Off to the side, as he passed a dense clump of trees, he heard shouting, barked words, uneven, angry, then a high cry as if someone had been caught off guard. Though it was probably none of his business, he headed that way, going up the path between the trees toward the noise, which, he realized, was coming from tent #1, Wayne’s tent.
On the wooden platform stood Wayne and Kell, and though they were a similar height, Wayne outweighed Kell by at least fifty pounds. Scattered on the platform and on the ground were the articles every new parolee was given: clothing, boots, toothpaste, washcloths.
Marston recognized the items because he’d been on the committee before the valley program had even gotten off the ground to decide what the parolees should get in their start-up kit: shirts, jeans, jacket, underwear, socks, and toiletries. It was an embarrassment of riches, in Marston’s book, but simple kindness, the basics, in everybody else’s view.
“Hey,” said Marston just as Wayne, with both hands planted in the middle of Kell’s chest, shoved him off the platform.
Marston was too slow to catch Kell, but he was there a second later, bending to check on him, helping him to his feet, a skinny kid who barely let Marston help him before skittering away, panting, shoulders rolled forward as if in an effort to make himself as small as possible.
“What’s going on here?” asked Marston, though the answer was obvious.
Gabe had mentioned to Marston that Wayne once had a tent mate named Kurt. Kurt had been a mouthy, insubordinate parolee, but what had gotten him thrown out of the valley was his attempt to shove another parolee into a wood chipper.
Once his erstwhile tent mate Kurt had departed, Wayne had often crowed about how he had a tent to himself, how much he liked it. All the stuff scattered about was new, which meant that Wayne, in a very real and very personal way, had objected to Kell’s presence. And though Wayne was typically an easy-going fellow, according to what Marston knew about him, Wayne had made himself quite clear about wanting to continue having a tent to himself with violence and raised fists.
Marston could not abide bullying, so even though Wayne wasn’t his responsibility, and neither was Kell, nobody else was around, which meant he was the one, the only one at the moment, to step up and handle it.
“Wayne?” he asked, keeping his voice even. “Is there a problem here?”
Wayne had one chance to come clean, but of course, being an ex-con, he blew it.
“Nothing,” said Wayne, puffing his chest out, giving a packet of new t-shirts a shove off the platform with his booted foot. “Kell is just moving out, is all.”
“And where is he supposed to go?” Okay, Maybe Marston would give Wayne two chances.
“Blaze has got an empty cot in his tent,” said Wayne, sticking his chin out now. “And there are other tents.”
“The other tents aren’t set up and Blaze will probably have a roommate in the coming weeks.”
Taking a slow, even breath, Marston knew that wasn’t the issue. Parolees could be shifted to different tents, assigned to different teams. The problem was that Wayne could have asked nicely if he could have a tent to himself, but he hadn’t.
Instead, Wayne taken his frustrations out on Kell who, even now, was looking at Marston with wide eyes as if he expected the next explosion would come from him, rather than Wayne. As if Marston would naturally assume that Kell was the troublemaker.
But even before he watched Kell wipe the blood from his lip with the length of his sleeve, Marston knew better. Wayne had been throwing his weight around, and Kell had paid the price. To punish Wayne would mean making him keep Kell as a tent mate, but then Kell would pay the price again.
Maybe that wasn’t Marston’s decision to make, seeing as how neither man was on his team. Still, in the meanwhile, he could stop the aggression and set a tone.
“Wayne,” he said, moving close to the edge of the wooden platform. “You’re going to put every bit of this back where you found it. Understood?”
“What if I don’t want to?” demanded Wayne, sticking his chest out even further.
“Then you face the consequences,” said Marston, completely unmotivated to raise his voice even a little bit. “If you were on my team, I’d throw you out of the program this minute, but I imagine Gabe will want to have a chat with you about making better choices.”
Several emotions flitted across Wayne’s flushed face, but it would be a waste of Marston’s time to try to decipher any of them. Besides, Kell was still looking at him with wide eyes, hunched as if waiting for another blow. Not even watching as Wayne shuffled along the wooden platform and began, with huffs and puffs of exaggerated annoyance, to pick up all the things of Kell’s that he’d thrown around.
Rather, Kell’s attention was focused on Marston, like he was the nearest dangerous thing. Which felt odd, in a way, as Marston was always in the background, the local wallflower, rather than being the sharp end of a sword in need of someone’s full attention.
He didn’t quite know what to make of it.
“Do you want some ice for that jaw?” he asked, then he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at Wayne. “We could probably give him ten minutes to figure out how he wants the rest of his summer to go, don’t you think?”
In response to this, Kell’s eyes narrowed, though whether he was reassessing his opinion of Marston or reinforcing it, it was hard to say. It was, however, gratifying that when he gestured for Kell to follow him through the woods to the first aid hut, he was followed by Kell, utterly silent at his heels the whole way.
Chapter6
Kell
Kell followed Marston through the woods. He didn’t know where he was going, didn’t quite trust that the final destination wouldn’t be something painful or shitty. Didn’t quite believe that Marston wasn’t going to haul him off and teach him a lesson to keep him in his place. But still, he was following Marston.
