Taylor Hebert, Medhall Intern
Part Fifteen: More Troubles
[A/N 1: This chapter commissioned by GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine.]
[A/N 2: Be aware that this fic delves into the personal thoughts and motivations of white supremacists and people who are generally racist, and there may be racist slurs and points of view expressed from time to time. The author does not agree with any of these. You have been warned.]
Winslow High School, Girls' Bathroom
Thursday, September 30th, 2010; 12:01 PM
Taylor
Winslow, I decided as I washed my hands, was considerably less unpleasant since Emma and Madison had been suspended and Sophia arrested. It wasn't so drastic an improvement that I was reconsidering the move to Arcadia, but I wasn't dreading just the
idea of coming to school every day either. And of course, seeing Greg in World Affairs and at lunch was always a definite boost to my day.
Greg … wow. I shook my head as I held my hands under the hot air jet. If anyone had asked me before summer break what I thought of Greg Veder, my answer would've fallen somewhere between 'who?' and 'obliviously irritating creep'. Even at the beginning of the new school year, when we were chosen for the internship, I'd fully expected his cluelessness to scuttle the whole idea for both of us.
But somehow, it hadn't. In fact, it had all worked out, better than I'd ever expected it could be. With a little direction and determination, Greg had managed to evolve from semi-housebroken puppy to a pit-bull steadfast in my defence. And in the process, he'd gone from hapless fellow intern to friend to … boyfriend?
It had been somewhat of a surprise to both of us to realise that we were effectively dating. We'd already been seeing each other exclusively and holding hands before that point, so all we'd really done was slap a label on it. Once my transfer to Arcadia went through, I was going to miss seeing him in school, but we'd still have Medhall and after school to spend time together.
My thoughts were interrupted by a bunch of girls barging into the bathroom, doors banging open and then shut again. I tensed momentarily, but none of them were people I recognized from Emma's coterie of assistant bullies. In fact, I was pretty sure I'd never interacted with them at all. So, I waited politely for them to get past so I could head for the cafeteria.
"Hey, it's Hebert." I wasn't sure who'd said it, but all eyes swung to me.
The four girls, two of whom were in my year and two from the year above, moved in my direction. Perhaps it was merely the case of long experience, but I began to get a bad feeling about this. I gripped the strap of my backpack more tightly, not sure what their intentions were.
"Excuse me," I said, pretending I hadn't heard one of them call me by name. "I just wanted to head down for lunch. Can I get past, please?" There was no harm in being polite, and rudeness just gave bullies an excuse.
Of course, if they
really wanted someone to bully, nothing would change matters, but I didn't want to make things worse.
"In a minute." The largest of the girls, a solidly built blonde with shoulder-length hair, stepped up to me. She was almost as tall as me, but built like the metaphorical brick outhouse. I had no doubt she could put me on the floor in any one of a dozen painful ways. "Want a word with you first."
"I'm listening." It wasn't as though I had any kind of options, here. And at least she'd spoken instead of punching me.
"I hear you and Veder disrespected the guys, the other day. They extended the hand of friendship, and you smacked them in the face with it." The girl did her best to loom over me. "That's not friendly. That's not friendly at all."
Her phrasing needed work, but I absolutely was not going to point that out to her. "No disrespect intended," I said as calmly and rationally as I could. Raising voices could only go one way, and that was 'badly'. "We're just not interested. Sorry."
"Not
interested?" That was another girl, with dark auburn hair, stepping up to the plate. "Hebert, for fuck's sake, Hess beat you up and was gonna shove you in your own fuckin' locker. She's been pulling this shit on you all fuckin'
year. How long were you going to let that nigger cooch hold it over you?"
Well, if I hadn't been certain who they were trying to recruit me for, that basically laid it out for me. "If it was just her, not long. But there were white girls doing it too.
Popular white girls. Or is it okay for white people to bully white people?" Maybe not the smartest thing for me to say, but I really didn't like the idea that they might think I was down with their brand of bullshit.
"'Course not," sneered the blonde. "But there's race traitors everywhere. Weaklings who let black scum order them around."
Logic clearly wasn't going to work with these people. It generally didn't, with idiots. They'd made up their minds, and that's all there was to it.
"So why didn't you do something about it before?" I asked. "Because I can't help noticing that you've waited until
after Greg kicked her ass to say anything."
"Kicked her ass?" retorted the second one. "
He was the one who got his ass kicked, Hebert. Your boyfriend isn't all that, and don't you forget it."
Belatedly, I remembered that nobody here knew that Sophia was Shadow Stalker. We were literally thinking about two different fights. "Right, right. Anyway, why
didn't you help me out six months ago?" If someone had offered assistance then … I may have taken it. That's how low I was.
