adult.
"Really." Paul's voice was firm. "Now come on. We're already
starting late."
"Yes, sir." The boy grabbed his overnight bag and followed
Paul to the van. He stopped, confused. Paul laughed and slid
the side door open. Motioning Peter inside, he threw the boy's
over night bag into the back. As Peter climbed inside, he asked,
"Paul, when did you get the van?"
"Haven't yet. We're test driving it for the weekend. Had to
leave my Ford hostage on the lot." Peter grinned at the image
that statement conjured up. The girls were happily hidden away
in the last seat in the van, forcing Peter to slid in beside a
dour man in sun-glasses.
"Kermit, I'd like you to meet Peter Caine. Peter, this is
my good friend, Kermit Griffin."
The boy eyed the be-speckled man curiously. Something about
him brought out an unusually shy moment. A quiet, "Hi", issued
from Peter's lips. The man merely nodded his acknowledgment, albeit barely, of Peter's existence.
As Paul drove toward the lake, both girls teased Peter
unmercifully from the back seat. The adult presence in the seat
beside him prevented Peter from retaliating as desired.
Peter was so occupied with defending himself from the rear
attacks that he did not notice Kermit watching him. There was
something about the boy that reminded the mercenary of David.
Kermit studied the teen unobtrusively. Peter's hair and eyes
were dark, David's had been fair and blue. Peter was smaller
than David had been at fifteen. So intent had Kermit become on
resolving the puzzle, that he missed the fact that Peter had
ceased squabbling with the Blaisdell girls and was staring back
at him.
"Is something wrong, Mr. Griffin?"
The question startled the man, "No, kid. Nothing's wrong."
"I..I'm sorry."
"What?"
"That I was bothering you." Kermit finally knew why Peter
resembled David, this boy's eyes were haunted, just as David's
had been.
"You weren't bothering me, kid."
"Oh." Peter could think of nothing else to say. Discerning
the tension in the figure beside him, the teenager elected to
ignore the teasing of the Blaisdell girls. The ride to the lake
continued with the silence in the middle seat more than adequately
compensated for by the noise from the back of the van.
After the children were tucked away for the night, Paul headed
for his chair on the porch. Kermit joined him soon after. Annie, knowing the young man's need, elected to retire for the evening.
"Paul, we need to talk about David."
Paul Blaisdell had been dreading this. He'd hoped that the
covert mission he'd sent his young friend on would drive the urge
to seek revenge out of Kermit. Unfortunately, he'd also known that
the odds were against him. The very tenacity that made Kermit an
excellent mercenary kept the pain of David's death alive in the
younger man's heart. "What about David?"
"You said you'd help me find his killers if I went on your
mission."
"And you're here for the payoff." It was not a question.
"Yes."
Paul studied his glass closely, watching as the ice swirled
around the cherry. "All right. I figured as much. Reaching into
his pocket, he handed the mercenary as PC diskette. All we know
is on this. Thought you'd like it better than paper."
"Thanks."
"Kermit, go after justice, not revenge."
The younger man simply stared wordlessly at the computer disk
in his hand. He was still sitting, disk in hand, when Paul retired
for the night. By dawn, Kermit Griffin was on a plane heading east.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
part - 05 ↑
Peter Caine bounced down the steps of the Blaisdell home.
He'd been living with them for almost three months and was
beginning to feel as if he belonged. He'd recently asked for,
and received, permission to call Annie, MOM.
"Mom, have you seen my shorts?" It had taken awhile, but
he'd finally stopped noticing when he mixed words like 'seen'
in the same sentence with 'Mom'. Annie had been blind since
infancy but no one who knew her ever seemed to remember that.
She could 'see' more clearly than any other mom on the block.
"They're in the laundry room, Peter, with the rest of
your clean clothes. By the way, in the interest of saving
time, Paul brought your dirty things down for me." Her tone
was softly chiding.
The embarrassed youth froze for a moment, "I'm sorry Mom,
what with studying for finals I forgot to bring 'em down. It
won't happen again."
"I certainly hope not," she teased softly. She'd realized
early on that this child took everything she said to heart. It
made normal mother/son discipline difficult since the slightest
reprimand or admonishment from her tended to crush the boy. Now
that she thought of it, Peter had only a slightly less severe
reaction to Paul's reprimands. "Now, how about putting your things
away and finish packing? Grant will be here in an hour to drive
us to the lake."
"Yes, Ma'am"
Annie listened as the boy's footsteps moved away from her,
almost shuffling at first, then picking up speed. She laughed to
herself, "Peter, darling, I'm betting you were born walking and
talking." As she climbed the stairs to the children's bedrooms,
she contemplated the last six months. Peter had been so withdrawn
when she'd first met him. It had taken several trips to the
orphanage before she'd finally been able to get him to relax and
talk to her. The first trip to the lake house, several months back,
had provided the environment needed for the final breakthrough. Paul
had been engrossed with an old friend for part of the weekend, giving
her the time she needed to engage the teenager in general conversation. She'd been pleased to discover for herself what Paul already knew.
The fourteen-year old had a quick, intelligent mind, filled with teen-aged opinions. He also had a degree of knowledge that exceeded the norms for a public school education. Certain subjects, however, such
as old television shows, were completely foreign to Peter. To her dismay, however, she discovered in the child, a cynicism that was, to her mind, out of character with the rest of the boy's personality.
She smiled as she recalled the first visit Peter had made to the
Blaisdell home. It had been an unqualified disaster. Annie still cringed as she remembered the soap bubbles on the kitchen floor.
Peter had volunteered to help in the kitchen but unfortunately had
been unfamiliar with dishwashers. Too late, Annie found that the
boy had filled the soap dispenser with liquid detergent not designed
for a dishwasher. The resultant foam flood had yielded two very
hysterical girls, one very embarrassed boy and one very wet kitchen
floor. Peter had returned to the orphanage certain he would never
be allowed to return to the Blaisdell home, but return he did as
often as the institution would permit.
It didn't take long until the sporadically allowed visits
were not enough for anyone. As a result, by the time Peter turned fifteen, he was living with the Blaisdell clan.
Footsteps on the landing brought her quickly back to the
present. "Oh, Peter?"
"Ma'am?"
"Peter, I almost forgot. Paul's looking for you. He's
downstairs somewhere, maybe the basement."
"Thanks, Mom. I'll find him." The boy scurried away at his
normal break-neck pace.
Paul Blaisdell appeared in the basement doorway, just as
his foster son leaped off the bottom step.
"Paul, Mom said you..'
"Den." The single word and the manner in which it was delivered, sent a shiver down Peter's spine.
Puzzled, the boy preceded Paul into the police lieutenant's
private den.
"Sit." Again, a single word command. Peter was becoming very
unnerved. He'd only known Paul for seven months but he had never,
ever seen his foster father like this.
"You are aware that I took your dirty clothes to your mother
to wash?"
"Paul, I'm sorry, I fo.."
The older man squelched the reply with a look. "That is not
what I wish to discuss."
"Sir?"
Paul reached into his desk drawer and removed something. He
held up the articles for Peter's review.
"You know what these are?"
"Yes, sir. I mean, I don't know what they're called but
you use them to roll your own cigarettes." Peter was becoming
increasingly confused.
"What were they doing in your laundry hamper?" The controlled
anger in the man's voice further unnerved the teen-ager.
"I..I don't know, P..Paul." The boy's eyes were now glued to
his feet.
"That is an unacceptable answer. Now where did they come from?"
"T..They're not mine, P..Paul, H..Honest. I r..really don't
k..know."
The plaintive tone did much to quell the anger in the man's
voice. "Peter, you do realize that these are often used to roll marijuana joints?"
A whispered, "Yes, sir" could barely be heard.
"Look at me, Peter." The boy's dark head did not move. "Peter!
Look at me!" The severe set to the man's voice caused the teen to
finally look at him. "Tell me the truth. Where did these come
from?"
The earlier reply, complete with nervous stammer, was repeated
verbatim, "T..They're not mine, P..Paul, H..Honest. I r..really
don't k..know."
Paul studied the youngster for a moment, then replied, "All
right, Peter. I believe you. They're not yours." The relief was
evident in the child's eyes. "That means that one of your friends
left them there. Son, I'm very disappointed in you. YOU are
responsible for both the friends you choose and what they do while they're in our home. Cigarettes are illegal at your age and you know
marijuana is illegal no matter how old you are. Neither item is acceptable in this house. I don't know which friend left these in
your room but you should seriously consider reevaluating that friendship."
Another whispered "Yes, sir" almost broke Paul's resolve to
discipline the boy. "OK, Peter, here's what we're going to do. You
are grounded for the weekend and will not be going to the lake house. You will spend the rest of today in your room, cleaning it. If it
meets with my approval, then your restriction will be lifted effective
Monday morning. Grant will take your mother and sisters to the lake
as planned. Unfortunately I'm unable to go up for another two weeks.
Is that clear?"
The boy choked out a soft, "Yes, sir."
Something about Peter's manner confused and alarmed his father. Punishing a child was never easy and punishing a contrite one was
even harder. Paul took a deep, steadying breath, then said, "Fine.
Now go to your room." As the teenager fled the den, Paul finally realized what it was that had baffled him about Peter's last reply.
The girls would have been resentful, even angry in their concurrence. Peter's voice had contained true fear. Fear that, Paul knew, should
not have been inspired by anything he had said.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
part - 06 ↑
Paul Blaisdell threw the cigarette wrappers into the trash.
Peter's reaction bothered him deeply. What on earth could the
boy be that afraid of? Annie poked her head in the door.
"Paul?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"What's wrong with Peter? He ran past me in the hall so
quickly that I don't think he even saw me."
Paul quietly explained the situation.
"Oh."
"You don't approve?"
"I'm just thinking that perhaps you were a little harsh.
This is the first time he's ever gotten more than a lecture
from either of us."
"I thought about that, Annie. If I weren't a cop, I might
have settled for a lecture. But all I could think of when I saw
the cigarette papers was, 'what if one of them had been around a
joint?' There'd have been no option on my actions then. Living
with a police officer requires an element of responsibility that
the other kids technically don't have. Peter's got to understand
that."
"All right, Paul. I don't necessarily agree with your position
but I'll back you if any questions arise. What do we tell the girls?"
