Wannabees

By Mark Mazza

In the southern California city of Wilkens everything looks perfect. Surrounded by beautiful orange trees and perfectly manicured lawns, no one would suspect that there's a seedy underbelly equal to any inner city. For rookie cop Donovan Kelly, he is about adventure into unknown territory and experiences he could never imagine on the streets and in the alleys of what the new rich call their home.

These families flocked by the thousands to work harder than they ever have to build a life in what they think is a eutopia. They came for the American Dream. What they find instead is a series of nightmares from which there seems to be no escape.

Will anyone get out alive?

This is the first in a two-book series. Due out in print fall 2013!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Mazza
• Release date: Aug 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301468126

Mark Mazza

A long-time resident of Orange County, Calif., Mark Mazza served the community as a police officer in this and other areas for 17 years. Reflected in the pages of WANNABEES are the author's own experiences on the streets, where he frequently dealt with thugs and drug dealers, prostitutes and troubled youth. In this world, Mark experienced the good and bad of people, no matter their station in life. Just as in the book, some of his dealings with the people he served to protect left him questioning exactly which side of the law they were on. After every night shift, Mark spent hours writing about his experiences to capture his true-to-life encounters before fictionalizing them for WANNABEES. The actual events in his books are the basis for story lines and subplots. You can look forward to a second book in the WANNABEES series and other titles in 2014.

Book preview

Preface

Nestled between the eucalyptus trees that hang in great numbers over the chaos of urban sprawl… a beautiful city in what so many deem as the paradise called southern California… is a place that its newest residents can finally call home. This striking land of plenty serves as an escape from the lack of opportunities that other neighborhoods have to offer. Some residents were sucked into this new place by a used-car-salesman pitch that offered them a better life only to wind up knee deep in false hopes and broken dreams. Still this place is better by far than where these residents came from.

Families flocked in great numbers to this land of promise because, finally, there didn't seem to be a catch. In this new city, this safe haven, all one needed was a reason (like safety for his family) and the desire to live the life that others couldn't afford. The lure was great. The promises were even greater.

The way they saw it, being successful afforded the right to isolate their families from the injustices of life, and in their own eyes, they had established themselves as a success according to the standards set by society. The cars they drove now bore letters and numbers like BMW and XJ-9 that now identified these people as something more than they once were. These residents had arrived and they would embrace their new home in their new neighborhood.

Traditional colors and furnishings were of their liking now, and the talk of tax shelters with neighbors now took the place of the latest and most effective home-protection devices, a frequent topic in their old neighborhoods. The old concerns of putting bars on windows and making sure the doors were securely locked were now replaced by who had more as everyone climbed over each other to reach the top rung of success.

From the outside, the new town gave the impression of an entity of its own, detached from the surrounding elements. Devoid of the hard-core, caustic dirt, the city gave one last hope to those who migrated into the area… those who fled the impersonal concrete city to arrive in this urban paradise.

Just a mere four miles away from this pristine place is the community of Shelby, crime capital of the county. With most of its residents being Hispanic, Shelby hosts over 200,000 residents, 40 percent of whom are undocumented aliens who fled Mexico to follow their dreams. They were Wannabees in search of a better life in the U.S.A. They also flocked, but unlike the residents already established in this new community, the migrants would take what those in this pristine world were running from with gratitude.

The thriving new community was filled with the scent of orange groves, strawberry fields and avocado orchards. Driving around the town, one could discover clean and neatly manicured parks with playground equipment being used for what it was intended. Parks were filled with families enjoying lazy days without the fear of being caught in the wrong place at the wrong time by police or rival gang members.

Community centers that planned a variety of healthy activities to ensure a bond between family members were in place. These centers produced constructive ideas for its youth, unlike the parks from these newer residents’ former lives that drew local gangs. Here in this newfound city residents could walk with their children without fear of being pricked by a hypodermic needle or becoming another statistic highlighted with indifference by the anchors on the evening news. The public bathrooms in this city are almost as nice as what could be found in any four-star hotel. Here, the transients, the homeless who roamed aimlessly through the streets, didn’t dare extinguish the fires in the barbecue pits. These were reserved for family time.