"Didn't know if you were worth the time and effort," the blonde told me bluntly. "All you ever did was roll over and show your belly. But this time you fought back."
"Yeah, I fought back this time," I said bitterly. "It was the only time I was
able to. Because someone stepped up for me. Not one of you.
Greg stepped up. Because he doesn't care about waiting until he's got four-on-one odds. He cares about
me. You don't. And if you're not gonna step up when I need help, then I don't need you."
For a moment, I thought blondie was going to punch me, but she didn't. Instead, she leaned in close. "You just keep telling yourself that, Hebert. Sooner or later they're gonna come back, and Veder won't be any use at all. You'll come crawling to us then, and I hope I'm there to see it."
No they won't, and no I won't, because I'll be in Arcadia. But I didn't say a word, because I knew all too damn well how spiteful people could get if they thought the object of their derision was escaping their grasp. "We'll see," I said, and ducked past her.
I figured they wouldn't actually assault me (because that would be the
stupidest way ever of persuading me to join their little Heil-Hitler cult) but I didn't feel like actively provoking them to test that out. So once I got around the group, I just left. No snide remarks, no smart comments, as much as I wanted to.
Let them think they've won.
The inner door banged behind me, then the outer one. They didn't seem to be following me, which was a relief; my heart was racing and I had a sour taste in the back of my throat. That had been uncomfortably similar to my various encounters with Emma, Sophia and Madison over the last year.
How does that work, anyway? Do I have 'bully me' tattooed on my forehead?
Musing over the fact that even the assholes who
wanted me around were all too willing to be unpleasant if they didn't like the answers they got, I went looking for Greg. Whether I'd tell him about it or not, I wasn't sure; I didn't want to spoil our lunch together.
And then I heard the shouting. Normally I would've ignored it—settling scores with a little fisticuffs during lunch hour wasn't
totally unheard of among the guys—but one of the voices was Greg's. And it wasn't a high-pitched yelp of fear; instead, it sounded more like "Come get some!".
The fact that I'd never heard that particular phrase come out of my boyfriend's mouth was just
one of the reasons I broke into a run, right then.
<><>
Greg
"Hey, Veder."
Greg stopped scrolling through his phone and glanced around. He'd been aware that people were approaching him—since the thing with Shadow Stalker, he'd been paying more attention to his peripheral vision—but it wasn't Taylor, so he hadn't reacted. Perhaps, he realized after a second or so, he should've.
"Guys," he said, straightening up from where he was leaning against the wall. "Can I help you?"
For all his unconcerned tone, he recognized the boys now standing around him. They were the same ones who'd confronted him and Taylor on Tuesday, and it didn't look as though they were here to ask for tips on the math exam. Without taking his eyes off them, he slid his phone into his pocket, where it was less likely to be damaged.
"Yeah." The tallest of the boys moved forward half a step. "You can explain why you and Hebert think you're too good to hang out with us."
Greg thought fast. "Whoa, whoa, guys. We don't think we're '
too good' for anything. All I did was smack out Shadow Stalker, because she had it coming. It was just a one-off."
"Yeah, well, we think you're underselling yourself," another boy chimed in. "We figure you got the right stuff to be part of something bigger. And we made an offer in good faith and you've been telling us to fuck off. And that's just not polite. What do you think, guys?"
It was like what he was saying wasn't even registering on them. They had their script, and they were going to stick to it come hell or high water. This wasn't a
total surprise, but sometimes he wished things would actually turn out in a different way to expectations.
Well, okay, Taylor being his girlfriend was definitely not something he'd expected.
Fine, that's one miracle. Now how about another?
"Hey, nobody told anyone to fuck off." Bradley had explained that de-escalating a tense situation was a lot harder than escalating it. When people got past a certain point, they
wanted to fight. Looking them straight in the eyes could be seen as a challenge. So could certain gestures; pointing or jabbing with the fingers, among other things. With an effort, Greg didn't let the adrenaline in his bloodstream affect his voice as he spread his hands. He wanted to sound
boring. "You got your buddies. I got someone I want to hang with. We can just chalk this up to a misunderstanding and go our separate ways. No harm, no foul."
"No,
you're the one who doesn't understand," the first one said, pointing a finger at his face. "Hebert only wants to hang with you
because you kicked that black bitch's sorry butt. We can introduce you to girls who are way hotter than her. I can guarantee, you'll forget her skanky ass in a hot Brockton Bay minute, and she can go back to being the nobody she always was."
He shouldn't have reacted. He
knew he shouldn't have reacted. But there was
no way he was letting the insult to Taylor pass.