"The truth. Peter's being punished and it's none of their
business why." He laughed suddenly and added, "In a way this
probably helps you out."
"How so?" Annie was truly puzzled.
"Well, the speculation on what Peter did wrong should keep the
girls busy almost all the way to the lake."
Two hours later Grant Hill's van was packed and the Blaisdell
ladies were waving good-bye. The Hill clan had been neighbors of
the Blaisdell's at the lake for years and it wasn't unusual for
them to steal Carolyn and Kelly for weekend trips to the lake. Much
of summer was also spent at the lake and the Hill's were usually
able to take Annie and the girls up well before Paul could get a
'free' weekend.
Peter stood on the porch and waved a neutral farewell to the
departing group. Paul attempted to place a friendly arm around
the boy's thin shoulders but it was shrugged away. Oddly, that
eased the man's mind somewhat, that reaction was at least normal
for an angry teenager. As soon as the car disappeared from view,
Peter turned on his heels and slunk back to his room. Paul sighed
and followed him into the house. He considered speaking again
with Peter but his thoughts were diverted by his ringing phone.
**************************************
The commercial airliner had arrived in Atlanta late. Kermit
Griffin had to run through the concourses to make his next flight.
His already bad mood had worsened considerably upon finding himself
sharing a row with a 300 pound man in the aisle seat. To make
matters worse, the row he was on required all carry-on luggage to
be stored in the overhead bins. The stewardess had managed to find
overhead storage at the back of the plane. As the filled-to-capacity
aircraft taxied down the runway, Kermit irritably ignored the
excited conversations around him. He was on a tight schedule and
knew the delay in reclaiming his only luggage would cost him time
that he could not spare.
By the time he retrieved his carryon and deplaned, he was over
two hours behind 'schedule'.
He stopped at a pay phone and dialed the number he knew by
heart. "Paul? .. I've got a lead on who might have killed David
but I need your resources to verify a few items. .. Yeah, I know,
justice not revenge. Can we meet somewhere? .. Your place? Sure.
Annie won't .. Oh. .. I'll be over in twenty minutes." Hanging
up the phone, Kermit thought, "Yeah, Paul, it'll be justice all
right. Just MY brand."
**************************************
Peter Caine angrily twisted the doorknob into his bedroom and
quickly went inside. He barely managed to catch the door before it
slammed shut. The first 'discussion' he and Paul ever had, had been
on slammed doors. Looking around he realized that he'd made scant progress in making his room livable. If he didn't finish it before
bedtime, Paul would be even angrier than he already was. The boy
sank hopelessly onto his bed and wondered how long it would take
before Paul broke the news to him.
He mentally reviewed the conversation he and Paul had had
earlier about the wrappers Paul had found. The words 'illegal'
and 'disappointed' kept running through Peter's head. He'd never
meant to disappoint Paul. Peter had suspected Michael smoked
something but never thought his friend would bring anything to his house. As to 'illegal', well, there was no way that just a weekend's confinement was going to be enough punishment for THAT. No, the
only thing that made any sense was that he was being sent back to Pineridge. The thought terrified him completely. Director Smith
had never liked him and Peter knew that the man would place all the
blame for Peter's return squarely on his shoulders. That would
mean another beating. The boy buried his face in his pillow and
sobbed. He couldn't deal with that life again, he just couldn't.
**************************************
Paul opened the door and smiled at his friend. Kermit still
had the sunglasses Paul had gotten him as a joke over four years
ago.
"Kermit. It's been, what, four months?"
"Oh, yeah. How are Annie and the girls?"
"Fine. And we've got a new addition. Peter Caine."
Surprise and pleasure lit Kermit's face, "The kid from the
orphanage? That's great, Paul. He seemed like a good kid. I
assume he went with the ladies to the lake."
Paul frowned, "No, actually, he's grounded for the weekend.
Annie thinks I was too hard on him, though."
"What'd the kid do?"
"HE didn't really do anything. I found cigarette papers in
his laundry hamper. He says they weren't his and I believe him
but I felt it necessary to punish him. He needs to be aware of
what his friends are doing." Paul shuddered, "If I'd found drugs
rather than what I found, Peter would be in real trouble."
"You're right. You don't want him hanging around with anyone
who uses drugs, no matter what. That's how David got hooked. He
had one friend who occasionally smoked pot. That friend introduced
David to his supplier who 'helped' David acquire a habit. And now
that we're talking about David, here're the names I've gotten so
far. I know it's a long list. What I need is your resources to
narrow it down as much as possible."
"What are you going to do if you find David's killer?"
"Don't worry Paul, I'll pursue justice but I'm not a cop.
If the guy gets hurt or killed in the process, well that's not
my problem."
Paul considered his next words carefully, "OK, Kermit, I'll
help you, but don't, and I mean this, don't put me in the position
of having to arrest you."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
part - 07 ↑
The remainder of the weekend at the Blaisdell home passed
quietly. Kermit left to visit Marilyn and family, knowing that
it would take Paul until sometime Monday to gather the information
he'd requested. His small nephew was now almost two and Kermit
found that he was anxious to play doting uncle to the child.
Peter's room passed inspection so Paul was pleased to be able
to take the teen off restriction effective Monday morning. That
promise didn't really console Peter much since Sunday was spent with
no television, no radio and no telephone. He also was unable to
shake the thought that he might not be living with the Blaisdell's
on Monday. The frightened boy spent most of his Sunday avoiding
Paul, fearing that if he annoyed the man any further, his next car
trip would be back to Pineridge.
Paul, meanwhile, totally misinterpreted Peter's reluctance
to associate with him. Used to dealing with his own daughters, he
felt reassured by Peter's quick withdrawal upon his father's entry
into a room. Carolyn and Kelly would never show open defiance of
any punishment but they tended to make their displeasure known in
little ways, one of which was avoiding the presence of whichever
parent had disciplined them. Peter's choosing to go elsewhere
whenever Paul came into the room, led the police lieutenant to
believe that he had been mistaken in reading fear into Peter's
first reaction to being grounded.
Monday morning saw Paul Blaisdell heading for the precinct
earlier than usual. Choking down his own brewed coffee, he quickly
composed a short note for Peter, reminding the boy that while he
was off restriction, Paul expected him to remember that the ground
rules Peter now lived under applied whether any adult was home or
not. Not wanting to wake Peter, Paul left the house without telling
the boy goodbye.
Peter watched from his upstairs bedroom window as Paul pulled
out of the driveway. Breathing a sigh of relief that maybe Paul
wasn't going to send him away, he went to the hall telephone, and
called his friend, Michael, in search of some way to fill his day.
*************************************
Marilyn was amazed. Kermit had bonded with her little Jason immediately. The toddler headed straight for Uncle Kermit whenever possible, much to the chagrin of her husband. By Sunday evening,
Kermit was painfully aware that his brother-in-law wished him gone, although the man cared too deeply for Marilyn to ever voice that
desire. Kermit stood in the den turned guest room and watched his sister's family in their backyard. As he watched the happy interaction between the young threesome, Kermit began to pack. His world had
no place intersecting with Marilyn's. His was dark, hers was filled with sunshine and hope. Hope was something Kermit had lost when he failed David. Hearing the tiny boy's laughter, he turned once again
to the window. The child looked so much like David that for a while Uncle Kermit had thought, perhaps, just perhaps, he could become part
of this child's life. But that could never truly be. He was, by his own choice, now relegated to the role of seldom seen uncle. Kermit
knew he'd send presents for birthdays, Christmas, and other special occasions but he'd never be able to a real factor in this child's
life. Considering the mess he'd made of David's, perhaps it was for
the best. Checking to ensure he'd left none of his scant possessions behind, Kermit walked out the back door to break the news that he
would be leaving first thing in the morning.
********************************************
"Michael, we need to talk." Peter and his friend were seated on
the bench in the park.
"Hmmmm?" Michael Andrews was pulling through the bag of candy
the boys had confiscated from the Blaisdell kitchen. "Hey, Peter,
did we run out of those marshmallow things so soon?"
"Yeah, you ate them first. Michael, I have .."
"What about the nut crunchy things?"
"You ate them next. Michael, did .."
"Well, where are .."
"MICHAEL!"
The blond's head shot up in surprise, "Gee, Peter you don't need
to shout."
Peter Caine closed his eyes in exasperation. "Michael, I'm trying
to ask you something."
"Well, damn, Peter, don't just sit there. Ask."
"Did you leave something in my laundry hamper?"
"No, I .. Oh, wait. Yeah, remember I borrowed that blue jacket
of yours? Well, it was dirty so I left it in your hamper."
"I didn't know you borrowed anything."
"Hey, I can't help it if you didn't hear me ask, Caine. If I
remember correctly you were yelling at that stupid blond sister of
yours."
"Carolyn's NOT stupid. Annoying, yes. Stupid, no. And besides,
oh, never mind. Did you leave anything in the jacket?"
"Nah, ... well there were some paper thingies in the pocket but
nothing else. Why?"
Peter's voice grew cold, "By paper thingies do you mean,
cigarette wrappers?"
"Yepper. That's them."
"Well those paper thingies got me grounded for the weekend so
I'm missing the first two weeks at the lake with Mom and the girls."
"Whoa, how'd that happen?"
"Paul found them and, man, was he pissed."
"Shit, what a jerk. You'd think he never knew anybody who rolled
cigarettes."
"Paul is NOT a jerk, Michael. He's really great, almost as great
as my .., uh, never mind. Anyhow, in case you've forgotten, Paul's
a cop. Both cigarettes and marijuana are illegal. You know that."
"HEY, Peter! You didn't tell him .."
"No, I didn't but, Michael, I LIKE living with the Blaisdells.
Please don't do that again. I don't care what you do, just don't
do it at my house. I..if Paul gets mad enough, he'll send me back
to Pineridge. You don't know what that's like, Michael. I..it's
a really bad place, at least for me. I can't go back there."
"Geez, Peter, take a chill. They've kept you this long."
"Yeah, but I can't get into more trouble. Paul said he was really
disappointed in me." Peter's voice broke into a near sob.
Michael stared at his friend. "Let me guess, Blaisdell delivered
the 'be careful who you hang out with' speech."