The community took pride in its organization of sub-communities designated by the founders as villages. Developers provided nothing but perfection for its residents in these village neighborhoods, assuring all needs are met.

Positioned strategically in this fair city are two man-made lakes – a north and a south lake – for all residents to enjoy. Just as the rest of the town is tidied daily, the lakes too are filtered every day and inspected for any unacceptable waste that might have passed through the filtration systems. If one chooses to stay within the confines of this community, there are also two manufactured beaches, with beach clubs, cabanas and private security to ensure that outsiders didn't wander in. In fact, one is required to carry a card or a code to get in.

On any weekend the residents pack lunches that might include wine and cheese to enjoy their leisure at the beaches with the reassurance of lifeguards, also provided as a necessary amenity by the village founders. If the atmosphere of the beach is not desirable, the residents can take advantage of any one of its local community pools, spas or steam rooms. Comforts and amenities are endless in the manicured little city.

Driving around the town unveils only more growth and an even better future. Construction sites line the already established villages with sights and sounds of future single-family residences, apartment complexes and shopping centers. Roads are being widened and new streets plumbed for sewer systems to accommodate future residents. It is like a grand opening and anyone who can afford it is invited to join.

With all this beauty and planning, what's the catch? One might think that there has to be a catch. With big-city pessimism in the back of their minds, a new family surveys the outskirts of town in hopes of uncovering the secrets of a hidden nuclear power plant or something as insidious.

Skeptics try to uncover the dirt that's been kept from the general public that is not evident on the surface. They look behind the closed doors in an attempt to bare the town's skeletons. They search to find out what its community leaders didn't want them to see and expose the town for what it really is.

The countless Wannabees prod into the dark crevices of the town to find the smut that had to be here only to receive confirmation that this town was the answer to their overdue prayers.

Here in this city, the police blotter depicts a mundane community that appears almost void of any criminal intent. With a bicycle theft or village violation, the town seems to be just what the migrants have been seeking. The police log shows calls for service for a domestic dispute, noise complaint or other community service-related matters. Page after page, the log is absent of conventional crimes with which the newest members of the village are all too familiar.

Where are the arrests for drug sales and drive-by shootings? Where are the reports of family violence, which stemmed from alcohol and drugs? Where are the calls for service of the heroin ODs or child abuse? Did Social Services even have a place in this village? Unlike other communities, the town appears by all accounts to be exempt from the pressures of racial tensions of ongoing territorial wars that erupted into bloody violence in the residents’ former cities. While now they lock their doors out of habit, they learn that they don’t actually need to now.

After fleeing the Midwest for a better life, these migrants to the new village packed their bags one last time, hoping this new land could shelter their children from the harsh elements that plagued their abandoned and forgotten neighborhoods. For years they packed their bags, moving from city to city in search of the perfect home and their piece of the American pie. They eventually ended up in this village, this beautiful township full of promise. These migrants could finally unpack their bags permanently and join the affluent families that had arrived before them. These migrants arrived from all walks of life, scraping their last pennies to ensure a spot in the Promised Land. With the arrival of the migrants, something began to happen. Slowly so as not to be shown until it was too late, the town began to change. Once word had spread about this village and how perfect it was for making a home, there were no longer just a few migrants…there were many. And the downtrodden from the inner city began to appear not behind walls, but in the open. They too left behind their old baggage for a new life, and others followed them.

As the news traveled, more and more of the downtrodden migrated from their old neighborhoods that were once believed to be their only destiny to find a home in the thriving village where they were rejuvenated. Countless escapees from lesser cities continued to flock with their families. Like so many before them, they worked 12-hour days and endured four-hour commutes, no longer skeptical of the CATCH that used to consume them. Now convinced that nothing could go wrong here, they settled down in this perfect little village called Wilkens.

Price

Stacy Peterson sprawled across her bed, legs dangling over the edge, staring at the phone. Come on and ring, she thought, as if her thoughts could magically make it happen. She wondered if Lee would be calling or if she was going to be stuck in her house for the next two days.

Another drag weekend and nothing to do in this plastic, shallow town, she said under her breath as she stared at the ceiling. She thought about how she had patronized her teachers all week, played their silly I am paying attention games to look forward to this! If that weren’t enough to make the weekend intolerable, it was now raining.