More of Bradley's advice came back to him.
If the other guy's pushing for a fight, he expects to get the first punch in. Get in there first.
"Ain't gonna …" Taking control of the guy's arm, he stepped in, turned, and heaved. With a startled yell, the asshole went up and over, then landed hard on his back. "…
happen!"
The rest of the Empire contingent stared in astonishment, but he knew that wasn't going to last. Lunging forward with his shoulder, he caught the second guy in the chest and knocked him off his feet.
If you're gonna fight, kid, go all in. Don't hold anything back. If they think you're nuts, they'll back off. Nobody wants to get in the ring with crazy.
There was shouting now, but he didn't care. His anger overrode his fear. "You want some?" Inexpertly swung, his fist still clipped the jaw of the nearest Empire asshole with enough force to make him step back. "Come get some, then!
Come get some!"
And that was when someone grabbed him from behind.
<><>
Taylor
It felt like an eternity before I reached the group of shouting students. Pushing and shoving through the crowd that had formed, I gasped with horror when I got to the front row.
I didn't know how long the fight had been going on, but Greg had already put two of them on the ground. Empire Eighty-Eight, for sure; these were the same ones who had confronted us already. But now, one was holding Greg's arms from behind while two others beat him up. Or tried to; he was struggling like a maniac and still shouting defiance, despite having a swelling lip and a bloody nose. Even as I watched, he lashed out with a kick that made them jump back.
This was my chance; as the one holding Greg's arms concentrated on maintaining his grasp, I stepped forward and swung my backpack in a two-handed arc, putting all my strength behind it. I hadn't taken the Book out since getting it back from Mr Gladly on Tuesday, and the World Affairs and Computer Studies textbooks weren't all that light, either. The pack caught the Empire guy in the side of the head with a dull
thump and he released Greg, staggering sideways.
"Leave him alone!" I screamed. "All of you, leave us both alone!"
I didn't even see whoever it was that came in from the side, but there was a stunning impact to the side of my face that sent me staggering sideways. Vaguely aware that I'd lost my glasses, I dropped my backpack and put my hands out to steady myself.
"You don't touch Taylor!" There was a rush and a
thud as (I presumed) Greg barrelled the guy who'd hit me into the wall. He certainly sounded pissed-off enough to do it.
The ringing in my head eased enough for me to catch my bearings and my balance, and I looked around. Even without my glasses, I could still see well enough that we were surrounded by Empire guys, and their expressions were not in the least bit friendly. Greg was trying to put the guy he'd rammed into the wall in an armlock, but the guy was fighting back, and it looked like it could go either way.
And then I heard the sweetest sound in the word. An angry teacher clearing their throat. "Mr Veder, let Mr Ferguson go! Exactly what is going
on here?"
Well, I told myself as the Empire guys melted back into the crowd.
Better late than never, I guess.
I should've known better.
<><>
An Hour Later
Principal Blackwell's Office
Greg
It was amazing. One bunch of bullies had just been taken off Taylor's case, and these guys seemed to have decided it was their job to step in and take up where Emma and company had left off. While their whole mission seemed to be different, Greg was no more in favour of it that he had been of Emma and Madison's little power games.
He sat alongside his mother in the conference room. Taylor sat next to him, with her dad at her side. The three Empire guys who'd been caught on the spot had their fathers along as well, all managing to look clean-cut and law-abiding. The guy who'd punched Taylor and knocked her glasses off—she'd retrieved them, though the frames were slightly askew now—was apparently called Peter Ferguson.
His father, Edward Ferguson, looked downright prosperous.
"All we did was offer them a place in our after-school activities group," Peter explained. He was tall, well-built, and had such a persuasive way of talking that even Greg was half-convinced, and he'd
been there. "For some reason, they took offense and physically attacked us."
Taylor made a rude noise. "'
After-school activities group', my ass," she said derisively. "That's nothing but a—"
"Ms Hebert!" Principal Blackwell said sharply. "I've done everything by the book for this meeting. Your father was contacted, and we're sitting down to see if we can mediate an equitable outcome for all concerned. Now, Mr Ferguson was polite in his statement. Perhaps you can reciprocate."
"Polite, okay." Taylor drew a deep breath. "Those three are Empire Eighty-Eight. They've been—"
"Now, hold on a minute." The elder Ferguson raised his hand as he spoke. "I'm sorry for interrupting, young lady, but are you insinuating that my son is involved with a
known criminal organization within this city?"
Taylor raised her chin and looked him right in the eye. Greg had never been prouder of her than this moment. "No, Mr Ferguson. I'm not insinuating. I'm
saying. Between the note they left me and Greg and what he himself said—"
"Excuse me again. I'm very sorry for this," he said, raising his hand again. "What note is this?"
