Kick (2 page)

Chapter 02

I kept my head down as I watched shoes pass me by. Shiny black high heels clicking against the floor. Beat-up white Nikes spotted with dirt stains. I sat shivering in the waiting room of the Bedford County Juvenile Detention Center. They had turned the air conditioner up extra high. I bet it was to make us feel even worse than we did just being in this place. My head was spinning and I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn't believe I was locked up. I kept asking myself why I was in this place. I was no criminal.

But I knew I couldn't tell the truth.

My wrists burned from the handcuffs that the police had put on me when I was arrested. My shoulders ached. The cot they had assigned me felt like concrete. Not that I could sleep anyway. The whole night was playing over and over in my head, like a bad movie I couldn't forget. I just wanted this mess to be over and to go home.

But I didn't know how I would face Mom. The worst part about everything last night was seeing Mom when she came to the precinct. It wasn't like she was mad, just horribly disappointed and sad.

In the middle of the night I woke up to find the door being swung open. An officer was uncuffing another inmate. The kid was older than me.

“Happy to be back home, Morales?” the officer said.

“I know you missed me,” the kid shot back.

“Yeah, but I figured I'd see you again.”

I tried not to look at the kid as he got settled in.

The tattoos on his shoulders ran down his arms. I wondered if he was in a gang, but I definitely wasn't going to ask him. I pretended to be asleep.

In the morning they brought us out to breakfast, and there were two fights before we reached the food counter. Some of the guys looked too old to be in a juvenile detention center. I wondered if some of them were in gangs, because they were flashing signs at each other. I liked to watch a show on TV called
Gangland
, where real gang members came and talked about the history of their gangs and what they did as members. But this wasn't TV. This was my life. I wished it wasn't.

The food was greasy. I wouldn't have eaten it even if my stomach felt okay.

After breakfast the guards walked us back to our cells. The uniforms we had to wear were a dull gray, which matched our moods.

The guy in my cell, Morales, asked if I had been arraigned yet. I shook my head no. I didn't know what he was talking about, but I didn't want to ask him.

“That's when you find out what's gonna happen to you,” he said. “Don't be acting too tough, man. Maybe you can cop a break.”

The guy looked hard, and every other word that came out of his mouth was a curse.

He told me what was wrong with the place and who to avoid. I was surprised he was friendly. But he also seemed mad at the world, like it had given up on him.

The whole time he was talking, I could feel my heart beating against the inside of my chest. It didn't feel like a tough heartbeat, either.

All morning I sat around trying to think through what was happening, but I was too scared to concentrate. When the guard came and called my name, I hardly recognized it. He said I had a visitor in the interview room. I hoped it was Mom. I hoped it was her even though I felt terrible about her seeing me in jail.

The interview room was painted a pale white. I glanced up at the clock every now and then; it was behind a metal grille, like it was locked up, too. I imagined all the things a clock would have done to be in here. I guess he'd have to do his time, I thought. I laughed for the first time since the arrest.

I sat alone on the hard plastic chair for nearly fifteen minutes before the door opened. I watched a pair of big brown shoes stop just inside the door and then step toward me. I slowly lifted my head. A tall black man with broad shoulders, wearing a shirt and tie, looked down at me with surprise on his face.

“Kevin Johnson?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, standing. I wondered what he wanted with me.

“I'm Sergeant Jerry Brown,” he said, putting out his hand. I shook it. “Hear you got yourself into some trouble, huh?”

I nodded.

“You want to tell me about it?”

“Not really.” He couldn't expect me to tell him anything. I didn't even know him.

He sat down in the chair next to me. I hoped he was as uncomfortable as I was in the hard plastic seat.

“Kevin, let me tell you something about myself. I'm a police officer just like the one who arrested you. Just like your father was. Judge Kelly asked me to look into your case because he had a lot of respect for your father. I did, too,” he said. “I'd like to try to help you if I can. You know the charges, don't you?”

“Driving without a license,” I said.

“Driving without a . . . ?” He looked away and then back at me. “Try kidnapping, grand theft auto, destruction of property, and giving false answers. We're talking felonies, not misdemeanors.”

Kidnapping? I didn't know they charged me for kidnapping! They got it all wrong.

I tried to stay calm. “A felony? What's that?”

“It's a really serious type of crime, Kevin.”

“I didn't do anything.”

“Weren't you driving a car that crashed last night? You could do yourself a favor and tell me now, or if you want, you can do it in front of twelve other people who couldn't care less about you.”

“So, why do
you
care what happens to me?”

Sergeant Brown raised his eyebrows. “Judge Kelly said you needed some straightening out. He asked me if I wanted to help you and I said I'd give it a try. But you need to be honest with me. With some straight answers and a little luck, you might, just might, not have to stay in here. You
are
interested in getting out?”

Sergeant Brown spoke in a voice that meant business. He looked at me, waiting for my answer.

“All I want to do is go home,” I said.

“It's not that simple, young man,” Sergeant Brown said. “You're going to have to go to the judge's chambers and explain a lot of things to him. And tell them in a way to make him think you deserve to leave here tonight.”

“I'm not that good at explaining things,” I said. “The cop who handcuffed me didn't believe me.”

Sergeant Brown kind of puffed up, shook his head a little, and exhaled. “Just what
are
you good at?” he asked.

“I don't know. Soccer, I guess,” I answered. “But that's not going to help me in here, is it? The tournament lottery is tomorrow.”

“Which means . . . ?”