Damn it, Stacy thought. It’s rained for three days; I'm going crazy! I need to get out of this house, but that’s going to be tricky. She stared out the window and sighed.

One of Wilkens’ homegrown, Stacy was an anomaly, because hers was one of the original families to move to the city. A lot of the original families were gone as a result of a mass exodus that took place once too many undesirables moved to Wilkens.

In high school, Stacy is adored for her looks and maturity. Standing an impressive five foot, 11 inches, Stacy is the envy of her female classmates. With picture-perfect long, flowing blond hair, she could easily grace an ad for any ritzy salon, even on her worst hair day.

People who know Stacy soon realize that her looks aren’t the only thing that sets her above the rest of the crowd. She always had a drive that other people lacked. She had the air of someone who might one day be famous.

Stacy’s parents dreamed of their daughter making it big. They knew if she went on to become famous and moved outside into the real world, she would have it together to handle the pressures of a modeling career. What other path could be right for her? Modeling would be perfect.

Along with her beauty and charm came the pressures of growing up in a town that was sterile. Until recently, Stacy seemed to keep an even balance of her life by the company she kept. She wasn't the type to go out of her way to be seen with a certain someone because it would validate her popularity. She picked her friends on honesty rather than the who's who of high school. Though popular, Stacy didn’t care about popularity contests. She could be seen talking to anyone.

Occasionally, a boy would burn her, but she figured that was something that would toughen her for disappointments she might experience as an aspiring model.

What bothered Stacy most, she told friends, was that everyone in her life seemed to say they knew what was best for her. Like her choice in boys. Her family and friends didn’t like Lee, the boy she was seeing. Even Bridgett, her best friend, tried to tell Stacy that Lee was bad news. But Stacy wouldn’t hear anything negative about Lee. He thrilled her; he was something different from the clean-cut, sterile boys she had always dated before.

Lee was a kid from up north who suddenly appeared like magic to steal Stacy’s heart. Like Stacy, he was different, not because he was an outsider; he was the real McCoy from another type of town. He wasn't one of those Wannabees that roamed the streets, and maybe that’s what made him click with Stacy so quickly.

Ever since he came into the picture, she seemed to reorganize her priorities. Before Lee, hanging out with her best friends, Bridgett, Tina and Pandita, dominated Stacy's life, but now that Lee dropped in, that all changed.

Before Lee, Stacy was known to see the positive side of a situation. After Lee came into her life, Stacy told her friends everything was a pain. She complained to her friends that life was a drag and they were boring. Her words seemed meant to inflict pain. By all accounts, Stacy had changed.

Stacy began to keep secrets, too, and she defended them. Word got back to her that Bridgett saw her getting into Lee's car at Max's Liquor. She wouldn’t have that story floating around and hit that point hard to her friend. Bridgett saw a whole new side to Stacy, one that was a little frightening. She had never been afraid of her friend before.

Everybody at Wilkens High knew that Max's Liquor in Shelby sold to minors. Occasionally, the cops would shut them down, but it never stuck. In a couple of weeks they would be right back in business.

Stacy was no angel. She would booze it up at weekend parties just like everyone else. It wasn't the taste, but it was the rush of breaking out of the Wilkens mold. The kids of Wilkens were always looking for something to break up the monotony of life in their town. However, the quiet, safe monotony is what their parents had moved to Wilkens for. To the kids it was BORING. Every kid at Wilkens High could probably recite their parents’ We pay good money to live here speech.

When the homegrown of Wilkens were invaded by the outsider migrants, they found the taste of the other side to be a alluring. Like a contagion infecting the youth of Wilkens, the migrants brought new information and ways to conduct life that certainly couldn’t be called boring.

Maybe that's what Stacy saw in Lee. He was a new taste that seemed to affect her in a way that was out of character. Whatever it was, people noticed a distinct difference in Stacy’s attitude and how she carried herself after Lee entered the picture, and there was a feeling that something had to give.