Greg cleared his throat. "Last week, after the Shadow Stalker thing at the Medhall building. A bunch of guys, including these three, dropped a note on our table during lunch. It said something about how we seemed to be strong, right-thinking people, and invited us to join a 'club' of people with similar views."
"Taylor asked me about it," Mr Hebert interjected. "The phrase 'right-thinking' has always been a favourite with white-supremacist groups. We've had enough trouble dealing with them in the past in the Dockworkers. I advised her to stay well clear."
"
Really?" Edward Ferguson raised a polite eyebrow. "A single chance phrase that a bunch of teenagers use in an invitation note, and you're blowing this out into Empire Eighty-Eight membership?" His tone lowered, as did the brow. "I'm just going to say this once. Peter is a fine boy, with very strong prospects. Such an unfounded accusation could destroy his future career before it ever takes off. I would be
very careful about what you say about him without good, strong evidence that can be backed up in a court of law."
Before Taylor could react, Mr Hebert matched Mr Ferguson's tone. "And I'd be careful about what tone you use with my daughter. If your boy's done what she says he's done, then it's about time he faced the music." He turned back to Taylor. "You were saying?"
"We
wanted to just let it slide and walk away," Taylor protested. "But they confronted us on Tuesday." She pointed at Peter Ferguson. "He
said that we needed the protection of the Empire Eighty-Eight!"
Peter blinked, looking nothing less than astonished. It was an amazing portrayal of innocence, neither too wooden nor over-acted. "I said …
what again, now?"
"I heard it too," Greg said firmly. "He said that exact name, as I'm sitting here. I'd swear to it on a stack of Bibles."
Edward Ferguson gave his son a measured look, then turned to Taylor. His expression was entirely open and reasonable. Greg didn't trust it for an instant. But as he opened his mouth to speak, Danny Hebert cleared his throat again.
"Mr Ferguson," Taylor's dad said firmly. "Do us all a favour and address your questions through Principal Blackwell."
Ferguson's jaw hardened, but he nodded. "Fair enough. I just need to ask Taylor one question. After my son apparently admitted to holding a membership in a criminal organization, who did she report this to? Principal Blackwell? Her father? The police? The Parahuman Response Teams? Surely she was concerned enough to report it to
someone."
Blackwell tilted her head as though considering the question, then she nodded. "That's fair," she allowed. "Taylor, did you actually report this to anyone?"
Taylor's face froze. She drew in a shuddering breath. "Why?" she demanded. "Reporting stuff did me no good for the last year."
"We're dealing with that right now, Taylor," Blackwell said hastily. "So you didn't report it?"
"No," Taylor replied coldly. "We didn't."
"Hmm." Mr Ferguson turned his attention to Greg, then just as smoothly looked at the school principal. "Could you ask Mr Veder if he reported it to anyone, or even discussed with Ms Hebert whether or not to say anything? Or did he just choose to do
nothing about this blatant admission of criminal activity?"
Before Principal Blackwell could ask the question, Greg shook his head. "I didn't do anything about it." The admission left a sour taste in his mouth, but it was the truth.
"Greg, honey, why not?" His mom put her arm around him for a hug. "You know I would've listened."
He hated the feeling he got that he'd let her down. "We just … wanted to be done with it."
"And there you have it." Edward Ferguson sighed. "Curious, isn't it, that the thing they were apparently so concerned about last week, that they bring up today to excuse the fight, was never so much as mentioned to a
parent when it happened?"
"Hey, that's not fair," Greg protested. "Like Taylor said, she spent all last school year being ignored by everyone."
"In fairness, Taylor," Principal Blackwell noted, "you told your father about the note. Why didn't you get back to him about this, if only to tell him he'd been correct?"
"We just didn't want anything to do with it, or them," Taylor tried to explain. "But Mr Gladly was there. We told
him that they were trying to recruit us at the time."
"But not who they were trying to recruit you
for?" Mr Ferguson had a very expressive line of raised eyebrows. At the last second, he seemed to recall that he was supposed to be addressing Principal Blackwell, and turned to her. "Did Mr Gladly contact you about this, at all?"
"He did not," Principal Blackwell admitted grimly. "I'll be speaking to him about this, afterward. Ms Hebert, did you make it plain to him where the recruitment attempt was coming from?"
"We
thought he'd know what we meant," Greg protested.
"Principal Blackwell." Mr Ferguson was the very picture of patience. "Could you please ask Mr Veder if he actually told Mr Gladly outright that my son had admitted to being part of a criminal gang?"
