retorted, his voice hoarse as he still fought to regain his breath. “What do you think I’m going to do, run away from you?”
Buddy’s eyes narrowed. “Last chance, Sheffield. Take your crazy girlfriend and get out of here, or your butt’s gonna get kicked.”
“Then you better start kicking,” Michael replied, dropping down slightly, his eyes riveted on the bigger boy. “ ’Cause until Melanie apologizes, we’re not going anywhere!”
Buddy straightened up and moved away from the Trans Am, his knees flexing as he feinted first one way, then another. He ducked left, then moved quickly toward Michael, his right fist poised. Michael, seeing the blow coming, dodged away, then spun around to jab his left into Buddy’s gut.
Buddy doubled over as a chant began to rise from the kids surrounding the combatants. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
Buddy suddenly rushed Michael, his weight knocking the smaller boy to the sidewalk.
Kelly screamed as she saw Michael fall with Buddy dropping on top of him. “Stop him! Can’t someone stop him?”
The crowd of kids ignored her, urging their friend on. “Come on, Buddy! Let him know who’s boss around here!”
As Buddy raised himself up in preparation to smash his right fist into Michael’s face, Michael drew his knees up and shoved hard, twisting at the same time. Throwing Buddy off, he scrambled to his feet, then spun around to face the other boy just as Buddy was rising from the ground. But before Buddy could get up, Michael’s left foot lashed out, catching Buddy’s cheek. A scream of pain mixed with outrage boiled up out of Buddy’s throat, and he lunged toward Michael. Then a new sound rose out of the night, drowning out the shouting.
It was the scream of a police siren, and it was only a few hundred feet away.
“Cops!” someone yelled. Instantly the fight was forgotten as kids hurled beer cans into the narrow alley between Arlette’s and the building next door.
Seconds later a police car screeched to a halt on the other side of Buddy Hawkins’s Trans Am. “Hold it right there!” Marty Templar demanded, his voice amplified by the bullhorn on the roof of his car. Templar got out of the police car and approached the knot of kids who were now huddled silently on the sidewalk, his right hand resting casually on the butt of his pistol. “Well, well,” he drawled. “What have we got here? Little gathering that got out of hand?” His eyes raked over Buddy Hawkins, then shifted to Michael, whose face was scraped, his clothes torn. “What’re you doing hanging out with this bunch?” he asked. “Never had any trouble with you before.”
Michael said nothing, his eyes fixing on the sidewalk at his feet.
Templar’s attention shifted to Buddy Hawkins. “You wanta tell me what’s going on, or shall we all go down to the police station?” Before Buddy could reply, Templar spotted the four six-packs of beer stowed behind the front seat of the Trans Am. “Okay,” he said. “A fight’s one thing. The beer’s something else again. Hawkins, you and Sheffield get in my car.” He scanned the small group of kids who, now nervous, were avoiding his gaze. “Any of you not drinking?” he asked.
Two of the boys and a girl stepped forward. After sniffing their breaths, he nodded curtly at them. “One of you bring Hawkins’s car, and the other Sheffield’s bike. Meet me at the station.” He let his gaze run over the kids, one by one. “And don’t any of you get any ideas about taking off,” he added. “I know every one of you, and I don’t want any bullshit. Got it?”
As he turned back to the car, he spotted Kelly. Frowning, he paused. “Who are you?”
Kelly hesitated. “K-Kelly Anderson,” she finally stammered. Templar’s eyes narrowed.
“Carl Anderson’s granddaughter?”
Kelly nodded.
“Who’re you with?”
“Michael. But we didn’t do—”
Templar silenced her with a gesture. “Get in my car.”
Ted Anderson, his temper simmering, arrived at the police station behind the post office. Craig Sheffield was already there, and Ted, ignoring the other worried-looking parents clustered around the duty officer’s desk, crossed the room to glower at him. “What the hell’s going on?” he demanded. “If your kid took my daughter out and got her drunk—”
“Now hold on, Ted,” Craig broke in. “I just got here myself, and we don’t even know what happened yet.”
“It was a fight,” a third man said. “They was all out in front of Arlette’s, and your kid got into it with Buddy Hawkins.”
“Michael?” Craig asked. “I don’t believe it.