For today, Stacy knew that if she wanted to go out in the rain that she would have to convince her mother it wasn't going to be with that boy with the black, lowered car who appeared on the scene just three short months prior. Stacy knew that her mother had seen her with this character and that she wasn’t happy about it. Stacy back-talked her mother one day recently about the boy. Oh, my God, a boy that is different – can't have that! God forbid being with someone different or not a Wilkens boy, Stacy recounted. She knew that her mother had seen her getting out of Lee's car but never once confronted her with suspicions of associating with a Wannabee.

Being the daughter of a police lieutenant certainly didn't help matters either. Every time Stacy tried to convince her parents that she was smart enough to make her own decisions without crossing over the line, she could always count on her father to give her the years of experience as a cop speech to plant the seed of guilt.

Stacy became accustomed to the, Oh your dad's a pig? remark when meeting someone new or when a boy would horse around. For instance, a boy once showed interest in her by throwing water on her top at lunch. Stacy’s best friend unconsciously blurted, Knock it off! Her dad's a cop. In turn, this sent Stacy into a rage. She didn’t like that her dad was a cop and she couldn’t do anything about it.

Watching the raindrops drizzle their way down her bedroom window, she stopped waiting for the phone to ring. She would have to come up with a plan.

Guess I'll call Bridgett, she whispered into her pillow. That’ll keep the good old fam happy. Having Bridgett as a friend was like having a second mother at school, one who would be more approving.

She'll never come out and say it but I know she thinks Lee is leading me astray, thought Stacy. Everyone's so concerned about me, which is stupid. I get good grades; God knows I dedicate myself to my modeling. Give me a break. This is Wilkens! With that, she reached for the phone to dial Bridgett’s number.

Just then the phone rang. Stacy perked up. Her eyes glinted with little gleam of hope. Before she could yell, I got it, her mom had the receiver in hand. Round one once again went to Mom.

Stacy listened closely from down the hall, hoping that this would be her salvation from her Friday-night confines. Hello? Hello? Stacy heard her mother say before she slammed the receiver down in an audible huff. This happened a lot lately.

Smiling, Stacy knew what was coming next. First the phone call, then silence on the other end when her mother picked up, and then round two. The second call would generate the mother/daughter foot race in which Stacy usually prevailed as the victor.

Like a well-rehearsed play, the phone rang again. Stacy had the receiver to her ear before the second ring.

Her participation to the conversation consisted of, Hey, you, and then silence, which lasted for 20 or 30 seconds, and then a couple more words. Great... See you then! Round three followed this, and it was the part Stacy detested… a fight with her mother.

Her mom wouldn't have batted an eye if Bridgett or Shelly had called, but this boy troubled her. Other boys have come around, some of whom were not acceptable, but this time she didn't have the opportunity to flunk him. Stacy wanted this one in her life enough to stand up to her mom in his defense.

Maybe that's what scared Stacy’s mother so much… the fear of the unknown about this kid Lee. She was hoping that her daughter’s friends would talk some sense into her little girl, but when she saw the look of concern in Tina's face – one of Stacy’s best friends since childhood – a week earlier when she had asked the girl about the boy with the small black car she knew her daughter was in trouble, and that the boy was trouble. What scared her most was that she felt powerless to do anything to stop her daughter from seeing this boy.

Tina and Stacy had grown up together. They went through girl scouts together, they won the league championship in basketball together, and Stacy was there for her friend through the hard times surrounding the death of Tina's father. When it came to Lee, however, for some reason the code of silence was in effect. When Stacy’s mother asked Tina about Lee, the girl could only respond with, I don't know who the boy is Mrs. Peterson. She was obviously lying. Stacy’s mother watched the girl’s expression drop to the ground as if she was disappointed with herself for telling a lie. This was the new reality in Stacy’s house, and her mother didn’t like it one bit.

Stacy grabbed her make-up kit, scooped her loose change into her pocket from the top of her dresser and kicked one purple Doc Martin out from under the bed.

Her door was slightly ajar, which her mom took as an invitation to finish their ritual argument.

Who was that? She asked coolly as she stood at the doorway of Stacy’s room.

Oh, just a friend.

Where are you going?

Out. Just out… maybe catch a movie. Stacy didn’t look at her mother as she spoke. Her words sounded like she was providing expert testimony to the grand jury. The girl delivered her words deliberately and flatly. She dared not show any emotion.

