Rhinoceros: Ryon's story 15
Saturday
Or so I thought. Then I was summoned. A text. Cum round now gary. I was round like a shot. Two taps on the window and straight in. Gary’s dad was waiting. He didn’t mess about. “That fucking teacher you robbed. He’s been round. You told him, then?” “Told him?” Best to play for time, I thought. “Yeah, dickhead, and whatever you told him lead him back here. We had to play stupid and rough him up a bit. I don’t think he’ll be back. But you… You fucked up big time.” “You roughed him up?” I asked, “how much?” “What’s he to you? One of the many teachers who fucked up your education. Listen, Wanker,” and he did his usual trick of putting his face right in mine. His eyes were like cold marbles, his breath smelt of belches and weed, and I wondered if Gary was listening from the next room. “You had better put this straight. He knows. So squeeze him, squeeze him for whatever he’s got. Now piss off.” I was glad to get out, but I strolled out slowly, head up, ‘cause that’s what you did. I didn’t look back either, just went straight home and threw myself on my bed and stared at the ceiling. And I couldn’t figure it out. How did Scope find the Mitchelsons? Why didn’t he come to me? How badly hurt is he? It was all going pear shaped anyway, so I decided I may as well go and see him, own up. And that’s something I’d never done before.
Saturday
So I resolved to go the next day. I had my court appearance in the morning, so the Youth Offending Worker would pick me up from home and do his hippy advice stuff at the courts before I went in and said yes sir no sir three bags full sir.
Afterwards, assuming another caution or adjournment or fine or whatever I could pump him for a KFC and then get a lift to school. Scopey would find us a room and a quiet hour if I insisted. I was almost feeling chipper, light at the end of the tunnel, resolution of the narrative, as Frank would undoubtedly say if he could read this.
And I was chipper all the way through the case, said my pieces in the right places, looked remorseful at the offences read out, called them sir and stood straight but not cocky. Play the game and you can still come out ready to fight another day. And then the magistrate got a face on at the end. He looked at me like I’d accidentally come in on the bottom of his shoe. I knew it was going wrong when he started rabbiting on about how terrorised and disgusted law abiding citizens feel when they see lowlife like me going about my – and I remember the word and checked it afterwards – nefarious activities. When he had finished his piece he handed down the sentence.
Custodial. That’s what I got. Fingerprints gave me away. Funny, Scopey asked me about them when he came round to my house. Persistent menace to society – a nice line for the newspapers. And I went straight down to the cells without even passing go, and then brought here the next day. Banged up.
Fuck.