"How'd you .."
"For a smart kid, Peter, you're sometimes really stupid. Your
old man gave you parent lecture number 209. Or is it 210? I've
heard it a dozen times, at least. Take my word for it, Caine, it
doesn't mean jack shit. Just stick with your friends and rely on
the parental pair only when necessary."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
part - 08 ↑
Marilyn's tears upon Kermit's departure were genuine and little
Jason pitched a true terrible two's tantrum when he was removed from
his uncle's arms. Even his brother-in-law seemed reluctant for him
to leave, probably out of sympathy for his wife's pain. Kermit was
quick to notice that while Marilyn was adamant that he return soon,
her husband did not second the notion.
Kermit Griffin set up shop in a small motel near Chinatown. He
removed the folder containing everything he had found to date on
his little brother's death. Painstaking research over the course
of the last several months had narrowed the list to ten possibles.
Too many, he knew, but he was hopeful that Paul would be able to
shrink the list even further. Picking up the phone, he dialed
Paul's precinct.
"May I speak with Paul Blaisdell? .. I see, when will he be back?
.. Oh. Would you take a message for him? .. thank you .. Please have
him call Kermit, .. YES, like the frog, at the Starlight Motel,
room 207. .. thanks." Kermit disconnected and lay back on the bed.
He hated waiting but there was nothing else he could do, for now.
********************************************
"You know, it's really boring out here." Michael casually
skipped a stone across the surface of the small pond in the center
of the park.
"I like it." Peter had settled under a tree and was staring
wistfully at the water, imagining the larger surface area of the
lake where the Blaisdell's summer home was located.
"YOU would."
"What's that mean?" Peter looked up indignantly at his friend.
"Just that I don't really know why I like you. You can be
pretty boring sometimes." Michael grinned to take the edge off
his words but Peter sensed that the boy was being totally honest.
Standing up, Peter dusted off the seat of his jeans and asked,
"Well, what do you want to do, Mr. 'I'm Never Dull'"
"Got any money?"
Puzzled, Peter replied, "Yeah, about ten bucks. Why?"
"Great, we can take the bus downtown and see if it's less dull
down there. All we gotta remember is to keep enough of your ten
to get back home. Otherwise we'll have to walk."
"You want to use MY money to get us downtown?"
"Damn you're bright."
"I don't know." Peter's reluctance was visible.
"What, does your foster dad have a rule against taking the
bus?" Michael sneered at his friend.
"No.o.o. I don't think so. He's never said but I don't think
he'd like me going without asking him."
"He doesn't have to know."
"No, I'll try to call him and if I don't get him, I'll leave a
note and go with you."
"What if he says no?"
"Then I won't go downtown."
"Peter, you are really weird. Don't know why I like you. Well,
don't just stand there, go call your father."
"FOSTER father."
"Whatever. Just get it done so we can leave."
**************************************************************
The ringing phone startled Kermit out of a nightmare ridden
sleep. Images of a dead and dying David screamed at the young
man. Wiping sweat from his brow, Kermit lunged for the handset.
"What?.. Oh, Hi Paul. Great, come on over.. An hour?, OK. I'm
in Room 207."
Hanging up the phone, Kermit began to pace the small confines
of his motel room. Soon the memories of the nightmare became
overwhelming and he moved his pacing to the landing outside his
door. 207 was in the back of the motel and the stench from the
alleyway caused him to wrinkle his nose in disgust. Checking to
ensure his door was locked, Kermit walked to the front of the
building and turned his attention to the street activity below.
An interesting mix of people decorated the narrow streets.
Kermit was amused to note that all forms of life appeared to
intersect. A pair of nuns passed out pamphlets on the corner
in front of a porn-video store. Less than one hundred feet
away, two street walkers vied for the attention of passing
motorists. City kids, out of school for the summer, steered
skateboards and roller blades skillfully in and out of the
slow-moving traffic.
His attention was caught by a vaguely familiar figure standing
in the shadows near an alleyway. Kermit strained his excellent
vision in an attempt to put a name to the man. As he watched, a
teenage boy approached the man and struck up a conversation. Money
and a small nondescript package exchanged hands. The boy pushed
the package into an inside pocket and walked away. Kermit watched
as he was joined by another, younger boy, who was obviously upset
with his friend. The brunette kid also looked familiar to the
young mercenary. "Damn," Kermit thought, "This is my day to almost
put a name to somebody." As the boys left the area, still engrossed
in an intense conversation, Kermit turned his attention back to
the shadow man. The figure had moved out of the alley and was
crossing the street near the motel. As he grew closer, Kermit
was at last able to make out a face. Fury crossed his features
and he reached for his Desert Eagle. "Shit, it's still in the
room." Cursing himself for stupidity, the young man raced around
the corner. Fumbling with the key, his shaking hand finally got
the door unlocked. He dove into his leather suitcase and withdrew
the oversized firearm. As he whirled to go back out the door, a
voice froze him in his tracks, "Going somewhere with that?"
"Why the hell didn't you tell me that Chad Taylor was out of
prison? I'm going to kill the mo.."
Paul Blaisdell's thin forefinger shoved itself into Kermit
Griffin's chest. "YOU are going to DO nothing. Taylor's on
probation. We're keeping him under surveillance and when he does
break the law again, he'll go down for the long haul."
Kermit drew a shaky breath, "Well, PAUL, your surveillance
isn't worth shit."
Blaisdell's raised eyebrows asked the question.
"I just saw him sell something to some kid. Probably the
same stuff he sold David."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
part - 09 ↑
Paul stared stunned at his friend, "You're sure?"
"Of course I'm sure."
"You were close enough to see the drugs?"
"Well, no, but the kid gave Taylor money and got a small
package. What else could it be?"
"According to a court of law, just about anything." Paul
held up his hands in mock surrender at the icy glare Kermit shot
in his direction. "I know, I know. It was really drugs, but
there's no way to prove it. I'll check to see who was supposed
to be tailing him tomorrow. In the meantime, I thought I'd better
be here in person to let you know that I've got the name you're
looking for."
"WHO?"
No reply.
"PAUL, WHICH ONE?"
"No, Kermit. I'm not giving you that information." Paul
stiffled the furious retort with a glare. "Just hear me out. There's
more to this than you know. I've got to sort some of the details out then I'll get back to you. It'll only take a couple of days."
"Dammit, Paul. I've got to take care of this myself."
"Not a chance, my friend."
"I could always go after all ten."
"Not the Kermit Griffin that I know. Oh, I realize I'm going
to play hell keeping you off the SOB but I'm not worried about you
killing nine innocent men."
"They're not 'innocent'."
"They are of complicity in David's death."
The tension in the room set both men's nerves on edge. As
Paul watched, his friend made a visible effort to regain control.
Deciding to change the subject while he had a slight edge, Paul
said, "Kermit, I'm heading home early. Peter had a rough weekend
and I thought I'd take him out to dinner. Why don't you join us?"
The young mercenary grinned at his older friend, "Paul, I
don't believe it. You've gone soft."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You punished the kid and you're feeling guilty so you thought
you'd give him a night on the town to make up for it."
"No, I just .."
Kermit's widening grin silenced Blaisdell for a moment. "Oh, all
right, you win. I'm feeling kind of bad that Peter's missing the first
two weeks of summer at the lake. I only grounded him for the weekend
but since I can't go up for a while, he's stuck here in the suburbs.
So, what about it? Dinner?"
"Oh, Yeah."
********************************************************
Peter and Michael were checking the bus schedules when a car
pulled up beside them. Ignoring the engine noise, the boys continued
to search for the right bus to get them home.
A stern "Peter?" caused both teens to jump. Turning quickly,
Peter paled at the unusually hard features of Paul Blaisdell.
"P..Paul? What are you doing here?"
"That's odd, Peter, I was just going to ask you that question."
"I, uh, we, uh .." Peter gulped as he struggled with his words.
Paul surveyed the pair grimly. Inclining his head toward the bus
schedule, he asked, "Where were you planning on going?"
"H..Home." Was all Peter could manage. Michael, meanwhile,
judiciously studied his feet. Peter elbowed his friend in the side,
"Right, Michael?"
"Oh, absolutely, sir, we were just looking for the right bus."
"Get in the car, I'll take you home."
"Cool! Can you blow the siren?" Paul's glare went unnoticed
by the sixteen year old. Peter's jab in Michael's side was much
harder this time. Glancing from the friend to the father, Michael
mumbled a semi-contrite, "Uh, sorry, maybe not."
The ride to Michael's home was made in silence. Paul fumed,
Peter fretted and Michael failed to notice the atmosphere surrounding
him.
The silence continued for a short time after Michael was deposited
in front of his house. It was broken by Peter, "Paul, A..are you
m..mad at me?"
"What do you think, son?" Paul couldn't help but notice the
nervous stammer in Peter's speech.
"I'm n..not sure." Once again there was a trace of fear in the
boy's reply.
Certain this time that he'd heard fear in the boy's tone, Paul
took a deep breath then said, "Peter, I leave you at home this morning. This afternoon I find you wandering the streets near Chinatown. I
don't recall giving you permission to leave the neighborhood."
"I..I'm sorry, Paul. I tried to get you at work and couldn't
and I left you a note telling you where I was." Peter's voice held
a hopeful ring. "But you never really said anything.." His voice
faded away as he saw Paul's face.
"But you suspected that I wouldn't want you to go, didn't you? Otherwise you wouldn't have tried to call me."
Peter hesitated, then mumbled a low, "Yes, sir."
"Peter, school just let out last Thursday and already you've
been grounded for the weekend. Now this. Is the remainder of the
summer going to go this way?"
"N..no, s..sir."
"OK. Peter, you're fifteen so I really don't have a problem
with you going downtown to watch a movie or go someplace special.
I do not, however, want you going downtown just to wander around."
"Y..yes, s..sir."
"From now on the rule is, if you are not sure how your Mom or
I will react to something, then do not do it, until you actually
talk to one of us. If you cannot reach us to ask, then the answer
is no. Clear?"
"Yes. S..ir."
"What made you decide to go?"
The boy reddened slightly, "Michael wanted to."
"Why?"
"He was bored with hanging in the park."
"So you had to go with him."
"Well, no, but I had the money to get d.."
