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U.S. ARMY RANGER TRAINING BRIGADE
TUESDAY 0845 HRS
Marine Major William Billy' Collins glanced at the clock in his temporary office. He had fifteen minutes before his meeting with Col. Ulrich. He wasn't looking forward to this. Nerves weren't the issue, it was all about personality conflict. Colonel Ulrich was the type of old guard that believed his Command was his Kingdom and he was the King. And King Ulrich did NOT like the Pentagon playing games with his Airborne Course and Ranger School. His resentment for the presence of Major Collins came through loud and clear. Full Bird Colonel Ulrich also detested what he referred to as weakening his training course and creating a bunch of toy soldiers'. Collins had to laugh at that, privately of course. Col. Ulrich had been given command of the Airborne and Ranger Training Brigade three years ago. It wasn't `his'. And what he referred to as weakening had more to do with the policy change after the Vietnam War ended to allow the Airborne and Ranger Schools to become an open opportunity for any soldier who could qualify. In the shake-up and draw down of U.S. forces for peacetime you had more soldiers leaving the service than joining up. The Pentagon needed incentive, and training was incentive. A campaign of promoting the military as way to develop skills you couldn't get in the civilian world was put forth by the PR and marketing firms that were hired to improve the public image of joining the military. The unpopularity of the Vietnam War had really done a number on recruitment. But that wasn't the worst of it. Without personnel, they couldn't justify their budgets to Congress. And the Ford and Carter Administration had gutted them. Fortunately, Reagan and Bush understood the need to keep a well equipped military and keep up recruitment numbers. But now with Clinton there was talk of base closures and bloated budgets again. Hell, entire Commands were being considered for dissolution. Brigades and Battalions gone, Fighter groups decommissioned, it seemed every week some new plan came down from Heaven to combine units, and cut money from some program or training. And they were only a month into Clinton's first term. Nothing was set in stone yet, but the shake-up was coming. President Clinton certainly wasn't winning any votes from military personnel starting off like this.
But all that was above Collins' pay grade and honestly he knew none of it mattered. His focus at the Naval Academy was Military History. This was the normal ebb and flow of a country's martial presence. Certain administrations found excuses to increase the military, found conflicts to get involved in (nearly all of which weren't even a minor threat to the U.S.), spent money on new, fancy planes, boats, and weapons. Then there was an almost equal amount of administrations who focused on pulling back, cutting budgets, limiting promotions and weeding out dead weight personnel, ending weapons programs, decommissioning outdated equipment, decreasing stockpiles. When you looked at it overall, there was a natural balance. And the most impressive part was the country never shirked when a REAL threat presented itself. Collins always laughed secretly at the old guard officers and NCO's who whined about how they're weakening the military' or back in my day soldiers were tough'. One thing was ALWAYS true: Leadership set the tone. So if there was any weakness manifesting it fell squarely on the shoulders of this `old guard' because they dictated policy and direction. Essentially, just like Sergeants told their green recruits: find a way to succeed with what you're given.
And that was exactly why Collins was here sticking his nose into Col. Ulrich's Airborne and Ranger Training program. There was enough history with homosexual troops to recognize the military didn't have a performance issue with those troops. They had a behavioral issue with the heterosexual troops. Study after study, as well as post-discharge examination of individual service records and unit records indicated homosexual troops performed right in line with all other personnel, to the exact percentage in everything from rank achievement, mission success, job performance, every marker they could look at. In fact, strangely enough, those units who discharged suspected or admitted homosexuals saw absolutely no increase or decrease in achievements, success, or mission goals before or after the discharge. Those units didn't perform worse when a homosexual was present, and they didn't perform better when a homosexual was removed. Which said to anyone looking that the policy against homosexuality because it affected the mission had no basis in fact. But, the Pentagon already knew that, because in WWII, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War unless a soldier was blatant and open about it, every single branch refused every request for discharge based on suspected homosexuality. The sad part of that was those troops would have been safer with a dishonorable discharge than left to the unmerciful personal justice of their unit. And that was a failure of leadership. Still, there were far more examples of a unit that overlooked or ignored such activity within its ranks than there were examples of street justice. Collins had spent months piecing together a picture from research. This wasn't a new issue.
That was the entire reason for this test program. The dynamic needed a focused and eyes-on determination of what happened within a unit from the very start, through low and high pressure situations, training, missions and even off duty down time. From that, he was tasked with outlining a policy that the military could live with. He'd presented the general idea of this test program four years ago to his Commander and he'd gotten the green light to develop it into a working model. As with everything, the military moved slow. At that time it wasn't a priority and he wasn't to spend too much time on it. But slowly, along with a couple other officers and even one civilian at the Pentagon they'd fleshed out a very controlled program. The beauty of it was that he'd created it as a double blind study. The subjects, Private Harris and his Bravos, Lamont and his Charlies, and the other two Platoons, had no idea why. Nor did their Sergeants, Lieutenants, or anyone below the highest levels.
It actually surprised Collins to find out Harris and Lamont had been chosen for leadership of their Platoons. Collins' team had selected Private Harris specifically because his background check indicated he had a boyfriend in High School, one Kevin Copeland. That wasn't certain though, as he was also reported to have a girlfriend, who was now at USC. From the time of his enlistment Harris hadn't had a single romantic interaction that could be identified, with men or women, and there had been no contact with either the suspected boyfriend or the girlfriend until his father's funeral.
