trying to smile. “If you’ll read these papers, Ms. Sway, you’ll see that a petition has been filed in Juvenile Court alleging Mark here to be_a delinquent because he won’t cooperate with the police and FBI. And Judge Roosevelt wants to have a hearing at noon today. That’s all.”
“That’s all! You asshole! You show up here with your little papers and take away my son and you say ‘That’s all’!”
“Not so loud, Mom,” Mark said. He’d hadn’t heard such language from her since the divorce.
Nassar stopped trying to smile and pulled at the corners of his mustache. Klickman for some reason was
glaring at Mark as if he •were a serial killer they’d been tracking for years. There was a long pause. Dianne kept both hands on Mark’s shoulders. “You can’t have him!”
Finally, Klickman said his first words. “Look, Ms. Sway, we have no choice. We have to take your son.”
“Go to hell,” she snapped. “If you take him, you whip me first.”
Klickman was a meathead with little finesse, and for a split second his shoulders flinched as if he would accept this challenge. Then he relaxed and smiled.
“It’s okay, Mom. I’ll go. Call Reggie and tell her to meet me at the jail. She’ll probably sue these clowns by lunch and have them fired by tomorrow.”
The cops grinned at each other. Cute little kid.
Nassar then made the very sad mistake of reaching for Mark’s arm. Dianne lunged and struck like a cobra. Whap! She slapped him on his left cheek and screamed, “Don’t touch him! Don’t touch him!”
Nassar grabbed his face, and Klickman instantly grabbed her arm. She wanted to strike again, but was suddenly spun around, and somehow in the midst of this her feet and Mark’s feet became tangled and they hit the floor. “You son of a bitch!” she kept screaming. “Don’t touch him.”
Nassar reached down for some reason, and Dianne kicked him on the thigh. But she was barefoot and there was little damage. Klickman was reaching down, and Mark was scrambling to get up, and Dianne was kicking and swinging and yelling, “Don’t touch him!” The nurses rushed forward and the security guards joined in as Dianne got to her feet.
Mark was pulled from the fracas by Klickman. Dianne was held by the two security guards. She was twisting and crying. Nassar was rubbing his face. The
nurses were soothing and consoling and trying to separate everyone.
The door opened, and Ricky stood in it holding a stuffed rabbit. He stared at Mark, whose wrists were being held by Klickman. He stared at his mother, whose wrists were being held by the security guards. Everyone froze and stared at Ricky. His face was as white as the sheets. His hair stuck out in all directions. His mouth was open, but he said nothing.
Then he started the low, mournful groan that only Mark had heard before. Dianne yanked her wrists free and picked him up. The nurses followed her into the room and they tucked him in the bed. They patted his arms and legs, but the groaning continued. Then the thumb went in his mouth and he closed his eyes. Dianne lay beside him in the bed and began humming “Winnie the Pooh” and patting his arm.
“Let’s go, kid,” Klickman said.
“You gonna handcuff me?”
“No. This is not an arrest.”
“Then what the hell is it?”
“Watch your language, kid.”
“Kiss my ass, you big stupid jock.” Klickman stopped cold and glared down at Mark.
“Watch your mouth, kid,” Nassar warned.
“Look at your face, hotshot. I think it’s turning blue. Mom coldcocked you. Ha-ha. I hope she broke your teeth.”
Klickman bent over and put his hands on his knees. He stared Mark directly in the eyes. “Are you going with us, or shall we drag you out of here?”
Mark snorted and glared at him. “You think I’m scared of you, don’t you? Let me tell you something, meathead. I’ve got a lawyer who’ll have me out in ten
minutes. My lawyer is so good that by this afternoon you’ll be looking for another job.”
“I’m scared to death. Now let’s go.”
They started walking, a cop on each side of the defendant.
“Where are we going?”
“Juvenile Detention Center.”
“Is it sort of a jail?”
“It could be if you don’t watch your smart mouth.”
“You knocked my mother down, you know that. She’ll have your job for that.”
“She can have my job,” Klickman said. “It’s a rotten job because I have to deal with little punks like you.”
“Yeah, but you can’t find another one, can you? There’s no demand