“I only had one beer, and I ain’t going anywhere without Toby. Promised his mom I’d pick him up so she don’t have to pay the late fee, and that’s what I intend to do. You people are always trying to screw over working-class Americans with this late-fee bullshit. I got here as soon as work let out, but now you won’t let him leave, so you can charge his mom more.”
Switching tactics, I embraced his crazy. “You’re right. You caught me, but I’ll tell you what, keep it between us, and I won’t charge Sheila any fees. In fact, if you show me your photo ID, I’ll go make sure you’re on the approved pickup list and we’ll get you all squared away.”
His eyelids fluttered, but then he opened them wide. “What?”
Confusion was an excellent stall tactic, so I kept going. “Photo ID. You said you’re on the list, so I need to see your driver’s license since this is your first time picking up Toby. It’s school policy.”
His eyes bugged out like I’d asked him for the winning lottery ticket rather than the identification he should have on him, if the dented sedan parked crookedly in front of the school was his.
“It’s usually in your wallet,” I added, trying to be helpful.
Swaying, Larry took a couple of swings at his backside before he finally connected and retrieved a faded leather billfold. He flipped it open, leaned forward, and it closed again.
The cops had to be on the way by now.
Larry straightened and tried to pry his credit card out of its slot, but, lacking the balance, he wobbled to the wall and propped himself up. I thought about reminding him of what I needed, but I couldn’t hear any nearing sirens yet. Trying not to breathe, I waited until he finally tugged the wrong plastic free and offered it to me.
“That’s your credit card, Larry. I need your driver’s license.” And a breathalyzer because I really wanted to know how drunk he was. Hell, I felt like I was getting a contact buzz from the fumes.
“Fuck,” he replied, stuffing the card back into his wallet before showing me the plastic sleeve that held his license.
“I can’t read it,” I lied. “I need you to pull it out so I can make a copy for our records.”
He struggled to grip the card but then paused, giving me side-eye. Suspicion darkened his irises and drew his lips into a hard line. “Are you fuckin’ with me right now?”
I absolutely was, but the sudden threat in his tone made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It didn’t help that the skin around his knuckles was all jacked up, cluing me into the fact that he liked to hit things, possibly people. With all my might, I hoped his targets weren’t Sheila and Toby.
“Of course not.” I eased a step back. “It’s school policy to verify identity before releasing a student.” Words. Pretty, official words. They swirled around in my head before pouring out of my mouth in a desperate attempt to diffuse the situation.
“Where’s Toby?” Larry looked around, growing increasingly agitated.
I took another step back, straining my ears to hear the sirens in the distance. Nestled deep in the High Point Neighborhood, police sirens were basically white noise that nobody knew how to turn off, but hopefully, some of them were headed our way.
“Toby had to run to the restroom,” I lied. “He’ll be right ba?—”
Larry whipped a knife out of his pocket, surprisingly fast for someone slurring his words. I flung myself backward, throwing my hands in the air. “Whoa, Larry. There’s no need for that.”
“I’m not fuckin’ with you anymore.”
I just needed to stall long enough for the cops to arrive, without getting stabbed. No big deal. My heart raced, and I kept my tone even and pleasant as I replied, “Got it. Loud and clear. Toby should be out of the bathroom any minute now, and then we’ll get you on your way.”
“Toby!” Larry called. “Get your ass out here!”
A blur of motion ran through the front door and slammed into Larry, who went prone on the floor, his knife spinning across the floor. The blur was a long-haired, heavily tattooed biker I’d never seen before.
“We. Don’t. Pull. Knives. On. Women,” the biker said, enunciating each word with a slam of Larry’s face against the laminate.
I should have stopped him, but the split skin on Larry’s knuckles kept blocking my sympathy. If this asshole had harmed a hair on Toby’s head….
“You okay?” the biker asked as his gaze locked on me. He wasn’t quite foaming at the mouth, but he looked moderately unhinged.
“Yeah. I think so,” I said, taking in the scene.
Blood leaked from the side of Larry’s face as he struggled and cursed up a storm.
The biker had no trouble holding him. “I’m Rabbit.” He dug his knee into Larry’s back to shut him up. “Your friendly neighborhood Dead President. Nice to meet you, Mercy.”
Before I could reply, the police barged in.