Private Lamont was a different matter. There were quite a few rumors from his old unit and Collins' team had put surveillance on him off duty when he was being considered for this program and it turned out Lamont was quite active with men sexually. Exclusively men. Numerous men. But in spite of the rumors in his unit, his fellow troops, his Sergeant and his Lieutenant said he was an exceptional soldier. When specifically asked about the rumors, both the Sergeant and Lieutenant shrugged and said `Rumors. You know how units are. He doesn't seem the type to me, and no one's brought any accusations.' Their wording was almost identical, as if rehearsed.
That was another aspect to this he'd have to put in his report. Whether Lamont's Sergeant and Lieutenant knew anything or not they'd chosen to protect either Lamont or the unit from scrutiny. One or the other was true, perhaps both, but that dynamic couldn't be discounted. Any external investigation into a single troop or the unit as a whole was considered disruptive. Any kind of investigation. No one liked that sort of thing. So, either the Sergeant and Lieutenant liked Lamont and were protecting him, or they didn't want these outsiders making a mess in their unit. But either way, the underlying message was that they didn't feel Lamont's suspected homosexuality was a big enough deal to warrant disruption of their day-to-day. And that in itself spoke volumes: Lamont wasn't a problem, not for them, and not for their troops. That was exactly the sort of thing this test program was trying to determine.
The other two Platoons chosen for this program, the Alphas and the Deltas were also operating smoothly and had performed well in phase 1. Because they had ranked 3rd and 4th though they were steered towards other training for phase 2. Collins had already figured out most of the reason why Harris and Lamont were so successful with their Platoons as both seemed to be natural leaders who set an example for their troops, identified weaknesses and developed them into strengths. For instance, Private Sendahl and Private Evans, the troublemaker twins, Wanker and Bootlicker. Privately, Collins was curious how they got those nicknames, but in any other unit those two would probably have been busted down or even booted for their activities. In their previous units both had numerous black marks and reports for conduct, discipline and being where they were not authorized but had never been caught doing anything that violated the UCMJ, even if Collins suspected both actually HAD. But, doing something and getting caught doing something were two different things. Somehow though in the Bravos, Harris was able to keep them from getting out of hand and instead steered the two in a way that utilized their crafty intelligence for resourcefulness instead of trouble. Before phase 1, Collins would have put money on those two being the ones to rat out the homosexual troops. Both Privates seemed hell bent on discovering secrets and using them to their advantage. But Harris identified that they were kindred spirits so he paired them up, while overlooking everything that wasn't a major offense, even purposing their talents to often help the Platoon. Basically, instead of cracking down on them, he made them feel like their skills were a valuable contribution. Because of that, no one saw them as the troublemakers. In other units, they'd be considered a weak link, a problem to be disciplined and never treated as part of the team. Harris just somehow knew they needed focus and purpose, so he gave it to them. The simplicity of the solution impressed Collins. When Harris encountered a problem, he turned it into an opportunity. With a leader like that any unit would push themselves to go the extra mile.
Collins glanced at the clock again. It was time to deal with Ulrich and as distasteful as he found the man personally he couldn't avoid coordinating with him for the program's transition to Ranger School.
BOOTLICKER
After the success of selling the answer key to his 6th grade History test, Peter was looking for his next opportunity to make money. The key to not getting caught was in not getting greedy. He knew to stay away from the good kids, the rule followers, the ones who would tattle to the teacher. Besides, they didn't need to cheat to pass the test and he wasn't going to make any serious money off them anyway, plus money was just a way to keep score. No, his target market was the lazy kids, the stupid ones. Peter hadn't stolen the answer key for himself, he could pass that test with his eyes closed. He could read the chapters and the facts just stayed in his head. The tests and homework were almost disgustingly easy for him. And the stupid and lazy kids were easy marks and so eager to give him every dollar they had. He'd lucked across the answer key one day when he went up to Mr. Houston's desk to ask him if he needed any help with anything and saw the key for the next test peeking out from under some other papers.
Peter loved that he had Mr. Houston fooled. Mr. Houston actually liked him because he made sure to act interested and he always participated in class, plus he made good grades. Teachers always liked the students who made good grades. It made them feel like they were good teachers. Once he realized that aspect of teachers when he was 8, he understood how he could make school easy. Teachers were really dumb and so easy to manipulate but they weren't any different than other adults. The kids who struggled, or caused trouble in class were treated like prisoners, viewed with distrust and basically watched for any infraction. Peter though was given every benefit of the doubt, a ton of freedom, and was easily forgiven for tardiness and a hundred other little things that students often got in trouble for. It was never a question that he finished his work early and when he did he always volunteered to do something in the classroom that the teacher needed. Yeah, they fucking loved that. What made it all even better was they never suspected him of any wrong doing. Nothing made him feel warmer inside than getting away with a scheme purely by virtue of the belief that the smart, helpful, eager and charming kid would NEVER do something bad.
So lifting the answer key while Mr. Houston was away from his desk was easy. A brief moment in which Mr. Houston's back was turned was all he needed, passing by the desk to go to the pencil sharpener and a casual grab and it was in his hands. After he copied it all down in his notebook at his desk (which only made him look like he was crunching away at homework) another moment of inattention was all he needed to slip it back exactly where it was before. He remembered exactly which pile, how much was sticking out, which other papers it was found between.
Then by the end of the next day he had $64 of desperately surrendered lunch money. Honestly, he owed his success in part to teacher laziness. Multiple choice tests meant the teachers didn't have to spend so much time grading, and Peter didn't have to copy out test questions. Plus, all the answers fit on a small easily hidden scrap of paper.
He also figured out that his copies couldn't have ALL the correct answers. He diligently substituted deliberately wrong answers in his copies so that the grades would vary between a 85 and a 91. Mid B's and low A's were far better than most of his clientele usually got, and not so high that a stupid, lazy kid couldn't achieve with a little luck, especially on a multiple choice test. Plus, he figured he was doing the teacher a huge favor. Higher test scores made it look like they were actually good teachers. Overall, Peter felt he was helping everyone and they all got something out of the deal. While he couldn't care less if others benefited, it did make him feel like they should be grateful he put in all that effort.
