Rhinoceros: Ryon's story 13
Saturday
But that’s not it. That’s not the story. I was charged, out on bail, the usual stuff. I kept away from school, couldn’t face it. Mum was stressing out as usual, but I ignored her. The Michelsons weren’t even sympathetic, just disappointed that their stock was drying up. Then, after a few days, there was a knock on the door. It was afternoon, so we were up, and who should be stood there but Gary Mitchelson. Now this was very odd. The Mitchelsons don’t do home visits, unless armed with baseball bats and knives. People went to the Mitchelsons, and only then when they were expected to. I didn’t ask him, he just walked in anyway, looked around, then, of all things, ushered me upstairs to my bedroom. He sat on the bed, I stood. He was grinning. I told him I couldn’t do another job right now, not with the pigs on my back. “It’s not about that,” he said. “Did you look at the stuff on that camera you nicked?” “No,” I said, trying to remember which one. “You dickhead, you only went and robbed one of your own teachers.” I played dumb. “No kidding,” I said. “How do you know?” “Because of what was on the camera.” “What, is he into dodgy porn or something?” He should’ve spotted the ‘he’ as a giveaway, but he carried on. “Better than that,” he grinned. “Turns out your teacher has been filming the other teachers hurting kids.” “What?” This was unexpected. “Yeah,” he went on, “I recognise the school. It’s yours alright. Actually, the sneaky fucker has been filming just one bloke, about six shakey clips of him dragging kids to the ground and holding their arms behind their backs and stuff. It’s amazing.” “So what?” I didn’t like where this was going. “There could be something in it. You could have this teacher, show him what you’ve got, make demands. The fucker deserves it. I didn’t realise that place was such a shit hole.” “Some of them are OK.” I felt the need to defend the school, at least a bit. “What are you,” he went on, “some kind of spaz. Do ‘em. Revenge, man.” “I’ll have a look at it.” “You will have a look at it, my son, because it is right here,” and he patted his pocket. “What? I don’t have nicked stuff round here,” I nearly cried. “Are you suggesting that your mate Gary is as thick as fudge?” He looked suddenly menacing. “Just messing,” I said. “What, then?” And he took a memory stick from his jeans pocket and passed it to me, but kept hold of it. “We sold the camera, put the films on a laptop. But whatever you do, we get a share, yeah?” “Share of what.” “Have you mislaid your braincell? This is gold. You are the inside man. Turn gold into pennies, share the pennies with Uncle Gary. Simples, as the meerkat says.” Remember, whatever you do, don’t say no, I thought. So I said nothing and put the stick in my pocket. “Good man,” he said, and slapped me far too hard on the back. A kind of warning that was. “Don’t show me out. Oh, and my dad’s in on it too.” Great, I thought. Already that little pen drive felt like it was burning a hole in my leg.