The answer was clear to all concerned, but Greg shook his head anyway. "Well, no."
Blackwell's grim look intensified. "If he understood, as you say, then he should at least have reported this to me."
Mentally, Greg rolled his eyes.
Yeah, that'll happen, right after he does karaoke with the Simurgh.
The inference was clear. Without ever actually calling them liars, Mr Ferguson had gone a long way toward undermining their credibility in saying that Peter had admitted to being in the Empire Eighty-Eight. He was right in one way, however; it was their fault that they hadn't told a single authority figure about the encounter.
Taylor evidently had the same idea. "Well, anyway, today they tried again. This time, it was the girls in the bathroom for me while the boys cornered Greg out in the corridor."
"Which girls?" asked Principal Blackwell, picking up a pen. "Can you give me their names? What did they say?"
"I—I know their faces, but not their names," Taylor admitted. "But they asked me why I wasn't joining, and referred to Sophia with really racist terms."
"Did they assault you? Call you names? Steal your property?" Blackwell had the pen poised over her pad now. Greg could almost hear her thinking,
Give me something, anything I can act on …
"No, none of that." Taylor shook her head. "They just said I'd come crawling to them when the bullies came back. That was when I walked out."
"And you, Mr Veder?" Principal Blackwell turned to Greg, her eyes laser focused. "Tell me about
your encounter. The one Coach Sorensen walked in on."
Greg shook off his sense of frustration. He had to get this right. "Okay, Peter and his buddies there, plus some others—" the other two, he now knew, were called Bronson and George, from the introductions that had taken place, "—came up to me and started pressuring me over why I didn't want to join. Like Taylor said happened in the bathroom, they were using some pretty racist terms. They were acting like we'd disrespected them by not accepting. I said no, and tried to wind it down. Then Peter said some nasty stuff about Taylor, how she only hung out with me because I beat up on Sophia, and how he could introduce me to way hotter girls and she could go back to being a skanky nobody. That's when I, um, got mad and did a hip throw on him."
Principal Blackwell's pen froze in midair. "—
you made the first hostile move?" she asked, as if hoping that he would retract his statement.
"Wait, wait." Edward Ferguson had a look of faint disbelief on his face. "Young man, you're saying that
you threw
my son? Successfully?" Turning, he stared at Peter, whose face had turned beet red.
Greg had no idea where this was going, but he'd already admitted to doing the throw. "Well, yeah. He made it easy. He was sticking his finger in my face, so I just grabbed his arm. I did it the way Bradley, uh, Mr Fieldmark, showed me, and I made sure not to hurt him," he added belatedly. Bradley had explained to him the difference between throws that put people on the ground, and throws that
hurt.
"Bradley …
Fieldmark?" Mr Ferguson seemed about to ask more questions, then stopped.
"Yeah." Greg nodded. "He's the head of security at Medhall. Him and Ms Jurist have been showing me a few moves since the Shadow Stalker thing."
"Hmm. I see." Edward Ferguson rubbed his chin between forefinger and thumb. "Well, he
had insulted your girlfriend, and he
was poking his finger in your chest … carry on. What happened after that?"
Greg wasn't at all sure about where this turnaround came from, but Mr Ferguson seemed a lot less antagonistic now. "Well, um, Bronson was right there, and Mr Fieldmark told me that if you start a fight against longer odds, you keep going full-on and maybe the other guys'll back off. So I shoulder-slammed him and he fell over, and then there was another guy, he's not here, and I tried to punch him and that didn't really work, and then George grabbed me from behind, and Peter and Bronson started hitting me …"
Taylor raised her hand. "And that was when I came in. I hit George on the side of the head with my backpack to make him let Greg go, and then someone punched me and knocked my glasses off."
"That was Peter." Greg took up the tale again. "He was better at staying on his feet than Bronson, but I charged him into the wall and I was trying to get him in an arm-bar, but he kept getting out of it, and that's when Mr Sorensen showed up."
"Well, then." Mr Ferguson glanced at Bronson's and George's fathers, then back to Principal Blackwell. "I believe the sequence of events is clear to see."
"You're damn right it's clear to see," Mr Hebert snapped. "Your boy and his friends aggressively pushed Taylor and Greg to join whatever 'club' this might be, provoked Greg with a finger to the chest, and insulted Taylor to his face. They're not sliding out of this one while Taylor and Greg take the fall."