"What's next?" He thought. He was toying with some kind of pay to play game at lunch time. He'd recently read a magazine article about how carnival games were rigged in favor of the carnival and he felt that held some potential. He was afraid that the lunch monitors wouldn't allow it once they knew the kids were giving him money. Plus, he hadn't quite decided on what game. That might be more suited to an after school thing, maybe on the bus or in the neighborhood. That was something still in development. Also on the list was learning how to stack cards and do tricks, which had the potential to be a good regular source of income. He'd have to be good though, which meant a lot of practice. He'd checked out a couple books that described how it was done, so he had the knowledge, he just needed the skill. In the movie The Sting, Robert Redford and Paul Newman said the best con was one in which the mark thought they knew how the game worked, but the trick was that it was all a distraction from the REAL con. The Sting had to be his favorite movie of all time. The elegance and complexity of Redford and Newman's plot sent shivers up his spine and he often imagined himself in a career as a con man. If you were good, you could fake your way into any situation, be whoever you wanted, do whatever you wanted, and people would just hand over their money with a smile. They'd even thank you for doing them the favor of taking their money. By the time they realized it was all a trick, you were gone. At 11, Peter had it all figured out.
"Mr. and Mrs. Evans, thanks for coming in." Principal Nichols said. Peter Evans' parents sat across from him in his office, looks of resignation on their faces.
"What has he done?" Mr. Evans asked. Principal Nichols was surprised that his tone was not combative and instead sounded amused.
He immediately revised his approach. He was prepared for a battle with parents who would defend their child with indignation and disbelief. Instead, these two seemed open and unsurprised. So he let his guard down and gave it to them straight.
"It seems Peter has been selling mice to the other kids. They've been keeping them in their lockers like some kind of pet. Did you know about this?"
Mrs. Evans looked at Mr. Evans. They seems like a nice couple. Mr. Evans was the serious type, not a single smile. Mrs. Evans appeared intelligent and practical, and she paid attention to the social niceties, like smiling, eye contact. But that look, the very first reflexive response to what Nichols told them... Mrs. Evans was NOT pleased, and her look said `this is YOUR fault' to her husband.
"No, we didn't know." Mr. Evans replied.
Wow. This was not the normal parental response. They didn't ask `how do you know it was Peter? It could be anyone.' They didn't deny it. They didn't accuse the administration of failing to supervise the kids, lack of control, not doing their job.
Mrs. Evans gave Nichols a satisfied smile. "We allowed Peter to get a pet snake, a Burmese Python. The snake is still small, and he feeds it mice that he buys at the pet store. It's supposed to teach him responsibility." She turned to her husband again. "Did you know he was breeding the mice?"
"How would I know that? There's mice in the aquarium all the time. I can't tell if there's more mice or less mice. They all look the same." Mr. Evans replied. "How much has he been selling them for?" He asked Principal Nichols.
Nichols grimaced. "$3 each."
Mr. Evans stared off into space, lost in thought for a moment. Then he looked at Principal Nichols again. "Yes, he's breeding them. They are $2.75 at the pet store. There's no way he'd settle for making just a quarter from each mouse. Can we get him in here?"
"Absolutely." Principal Nichols picked up his phone and waited for his secretary to answer. "Mrs. Gatling, please have Peter Evans come to my office. Thank you."
Mr. Evans crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. "So...it's not illegal or against the rules for Peter to sell animals. What is he in trouble for?" He said in a conversational tone. "And please understand we will take care of this...I'm just curious what school policy he's violated."
"Well...". Principal Nichols started. "Technically no rule has been broken by Peter, only the kids who bought the mice and kept them in their locker. But, it's caused a problem. Lockers aren't a secure way to keep mice, most escaped. Uh.... We have a mice infestation now. They are really difficult to get rid of. You need to keep Peter from bringing his mice to school."
Mrs. Evans chuckled and shook her head. "We'll tell him, but he'll probably stop on his own. We thought it would be worse."
"Mrs. Evans, it needs to stop now. Today." Principal Nichols said.
"Yes." She nodded. "He will. I don't think you need to worry. You see, once Peter finds out we all know about his little enterprise, it won't be fun and exciting for him anymore. He'll move on to something else."
"Excuse me?" Nichols said.
"Peter likes his little games." The husband said. "Not getting caught is one of the goals. I THINK another goal is to see how far he can get BEFORE he gets caught. If a game goes on too long, he will drop bread crumbs to see if you notice. He'll leave clues, evidence...almost like he wants to get caught or he's become bored with the game so he wants you to end it. And then, after getting caught he plays his other game, where he cries, says how sorry he is, he didn't mean to, or tries out a new excuse to see if it'll fly. But once he's caught, the game is over for him. He starts on something else. For the longest time, we didn't know how to handle him. But a counselor a couple years ago told us Peter is a master manipulator. Every single thing he does, every reaction he elicits, goes into his brain and he figures something else out about how to get people to do what he wants."
Nichols stared at the Evans'. He really didn't know what to say. "Mr. Evans, Peter is only 12 years old. I know he's intelligent, but that's a lot for a 12 year old."