What time are you going to be back?

Unlike the other nights where the inquiry took a better part of her prep time, Stacy felt like she had to set the record straight about all of the things her mom was thinking. She found herself delivering a soliloquy. She looked at her mother dead in the eyes.

I know you don't like me going out with this boy. I can understand your concern that you don't know him, but…he's intimidated by authority figures. It will take time before he’ll feel comfortable with you and Dad, okay? You are just going to have to trust that I know what I'm doing. Okay?

Stacy’s mother watched her daughter from the doorway. There was something disturbing about the girl’s blank stare. She could bring herself to say nothing to the girl. A wave of silence filled the room. It was enough to make Stacy stop moving. She was confused by her mother’s lack of response. She had rehearsed her own words and she was ready with more.

Stacy’s mother regained her composure and looked as if she never lost control. Okay, she said finally. I hope that you use your best judgment. I'll see you when you get home.

Stacy couldn't believe what she just heard, but knew it bought her a couple of more weeks to work on Lee. She smiled as she ran out the door and past her mother who was still staring into her bedroom. It was 7:04 at night and the rain was still coming down in buckets. Stacy had made her way almost to the top of the stairs when the vibrations of the garage door could be felt through the walls. It was the sound of her father’s squad car pulling in. Stacy’s mother suddenly blew past her and practically jogged down the stairs. Stacy knew that her mother would go to work on her father to get him on her side and against Stacy regarding the boy who had eluded her father and the rest of the police in her town for the past several months.

Like so many other mothers, Stacy’s felt a little more protective of her daughter around this new boy than around other boys. Things were changing in their town. A day didn’t go by where she hadn’t read in the paper about the gangs that were moving into the affluent areas like hers and where people were getting hurt for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She didn’t want that for her daughter.

Stacy’s mother met her father at the back door. Stacy strained to listen from the upstairs landing. She got bits and pieces from both sides and figured that she didn't want to know much more.

Stacy’s stomach tightened. She felt a tinge of guilt. Maybe it was the truth that she was running away from that made her feel guilty for defending Lee. She knew if she told her parents about Lee's sordid past that they would most certainly put the skids on the relationship. Stacy listened as her father settled into his routine in his comfy chair in the living room. She could hear the rustling of his newspaper as he opened it to begin reading. She couldn’t hear her mother’s voice any longer, which meant the discussion between her parents had ended. She could safely go downstairs. She prepared to hear her dad’s voice next.

Like all the other nights that she covered for Lee's elusive behavior and how he seemed to be more of a ghost than a real boy, Stacy knew she had to impress upon her dad that she was a clear-thinking, reasonable teenager who has profited from his teachings. She knew that if her dad grilled her about the boy from up north, she would have to produce a convincing explanation about his anonymity. Every night when she was heading out the door, she would wait for it to come, but her dad would merely look in her eyes with confidence that she would do the right thing. It was a lot to live up to.

Stacy straightened her back, grabbed her parka from the railing where she had left it the night before, and headed down the stairs. She flitted around the living room, looking for her other purple boot as she tried to ignore the feeling that crept across the back of her neck, no doubt the result of her mother's incriminating glare.

Her father pushed the paper away from his face when he caught the sight of his daughter with her jacket on, obviously ready to leave for the evening.

You going out with that Wannabee kid? he asked. His voice was quiet yet stern. Stacy knew not to mess with her father when he sounded like this, but she also knew that she was his little girl and that she could play him just a little.

Well, if you mean Lee, yeah, and he's not a Wannabee. Stacy tried to sound mature, like she knew what she was doing and her father didn’t have the right to question her decisions, but her words came out sounding more like a little girl. Then she thought she’d better try another route. Maybe humor would soften him up.

Daddy, we’re just going to catch a movie or get a bite to eat. Don't worry, Dad. We're not going to rob a liquor store, she quipped.

Just as her last words drifted from her lips the sound of large raindrops pounding against the eaves filled the room. Her dad looked up. His face wore the sour expression of a father’s disapproval, but he didn’t respond. He just shook his head. That was enough. Stacy didn’t have to hear the words out loud. They rang in her head plenty loudly.