"Well, no, and I wouldn't ask Ms Blackwell to countenance such a miscarriage of justice," Mr Ferguson responded smoothly. "While I personally believe that Peter and his friends meant well deep down, they acted rashly, phrased things badly, and in general contributed strongly to the eventual conflict. However, while I have sympathy for Taylor and Greg, the fact remains that they
did initiate active hostilities." He turned to Principal Blackwell. "I propose that all involved face exactly the same penalties, favouring neither one side nor the other. Perhaps a little light suspension to drive the message home, then the slate is wiped clean? No hard feelings on either side?"
Principal Blackwell frowned. Greg could see her problem; given her current legal situation, she had to be trying hard to appear absolutely non-partisan in the matter. "Mr diAngelo, Mr Alfred, does Mr Ferguson speak for you in this matter?"
The fathers of the other two boys nodded in unison. "Yes," Mr diAngelo said. "He does. Equal punishment for everyone."
The principal made a note on her pad, then turned to Taylor's dad and Greg's mom. "Mr Hebert, Ms Veder, do you agree with this solution?"
Mr Hebert glanced past Taylor and Greg to Greg's mom and raised his eyebrows in query. After a moment, she nodded. He turned back to Principal Blackwell. "I want it down on the record that I believe this is mainly the fault of Peter and his friends—if they'd just backed off, all of this could've been avoided—but for the sake of having it over and done with, I will agree to
light suspension only for all parties, and no punishment that might interfere with the internships." He took a breath. "And for Peter and his friends to apologise to Taylor and Greg
here and now for their pressuring tactics, and for them and their friends to stay the
hell away from Taylor and Greg."
Principal Blackwell wrote busily for a few seconds. "Down on the record … hmm … light suspension … internships … staying away." Then she raised her head to look at Mr Ferguson. "Do you agree to that last addendum?"
"I do." He turned a stern eye on his son. "Peter?"
Drawing a deep breath, Peter stood up. Whether he gave a signal or not, Greg couldn't tell, but Bronson and George stood as well. "Taylor, Greg, I'm sorry for us pushing you to join like that. We were way out of line." Whether he meant it or not, Peter still managed to sound absolutely sincere. "We won't bother you anymore. Right, guys?"
"Right." Bronson nodded.
"Totally," agreed George.
"Well, then." Edward Ferguson dusted his hands off almost cheerfully as the boys sat down again. "Does that satisfy the requirements?"
Mr Hebert nodded. "It does. Just don't let it happen again."
"Oh, I have no intention of
that." Mr Ferguson turned his attention to Principal Blackwell. "We appear to have reached an accord. Your final judgement, ma'am?"
She ticked off something on her pad and nodded. "If both parties are in agreement, then I will institute a general suspension, starting right now, on Peter Ferguson, Bronson diAngelo, George Alfred, Greg Veder and Taylor Hebert. This suspension will last until Monday morning, by which time I expect
all of you to have let go
all ill feeling that might have arisen from the matter. I will also inform your respective teachers to not require homework from you. You
will be expected to keep up your studies in the meantime. Does anyone have a problem with any of this?" Her tone said,
Nobody better have a problem.
Greg's mom shook her head, as did Mr Hebert. "We're fine with it," he said.
"As are we," declared Mr Ferguson. He stood up and walked around the table toward Mr Hebert. "I've heard much about you. It's a pity that we had to meet under such inauspicious circumstances."
"Could definitely have been better, yes. But so long as this is over and done with, I'm good." Mr Hebert shook his hand.
Greg turned to Taylor as everyone else began to get up and drift out of the room. "Is that it?" he asked in an undertone.
"Well, it went a lot better than most every other time I complained to the principal," Taylor murmured. "At least this time, the other guys copped it on the chin too."
"True." Greg grinned. "You know what this means?"
Taylor looked at him queryingly. "What?"
"Long weekend." He held up his hand in a high-five.
She returned it, then raised a finger. "Long weekend with
bruises. Don't forget Saturday afternoon."
"Oh." All of a sudden, the weekend looked a lot less attractive. "Oh, boy."
<><>
Taylor
As we walked out of the school—Mr Ferguson's contingent staying a careful distance away from ours—Dad turned to me. "In there, when you said that young Ferguson directly mentioned the Empire Eighty-Eight, you weren't exaggerating, were you? He said those literal words, not something that suggested them?"
I looked him in the eye. "He said, and I quote, 'You need the protection of the Empire Eighty-Eight'. Those words, exactly."
"That's more than a little scary," Ms Veder said. "Do you think he's really a part of it, or was he talking himself up to impress Greg and Taylor?"
That was definitely a scary thought. The Empire Eighty-Eight didn't recruit in schools as a matter of course, not like the ABB did. I'd seen the pamphlets the school counsellor had for Asian kids in case they were approached. This was totally different. If Peter wasn't just boasting, this meant that the Empire had a presence in the schools, even if they didn't sit around with swastika tattoos, sporting the red and black.