Mr. Evans laughed. The very first time he broke his seriousness. "12? Wow, he's got you right where he wants you. Ah, Mr. Nichols, your life is going to be very difficult for the next year and a half, ESPECIALLY if you think of him like your average 12 year old. Yes, Peter is 12. But he's not like any 12 year old you've ever met. And unfortunately, when Peter gets here to the office, he's going to play his game with you, and you're going to buy it. He's really good. And we, Jessica and I, we're going to let him do it. And we'll play our part in his little game, because he can't suspect we have him figured out. We are going to pretend to be terribly disappointed in him. Right now he thinks we don't know about his games. The minute he discovers we know... he'll change and we will spend a year or more figuring out what he's trying to do, what his new game is with us. Here's how it works: Peter is operating on several levels at once. First, he's manipulating the kids. No one just buys a mouse to have a mouse. I'm pretty sure Peter made having a mouse somehow cool, or fun, or attractive. It doesn't matter, you just need to realize Peter can talk kids into doing almost anything. So his first level is seeing how much he can get them to do, how far he can take it, how many he can get to follow him."
Then Mr. Evans leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. "His second level is seeing how much he can control of the situation. When are the grownups going to find out? Will they notice on their own or will one of the kids give it away. Which kid will do it? Which adult will notice? How long will it take? If you watch him closely after he's caught at his game, he always seems very satisfied. And beyond the required tears, begging, and promises he immediately becomes unconcerned with his punishment. You're probably saying to yourself `there's no way a 12 year old does that.' Here's what's going to happen: We're going to take his python back to the pet store, and his mice. After his initial protests, as soon as tomorrow...Peter will not shed a single tear about the snake or the mice. He won't regret what he's done, he won't even miss the snake. He'll never mention the snake again unless mentioning it is useful in some manipulative way. It won't bother him at all, because he doesn't really care about the snake. He cared about what the snake MEANT, he cared about how he could use it for his games."
Principal Nichols scowled. "That seems a harsh way to describe your own child."
"Is it?" Mr. Evans asked. "For years we thought of it like that. We thought there was something wrong with him. I'd offer THAT was a harsh way to think of our own child. But Peter isn't violent, he doesn't want to hurt people, he also doesn't get angry. If someone tells on him or rats him out, he doesn't blame them, doesn't get mad, he doesn't seek vengeance, really doesn't care at all. He's somewhat of a sociopath, we think. He has a basically, foundationally, good nature. His games aren't intended to be vicious, or hurtful. In fact, I don't think he grasps why people would be hurt by anything they willingly participated in. And even if they weren't willing participants, they should understand it wasn't personal. We're still trying to figure out some way to reach him emotionally, thus the purpose of the pet snake. We figured out happy, cute animals that loved attention like dogs and cats were only annoying to him. We think they were too easy to manipulate. He had a puppy and a cat trained in less than a month. After that, it was unfair to the animal, almost cruel. Imagine a puppy commanded to sit and stay, then the person they loved the most going across the room to sit, and ignore them for over an hour. A grown dog might understand that level of patience. But for a puppy it seemed like unnecessary torture to us. Like I said, he wasn't mean, he didn't hit or punish or abuse the puppy or the cat. But once he figured them out, and how to make them do what he wanted, they didn't mean anything to him. So, we thought an animal that didn't need physical touch, or an emotional connection would be more his speed. And I don't know how well anyone can train a snake, so it might prove to be just the kind of challenge that would keep his interest."
Principal Nichols was at a loss for words. To hear the parents tell it, Peter Evans was some sort of mastermind. Nichols found that hard to believe. Just about every parent over-estimated their child's intelligence. "Mr. Evans, what do you do for work?"
"I work for OSHA. Jessica works on the base."
The office door opened. "Peter, come in and sit down."
For most kids, getting called to the Principal's office was a big deal. Seeing your parents there would be a bigger cause for concern. But Nichols noticed the look on Peter Evans' face didn't change. He simply gave his parents a glance before moving to the chair against the wall. After he sat down, he gave Nichols a bright smile.
"Hi Mr. Nichols." The 12 year old said in a bright, eager voice. The kid was charming, that was certain. His voice hadn't deepened yet with puberty. "Hi Mom, hi Dad." The way he was acting he didn't seem to suspect his was in any trouble at all.
Mr. Evans was looking at Nichols with eyebrows slightly raised, and a barely perceptible grin on his lips.
Nichols cleared his throat. "Peter, have you been selling mice to the kids?"
Peter didn't drop his smile. "Yes, sir. They wanted to keep them as pets like I do."
It was more difficult than Nichols thought it would be to be mad at Peter for causing an infestation in his school. Peter seemed to be just an innocent kid who made a poor decision with no intention of causing trouble. That smile, the eagerness, the respect he was showing... his gut feeling was that Peter was a good kid.
"Peter, you can't do that." Nichols said.
Peter's smile fell. "But why not? They don't make any noise, and are real easy to take care of. They don't have any diseases."
Nichols sighed. "Peter, your classmates are keeping them in their lockers, and they are getting out. We have mice running all over the school now."
A look of concern came over Peter's face. "Oh. I told them they needed to keep them in a Tupperware box with holes in the lid."
Did he? Nichols thought. The locker search they'd done two days ago didn't produce a single tupperware container, containing a mouse or otherwise.
"Am I in trouble?" Peter asked, his voice weak and trembling, a worried look on his face. The very picture of a worried little boy. If Nichols believed the parents, this acting job was superb. Timing, the emotion, the body language, the facial expression, the words...
Nichols sighed. If this kid was everything his father said, he was EXCEPTIONALLY good at it. And there was no way Nichols could be sure the kid had any other motive than selling pets to his classmates. As principal, his disciplinary latitude was wide. This wasn't a court of law, a crime wasn't necessary to trigger discipline, just some infraction. But Nichols wasn't the type of principal that saw every child as a manufactured product produced by the factory of public education and he didn't buy into student uniformity like so many other educators. Peter was smart, his standardized tests were all in the top percentile. He wasn't a behavioral problem, his teachers all reported he was engaging and helpful, hard working and involved.