“The lottery for the State Cup. That's the most important soccer tournament in New Jersey. The brackets will be posted tomorrow, so we'll know what team we're playing first round.”

“You're in jail for a bunch of felonies and you're thinking about soccer?”

“I don't know what to think about,” I said. “I don't even know if I'm thinking straight.”

That shut him up for a few minutes.

“So, Kevin, what position do you play?” Sergeant Brown asked me.

“Striker,” I said.

“Is that defense or offense?” Sergeant Brown asked.

“You don't know anything about soccer, right?” I asked.

“Not really,” he answered. “And you don't know much about the law, so maybe we can both learn something. What do you think?”

“Sounds okay, I guess.”

Sergeant Brown stood up. “Now we're going to talk it over with your mom,” he said. “Then we're going to meet with Judge Kelly and see if he wants to keep you in here.”

“Keep me in here!”
Maybe I should have been a little nicer to this man. I wanted to throw up.

The door to the room inched open, and my mom and grandma slowly came in. Mom's face was stained with tears. Abuela, my grandma, seemed smaller as she walked behind Mom. They took seats across from Sergeant Brown and me.

About four years ago my
abuelo
died. That's when Abuela came from Colombia to live with us. I loved her almost as much as I loved Mom. Mom worked six days a week as an assistant in a doctor's office. Abuela had been taking care of me since I was nine.

“Ay, mi nieto.”
Abuela sounded so sad. She put her hands on my cheeks.

I could see that tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes. I felt like crying, too, but I didn't want to cry in front of Sergeant Brown.

“Mom, this is Sergeant Brown,” I said softly. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Nice to meet you,” my mom said politely, her voice cracking.

I hated to see my mom sad. She'd already been through so much.

“Abuela, le presento al señor Brown,”
I said, introducing Abuela to Sergeant Brown in Spanish.

Sergeant Brown turned to my mom. “Ma'am, I'm a police officer and also a friend of Judge Kelly. He asked me if I would look into Kevin's case. We'll be talking to the judge in a few minutes, and I'm hoping that everything will turn out all right, but there are a lot of unknown aspects to this case. Most important is that Kevin needs to explain what happened.”

“Kevin's a good boy,” Mom said. “He really is. Believe me, he's never been in any kind of serious trouble.”

“I believe you, and I'm sure you want him home. If he gets to go home, I'll be talking with him from time to time as the case develops. Is that okay with you? Now I'm going to be frank with you. Your son's in trouble. He's up against serious charges. I'm sure that if Kevin gets out and there's the least bit of trouble, he's coming back here.”

“I really appreciate your taking an interest in my son, sir.” My mom sat back in her chair, her hands shaking with nervousness.

“Well, we don't want our young people in jails if we can help it, ma'am,” Sergeant Brown said.

Sergeant Brown kept talking to Mom and Abuela. I thought about this television show where two cops were interviewing a guy. One was playing the “good cop” role and the other one was the “bad cop.” I wondered if Sergeant Brown was playing good cop or bad cop.

Mom kept nodding to anything Sergeant Brown said. Abuela just looked at me and kept shaking her head. I was glad when a guard came into the room. Judge Kelly was ready to see us.

The guards drove me in a van to the Highland Municipal Courthouse. It was an old brick building with white columns in the front that looked like something on the cover of my social studies textbook. Mrs. Fox, the lawyer who had handled the paperwork when my dad died, was waiting for us in the hallway. I walked in with the guard behind me. I was relieved to see a familiar face, even though I really didn't know her that well.

It was weird having someone watch my every move. I noticed the guard's gun. When I was little, my dad used to show me his gun. He always warned me about how dangerous guns were, and I used to think it was so cool. But now that the guard who was watching me had one, guns didn't seem so cool anymore. The guard saw me staring at his gun. I turned away.

I didn't even want to imagine what my father would say if he were still alive. I had just been helping out a friend.

After going through the metal detectors, Mom, Abuela, the guard, and I walked down the hall and up a long flight of stairs to the judge's chambers with Sergeant Brown trailing behind.

Judge Kelly was the tallest man I had ever seen. I wondered if he had ever played basketball. His wire-rimmed glasses made him look smart. I imagined him playing college ball. My mom, Abuela, and I took seats, and Mrs. Fox started speaking in low tones to the judge. I could tell that it was about me.

“Mr. Johnson, I presume,” Judge Kelly said, his glasses lowering on his nose.

“Yes. Nice to meet you, sir,” I answered, standing up and trying to be extra polite.

“Jerry! How are you?” Judge Kelly said.

I turned around to see Sergeant Brown sitting behind us.

“Up for another game of Ping-Pong at the Ebony Club?” asked Sergeant Brown.

“Not tonight—I'm swamped with work,” Judge Kelly said, looking right at me.

Judge Kelly turned to me. “So, Kevin, you're charged with kidnapping, grand larceny, destruction of property, and giving false answers.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

Mrs. Fox interrupted, “Judge Kelly, Kevin has never been in any sort of trouble before. The only reasonable solution would be to give him probation.”

“We're going to give him every break we can under the law,” Judge Kelly said. “There are a number of issues to be worked out first. This is not a victimless affair, and the victims' rights have to be considered, too. Frankly, I don't understand how the son of one of our town's finest police officers could have gotten involved in something like this. Kevin, can you explain yourself?”

“I just . . . just did it, I guess,” I said. “I'm so sorry.” There were things I couldn't really explain.