Greg had a pensive look on his face. "And how hard his dad was trying to downplay it … was that because he doesn't want people thinking his kid's a member … or is he a member too?"
I blinked. Mr Ferguson was as far away from the pop culture image of an Empire Eighty-Eight member as anyone could get. For one thing, he was obviously rich, well-educated, and cultured as
fuck. No shaven head, tattoos, leather jackets, or anything else that screamed '
racist prick' …
… just like Peter himself, in fact.
In fact, while Peter had been offensively direct when he was talking to us out of adult hearing, he'd also been as smoothly persuasive as his father when it came to talking to Blackwell.
It was something to think about.
"I considered that," Dad said soberly. "And that was why I didn't push the Empire angle in the meeting, or after it. Better to let them think that we're not taking it seriously than to possibly make a high-ranking member think we
are. Because that's a good way of ending up under the foundations of an overpass."
"Oh," said Ms Veder. "Oh, dear. Do you think we're in danger? Is
Greg in danger?"
Dad looked thoughtful for a moment. "I … don't think so," he said at last. "I hope not. Ferguson was not in the slightest bit happy that his boy let that slip, and if anything untoward happened to any of us after this, it's on record that young Peter was accused of being a member. That's something any one of Ferguson's business rivals would give his eyeteeth to find out about, and if it came out as part of a potential murder case … well." He didn't have to finish that particular statement. "The best way to draw attention to something is to try to silence the people saying it, after all."
"Well,
I'm not going to go blabbing it far and wide," Greg said hastily. "They can
be in the Empire. I'll be over here, minding my own business."
"Me, too," I agreed, taking his hand.
Though I couldn't help wondering. If Mr Ferguson really was a member like Greg thought, that meant they could literally be
anywhere, at any level of business. I began to wonder exactly how good Medhall's vetting process was. The last thing Mr Anders would want was for white supremacists to infiltrate his company. The damage they could do to the good name of the business would be catastrophic.
<><>
Medhall Building
Midday, Friday, October 1st
Greg
The bus pulled up at the stop with its customary squeal of brakes. Greg climbed out of his seat, then stepped back to allow Taylor to stand up as well and lead the way off the bus. She was already dressed in her office clothing, which Greg still thought made her look like a million bucks. The only flaw in the picture was the bruise on her cheekbone, which she'd done her best to hide with makeup.
While he wasn't pleased that she'd taken the hit—if he could've put Peter
through the wall, he would've—he was proud of her for stepping up and clocking George with her backpack. Anyone else would've just stood back and done nothing, he just knew it.
Not my Taylor.
Keeping an eye out for errant bag-snatchers, they crossed the sidewalk and climbed the stairs to the front doors of the Medhall building. The heavy glass panels rumbled aside, and they entered the climate-controlled interior. Taylor produced her Medhall ID and swiped her way through the turnstile, with Greg right behind her.
"Miss Hebert, Mr Veder," said Brian politely. "Good to see you … wait. Are you okay? Did someone hit you? Did this happen at school?"
Taylor turned her head away. "It's okay. I'm fine. No real harm done."
"Sorry, no." Brian picked up a phone. "Mr Fieldmark gave us instructions to contact him immediately if it looked like you'd been getting bullied again. And from the bruises on Mr Veder's face, it looks like someone's been doing a lot more than call you unpleasant names." He lowered his voice and spoke a few terse phrases into the phone.
Greg glanced at Taylor, who shrugged. The burly security head of Medhall was a force of nature unto himself. It was readily apparent that the smoothest course of action was to answer his questions.
"Okay, we can wait," agreed Taylor. She stepped aside from the turnstile and smoothed her skirt down. "So how've you been, anyway? Settling in okay?"
"Oh, yeah, it's good here." Brian put the phone down, then leaned back in his chair a little and smiled. "I want to thank you two for putting in a good word for me. I think it really helped."
"Pfft, yeah, right," Greg said dismissively. "You had it in the bag and we all know it."
The elevator opened and Bradley stepped out. He walked over to the security desk, glanced at the monitor screens, and nodded to Brian. "Any other problems?"
"No, sir," Brian replied respectfully. "Just the thing with Ms Hebert and Mr Veder."
"Got it. Half an hour, take a lunch break." Bradley turned to Greg and Taylor. "Come on."
They followed him—there wasn't much choice being given in the matter—into the depths of the building, until he swiped a door open into what turned out to be a break room of some kind, with a table, chairs and a kitchenette. Parking his butt up against the table, he folded his arms as he studied them both. Greg would've bet good money Bradley could even tell where he was bruised under his work shirt.