Paul shot Peter a sideways glance, "You spent the all money
YOU'VE been saving?"
"Oh, no, sir. Only ten dollars."
"Peter!"
"I'm sorry."
"Son, it's your money. You can spend it however you like but
I can think of a lot better things to do with it than wasting it
just wandering around the city."
"Me, too." Peter glanced out the window as Paul parked the car
in the driveway. Turning back to face the man, he asked, "Paul,
what are you going to do to me?"
The oddly phrased question, as well as the dread in the teen's
voice, worried his foster father. Studying the boy's pale, drawn
features, Paul realized the child was past fear, he was terrified.
Carefully gauging his answer, Paul replied, "Peter, son, what are
you afraid of? Not me, I hope."
"Oh, no, never but I thought, uh, never mind. It's nothing."
If the man hadn't considered returning him to the orphanage, Peter
certainly wasn't going to give him any ideas.
Paul watched as the worry and apprehension played over the teen's features. In the months that he'd known Peter Caine, he'd observed a withdrawn, silent child turn into an good-natured young man. Paul
had quickly realized that the good temperament was the boy's real nature. He also suspected that the boy was a natural communicator.
In recent months, as Peter had become more comfortable with his new family, the youngster had begun to open up. Only when Paul, or Annie, was angry with him, did the boy close down.
Knowing Peter had said as much as he was going to for now, Paul smiled and placed a reassuring hand on the boy's arm, "Peter, Don't
worry, you're getting off with a lecture this time." He let his
tone become stern, "But don't let it happen again."
The youngster's relief was visible. "Oh, I won't, Paul."
"Fine. Now go get cleaned up. We're going out to dinner tonight
with a friend. You know him, Kermit Griffin."
"You mean the weird, uh, odd, uh, uh, guy with the sun-glasses?"
Paul laughed, "That's the one."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
part - 10 ↑
Kermit arrived early at the Mexican restaurant Paul had chosen.
Telling the hostess he was the first of a party of three to arrive,
he then followed her to a table near the back of the restaurant.
Mercenary habits die hard and Kermit proved the point by choosing
the seat facing the door. He sat quietly sipping the drink he'd
ordered and watched for Paul. He didn't have long to wait. Paul Blaisdell's distinctive features soon appeared in the door. Kermit lifted his hand to attract his friend's attention. Paul smiled and returned the gesture. As the younger man watched, Paul walked toward him, closely followed by a teen-age boy. Kermit found his smile freezing on his face as he suddenly realized that he'd seen this boy earlier in the day. As Paul proudly re-introduced Kermit to his son, Peter, the only thought running through Kermit's head was that this
boy was doing drugs.
******************************************************
Michael Andrews sat in his room above the garage and lit a
second joint. The only boy in a family with three sisters, his
doting parents had given him the large space for his own when
he turned sixteen. He'd been careful to lock the door but knew
he didn't have to worry about anyone bothering him. His older
sister only thought of dates - past, present and future. The two
younger girls were much too afraid of him to ever try coming to
his room. As for his parents, his dad's 'knee' injury prevented
his climbing the stairs and his mom, well she was just plain too
fat to even consider the trip. Leaning back against his headboard,
he thought back upon the day. Peter Caine was very useful. The
Blaisdell's were well-known among the neighborhood kids for the
generous allowances Carolyn and Kelly were allotted. Peter's ten
bucks proved to Michael that Peter was now privy to the same
generosity. Michael knew he'd been lucky this afternoon. Blaisdell
was, after all, a cop. Still, knowing he was in possession of
illegal drugs while being chauffeured home by Mr. Blaisdell, had
provided the boy with a high he'd never gotten from the marijuana
he liked to use.
***************************************************
Douglas Larsen stared out the window of his penthouse. His
little drug empire was growing slowly but steadily. He had no
doubt that in a few years, he would control more of the market
than his employers in New York could ever have imagined. Larsen
grimaced as he recalled the near disaster of a few months back.
The undercover cop had been very good. Douglas Larsen had been
completely fooled by the young man's facade. A happy accident had
revealed the man's true identity. A recent addition to Larson's
stable of distributors had recognized David Grant as David Griffin.
Research on the cop had revealed a well-hidden former heroin
addiction. Larsen had taken great pleasure in the re-introduction
of heroin into the young man's system. After weeks of playing with
the tortured cop, Larsen had personally administered the fatal
overdose to David Griffin. The only detail that still nagged at
Larsen was how the cops had known David's death was not due to a
self-administered injection. A voice behind him pulled him sharply
out of his thoughts.
"You wanted to see me, Mr. Larsen?" Chad Taylor was more than
a little nervous in the presence of the big boss.
Larsen turned and studied Taylor. The dealer wilted under the
other man's gaze. A slow, menacing smile played across Douglas
Larsen's face. Taylor gulped and shifted his weight nervously
from one foot to another.
"Taylor, Chad Taylor." Larsen snuffed out his cigarette and
walked slowly away from his window. "You've done rather well since
you got out."
"Th.."
"Do not interrupt. You've been covering a reasonably large
section of town. Are you working alone?"
Taylor confidently replied, "Yes, sir. Completely alone."
Chad Taylor was slammed into the nearest wall. "Do not EVER
lie to me. I'LL know. You got some city kids helping you, four
of them if I'm correct."
Gasping for breath, Taylor whimpered, "Yes, sir, but..."
Larsen moved closer to the man and placed a friendly hand on
Taylor's shoulder. "No, that's fine. Just fine. I'm looking for
someone who can deal with kids. The miserable brats get on my
nerves. Here's what I need. School's out for the summer but
by fall I want a school-age dealer in every high school in the
city and surrounding area. The middle schools will be brought
into the picture by next Christmas. Do you think you can handle
this arrangement?"
"Yes, sir, no problem. I've got one kid who's a regular
customer who'll be great at both selling and contacts. His
name's Michael Andrews. He lives in the suburbs northeast of
here."
"Is he reliable?"
"As far as teenagers go, yes. He'll be glad of any extra
money he can get."
"Anyone else?"
"None with as much potential as the Andrews kid."
"Bring him into the fold." Larsen returned to his previous
spot at the window, as Chad Taylor hastened toward the elevator.
From what he'd heard, once Larsen had dismissed you, it was very
unwise to remain in the kingpin's presence.
***************************************************
Kermit was unusually silent as the waiter brought the menus
but Paul noticed the young mercenary watching Peter intently. The
boy, however, remained oblivious to the older man's scrutiny. The restaurant was decorated with a wide variety of Mexican artistry and
Peter was obviously enthralled as he gazed around at the decor in amazement.
Blaisdell smiled and gently tapped the menu, "Peter, son, you
really need to decide what you want to eat." He motioned to the
waiter standing patiently nearby. "Our waiter is, shall we say,
waiting."
Peter pulled his eyes off the fountain, and Blaisdell was quick
to notice, the pretty waitress hovering there, and glanced at the
menu. "Uh, Paul?" the boy's voice was mildly overwhelmed.
"Yes?"
"I don't know what to order. I..I've never been to a Mexican
restaurant before."
Before Paul could reply, Kermit broke in, "Try the sampler.
Number seven on the menu. It has some of almost everything."
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
In short order, the meal arrived and both adults were amused
by the vigor with which the teen-ager attacked his food. Kermit
and Paul made casual chatter but the older man could tell his
young friend was distracted. As the meal concluded, Paul took a
deep breath and said, "Peter, Kermit and I need to talk. There's
an arcade next door if you'd like to go."
"Yes, sir. I'd love that." The boy's eyes shone with excitement.
"Fine, here's five dollars. Try not to spend it too soon."
"No, thank you Paul. I brought some of my allowance. I'd
rather spend it. I'll be back." Leaping out of his chair, the
teenager sped out of the restaurant.
Kermit stared in astonishment at the boy's retreating back.
He'd planned on telling Paul about the youngster's involvement with
Chad Taylor but this turn of events caused him to rethink his
position. After all, he'd never actually seen this kid with Taylor.
Maybe he could determine if the boy was using drugs, without having
to break Paul's heart, just yet.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
part - 11 ↑
Paul Blaisdell watched his young mercenary friend closely as
Peter left the restaurant. Kermit's behavior all evening had been
suspect but Paul attributed it to the unexpected delay in getting
the information the younger man wanted. Then the cop in Blaisdell
began to take note of the way Kermit behaved toward Peter. Kermit
had barely spoken two words to the boy all evening. Normally Paul
would have ascribed that to Kermit's being unused to children,
however, the younger man had surreptitiously watched the boy all
evening. Paul knew that Peter had not noticed. The boy was as
yet too young to be aware of the subtleties in adult behavior
that were so integral a part of Paul's world.
As Peter slipped out the door, Paul broke the silence between
the two men, "OK, my friend, what's up?"
Puzzled, Kermit turned his attention to the police lieutenant,
"I'm sorry, 'up?'"
"I mean, you've been watching Peter all evening, basically
treating the boy as a pariah. What is the problem? And don't tell
me that you don't like kids."
Kermit blushed slightly and replied, "Oh, uh, Paul, I, uh, well"
"Good Lord man, just say it."
"I saw Peter outside my motel earlier today. He was with
another boy who appeared to be a little older."
Paul laughed, "and you didn't think I knew. Actually, I took
both boys home."
"They came with you?"
"No, in fact, until I left your room, I didn't know they were
near Chinatown. I found them reading a bus schedule to find the
right bus home."
"Peter's too young to be downtown without an adult." Kermit's
voice was hard.
"Kermit, I appreciate the concern but the boy is fifteen. I
came down on him about asking first. I also told him not to come
downtown just to wander around. He's old enough to do some things
by himself. You know, go to a movie, the mall, whatever."
Silently Kermit thought, "Yeah and get hooked up with drug
dealers." Aloud he said, "Paul, I know I don't have kids but after
what happened with David, well, I, .."
"I know, my friend, but Peter's a pretty sensible kid. I can't
picture him getting involved with drugs." Even as he spoke, the
memory of the cigarette papers surfaced.
"What about the other kid?"
"Michael Andrews? Well, to be honest I don't particularly
care for the boy. I just can't figure out why. Guess he kinda
reminds me of what's his name, 'Eddy Haskell' from the old 'Leave
It To Beaver' Show. Always polite, but just not quite 'right'."
