Res Judicata Read online

  I peeled her off me. “All right. All right. All right. Save your public displays of affection for the Boys in Blue,” I said. “I’m not finished. I’ll write the factum for you IF you promise to buy me a new long board.” I figured I may as well get something out of it too.

  She stumbled back and gawked at me with her mouth wide open. She looked like she was choking on a bone or something. She even made that gacking sound.

  “Are you blackmailing me?!” she said. “Your own mother?!”

  I stopped and thought about it for a second. “Yeah,” I went. “I guess you could say that.”

  She gagged on that bone again.”This is unbelievable! I’m...I’m...stunned! We’re family! We help each other!”

  “Right,” I said. “My point exactly. I’m helping you by writing a factum so that you can go to that ‘thing’ tonight with Biff the Sheriff. You’re helping me by using some of the money you’re charging for the factum to purchase a skateboard. Some people might call that blackmail. I call it fair pay for fair work.”

  Andy was doing that twitchy thing she does when she’s cornered. She took a big haul on her cigarette and wound up for a major rant, but we both knew it wouldn’t get her anywhere. She didn’t have a leg to stand on.

  “Okay,” she said and blasted this jet stream of smoke out the side of her mouth. “Be that way. There’ll come a time in your life when you’ll look back on this and be as shocked as I am now. You’ll be appalled to remember how, instead of relishing the opportunity to work on a case that could save a deserving family from being deported to their war-torn homeland, you exploited the situation for your own personal gain. You thought nothing of the sacrifices your mother, who loves you more than anyone or anything on earth, has made to give you the life you have today. No. None of that mattered to you. You saw a chance to get rich quick, and you leapt at it. Fine. I have faith that some day you’ll be mature enough to shudder at your behavior. I’ll wait patiently until then for your apology.”

  Right. Like Andy has ever waited patiently for anything. You should see her lunge at the microwave when the popcorn’s ready. She’s like a piranha at a Mom ‘n’ Tot swim class.

  “In the meantime, get that factum done—to my standards!—and I’ll, like, buy you the stupid skateboard.”

  Most kids would have been happy with that, but not me. I knew who I was dealing with. Like any good lawyer, Andy was no doubt already looking for a loophole.

  I wasn’t going to let that happen.

  I opened my backpack and took out the video camera I’d borrowed from the school media lab. I made her repeat her promise, this time with her hands out front so I could be sure her fingers weren’t crossed. I even got a girl walking by to witness it on video.

  No way was Andy worming out of this one.

  I practically skipped home.

  I never realized extortion could be so much fun.

  chapter 3

  Disturbing the Peace

  The unsettling of proper order by creating loud noise,

  fighting or conducting other unsocial behavior.

  About three weeks later, I was down at the skateboard bowl one day after school. Kendall Rankin, my best friend, was having trouble with a back wheel and stopped to fix it. I stopped to fix mine too. Not that it would do much good. I could have given the board one of my kidneys, and I still couldn’t have saved it. I’d written that factum for Andy like I said I would, but I still didn’t have a new board.

  We sat there in the shade for a while, working away on our boards. Kendall’s not much of a talker. His job is to sit there looking good and attract the girls. My job is to keep the conversation going. Usually I just stick to sick jokes and movie reviews. I don’t know why, but for some reason that day I started telling him about Biff.

  Ever since that “thing” he and Andy went to, Biff had been at our place all the time.

  It was really bugging me.

  He was really bugging me.

  That day, for instance, Biff had showed up in his uniform and bulletproof vest at six in the morning to take our garbage out!

  I went, “Like what’s with that? It’s our garbage. Not his! Doesn’t he have his own? He has to go manhandling other people’s? I mean, can you believe the guy? Let him sort his own recyclables!”

  Kendall went, “Hm. Yeah. Gee,” and went back to tightening his axle. He was trying, but I could tell he wasn’t all that sympathetic to my situation.

  I obviously hadn’t explained myself very well.

