Knockout Games (22 page)

Tillman shrugged. “Possibly. Or a few months in juvie.”

“There goes college,” said Mom.

I shot her a look. “Thanks for caring.”

“Push for probation,” said Dad. “Or no deal.”

“Do we know what's on the camera?” Tillman asked me.

I sighed. “Enough to get Kalvin.”

“Good. Then we have something.”

“But if they have that, why would I still have to testify?”

He turned to my dad. “They'll probably want to build a bigger case than just second-degree manslaughter. If they can show that he was the leader of this gang and that he got young boys to do all his dirty work
and
that it was premeditated, then it's conspiracy to murder. They'll try him as an adult. That's the only way to really keep him off the streets. Otherwise, he may just go to juvie for a few years, get out, and
then
you'll have a problem.”

When we arrived at the Juvenile Division, things were not so easy. Rodney Graves sat behind his metal desk, perfectly groomed in his dark suit and calmly laying out crime photos of Mrs. Lee on the table for me to see. Dad turned pale. I couldn't look at them. But I knew they were there.

Mr. Graves was going to show us the surveillance video from the library. Dad made Mom wait outside, but it was bad enough having Dad see this.

The black-and-white video showed Joe Lee and my teacher walk past, holding hands. You could tell they'd been together a long time. They didn't talk. But they still held hands, something my parents were definitely not doing right now.

“And here come our suspects.” Mr. Graves watched closely, even though he'd seen it many times before.

Everybody's back was to the camera, Kalvin and Prince in the lead. The only one that turned around, just for a second, was yours truly, but the black-and-white video was blurry so you couldn't even tell the color of the clothes or my hair.

“That doesn't look like her,” Dad said.

But it was. Seeing us on this video with no sound, where everything was so matter-of-fact, made what was about to happen feel even worse. I suddenly wished I could rewind my life just like this tape and start over again. But that wasn't going to happen.

“They're so young,” Dad said to himself. “Just babies.”

“Middle-school kids. Sad but true,” said Mr. Graves. “It's been going on for years. They seem to outgrow it by the time they reach high school, except for a few, like the Knockout King.”

The video was just too grainy to get much detail. The lens was pretty dim from all the bad weather it had seen. On top of that, Kalvin was wearing a hoodie, so you couldn't see his face.

Kalvin just took off, out of frame. Prince and the others followed. Only I was left on-screen, holding my camera and struggling to catch up. It was strange seeing how tense I was. Everyone else ran out of range and I followed.

The camera caught none of the attack. After about thirty seconds of staring at the cement, Tillman interjected.

“That's it?” said Tillman.

“Hold on,” said Graves. Another unbearable minute passed, then a rush of Tokers came running back. Another twenty seconds later, me and Kalvin skirted the edge of the frame. Graves froze the video. It looked like just a blur.

“Really? You got nothing there,” said Tillman.

“Looks like Erica and the Knockout King to me.”

Dad squinted at the image. “Bullshit. No jury's going to believe that. What about Erica's camera?”

“So you're saying it's hers?” asked Mr. Graves.

“You know it is,” said Tillman slowly. “What I'm wondering is why you didn't lead with that? Unless, of course, her camera had nothing on it.” He stared down Graves.

Mr. Graves stopped the video.

“There's an issue with the camera,” he said, hesitating.

I perked up.

“It was damaged in the scramble and—” he glanced meaningfully at me—“my guys say blood and memory cards apparently don't mix. They're still trying to get some reliable footage off the camera.”

Tillman slapped his hand on the table, ignoring my sickened expression. “So you have nothing, then.” He shut his notebook. “I think we can go now, Erica.”

Graves eyed him wearily. “Mr. Tillman, I don't want to put Erica in lockup if I don't have to. Rest assured, we
will
get the video off that camera. But what I really need is a witness who can testify to these crimes and help put an end to these Knockout Games. If she can be of help, then—”

“
Help.
There's a word you usually don't hear unless they have squat,” said Tillman.

Graves looked like he'd eaten something bad. “You can help or we can drag this thing out.”

“Help with what?” said Tillman.

Graves turned back to his computer and opened another file. It was the same surveillance camera, but later in the day when the investigation was happening. That's when me and Destiny walked back into frame looking for answers.

“Erica returned to the library a couple of hours later with this other girl, Destiny Jones. That's where I first encountered her.” He reached down into a box and pulled out my jacket, which was in a big Ziploc bag.

“This was found in the trash around the same time. The security guard saw them run down to the bathroom, where he discovered it later.” He looked at the video and then at the jacket. Same jacket, of course. “These dark stains here? Blood. The lab—”

Tillman held up his hand. “I need to confer with my client. Alone, if you don't mind.”

Mr. Graves nodded. “Take your time.”

Dad waited for Mr. Graves to leave. He turned his focus on me, studying my eyes for any kind of reaction. “So?”

“What?” I said.

“What else haven't you told us?”

I stammered. “I didn't think they'd find the jacket.”

“I say we go back to the original plan,” said Tillman. “We play friendly; they'll be friendly back. We testify and shoot for full exoneration.”

“And between now and when they pick up Kalvin? What if he comes after her?” Dad asked. “Is he capable of that?”