"Why is Peter hanging around with him?"
"Well, Michael was the first kid to be friendly with Peter
when he switched schools. Oh, don't get me wrong, Peter's gone on
to develop quite a circle of friends, whereas it appears that he's
the only friend Michael has. Matter of fact, I fully expect Peter
to be very busy socially when school starts next fall. But the boy
is very loyal. It will take a lot for him to drop Michael from
his friend list."
"Loyalty, particularly misplaced loyalty, is not a necessarily
a good thing."
"I know, I tried to talk to him about Michael but as I expected
my concerns fell on deaf ears. Peter is a typical teenager in
that regard. He'll have to figure it out for himself."
Kermit studied the bottom of his glass for a moment, then looked
at Paul, "Well, I know you've got to work and you won't have what I
need for a few days. Why don't I do something with Peter?"
"I'd appreciate it. We're going to the lake soon and hindsight
says I should have let him go to the lake. He could have been grounded
up there for the weekend. At least there, he'd be away from Michael.
What did you have in mind?"
The young mercenary grinned, "Damned if I know. What about my
teaching him to shoot?"
"As a matter of fact, I've already been doing that. He's quite good and he loves the shooting range. I just can't take him very often."
"Then shooting it is."
A quiet voice startled both men, "Is it OK to come back now?"
Paul smiled as he stood. He tousled the boy's hair and said,
"Yes, secrets are over. But I do have a question for you. Would
you like Mr. Griffin to take you to the shooting range?"
"REALLY? When? Tomorrow? What Time?"
"Yeah, kid, really. And yes, tomorrow and I'd say about nine,
unless that's too early." Kermit couldn't help but be amused by
the excitement in the teenager's voice.
"Oh, that'd be great. Nine's not too early. Thank you very
much."
***********************************************
"Michael, Michael are you up there?" Maxine Andrew's voice
echoed in the stairwell next to the garage.
"What, Mom?"
"You've got a phone call."
"Shit. Coming." Reluctantly, the boy snuffed out the joint
and carefully stowed it in a metal tin under his bed. He sauntered
down the stairs into the kitchen where his mother was preparing
dinner.
"You know, Mom, if you'd get me that phone line I've been
asking for, I wouldn't have to stop working on my models to come
down here." Michael snatched the receiver out of her hand and
spoke into it with a surly, "Yeah. What?"
The voice on the other end took him by surprise and changed
his attitude entirely. "Oh, sorry... What?.. Yeah.. That'd be
great.. Tomorrow about nine. Sure nothing's going on. Same
place?"
As he hung up the phone, his mother asked, "Who was that?"
"Geez, Mom, do you have to ask about everyone that calls here?
I mean, can't a fellow have some privacy?"
"I'm sorry, Michael, I didn't mean to pry but your father and
I are interested in everyone you know. That was that orphan kid,
uh, Patrick, wasn't it?"
"No, it wasn't PETER, Mother."
"Well, that's good. I don't trust that boy. I mean living
in an orphanage, he couldn't possibly have any real values. I'm
surprised the Blaisdell's wanted him in the same house with their
two little girls."
Michael surprised even himself when he said, "Mother, there's
nothing wrong with Peter. He's pretty dull sometimes but he's OK."
"Well, just remember, don't trust him too much. There's no telling
what kind of trouble that boy could get you into."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
part - 12 ↑
The bus driver called the first Chinatown stop and Michael
swung down from the steps, roughly pushing aside an elderly woman
as he did so. Oblivious to the fact that she'd almost fallen to
the ground, Michael dodged traffic as he crossed against the light.
Chad Taylor watched as the boy approached the coffee shop that
the distributor frequented. Michael waved a friendly salute to the
man as he drew near the door. Taking the seat across from his future employer, Michael was taken by surprise when Taylor reached over the
table and seized the boy's wrist.
Tightening his grip and twisting the wrist slightly, Taylor commented, "I'm not at all sure now that I want to hire you."
Wincing in pain and trying desperately not to cry, the boy
whimpered, "Why?"
"If you're going to be any use to me, you've got to learn to
be inconspicuous."
"Huh? What's that mean?"
"Shit you're stupid kid. It means that you can't draw attention
to yourself like you just did."
"I DID?" Michael was truly astonished.
"Yes, you little shit. First you almost knock an old woman out
of the bus then you run through traffic to get across the street." Taylor flung the boy's arm back across the table as a waitress approached. Dismissing her with a curt nod, Taylor continued, "You've
got to watch everything and I mean everything. You think you can
handle that?"
"Yes! I'll do better next time, honest."
Taylor studied the boy's face for a moment. Recognizing the
glint of greed in the youngster's eyes, he made his decision, "Fine,
I'll give you your 'sample case' when we leave here."
"What'll I do if I get picked up by the cops?"
"Let's see if I can put this in real simple terms for you.
You do ANYTHING that gets you arrested and you're on your own. You
do ANYTHING that gets ME arrested and you're dead."
********************************************
"Kid, let's get one thing straight. Call me Kermit. Not sir,
not Mr. Griffin and definitely not 'Kermit, sir'." Kermit Griffin
had arrived at the Blaisdell house promptly at nine to find an
over-anxious teenager nervously pacing the front porch. They'd
spent the next thirty minutes reviewing what Peter knew about
handguns in general and the one he'd be using in particular. In
that short time period, Kermit had been "sir'd" so often he was
beginning to feel like some sort of military brass.
"Yes si.. Uh, sorry, Kermit." The teen's voice was almost timid
as he tried out the unfamiliar name for the first time. Everything
in Peter's experience had presented adults as either villains not
worthy of respect or as authority figures to be honored, and obeyed,
and sometimes, loved. The notion that an adult would prefer to be
on a first name basis with a kid was mildly baffling to the boy.
To be sure there was Paul, but HE, and Mom, were in a category by
themselves, or so Peter had believed.
Kermit wisely hid his amusement as the conflicting emotions of
confusion and understanding played across the boy's expressive
features. In the brief time that Kermit had know the teen, he'd
learned that every emotion Peter ever had, showed in the boy's face.
"Nope, kid," Kermit thought, "Poker will never be your game and
police work is definitely out."
Kermit swung his rental car into the empty parking lot of the
shooting range. They were early enough to be the only customers and
the manager allowed Kermit to choose the station he preferred. The
young mercenary chose the location furthest from the entrance,
quickly loaded the first target onto the pulley and moved it into
position.
"OK, kid, let's see what you can do."
Peter grinned enthusiastically and pulled the 38 police special
out of its case. Kermit recognized the gun as being one from Paul's
collection of firearms. He shifted his dark glasses slightly to
get a better view of how the boy handled the gun. Nodding in silent
approval, he watched as Peter carefully checked the cylinder for
ammunition. Finding the gun to be unloaded, the boy withdrew six shells from the ammunition box. Holding the bullets in his left
hand, he easily loaded the cylinder. Moving to the line, he spread
his legs slightly, placed both hands on the grip, took careful aim
at the target and pulled the trigger. Six shots rang out in rapid succession. Kermit's eyes widened behind his sun-glasses as the
boy's first series of shots pierced the inner circle nearest the
bull's eye.
"Not too shabby, kid, but the idea is to hit the center."
Misinterpreting the older man's crusty tone as a reprimand,
Peter spoke quietly, "I'm sorry. I..I haven't been here in a while
and there's n..no place to shoot around P..Paul's house."
The youngster's words and tone raised warning flags in Kermit's
head. "No problem, kid, your first shot was closest to center because
you took some time to aim. Not enough, but at least some. You fired
the rest of the round too quickly to have possibly aimed. And you
didn't once cock your weapon. Reload and try again. But take your time. We've got all day."
Peter repeated the previous procedure to load the weapon then
started to fire.
"Freeze! Hold that position."
The boy stood motionless for what seemed an eternity. Kermit
studied his posture and carefully adjusted both the boy's stance
as well as the position of the 38.
"Try it now, but slowly. Pull the trigger gently, as if it
were an egg you're trying not to crack."
"An egg?" Peter's voice betrayed his bewilderment.
"Yes, an egg. The trigger's sensitive, kid, but not if you
don't pull back the hammer. You don't have to crush the trigger to
fire the gun."
"But.."
"Just do it, kid."
Peter took a deep breath and cocked the 38. He pulled the
trigger and fired. Gasping in astonishment, he cocked the weapon
and fired again. The process was repeated four more times.
Turning to face the grinning mercenary, the boy said, "I don't
understand. The trigger was so hard to pull on the first round."
"That's because you didn't cock the gun. Pulling the hammer
back releases the trigger for easy firing. And once you get used
to it, it's actually just as fast and not nearly as hard on your
trigger finger."
"But on TV, they always ..."
"Have make-believe actors shooting make-believe guns. Look
kid, hasn't Paul already told you all this?"
"Y..yes, sort of, but..." The boy's voice trailed off.
"But what?"
"I, uh, well, I just did what he said. Some of it didn't
make sense. A..and today, I couldn't remember what I did to make
the trigger easier to pull."
Kermit was surprised, "Paul didn't explain what you didn't
understand?"
Peter lowered his head and studied his feet, "I..I didn't
really ask him."
"Why on earth not, kid?"
The fear of the last few days surfaced and forced the words
out before the boy could stop them, "Cause, cause, he'd know how
stupid I was and he doesn't want a stupid kid and he might send
me b..back."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
part - 13 ↑
Once again Kermit Griffin was grateful for the cover provided
by his ever-present sun-glasses. Poker was his game and he'd learned
early on to control his facial expressions. His eyes, however, were
his downfall; expressive didn't begin to describe them. Pushing
nervously at the bridge of his glasses, he wondered what to say
next. The 'stupid' statement did not concern him. Peter was not
'a stupid kid. On the contrary, Kermit knew from conversations with Paul, that the teenager had a very high IQ. What did confuse him was
the fear, bordering on terror, in the words, 'he might send me back'. If Kermit was able to pick up on the love Paul had for the boy, why couldn't the object of that affection be equally astute?
Kermit gulped down his own fears, and plunged headfirst into
the issue, "Peter, even if Annie would let him, which by the way
she wouldn't, why would you think Paul would send you back to
Pineridge?"