"Not exactly, Peter. Just... well stop bringing animals to school, and stop selling them to your classmates." Nichols replied.
Peter looked down. "Okay."
"You don't have any mice at school today, do you?" Nichols asked.
"No sir." Peter answered.
"Good. I think I can leave it at that. Mr. and Mrs. Evans, I'll leave you to have a talk with Peter. I trust you'll handle this as you feel appropriate."
"Dad, please don't leave me in jail." He pleaded with his father.
"Peter, I know you understand so just stop. You're 18. You're being held until your bond hearing. Hopefully it'll only be a few days." His dad said. "I can't do anything until they set bond. This is a consequence. We'll get a lawyer, but you aren't a minor anymore so you're in the adult system, which means you don't get released to your parents. This is far more serious than the juvenile system you're used to. Just be careful. The men you're in jail with aren't very forgiving. And you're not going to get much help from the jail staff."
Peter didn't respond right away. He knew he made a mistake trying to sell the stuff at the pawn shop. But he had no idea someone would engrave their name on lawn equipment, and pawn shops weren't supposed to care that much about where the stuff they bought came from. The books he'd read all said pawn shops were excellent places to fence stolen goods. It was stupid of him to take advantage of the open garage door he saw, but only in hindsight. Had he thought it through he would have known he wouldn't have any place to hold the lawnmower and weed eater until he could sell it, and he should have considered that none of the people he knew would have any use for either of those things so he wouldn't be able to unload it that way. The pawn shop was a last resort. He was usually more clever than that but he could still turn this to his advantage. Even the learning experience had value and knowing how the adult criminal justice system worked would serve him well. His attempt to sell the cops that the pawn shop called on the story that he'd found the items on the curb on trash day and he'd fixed them up to sell didn't convince them.
Trouble was, the local cops all knew him by now so he didn't get a break. He'd overplayed that hand, hadn't covered all the angles and got stupid. The items were reported stolen and the owner's name engraved on them easily revealed his lie. Well, lesson learned. This wasn't going to be too terrible. He could take care of himself and he wasn't intimidated by the common criminals in jail, most were just regular dumb people. Even cops were regular dumb people and that included the ones that ran the jail. It wouldn't be difficult to get them to like him and once he did that he'd be just fine, maybe even comfortable.
"Yeah, I understand Dad. But look, they don't feed us much here and it's not good food. I only ate a dry piece of chicken last night, and there's no breakfast. They say we only get a sandwich for lunch. They have a commissary I can buy food at, but I need money in the jail account."
His dad sighed over the phone. "How much do you need?"
"Just fifty dollars if it's only a few days. If I'm in here longer I'll need more." He knew his dad could afford it and he wouldn't say no.
"Okay. I'll get the money in your jail account. Peter, stay out of trouble in there. You stand a better chance of being released on bond if you keep your nose clean. And the disposition of your case will go better if you have good behavior."
Peter grinned, which his father couldn't see. "I will Dad. Thanks."
"I'll come down there with the lawyer, but it will probably be Monday."
"Okay. Bye Dad."
"Bye son, see you in a couple days."
Peter hung up the phone.
"Did you get your rent?" His cell mate asked.
"Yeah, Dad's going to put the money in my account in a little while. I'll pay you when it shows up." Peter replied.
"Good boy. If you keep doing what I tell you to do, nothing bad will happen to you in here."
Peter wasn't stupid. He knew a con job when he saw one. Rent. Sure. But along with that came a certain amount of protection. His cell mate would make sure he got his money, which meant nothing could happen to Peter. He'd transfer $15 every day, buying a day of security at a time. His cell mate wanted a week up front, but Peter's willingness to push the issue saying his Dad wouldn't give him that much money at once forced his cell mate to agree to once a day. Plus, from his cell mate he'd learned how the commissary system worked, how the jail prisoner account system worked, and a glimpse into the fascinating black market economy of the jail. Everything was for sale, everything was for trade. From labor, to food, to items. He'd only been in jail less than 24 hours and he even discovered the correctional officers were part of the food chain. You could get almost anything smuggled in if you had someone on the outside willing to pay the C.O. a little money.
Peter's cell mate was a mid level fish. Peter was a small fish, and his cell mate knew right away he'd never been in jail before. Peter was only too happy to play the scared, dumb kid which meant his cell mate didn't have to work too hard to come across as the older, knowledgeable protector. Peter had met plenty of that type in juvie, they were stupidly easy to manage and were useful. The scared dumb kid act was second nature to Peter now and it worked far better than being a tough guy which only brought out challenges and raised hackles. The tough guy type, even the fake tough guys who were all bark and no bite, loved having a scared, cooperative pawn they could take advantage of. It gave them a sense of power, of superiority, made them feel like they were somebody big. That type was easy to play. The best part of playing the act for Peter was that nothing big was expected of him. His complete lack of confidence, the weakness, his pretense that he didn't know how to fight... all of that meant he wasn't trusted to do anything except feed egos and suck up. In juvenile detention he'd honed his act to perfection. Bullies were perfect animals, easy to reward and easy to fool. All they really wanted was subservience. Higher brain function wasn't a character trait they possessed.
All in all, Peter could have ended up with a much worse cell mate. At least this idiot was positioned well enough that being paired with him meant an easy stretch until his hearing. Gary wasn't completely awful, and wasn't as stupid as most. Peter actually admired the confidence this guy possessed. He didn't know what Gary was in for, but he knew it had to be something bigger than pawning stolen goods. He'd been here long enough to make his way up the hierarchy to be comfortable and unworried about jailhouse politics. And Peter figured he could learn something from him that would educate him about judges, lawyers and surviving.