  So I told him about the love seat Biff just “decided” to “give” us because he didn’t “need” it anymore. I told him about the way Biff always hums when he does the dishes and how Andy hums along, even though she has always hated people who hum. I told him about how Biff irons his jeans with creases so sharp he could use them to slice the sukiyaki at Tokyo Steak House and, more importantly, how Andy has never even mentioned it.

  Kendall went, “Really. Huh. No kidding?”

  I was starting to feel kind of stupid. There was this long silence. I considered mentioning the fact that Biff insisted on cooking us dinner every night—as if we weren’t capable of feeding ourselves, as if there was something wrong with take-out burgers and fries!—but I didn’t. My guess was that Kendall wouldn’t understand that either. I decided to just let the whole conversation drop. I clicked my tongue and sighed like it was no big deal; then I went, “Whatever. I don’t know why the guy irritates me so much, but he does.”

  Kendall put down his board. “Yeah. I know what it’s like. I felt the same way when Mom started going out with Eddie. It took me, like, months to get over being jealous.”

  My head spun around so fast it took my eyeballs a couple of seconds to catch up.

  I was like, “Jealous? What?! You’re saying I’m...jealous?”

  “Yeah. Not, like, boyfriend-girlfriend jealous but, you know, jealous. There’s nothing weird about it. It’s perfectly natural.”

  Perfectly natural. I hate it when people say that. They never mean it. In fact, they mean exactly the opposite. Just think of all the stuff they say in health class is “perfectly natural.” It’s never “watching TV is perfectly natural” or “liking peanut butter is perfectly natural.” It’s always the weird stuff, the stuff that nobody ever wants to admit to, that they call perfectly natural.

  I didn’t say anything.

  Kendall went, “I mean, it’s just been you and Andy all your life, and then suddenly some guy comes along and, like, horns in on the two of you, monopolizes her—you know, makes himself at home. Who wouldn’t be jealous?”

  The answer was obvious.

  “Me! That’s who. I’m not jealous! Don’t make me barf. Jealous of Andy and Biff? Please. You make it sound like I want to spend all my time with my ‘mommy’ or something. The truth is, I spend most of my time trying to get away from her. I couldn’t care less if Biff ‘monopolizes’ her. He can monopolize her and have Park Place and Boardwalk too! I’ll even throw in my ‘Get out of jail free’ card. He’ll need it if he’s going to hang around with her.”

  I had to stop and wipe the sweat off my face with my T-shirt.

  “That’s not why I don’t like him. It’s just...I don’t know... It’s just...I mean, come on! The guy irons his jeans! Of course he’s going to bug me! I’m only human!”

  Kendall was already putting his helmet on. He shrugged. “Yeah. Sorry. You’re probably right. I never had to put up with that kind of stuff with Eddie. His jaw clicks when he chews, but otherwise he’s okay. I mean, he makes Mom happy. I figure after everything she went through when Dad left, she deserves to be happy now.”

  He got up. “Okay. You ready?”

  He rolled back down into the bowl. He was my best friend. Now he was bugging me too.

  I picked up the hunk of junk I call a skateboard and went home.

  chapter 4

  Child Labor Laws

  Legislation that protects children by restricting

  the type and
hours of work they perform.

  Ipushed open the door. I smelled chicken.

  I knew it.

  Biff was at it again.

  I kicked off my shoes and walked down the hall. Andy was lounging on our “new” love seat, reading The Catcher in the Rye for like the four hundred and thirty-third time. She tossed it on the broken TV we use as a coffee table and said, “Hey, you’re home late. Where were you? Down at the bowl?”

  She smiled.

  I didn’t.

  Since when did she smile when I went to the bowl after school? What happened to the “don’t you have homework” lecture? Too busy for that these days? Got something better to do? I just ignored her.

  I gave this big sigh. “Don’t tell me it’s chicken again! Who does Biff think he is? Colonel Sanders or something?”

  Andy scrunched up one eye and hissed at me. “I’ve told you before. Don’t call him that. His name’s not Biff!”