The youngster stood with bowed head and drew imaginary lines in
the floor with the toe of his sneaker. He mumbled something that
the older man couldn't make out.
"Kid, that isn't gonna cut it. Now what did you say?"
"They always do." The voice was still quiet, but Kermit was
able to detect a tremor in it.
"'They' being?"
The look Peter shot Kermit spoke volumes, "'They' being foster
families. They k..keep you a..around for a while and j..just when
you think y..you b..belong, they f..find a r..reason to get rid of
you."
The mahogany veneer Kermit maintained was rapidly cracking.
"Dammit," he thought, "I came here to find out if the kid's using
drugs not become his shrink." Clearing his throat, the man gruffly
replied, "Kid, I've known Paul and Annie Blaisdell for a long, long
time and if there is one thing I'm sure of, it's that they have no
intention of allowing you to leave until you move out on your own."
"Right." The cynicism in the young voice took Kermit by surprise.
"Peter, Paul and Annie do NOT make snap decisions. They thought
long and hard about bringing an extra responsibility into their lives.
You are definitely wanted, by BOTH of them, and I can't think of anything you could ever do to change that."
"Really?"
"Oh, Yeah!"
"But Paul was so mad this weekend .."
"Did you do something he thought was wrong?"
The boy's face reddened as he slowly nodded an affirmative.
"Did he go ballistic? I mean lecture, punishment, you know?
Again the silent affirmative.
"Does he still seem angry to you, and could you possibly speak
this time?"
"N..n..no?" The uncertainly in the voice irritated the man.
"Kid, you sure are stubborn. The correct answer is 'no' with
no hesitation. Paul may get angry with something you've done and
you may get in trouble with him but he will never, ever stop caring
about you and neither will Annie."
"Really?"
"Good Lord, Kid. YES. Really."
Peter mentally attempted to gauge the truth of what Kermit was
telling him. It sounded reasonable and Kermit had known Paul an
awfully long time, probably years and years. Peter knew he had no
reason to mistrust Kermit, yet.
Kermit watched in fascination as Peter turned mental somersaults.
He'd never seen features change in such rapid succession. Worried,
thoughtful, angry, fearful, solemn - all raced over the boy's face
in a matter of moments.
Suddenly the youngster relaxed. Looking at the man beside him,
he asked, "Are we gonna shoot anymore or are we gonna just talk?"
"Don't push your luck, kid." Kermit groused as he handed the
boy six more shells.
***********************************************
Chad Taylor left the diner with Michael closely on his heels.
Easily ascertaining that the police tail he'd known about for days,
was no where in sight, Taylor slipped into an abandoned building
and headed for the attic. As he introduced Michael to the contents
of the case, he casually asked, "Know anyone else you could trust
to help you?"
Michael thought for a moment, "Maybe. I'm not sure. I know
someone who's kinda dull but is awfully good at keeping a secret.
I'll have to think about it."
***********************************************
Two hours and a half dozen boxes of bullets later, Kermit was
convinced the boy with him had never seen illicit drugs, much less
tried them. Kermit suddenly frowned as he observed Peter take
quick aim and fire, one-handed, at the target. As he fired the
last shot, Peter turned, smiling, toward the mercenary. The smile
faded from his face as he saw the look on his companion's.
"What the hell was that supposed to be?"
"W..well, I just thought it'd be easier than with two hands."
"Well think again. What if that had been a weapon you weren't
used to. You could hurt yourself, someone else or worst of all, me."
"But I got the bulls-eye with almost every shot."
"That's not the point. What if that had been the first time you'd
used that gun?"
With the confidence born of youth, Peter replied, "Kermit, aren't
you being a little melodramatic? Guns are all the same."
"You think so, do you?"
"Well, yes. Yes, I do."
"OK. Let's change guns. Here. Use mine." Kermit pulled his
44 magnum revolver out of its case and handed it to the boy, along
with a single bullet. Peter's eyes widened at the sight of the gun.
"Wow. That's big!"
"Still think all guns are the same?"
"Geez, Kermit. This one's just a lot bigger. How much different
can it be?"
"You tell me, kid. Go ahead. Load it and fire when you're ready."
"Kermit, you only gave me one bullet."
"Kid, just load and fire the damn thing."
Irritated Peter loaded the single bullet into the cylinder and
prepared to fire the gun. Determined not to be proven wrong, the
teenager placed only his left hand on the grip, cocked the gun and
took aim. Out of the corner of his eye, the puzzled youth saw Kermit
Griffin move from the spotter's position behind him, off to one side.
Peter pulled the trigger and the world exploded. The resultant recoil
sent shock waves up his arm and his body spun out of control to the
left. The revolver fell unheeded to the ground as the teenager's
knees hit the ground. Gasping in shock, he stared, wide-eyed at the
grinning mercenary.
Kermit could barely contain his laughter as he asked gently,
"Would you care to revise your opinion?"
A cursory examination of his numb hand proved to Peter that it
was still attached to his wrist. A smile played on the boy's lips
and turned into a low giggle as he replied, "Oh, yeah!"
----------------------------------------------------------------------
part - 14 ↑
"101st, Blaisdell," Paul began to grin as he listened to the
excited voice over the phone, "Whoa, son.. You're talking way to
fast. I'm too old to keep up.. No, no apologies, just tell me, slowly,
how it went. .. Two and a half hours! Guess you won't want to go
back anytime soon." Paul winced as the loud negative came through
the ear-piece. "Tenesey's? A double chili burger AND large fries.
No, I doubt that the stain will come out, but .. No, don't worry,
son, it's an old shirt.. Yes, I know, but .. Peter, LISTEN. It's
an OLD shirt. Mom won't mind, I promise... Right. I'm glad you
had a great time. I'll talk to you tonight. I love you, son."
Paul had barely replaced the receiver when the desk sergeant
hollered, "Blaisdell, line eight."
"101st, Blaisdell. Oh, Hi Kermit... Yes, I just barely managed
to get him off the phone. Sounds like you two had a lot of fun. I
really appre... Meet? Well, yes, why don't the three of us go to ..
I don't understand, why not bring Peter? .. Well, I was going to skip lunch but I'll meet you at the diner on 5th Street in, oh, ten minutes. .. See you then." Worry now replaced the grin from a few moments before. What on earth could have happened that Kermit would want to talk to him about Peter?
*******************************************************
Peter lunged to grab the ringing telephone, "Hello? .. Michael, guess what, I got to go to the shooting ra.. Well, sure, I guess,
where? You mean by the statue of General Washington? OK, I'll be
there in thirty minutes. .. I know it's only a ten minute walk but
I'm going to try to get a stain out of my shirt before I come. ..
No, my mother CAN'T do it, she's blind and besides, she's not home.
You know she's at the lake with my sisters. .. Michael, if you can't wait thirty minutes, then I'm not coming at all. .. Fine, thirty
minutes it is."
******************************************************
Kermit was waiting in an isolated booth by the time Paul Blaisdell
arrived. The worry on the father's face was evident as he took a
seat by Kermit. "What's wrong, Kermit? Why do you want to talk to
me about Peter?"
The young mercenary worded his answer carefully, "Paul, Peter
hasn't done anything .. yet, but I'm afraid he's going to get pulled
into something he doesn't understand."
"Kermit, we've known each other a long time. If my child is
in trouble, I need to know now. What's going on?"
"Chad Taylor. .."
"I don't .."
"Paul, let me finish. Yesterday, when I told you I saw a kid
buying something from that piece of shit, I didn't know there'd be
a connection to Peter. .."
"My God, Kermit, Peter .."
"Whoa! I'm sorry Paul. I'm saying this badly. Peter wasn't
the boy with Taylor." The older man's relief was evident in his
face. "But," Kermit continued sadly, "Peter did meet the kid a few
minutes later."
Paul's face paled, "Y..you think Peter's u..using?"
"NO! Shit, none of this is coming out well. Paul, one reason
I wanted to get Peter alone was to check that out. I got pretty
familiar with the 'signs' with David. Unless I'm very, very wrong,
your son wouldn't recognize illegal drugs if they were handed to
him. That's part of my concern. If that friend of Peter's is using,
and I'm sure he is, he could pull Peter in and the kid wouldn't even know what was happening."
"Peter's too smart for that." Paul was relieved and indignant
at the same time.
"My friend, I know you want to believe that. Peter is sharp,
very sharp and he's also very likable. Just the little I know of
him tells me that he had a very good foundation. But when it comes
to the seedy side of life, the boy's very naïve. You said he's
loyal. Well, convincing him that he needs to drop this friend is
going to be really tough but absolutely necessary."
Paul sighed, "You're right, of course. I'll explain the problem
to Peter. Poor kid, he's going to be very upset when I tell him."
"You really think that will work? I mean, weren't you the one
who told me how he stands by his friends? Do you really see him
giving up without a fight?"
"He is loyal but I'm sure if I explain the situation, in the
right way, he'll understand."
"And what, pray tell, is the right way?"
Paul grinned wryly at his younger friend, "Actually, I don't
have a clue."
Kermit grinned back, "Didn't think so."
****************************************************
Peter arrived in the park ten minutes behind the appointed
time, but Michael was nowhere to be seen. Glancing at his watch,
he circled the statue of Washington looking for his friend.
"Hey, Caine. You're late!"
Peter looked around, startled. "What? Michael, where the heck
are you?"
"Up here."
Peter craned his neck as he looked upwards. Michael was
perched precariously on the bronze horse. "Come on up, there's
a great view from here."
"I..I don't think so."
"Chicken. OK, I'll come down." Peter felt his skin crawl as
he watched Michael slide easily from the statue to the ground.
Bouncing back to his feet, the teen laughed at his friend's pale
face. "Got ya, didn't I, Peter."
"Yeah. Look, Michael, what do you want?"
"OOOH! Someone's feelings are hurt. I want to go downtown
and didn't want to go alone. You coming?"
"No. I've spent too much money this week."
"With the allowance you get, you'll replace it in a week."
"I don't think so and besides I've got to put up fifty bucks
by the end of the month. I've only got thirty-five so I can't spend
anything else."
"Good grief, Peter, why?"
"Mom's birthday. There's this necklace I want to get her."