"Back to our cage. You have work to do." Gary said, walking away.
Peter shrugged, then followed. He already knew more would be expected of him than just paying Gary money.
They went back in their cell, and Gary laid down on his bottom bunk. "Go sit on the toilet." Peter did as instructed, sitting down on the metal. Only a few seconds passed before another prisoner walked in.
The man was about six feet tall, tattoos covered both arms. White, a little muscular, maybe mid twenties, buzz cut brown hair, with a bored look on his face, the man said in a deep voice "He ready?"
Gary responded in an equally bored voice "Yep. Get to it."
Peter was curious. Was he supposed to go with this guy somewhere? He glanced over at Gary but his eyes were closed. He didn't look worried.
"Watch your teeth." The man said, pulling down the front of his orange jailhouse bottoms when he stood in front of Peter.
Peter's eyebrows went up. After a look at the guy's soft dick, he looked up at his face. "You want me to suck your dick?" He asked calmly.
The man blinked. "I'm not here to talk. Get on it."
Peter took a breath. Well, this would be a first. Fine. Best to get it over with. He grabbed the dick in front of him and leaned forward, opening his mouth. No teeth. He knew that already, he didn't like it when the girls who'd blown him scraped his dick with teeth either. He could probably do a decent job of it. As he started sucking on the gradually expanding cock, he was considering how this played into his deal with Gary. Blowjob guy had to be a bigger fish than him.
It wasn't all that big of a deal. Peter was more concerned with figuring out what kind of transaction was taking place, his value within it, what exactly blowjob guy and Gary were getting out of it. This wasn't really about a blowjob, the guy with the now hard dick probably had other ways to get a blowjob in jail. Peter wrapped his lips around his teeth as he bobbed up and down on the average sized dick like girls did. The guy had a little funk going on, the smell hitting his nose wafting up from the guy's hairy balls. A little gross, but not intolerable. He made sure to use his tongue a little on the underside of the shaft and used his hand to stroke it while he sucked.
"Yeah, that's it, kid. Suck my big cock."
Peter almost laughed. Big cock? These tough guys were all the same. All ego. Peter knew what he had to do.
First, he gagged, then pulled off and let out a gasp. "It's too big for my mouth. I don't think I can..." he said in a pitiful whine. That was straight from Traci Lords in Educating Mandy, a porn video he stole from his boss' house when he worked at Orange Julius in the mall at 16. "I've never done this before..." he said, forcing a tear from the corner of his eye. That wasn't too difficult, the gagging on the dick helped the tears come.
Tough guy grabbed his head and pulled him back down. "Yeah, I know, you're gonna suck it anyway, bitch."
Ah, part of this was about this guy feeling like a boss, Peter thought, getting back to work. He couldn't be too good then. The guy wanted to exert dominance, establish his power. Fair enough. Peter resisted a little, using a little push of his other hand to try to push the guy away. Not too hard, just enough to send the signal he didn't want to do it. The guy increased the pressure on the back of Peter's head, forcing him further down on his dick. Peter grunted a protest, making sure to let the guy bury his dick to his funky pubes and he forced a choke even though the dick wasn't near big enough to get him to do it naturally. That was somewhat of a shock to him. Having never sucked an actual dick, Peter hadn't given it a lot of thought but he'd seen enough porn to know taking a dick all the way down wasn't easy. Or maybe the chicks were just really good actresses. A lot of the blowjob portion of porn was focused on the guys trying to get the chicks to take more while the chicks seemed to have a certain amount of difficulty. Peter wasn't finding it difficult at all. Like most everything he encountered this wasn't difficult and he didn't feel excited about it or disgusted.
"Hurry it up, Levitt." Gary said from his bunk.
Levitt grunted in acknowledgment and grabbed Peter's head with both hands and started thrusting with his hips.
Peter dutifully let Levitt guide his head while his cock thrust in and out of his mouth, and less than a minute later Levitt buried his dick and held Peter's head down as he grunted in orgasm.
This time, Peter did choke for real as Levitt's cum shot into the back of his throat and filled his mouth, but Levitt wasn't letting up. "Swallow it bitch. Swallow all of it." He gasped as his hips spasmed. Peter did what he could, but swallowing wasn't easy with a dick in your mouth. Suddenly Levitt pushed his head back and pulled away, yanking up his pants.
"You're good for the week, Parker." Levitt said as he walked out of the cell.
Peter looked over at Gary who'd gone back to closing his eyes.
"Get out, kid. Come get me when you get the money in your account."
Peter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and walked out of the cell. He walked down the stairs to go sit against the wall in the pit.
So, Gary owed Levitt something. Rent, dues, protection money, something. Gary paid with Peter's sexual services. But Gary got a pretty good deal, a whole week? Hmmmm. Levitt was the one who wanted to get at Peter, it was the only way the deal would be so favorable for Gary. Smaller fish didn't get good deals from bigger fish unless they had something the big fish wanted.
Looking around, Peter could see he was getting a few looks. So Levitt was a bigger fish. Bigger fish were more useful than medium fish like Gary. If Peter was in here longer, Levitt would be a better connection. In the meantime, Peter was figuring out a way to make this work to his advantage.