  Biff poked his head out from the kitchen. He was wearing a Kiss the Cook apron over his also-ironed T-shirt.

  He went, “Hey! Whoa! Andy! What’re you doing? You crazy?”

  Andy hesitated for a second. It was all I could do to keep from laughing. Biff didn’t know it yet, but I figured he was toast. Nobody pokes their nose into our family business and gets away with it. Nobody tells Andy what to do. My guess was she was going to boot him out of there before the skin was crispy on the drumsticks.

  I stood back and waited for her to blow, but she didn’t. She just looked up at Biff and smiled again.

  Smile. Smile. Smile. What did she think this was, the Miss Congeniality Pageant?

  “What do you mean?” she said, all ha-ha-ha.

  “Oh, come on! Think about it,” he went. “Which would you rather be called? Dougie or Biff?” He said it out one side of his mouth with this big blast of air.

  She laughed. “You got a point.”

  “Hey, I can’t take any credit,” he said. “It was Sport’s idea. Smart kid you got there.” He raised an eyebrow and wiggled his head around. “Biff Fougere. Yeah. I like that.”

  He waved his spatula at me. “Now c’mon, Sport! Wash your hands. Grub’s on the table.”

  I was getting the distinct feeling that I’d lost this round.

  I fumed all through supper. Not only did I have to put up with my best friend accusing me of being jealous; I also had to sit there while Andy and Biff interrogated me about my buddies and my classes and my favorite movies and stuff like that. I had to eat another one of Biff ‘s “wholesome” meals, and I couldn’t even ask for seconds in case he started thinking I actually liked it.

  I woofed the food back and then just had to wait around until they were finished. (There was no way I was leaving those two alone together. The nuzzle-o-meter was forecasting a major disturbance.) I started reading the newspaper.

  Andy pretended that having the Herald spread out all over the table while she was trying to eat didn’t bother her. “Anything interesting happening in the world today, C-C?”

  My normal response would have been to just sort of grunt in her general direction, but then something caught my eye.

  “Why, yes,” I said. “In fact, there is.”

  I spun the paper around and pointed to a big ad for Boarders’ World. “Whaddya know? You’re in luck! Long boards are on sale. This week only. You can finally pay me for that factum I wrote!”

  Andy did one of those laughie sighs and went, “Skateboards! I don’t know why you want a new skateboard! The one you have is perfectly good. Now, Dougie—I mean Biff—could I have a little more of those delicious—”

  “No, it’s not!” I went. “And, anyway, that’s totally beside the point. You promised me a new board!”

  I’d interrupted her. I’d spoken in a disrespectful tone of voice. And I’d nailed her on that promise. She might not blow up at Biff, but she sure would at me. I prepared for blastoff.

  She just flattened out her eyebrows and shook her head. “Do you have any idea how many toxic chemicals go into making those things? All that resin and fiberglass. It’s disgusting! Honestly, skateboards must be every bit as bad for the environment as nuclear warships or suvs. Really.” She looked at Biff. “Aren’t I right?”

  He went, “Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration...”

  I went, “See!”

  She just sort of chuckled at how cute guys and their tiny brains can be. “Okay, well, maybe not quite as bad as suvs, but when you consider that skateboarding is primarily a male sport—”

  I went, “What are you talking about?! There are plenty of girls down at the bowl! Why do you think I go there? And what does that have to do with the environment anyway?”

  Andy was trying to sound all calm and reasonable. “Nothing. I’m just saying, when you factor the toll on the environment in with the sexist nature of the sport, you start thinking differently about skateboarding. You understand what a huge negative impact it has on society, and you realize that you should avoid it at all costs. That’s all I’m saying.”

  She smiled and dug back into her mashed potatoes.

  I stuck my chin out and barked like some guard dog on a chain. “All you’re saying is you don’t want to pay up!”

  “That’s not what I’m saying at all.” She dabbed the corner of her mouth with her sleeve as if she was the Queen of England or something. “I’m just noting that, after much reflection, I have begun to have some moral qualms about contributing to a sport that is so at odds with everything I believe in...”