"Oh. Well, I'll pay today."
"YOU have money?" Peter was stunned by the revelation.
"Surprise. Yepper. Not a lot but enough to blow." Michael
smiled as he thought about the first few sales he'd made. He really
hadn't expected to score so quickly. At Chad Taylor's suggestion, Michael had stored his 'sample case' in a locker at the bus station,
keeping only a small quantity in his possession. He needed to
replenish his supply but didn't like traveling to town by himself. Taylor had also explained that he was allowed to keep two percent
of the profits. An excursion to town with Peter would cost more
than that but Michael figured if he didn't spend the profits from
the next few sales, he'd break even. Besides, he could use the
time to decide if Peter could be trusted with this new secret.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
part - 15 ↑
Peter left word for Paul at the precinct that he and Michael
were going to a movie at the multi-theater complex in the mall.
They'd barely made it to the theater for the two pm showing. Since
Michael was paying, Peter tried not to cringe as his friend purchased
two tickets to "The Shining". Peter was not a fan of horror movies
and he'd heard some gruesome things about this one but, he reminded
himself again, Michael WAS paying. To the teen's surprise, his friend
splurged on drinks, candy AND buttered popcorn. By the time the film ended, Peter was feeling slightly nauseous but he wasn't sure if it
was the movie or the food.
Still shivering with an unnatural chill at the psychic horror
depicted in the film, Peter followed Michael wordlessly out of the
mall.
"You're mighty quiet. Wasn't all that blood great?"
"Oh, yeah, great."
"Geez, Caine. Sometimes you're a real pain."
"I'm sorry Michael. I'm just not real big on horror movies.
I'd rather watch a cops and robbers flick."
"YEAH. Those are great. I love to watch the stupid cops get
messed up."
"Michael!"
"Oh, sorry," the boy's voice belied his effort at apology,
"Forgot your father's a cop."
"Item 1, he's my foster father. Item 2, he is a cop and I'd
really appreciate it if you'd remember that."
Raising his hands in mock surrender, Michael laughed, "Good
grief, take it easy Peter, I didn't mean nothing bad."
"Well, all right." Peter thought for a moment, "Michael, I
need to go by Riley's jewelry to put a deposit on that necklace
I told you about. Then all I have to worry about is coming up with
the rest of the cash."
"That's fine with me. I've got to run to the bus terminal so
why don't I do that and then I'll meet you back at the movie theater.
That way we'll be able to catch the six pm bus back home."
"What's at the bus terminal?" Peter asked curiously.
"Nosy, aren't we?" Michael grinned, "Actually, I've got a locker
there. You know that job I mentioned? Well, I wasn't about to lug
all the shit I need for it back and forth on the bus so I rented a
locker."
"That was a good idea."
"Yeah. Hey, Peter, I just thought of something. You need to
get up money for that necklace, right?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Well, why don't I see if I can get you a job with my boss?"
"I'm only fifteen. Do you think he'll hire me?"
"If I recommend you, I'm sure of it."
"Thanks, Michael. Mom's going to love that necklace."
*************************************************
"Well, my appetite seems to have fallen by the wayside. I'll
leave you to eat and get back to the office." Paul rose to leave
but Kermit caught his arm.
"One more thing Paul. Why is Peter so worried about being
sent back to the orphanage?"
"He's not."
"Not worried or not going back?"
"Both."
"Hate to disillusion you, my friend, but the kid is worried
about it. He said as much earlier today. I should actually say
it slipped out. I don't know much about the foster care system but
how many foster placements has he had?"
"He's had six in three years, counting us. The poor kid, I
had no idea. Dammit, I really thought he was starting to open up
with us."
"Six? In three years?"
Paul sat silently for a moment. Finally, he spoke, "Kermit,
I know you're wondering what's wrong with the kid. The answer is
that there is nothing wrong with Peter that love and security can't
fix. He was severely traumatized a few years back and it took its
toll but Annie and I are working to get around the barriers he's
set up."
"Paul, I know you want to believe that but if five other families
sent him back ..."
"Actually, only three returned him. Damn, I hate that word.
It makes him sound like an unwanted Christmas present. One of the
other two families fell through the certification cracks and Peter
was the unlucky recipient of that screw-up. The paperwork on that
showed a very bad placement. The remaining family was transferred
out of state and Peter didn't want to go with them, so that can't
really be called a 'return'."
"But three did return him. Isn't that a rather high failure
rate?"
Paul reluctantly replied, "I don't know. I guess it could be."
Kermit said nothing. Paul finally broke the silence, "Kermit,
there's nothing wrong with Peter."
The ex-mercenary simply stared at his friend, knowing that his
silence was the best way to break Paul's.
True to form, it wasn't long before Paul Blaisdell stated,
"Fine. You win. We know that Peter's mother died when he was about
two. His father was his only family and it appears that the two
were very close. From what we can ascertain, and the details are
very sketchy, Peter saw his father die. He has terrible nightmares which he hasn't spoken about. His screams are horrific and while
nothing's in writing in the reports, I'm guessing that most of
the foster placements failed because of them."
"That's rough. He does seem like a good kid."
"He is. Annie and the girls adore him. What did he say?"
"Basically that all foster families send you back eventually.
I got the impression that he thinks if he makes you mad, you'll get
rid of him."
Paul was stunned, "He said that?"
"Not in those words, but it's what he meant. He was confused
about something I was showing him at the shooting range. I was surprised that you hadn't explained it when he went with you. That's
when he admitted that he hadn't asked you because he didn't want you
to think he was stupid. He went on to say that you wouldn't want a stupid kid and would send him back."
"That's bull. Peter's about the smartest kid I've ever met
and even if he were stupid, that .."
"I understand that, Paul. I'm just telling you what he said.
BUT, he immediately alluded to how mad you were this weekend. I
really think he's walking on eggshells, afraid just about anything
will send him tumbling back to Pineridge. I've been reading people
for a very long time and that boy of yours is really frightened."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
part - 16 ↑
Paul Blaisdell returned from his late lunch with Kermit to a
mound of paperwork. The DA was going to trial a week early on a case Paul had worked on and needed the i's dotted and the t's crossed two
weeks earlier than anticipated. The remainder of the afternoon was
spent checking and re-checking the trial documentation. It was half
past six when he finally pulled the preliminary pieces together and
decided to call it a day. As he moved his work to the safety of a
drawer, he spotted the note. Carelessly dropping the assorted papers
into his desk, he seized the message, saw the time it had been left
and reached for the phone, praying that Peter was safely home.
Six rings later, he was about to disconnect when, "Peter, son
what took so... Oh, I'm sorry, I was supposed to fix the front door
lock, wasn't I?" Trying to keep the tension out of his voice, he
casually asked, "What movie did you boys go see? ... Peter, you don't
usually like horror movies. Was it good?... I see. I'm sorry you
didn't like it. How hungry are you?... That much junk, eh. How much
money did you waste on it?... MICHAEL?... Oh. OK. Well, I'm leaving
now and will be home soon. How about pulling some spaghetti out of
the freezer for your starving old man?... thanks, son."
Paul found his hands were shaking as he hung up the phone. What
he now knew of Michael scared him to death. In the entire time Peter had known the boy, Michael had never had money to spend, much less splurge. The fact that he was now spending freely gave credence to Kermit's suspicions. Grabbing up his car keys, Paul Blaisdell sped
out the door for home, and his son.
*********************************
Kermit Griffin restlessly walked the streets of the city. He
knew he'd done the right thing in telling Paul about Michael. Kermit also knew that Paul needed to know how scared Peter was. But the
young mercenary couldn't shake the feeling that something was not
quite right. He'd been able to convince Paul to warn Peter about
Michael. At the same time, however, Paul left their conversation
certain that all Peter needed was a massive dose of reassurance
concerning his foster status. Kermit knew instinctively that Paul
was convinced that this was the correct course of action. Peter's
foster father had decided that what he and Kermit had sensed in the
boy was a fear of losing another home. Kermit was not so sure. The
teenager had seemed entirely too frightened, in his opinion, for
there not to be something else behind it.
"Damn," he thought, "Why am I just walking around? I've
done all I can for now on David's death. Paul's the only one I
trust that can get me more information on that. Peter, however,
hmmm. How hard can it be to get hold of orphanage records?"
Having made his decision, Kermit Griffin changed his course
back toward his motel room to begin making some inquiries about
one Peter Matthew Caine.
*********************************
"Pineridge Children's Home, This is Director Smith, How may I
help you? ... Yes, Mr. Grant, we do have an outstanding record for
placing older children... Nine am tomorrow would be fine... I'll
look forward to seeing you then." Replacing the receiver, Smith
buzzed his secretary, "Mrs. Adcock, would you step in here a moment?"
The door opened and a thin, gray-haired woman entered the office,
"Yes, Mr. Smith?"
"A Kevin Grant from Chicago will be here at nine tomorrow. He's
doing research on orphanages in the mid-west. He's heard of our
excellent success rate in placing older children with families and
would like to see the facilities and interview the staff. Please
have the staff make appropriate preparations for his visit."
"Certainly, sir. Will he be interviewing any of the children?"
"No, I don't think we can permit that. The staff is one thing,
the children, .. well, I wouldn't want to disrupt their schedules."
*********************************
Kermit hung up the phone and smiled to himself. The 'Kevin
Grant' persona had proven useful in many situations in the past.
Of course, the various sets of identification Kermit maintained
on 'Kevin' were as valuable as the personality itself. Kermit
shuffled through his suitcase and pulled the driver's license he
needed. A quick phone call revealed that the library closed at mid-night. By nine in the morning he should be able to pull together
more than enough information to prove he was a reporter doing a
human interest story.
*********************************
Michael raced upstairs to his bedroom and pulled off his
shirt. He'd taped the drug pouches to his body in the men's room
of the bus terminal. Wincing as he pulled the tape loose from his
chest, he tossed each packet onto his bed. Pulling a metal box out
from under his bed, the teen removed the inventory book that Taylor
had 'suggested' he purchase. With more care than he'd ever taken
with a homework assignment, Michael recorded the sales and updated
his inventory location, noting what was stored under his bed and
what was still in the bus terminal. He then calculated what he
expected to earn from future sales.
"Michael! Telephone!"