His hearing had been postponed, so he had to get his Dad to put more money in his account on Monday. He and the lawyer asked Peter how he was doing and Peter didn't think playing the poor terrified kid in jail would get him anywhere so he said he was fine. There wasn't anything either of them could do to make the process go faster anyway. Besides, things were going well and he'd taken advantage of supply and demand. Of course, he was giving Gary a cut. He needed Gary for enforcement and collection because Peter had no power. They'd done well, although Peter was getting a little bored with sucking jailhouse dick, and his fresh meat status was now worn out not to mention most of the guys weren't looking to get blown every day. His new hearing date was set for Friday.
Currently he was considering what he could sell his ass for. He'd been holding back on that figuring he would be out on bond today. There was still a certain amount of interest just because he was 18 so he felt like that might carry him through Friday. He'd found his niche inside, he had something to offer, there were enough guys who were interested, Gary kept it all above board, so he probably wouldn't have to resort to getting fucked. Gary agreed and said once you go bitch it would be difficult to get anywhere higher in the crew. Gary told him a lot about how it all worked once Peter approached him with his plan for Gary to punk him out for blowjobs. Peter earned a lot of respect from Gary when he cut Gary in instead of going off on his own behind Gary's back.
"You did the right thing, kid. You'd get chewed up on your own." He said. Peter gave him a blowjob for setting it up.
Peter couldn't figure out why chicks played so hard to get. Giving blowjobs was easy, and it was just dick. It wasn't a big deal, just a transaction.
This morning, before he found out about his postponement, Gary had asked him "I don't get it, kid. Do you like sucking dick?"
"It's not bad." Peter answered. "It's not that hard to do, the guys cum pretty fast. I make some easy cheddar, they stay off my back and don't give me a hard time. It's a good system."
"But do you like it?" Gary pressed.
"I don't like it. I don't NOT like it. It's ... like writing a letter or eating food. Just something to do." Peter explained in a rare moment of personal revelation.
"You're the weirdest guy I've ever met, Kid. You don't get worked up about anything. Even sucking off Levitt that first time you just did it, you didn't argue or put up a fight, you weren't angry or cry after. You also don't laugh about anything, and don't think I haven't noticed how when you smile it drops just as soon as whoever you're smiling for looks away. I'll be honest, sometimes it creeps me out."
Peter shrugged. "Not much to laugh about in here, and I don't feel like smiling most of the time. I do it when I have to."
Gary tilted his head and gave him a look. "Like sucking dick."
Peter nodded. "Yeah. Like that."
Gary crossed his arms. "Well, good luck at your hearing, but I think you'll be fine. You do a good job with your innocent, harmless act. Judges, prosecutors and lawyers love seeing that. They don't always believe it, but you really have a talent at it. But you don't fool me. You don't feel anything do you?"
That's interesting, Peter thought. He took a moment to think. Did he actually feel nothing? No, he did. He was curious. Figuring people out thrilled him, working out a scheme challenged him. But Gary was sort of right. Things like happy, sad, love, hate, anger... those weren't real for him. They were important and real for other people, which was fine. Those were useful emotions he could take advantage of, he even knew how to fake them even if he didn't feel them like other people did. In fact, people responded to those emotions in a boring predictable way. How should he react to Gary's question? It wasn't really worth examining the truth of it, only the effect of the knowledge of the truth on Gary. Would it gain him anything?
Part of the truth then. "I'm not sure. I feel some things. Boredom. Maybe pity sometimes. I feel loyalty, like with you."
Gary laughed. "You sure about that? I get the feeling if you had a better option you wouldn't look back. But you're stuck with me."
Peter smirked. "Isn't that what loyalty is? A partnership of convenience? No one's loyal to someone who does nothing for them, right?"
"Fuck, how do you talk like you're some college kid? Loyalty is devotion even when shit gets tough. Loyalty is... fuck. I can't explain it. Is there anyone you'd take a bullet for just to save them from dying, not for anything else?"
Peter thought. Would he take a bullet for his parents? No, probably not. "I don't think so. But I'd make sure the shooter didn't survive if I could. They took something from me."
Gary looked at him in disbelief. "It's like you ALMOST feel the right things, but not in the right way, and not for the reasons other people feel them."
This was the most self examination Peter had ever done. He already knew he didn't feel the things other people felt, but he always thought he COULD, if the right situation came about. He just hadn't found the right situation. He wasn't even disappointed or in despair about it, that's just the way they felt, and the way he felt. Why was it important anyway?
So he asked. "Why does that matter?"
That made Gary think. After a few seconds, he replied. "It doesn't, I guess. I mean, I don't feel crazy like my ex was, but it doesn't mean I don't understand she's crazy or how to deal with her. Fucking crazy bitch. So I guess it doesn't make a difference if you feel what other people do. Just... well, you probably already know you can't let people know that. Like I said, it's creepy."
The week went by quick and he didn't have any problems inside. It was mostly boring and the worst part was none of what he gained inside would walk out the door with him, so he just gave it all to Gary. Cigarettes, snacks, magazines, all of the non-cash currency he'd earned.
His bond was set at $10,000, so his Dad only had to put up $1000. After they released him from holding, his Dad and lawyer took him to the District Attorney's office.
The prosecutor managed to get them in front of a judge on Wednesday the following week after his lawyer and his Dad convinced Peter to accept a plea deal. He really didn't care either way, honestly. For what he stole he'd only spend 30 days if he got sentenced to jail which didn't worry him. But it was more likely he'd get probation because it was his first adult offense and it was non-violent. A trial would be a waste of time and money, plus he had to move on and this was hanging over his head. The lawyer got the prosecutor to drop the burglary charge, the breaking and entering charge, the conversion charge and he pled to theft in return for a year of probation. Getting a judge to sign off was the last step. Peter felt good about what he'd learned from the experience. He thought stealing the lawnmower and weed eater was one crime. But the act of entering someone else's habitation was a crime, when you did it to steal property it was a second crime, when you actually removed property it was a third crime, and when you tried to sell it you committed a fourth crime. Each crime carried a possible sentence and fine, but he learned cops and prosecutors mostly used the charges to put pressure on you to accept a plea or to confess. He'd also learned how to survive in jail. Although he wasn't technically afraid of going to jail, it was an unknown. Now he realized it was no big deal and easy to survive. But jail was boring and your possibilities and opportunities were severely limited. That did not appeal to him. So he pled out and the prosecutor would recommend a year probation.