  Biff had been pretty quiet up to this point. He splopped another big cow patty of potatoes onto her plate and said, “I don’t know, Andy. Seems to me there’s lots of good stuff about skateboarding too. It’s great exercise. It gets the kids outdoors. It...”

  He didn’t understand. Logic wasn’t going to work. He was just giving her time to come up with another lame argument.

  This called for the big guns.

  I went, “Oh, we’re talking moral qualms, are we? Well, I’m having some moral qualms myself! As you know, there are child labor laws in this country, a minimum wage and strict rules against practicing law without a license—all of which you broke when you made me write that factum! Frankly, I can’t help thinking the law society might like to hear about some of your business practices...”

  I grabbed the phone. “I believe their twenty-four-hour complaint line is 423-1...”

  Biff went, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, there. Let’s not do anything we might regret.” He took the phone from me and put it back on the counter. I was all ready to tell him to butt out, but something about his face made me stop. It was like he was sending me coded messages through his eyebrows or something.

  He turned back to Andy and said, “You know, Sugar, one of the things I love about you is that you’re such a moral person.”

  Andy was looking at him, but I know she was mentally sticking her tongue out at me. She loves being right.

  He sat down and put his arm around her. “I’m afraid this time, though, morality’s on Sport’s side. You did promise him a skateboard if he wrote that factum. I know because I saw the video—and the factum. To tell you the truth, I thought he did a pretty good job on both.”

  Biff must have realized he’d gone a step too far there. He said, “Smart kid. He obviously takes after his mother.” The guy was smooth.

  Andy’s lips had turned into a perfectly straight line. She wasn’t happy. I could tell Biff knew that too, but he just kept smiling and rubbing her shoulder with that big hand of his.

  With the other one, he tapped the newspaper ad. “You know, $89.99 sounds like a pretty good deal to me. And look! It comes in blue, yellow and ‘neon freak-out,’ whatever that is. I think it’s worth looking into.”

  Andy tossed her hair back and twitched her chin up a few times, but something in that old anger-management class must have gotten through to her. Either that, or Biff did. She took a big nose full of air and looked down at the paper as if she was actually goi
ng to consider buying the skateboard.

  Biff leaned way back in his chair and gave me a big thumbs-up. I’d have smiled except Andy might have seen me. She’d have been screaming “Conspiracy!” then for sure.

  He clunked his chair back down on the floor, slapped his knees and said, “Okay then! While you’re looking at that, why don’t I dish out some of my famous apple crisp? Sound good, Sport?”

  I nodded.

  “Great! What about you, Andy?”

  She didn’t move. She just sat there, hunched over the paper, like some crazy monk in an old horror movie or something.

  “Andy...?” he said. “A little apple crisp? Andy? Yoohooo!”

  He touched her arm.

  She looked up from the paper. She had this wild gleam in her eye.

  She said, “This is amazing! Un-be-lievable!”

  I had a sudden, horrible glimpse into the future. How could I have been so stupid? This was just the type of thing she’d do.

  I went, “Oh, no. Oh, no you don’t! Don’t even think about taking up skateboarding! No mothers allowed. Strictly forbidden. Off limits. Haven’t you seen the signs?”

  She waved her arm at me. “Skateboarding? Forget skateboards! Look at this!”

  She shushed the paper back toward me and pointed at an article right above the Boarders’ World ad.

  chapter 5

  Manslaughter

  The unlawful killing of a human being without malice

  or premeditation, different from murder,

  in that murder requires malicious intent.

  “ HERO” JANITOR CHARGED WITH

  MANSLAUGHTER

  by Julia Rivers

  Court Reporter

  Last year at this time, Halifax Regional Police called university maintenance man Charles (Chuck) Dunkirk a hero. Now they’re calling him something else: the accused.

  Yesterday, the publicity-shy forty-eight-year-old was formally charged with manslaughter in the death of world-famous American inventor Ernest Sanderson.

  It’s an odd twist in a story that started out as a heart-warming tale of personal sacrifice.