"Damn, the first thing I buy is a phone." he muttered. As he
walked down the stairwell, he hollered, "Coming, Mother."
Plucking the phone from the kitchen counter, he fairly spat
into the mouthpiece, "What?"
"OH, Yep, as a matter of fact I have found someone. His name's
Peter and he needs to earn cash quick. No, I haven't told him
anything yet, you said not to. But he's real good at secrets. There
is one problem. .. Well, he's an orphan but he's living with foster parents just down the road... No, no, THAT's not the problem. You
see, his foster dad is a cop."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
part - 17 ↑
Paul Blaisdell opened his front door and was stunned by the
aroma coming from the kitchen. "Peter?"
The lanky teenager popped out of the dining room. "Paul, am
I glad you're home. Come and see." The excitement in the boy's
manner was contagious and Paul found himself grinning as he saw
the table. Peter had set the table for two. The scent of fresh
baked rolls came from the bread-basket. Lifting the lid, Paul
noticed that they were only slightly singed. The wooden salad bowl
contained a mixture that could only be described as interesting.
The lettuce was torn in odd sized chunks and Paul was uncertain
how to describe the carrots. The tomatoes were diced as small as
onions and the cucumbers had retained much of their outer covering.
"Now that you're home, I can do the noodles. The water's been
boiling for-e-ver." With that the boy dashed through the swinging
door into the kitchen. A loud crash was followed by a "Don't worry,
I've got it." Paul winced as that statement was followed by an 'ouch'
and a muffled word.
Ten minutes later Peter emerged with a heaping plate of spaghetti.
Paul stifled a laugh as he realized that his son had taken his starving
pronouncement quite seriously. Noodles dropped to the floor as Peter
balanced the plate in one hand and the parmesan cheese in the other.
Carefully putting the plate at Paul's place at the table, the boy
announced, "Let's eat."
"You aren't having any?"
"No, sir, I'm still full from the movie but I'll eat some salad
and maybe some dessert." Peter spoke quickly as he loaded his plate
down with salad, then buttered three rolls.
"I see, and what might dessert be?"
"Coffee cake. It was in the freezer downstairs." Peter looked
at his foster father in amazement. "Mom must have forgotten it was
down there. Does she forget things like that often?"
"No, not usually, but she has been.." Paul suddenly stopped
and sniffed the air, "Son, exactly where is the cake?"
Swallowing quickly, the boy replied, "In the oven, on low heat
of course."
"Oh, of course. Uh, Peter, what is the cake sitting on?"
"A cardboard ..." The boy's eyes widened in horror as he raced
for the kitchen. The swinging door rocked in rhythm to the words, "Don't worry, Paul, it isn't burning."
***************************************
Chad Taylor completed his phone conversation with the little
weasel known to him as Michael. Taylor wasn't overly happy about
the boy's selection of a cop's kid to deal drugs. Thinking it over,
though, the idea did have merit. After all, who would suspect a
cop's son of dealing, and the thought of a cop having illegal drugs
stashed in his home, without his knowledge, appealed to the man.
The risks were great, however, and Taylor decided to get a ruling
on the situation from his employer. Quickly dialing a rarely used
phone number, Taylor requested a meet.
***************************************
Paul spent much of dinner listening in amusement to the youngster
sharing his table. When Carolyn and Kelley were home, the female
voices competed for their parents' attention with the lone male child
in the family. Tonight was the first time in too long that Paul had
had his son all to himself. Peter's words flowed as rapidly as his
body moved and Paul found himself struggling to follow the changes
in conversation.
"Oh, Guess What! I ran into Jack Clancy at the mall and he's
going to the lake with his folks in two weeks. Do they live far
from your cabin? I mean, it'll be nice up there but it would be
even better if Jack's close. That'll make things interesting."
"The Clancy's have a cabin on the other side of the lake but
it's only about two miles by water. And what did you mean by 'make
things interesting'?"
Peter blushed, "Oh, Uh, Well, Carolyn's got a thing for him but
he doesn't know it, or at least SHE doesn't think so. I heard her
tell Mom that boys of Jack's age aren't very astute."
"You're Jack's age."
"Yeah, but I'm her brother, I don't count."
"I see." Paul was finishing desert, and hoping Annie had not
had plans for the frozen cake, when he decided to gather his courage
and discuss Michael. "Son, we need to...."
The ringing telephone startled them both. Paul clambered to
his feet and jerked the receiver from its cradle, "Hello? ...
Speaking. WHAT! We've been after that as.. jerk for too long. How
many hostages is he holding? ... OK, I'll be there in ten minutes."
Hanging up, he turned to Peter, "Son, I'm sorry, but I've got to go
back to work. I'll be home as soon as I can but in case I'm delayed
bedtime is still 10:30."
The disappointment on the boy's face broke Paul's heart but
Peter managed to say the appropriate, "Oh, that's ok. I understand."
Paul knew the teenager really didn't understand but was grateful
that his son was mature enough not to complain.
As the cop gathered his keys, Peter said, "Paul? Please be
careful."
Turning to face the worried teenager, Paul lovingly ruffled
the boy's hair, "I promise, Peter, I'll be very careful. I love
you, son." Blaisdell closed the front door with Peter's "I love
you, too" echoing in his ears.
***************************************
Paul Blaisdell tiredly closed his front door behind him and
rested his exhausted back against the frame. Checking the kitchen,
he smiled when he found that his son had not only cleaned up, the
boy had started the dishwasher. The house was unusually silent but
that was to be expected with the Blaisdell ladies gone. "OK, Paul,"
the cop admitted to no one in particular, "it's also after midnight."
Moving silently up the stairs, he paused by Peter's room. Quietly
pushing open the door, Paul stared in awe at the sleeping boy. The
form that expressed constant motion while awake was likewise never
still even in slumber. Moving to the boy's side, Paul gently brushed
wayward hair out of Peter's face. It saddened Paul to remember that
this boy had suffered so much in his short life. The nightmares had
gradually slowed in the months Peter had been with the Blaisdells
and Paul prayed that the youngster would be granted another peaceful night. Leaning forward he gently kissed the teen's forehead. Mumbled words from the recumbent figure proved that, at least on a subconscious level, the boy knew about that action. Thinking he was a very lucky man, Paul Blaisdell retired for the night.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
part - 18 ↑
"Mr. Grant?"
Kermit nodded brusquely.
"Mr. Smith will see you now."
Kermit rose slowly from the wooden bench where he'd been kept
waiting for nearly half an hour. If Smith wasn't in a hurry to see
him, he'd damn sure take his time about following the secretary.
He kept his smile to himself as he watched the woman stop at an
office door and begin to tap her foot impatiently. Kermit leaned
heavily on a wooden cane as he limped toward the door.
"This way, sir" The scowl on the nameless secretary's face deepened with the slight emphasis on the 'sir'. Opening the inner
door, she spoke curtly, "Mr. Grant is here."
A deep voice replied, "Thank you, Mrs. Adcock. That will be all."
The title of 'Mrs?' took Kermit by surprise. "Oh, well, it
takes all kinds." He wisely kept his opinion silent as he hobbled
into the office. His first impression of the director of Pineridge
was that the man could be a formidable adversary. The administrator
was over six feet tall, and heavily built. There was no fat, only muscle on his frame. Cold, steel-gray eyes returned Kermit's scrutiny
without flinching. His thin, humorless face was crowned with short, graying brown hair. Smith also possessed an arrogant, dictatorial
air that stated he was 'king' of this environment as clearly as if
the man had spoken the words.
To an unseasoned observer, Director Smith probably presented an image of a serious businessman. The young mercenary, however, survived
by knowing people and his gut instincts told him that this man should not be trusted. Kermit knew from conversations with Paul that his friend had never had the opportunity to meet the director. Foster parents were cleared by the State Department of Social Services and child placements were handled by a social worker assigned to the orphanage. The director rarely, if ever, met any potential parents. Kermit made a mental note to have Paul run a background check on the man.
"Mr. Grant. I do apologize for the delay. An unexpected call
from the mayor's office. I hope you understand." As the words
finished sliding from the older man's mouth, Kermit concluded that
he was correct in disliking the director intensely.
"Of course. We all have our jobs to do."
"Speaking of jobs, I believe I have delayed you sufficiently
in yours. I understand you're doing an article on orphanages?"
"Actually, sir, it's a series of articles. I'm doing a human
interest series on the difficulties of child placement. My editors
hope that the articles will increase the number of families applying
to be either adoptive or foster parents. I'd like to interview your
staff for their perspectives on the problem."
"Such articles have appeared in the past and have increased
interest for a short period of time but it always tapers off after
a while. But feel free to interview the staff. I've arranged for
you to meet with some of them. Some were understandably reluctant
to speak with a reporter but if you need more information I will
try to find more staff members for you to speak with. By the way,
I will have to ask you not to bother the children. Mrs. Adcock will
show you to the staff lounge."
"Thank you, Mr. Smith."
*******************************
By the time Kermit reached the lounge, he was more than ready
to rid himself of the secretary. The woman had made only minimal
attempts to slow her pace to compensate for his 'handicap'. Kermit
knew that had he been really dependent on the cane, he would never
have been able to keep up with her. Mrs. Adcock's impatience with
his lameness, caused the younger man to wonder how the woman dealt
with the children in the home. Reluctantly holding the door for
the man accompanying her, she followed him into the lounge.
The room was small, and very shabby. Quite a contrast to the
large, well-kept office space of the director and his secretary.
An old coffee-pot sat in the corner with Styrofoam cups, sugar, and
dry creamer beside it. A small, hand-printed sign over the table
requested a dime donation for each cup taken. The only occupant
of the lounge was a young, pudgy woman of about twenty-four.
"Mrs. Harrell, this is Kevin Grant. He's the one I told you was
coming today." Turning to Kermit, she said, "Mrs. Harrell is the
newest member of the staff. She is our new music and art director.
She will be your liaison while you're here." Without further comment, Mrs. Adcock left the room.
Before he could catch himself, Kermit commented, "Cheery witch,
isn't she?"
The young woman's smile was like sunshine and her laughter cleared the gloom from the chamber, "Mr. Grant, you certainly don't mince
words, do you?"
"My apologies, I do have a tendency to speak