"Okay," Bradley grunted at last. "Tell me everything that happened, from the top."
Greg shared a glance with Taylor. "Uhh … part of it, we're not supposed to tell
anyone."
Bradley frowned. "Why? Does it involve a cape's secret identity?"
"Not a cape, no," Taylor explained. "But …" She paused for a moment. Greg could tell the exact instant she decided,
Screw it, we can trust Bradley. "… it involves someone being in the Empire Eighty-Eight, and that's kind of dangerous knowledge. So you can't tell
anyone, okay?"
Bradley nodded firmly. "Secrets like that, I can definitely keep. Spill."
So they told him about the note and the followup confrontation, then finished off with each side of Thursday's fight. It took a little while, but between the two of them and some clarifying questions on his part, they managed to lay it out for him. Greg was glad he wasn't on the other side of the equation; when Taylor described how she'd been sucker-punched by Peter, the big man's fists clenched hard.
"Dad says the safest thing is to keep quiet about it," Taylor concluded. "I mean, we've got no evidence except what Peter said, and he could've been lying to make himself look good. So even if the police acted on it with no repercussions, we could just be overreacting. He might be an arrogant jerk, but I wouldn't wish that on him."
Bradley nodded. "That's all true," he conceded. "Your dad's a smart man. I'd follow his advice from now on. Don't either of you say a word about the Empire to anyone else. If someone wants to know, refer 'em to me."
"Absolutely," agreed Greg, with Taylor chiming in a moment later.
"Good." Bradley waved his hands in a shooting motion. "Now, go to work. Git."
They got.
<><>
Medhall Building
Office of Max Anders
Kaiser
Max looked up as his intercom chimed. "Yes?"
"Sir, Mr Fieldmark to see you."
"Send him in." He leaned back in his chair and flicked the unobtrusive switch under his desk that set the floor-to-ceiling windows vibrating in harmonic patterns, designed to mess with laser microphones. The office had been swept just that morning, so he was currently unworried about physical bugs. The reason for all these precautions was simple: Bradley rarely came to him during work hours, and never for mundane problems. Those were routinely dealt with over the phone.
Bradley entered, closing the door behind him. His thumb flicked the lock across; if Max had needed any more proof that this was a serious situation, that was it.
"Take a seat," Max invited. "What's on your mind?" Reaching down to the bar fridge built into the desk, he selected one of Bradley's beers by touch, and sent it skidding over the desk.
Bradley caught it, then lowered himself into one of the visitor chairs. "We might have a problem with the Ferguson kid," he said, and popped the top off the beer with his thumb. As the cap landed neatly in the wastepaper basket, he took a long pull of the brew.
Max paused in the act of pouring himself a finger of bourbon and frowned. "Peter?" The boy had two younger sisters, but he couldn't imagine that Bradley was referring to either of the girls. Peter was his nephew and one of the front-runners for inheriting from Max if Theo somehow managed to make himself unavailable. As such, he was smart, athletic and was growing into a fine young man. "What happened?"
Bradley growled deep in his throat. "Little shit must've heard Ferguson talking about how great it would to have Taylor Hebert and Greg Veder in the Empire, so him and his buds decided to recruit her."
"Oh, for
fuck's sake." Max face-palmed. He didn't often swear, but he suspected this warranted it. "How badly did he screw it up?"
"When they turned him down the first time, he doubled down. Things got heated. The girl's got a bruise where Ferguson junior punched her in the face. Oh, and he apparently told both of them that they needed the protection of the Empire."
And that was almost as bad as it could get. "Please tell me he didn't let anything slip that connects him or his father to Medhall. Such as him being my nephew."
For a mercy, Bradley shook his head. "Nothing like that, no."
"Good." Ignoring the glass in front of him, Max put his fingertips to his head and did his best to think coherently. "Send word to Ferguson and the boy. I want to see them tonight."
"Sure thing, boss." Bradley finished the bottle then lobbed it into the basket and got up. He unlocked the door on the way out.
Max emptied the glass and poured another. Ed Ferguson was his brother-in-law, and played a moderately important role in one of Medhall's subsidiaries, but the fact remained that he was replaceable. Literally anyone could do his job.
On the other hand, he had Taylor Hebert who, in the short time she'd worked for Medhall, had saved him in the region of a million dollars' worth of potential losses, in the course of simply
doing her job. And that wasn't even counting her exemplary performance going above and beyond for the company.
If it came down to a choice between blood and talent, he would choose talent every time.
Now, how to best phrase that so Ferguson and his irritating little spawn got the message?
End of Part Fifteen