Tillman shrugged. “It happens. But if they nab him quickly enough and he's certified as an adult, chances are more in your favor that he'll do real time. . . .”

I couldn't get that quote from Kalvin's Facebook page out of my head: “A disobedient child shall not live his or her days to the end.”

“He'll come for me,” I said.

Dad leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, wishing it would all go away. “So what should we do?”

“Are you licensed to carry?”

Dad nodded.

“Just keep an eye out. That's what I'd recommend,” said Tillman. “Those boys'll be keeping a low profile for now.”

“Carry what?” I asked. “Will you just stop for minute? This is all happening way too fast.”

Dad turned to me. “I'm sorry; we're just trying to make it through this mess. If your teacher meant anything to you, you have to do what's right. Even if it's not fair. You need to step up for the good of everyone.”

My eyes accidentally fell upon the photos of Mrs. Lee that were spread out on the table. They were horrifying, even worse than I remembered. It hurt to see her like that. “If I do this . . . what will happen to Tyreese?” I asked. “He's still a boy.”

Tillman studied his notes. “He's too young to be tried as an adult, and you could corroborate that he was manipulated by Kalvin. I think they'll lock him up in juvie until he's eighteen and then, maybe probation after that.”

“But he didn't mean to . . .”

Dad pointed to the pictures. “Tell that to her.”

Tillman made the deal. I'd testify in exchange for charges being dropped against me—two years' probation with community service. I had to sit in front of a stack of yearbooks for Truman and Joplin and ID each member of the TKO Club. I knew no one's last name or where they lived, except for Kalvin, Prince, and a few others. I told Graves about the club and the Rec Center and Kalvin's home.

I almost lied to protect Tyreese, but the detective sensed me hesitating and didn't let up with the questions until I buckled. I guess they're good at that.

When I came to Kalvin's photo, he was smirking like school was all a big joke.

Graves said, point-blank, “We know he's the Knockout King. Will you back us on this?”

I stared into those green eyes, which had been dulled by the black and white of the photo. Without those piercing eyes, he looked like an ordinary punk. Even then, all I could think of was our night on the roof. I could almost feel myself lying in his arms and yet, my only memento of that night was that I still hadn't had my period yet.

Graves sensed my reluctance. He was patient. “Take your time. It's an important decision that will affect a lot of lives.”

I looked at Kalvin's photo for the longest time. I wondered where he was right now. Did he know his fate was in my hands?

“I can see you're like my daughter,” mused Graves.

“I doubt that.”

“My daughter likes to dive off the high dive sometimes. It's all she talks about. But when she gets up there, she still freezes up. Sometimes, she just needs a little push.” He pretended to poke her in the back.

Seeing I still wasn't sure, he pushed himself away from the desk. “I know we have a deal and everything, but sometimes, the proof is in the pudding. Let me show you something.”

He started walking down a long cold hallway. At the end, there was a series of doors. He looked up to the camera and the door buzzed. I hesitated. “Come on,” he said to me. “Let the doors slam behind you.”

We walked through two metal doors and each time they slammed shut so loud it made me jump. He kept walking and I could see we were in the prison side of the juvie center. Through some windows, I saw kids in a classroom. They all wore matching jumpsuits, either red, yellow, or orange. A girl spotted me and watched me as we walked by. She was my age.

I didn't know they had school in juvie, but I guess it made sense. We passed through another metal door and by the time the echo of the slam died down, we were standing in a closetsized room with a tiny window high out of reach. It was empty except for a metal bed and someone's flip-flops on the floor.

“This is where he'd be staying. Locked up, out of sight. He wouldn't escape from here, if that's what you were worried about.”

“No, that's not it.”

A mattress was shoved underneath the metal frame and board. He noticed me staring. “Some of them sleep underneath their beds. It makes them less afraid at night.”

His walkie-talkie went off. “'Course, you wouldn't want to find yourself on this end of things, just so we're clear.” He answered his call and while I was imagining some kid sleeping under his bed at night, he walked out into the hall and let the door slam behind him.

I jumped, but I knew what he was doing. I didn't panic and start banging on the door for him to let me out. I just sat down on the bed. In there without all the clutter and confusion, I just stared at the light coming through that tiny window. I felt empty inside. So empty, I just crawled underneath and laid on that mattress in the dark.

When my eyes finally adjusted, I could make out that someone had scrawled the word SORRY in the metal bed frame.

34

It was Thanksgiving weekend when Dad moved in with us. Not exactly a Norman Rockwell moment. He was just going to stay until things calmed down, whenever that would be. Nobody was in the mood to celebrate, but Mom went down to Schnucks and picked up a turkey dinner, and we all ate it in the attic that we lived in.

Dad wasn't happy about the whole situation. Not happy with missing work, not happy with me, and not happy with the place Mom and me lived in. The couch was in bad shape, so the first thing he did was buy us a new one, because he was going be sleeping on it.

Since we moved here, he had never visited or asked about our circumstances. He'd lost a lot of our money and there was that thing about another woman, so I figured maybe he was too ashamed to show his face. But he was here now and trying to be “Dad” again.