Apparently he was just one of many defendants going through the process today. The courtroom was pretty full and they sat in the gallery on the fourth bench back.
"When it's our turn the clerk will call out your name." His lawyer explained. "I'll answer and we have to go up to the Defendant's table. The judge will ask some questions, some for me, and some for you. Be respectful. Address him as your honor' and not sir' although he'll be fine either way. Calling him `your honor' tells him you know how to follow the rules, and you're smart enough to be appropriate."
Peter watched as different cases were called, and different defendants were handled. All of them were getting deals in exchange for pleas. Some defendants were sullen and ignorant. The judge usually toughened their recommended sentences. Then there were the quiet, contrite ones, they got what the prosecutor recommended. There were a few who had slick lawyers who managed to get a lighter sentence or probation, and one even got deferred judgement, which Peter discovered meant if they kept their nose clean for a certain period of time they wouldn't have a record at all.
He just wanted this over with so he could get back to his life. The last five days his dad and mom hadn't let him out of their sight. Of course he'd gotten fired from his job once they found out he'd been arrested. He wasn't upset about it, it just limited his access to certain things. So when the clerk called his name, he stood immediately as his lawyer called `Here' and led them around the barrier to the table.
"Mr. Reed, you've explained everything to your client?" The judge asked, a shockingly young man with no gray in his short hair.
"Yes, your honor. He's ready to plead guilty in exchange for one year probation." Peter's lawyer responded.
"Son... Peter Evans... do you understand what you're agreeing to?" The judge asked.
Peter nodded, clasping his hands in front of him. "I do, your honor."
The judge leaned back and put his hands behind his head. "Why don't you explain it to me."
Peter looked at his lawyer, who nodded. "Okay, your honor. Uh, I stole some things and I admit that. It was wrong. So instead of going through a trial, which I figure would be a waste of time, and a whole lot of work for everyone, and a lot of money for my dad and mom, I'm just admitting it. And I guess how it works is if I do that, I get to stay out of jail."
"Nicely put, Peter. So tell me something. Why'd you do it?" The judge continued.
Peter looked at his lawyer. This wasn't what happened with the other defendants. The judge hardly talked to them. What was he supposed to say? His lawyer hadn't gone over this with him. Just as he opened his mouth, his lawyer leaned over and whispered "tell the truth. Everyone in this room has heard every lie a thousand times. Just the truth."
Well that would be a lot easier. "I get bored, your honor."
"Yes, I got that distinct impression after reading your file, Peter." The judge said.
"Judge Baker, this is Peter's first offense." His lawyer interjected.
Judge Baker smiled. "His first ADULT offense, Mr. Reed. Young Mr. Evans has had quite the adventures of misspent youth. Isn't that right, Peter?"
"Yes. I've done a lot." Peter answered.
The judge chuckled. "Have you learned anything?"
"Quite a bit, your honor. Most of it they don't teach in books." Peter said honestly.
That brought a laugh to the judge's throat. "Yeah, that's what I figured. See Peter, I was curious when I saw your offense, and your age, and your lack of record, so I decided to look a little deeper. The justice system doesn't get many opportunities to reach young offenders before they get chewed up and spit out. You're highly intelligent, and to hear your teachers tell it you are some kind of golden child. Even law enforcement that you've interacted with before say you weren't any trouble, you just either cause it or seem to be in the middle of it. A few stints in the juvenile system, all petty stuff, but even the counselors there say you aren't like the other troublemakers. So I believe you when you say you get bored." Judge Baker smiled at the prosecutor, Mr. Reed, and his dad. Then he changed his smile to a grin and looked at Peter. "You need direction. I don't think you're getting into trouble because you like being a criminal, Peter. I was a lot like you. Well you're 18 and you can't keep doing the same thing you've been doing. When I was 18 I joined the Army and I found direction. I think you will too. You most certainly won't be bored. I'm amending the plea agreement. Defendant will enlist in the U.S. Armed Forces with the U.S. Army for a single enlistment. Peter, I want you to understand, it's this or jail. If you don't sign the enlistment papers, you go to jail. If you sign and don't show up, you go to jail. If you go into the Army and then leave before your 4 years is up, not only will WE throw you in jail, but the Army will also throw you in jail, for much longer.
Peter's dad was whispering hurriedly with the lawyer, who was trying to calm him down.
"Do you understand, Peter?" The judge asked.
Peter nodded. "Yes, your honor. I'm to join the Army, and if I do that, I won't go to jail."
"Excellent. Bailiff, will you escort the defendant and his team to the jury room? Peter, my good friend Sergeant Compton will get you all signed up. What's the next case?"
Bootlicker had to admit the judge had been right. He certainly wasn't bored, and he did have a direction. It had been two years and he already knew he still had so much more to learn, skills, intelligence, military secrets. And Assmunch was going to absolutely love what he'd gotten ahold of from Col. Ulrich's office. But he didn't want to distract the Bravos from completing their jumps, so he'd sit on it until Friday night.
Bootlicker remembered his talk with Gary about loyalty. Yeah, for the Bravos, he might actually take a bullet. Definitely for Assmunch, but probably for the other brothers too.