Just then the bright beam of headlights streaked through the crack in the drapes at the front window and across the wall. Saved, Stacy thought. A sigh slipped from her lungs. She felt her eyes move on their own toward the ceiling and wondered if her parents saw her roll her eyes.

Stacy turned toward the French windows. Two quick blasts of a car horn muffled by the rain broke the silence. She pulled the drapes back, to see the silhouette of the small, shiny black sports car, which sat at the end of her cul-de-sac in front of her house. The rain seemed to almost engulf the little car.

Even though Stacy's mom didn't approve of her being with this boy, the thought of her baby being out on such a nasty night compounded her uneasiness. She told herself that the kids were just going through a phase and recalled the headaches that her sons had given her years before. They turned out just fine, she told herself. So would her daughter. She would just be patient and pick her battles. Even so, she wanted to scream, to tell her daughter that she wouldn’t be leaving with that boy. Instead she stood silent, watching her daughter move toward the door.

Stacy found her boot and attempted to shove it on her foot. She looked up at her mother. She would prefer her mother’s approval, but knew there was little hope of it now. In a last-ditch effort to control the feelings in the room, the girl ran to her mother and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. She did the same to her father, bending down to meet him in his chair. As Stacy pulled back, her father suddenly grabbed her by the coat sleeve, pulling her down to within inches of his face. He glared into Stacy’s eyes. It was a look that always commanded respect. He had his daughter’s attention.

Hey, I want you home at twelve. Here me? It’s nasty out, and… oh, never mind. His voice trailed off. He wanted to say more, but he knew his daughter would sneak out without his permission if he didn’t allow her to leave now. The pattern had been set. His daughter was growing up.

Okay, Daddy. No problem. Stacy forced a weak smile.

She grabbed an apple off the table, along with her purse, and started for the front door. Another muffled burst could be heard from the front of the house. Her mom walked to the French windows as Stacy opened the front door. The cold wind rushed into the house, mixing with the central heat. The powerful raindrops on the walkway sounded like a jackhammer piercing bedrock.

Stacy's mom pulled the drapes back to watch her daughter wade through what looked like a small river that had been created by the rain near the storm drain. She kept the drapes back about three inches to get the last glimpse of her princess getting into the right front seat of the black car she had come to loathe. Her breath fogged the inside of the cold windowpane. She quickly wiped the condensation, straining through the elements to see at least two other people in the back seat.

The interior dome light of the little car illuminated the inside just long enough to give Stacy’s mother a view of her daughter as the girl gave the driver a kiss on the lips. As the door closed, Stacy's mother lost sight of her baby.

The four occupants fishtailed through the downpour at a high rate of speed. Stacy's mother stood motionless, feeling hollow at the sight of her sweet angel somehow getting mixed up with a crowd that she didn’t trust and that she had read about in the papers too many times recently. Surely her daughter wasn’t choosing to be mixed up with this element. Maybe these people weren’t as bad as her imagination led her to assume. With this thought, Stacy’s mother walked toward the kitchen. She would do her best to hide her feelings from her husband. There was no need to let him know just how worried she really was. She was more transparent than she had hoped.

Hey, Stacy’s father said in a low voice. We raised kids that know the difference between right and wrong. Let her breathe a little bit. She'll be fine.

Stacy’s mother drew a deep breath and said, I know. I know. She wanted to believe he was right, but her mother’s instincts couldn’t be so easily calmed.

The Catch

Sitting snugly in the passenger seat of Lee’s car, Stacy pulled the sun visor down to look at herself in the little lighted mirror tucked away on the other side. As if on queue, she pulled out her make-up while Lee tried to introduce his friends to her. The stereo was so loud that she could barely hear over the bass, but continued with her beautification ritual.

She had seen the two guys in the back seat before, but was sure that Lee would never bring them by her house. She knew after one look that this was a sample of Lee's sordid past.

As Stacy put on a second layer of eye shadow, she could see the two guys in the rear seat whispering to each other. Like Lee, they were Asian, but lacked the pigeon lingo. On the skinny side, they both looked wired. The shorter one with the greased back, stringy hair wore dark wraparound sunglasses and spoke as if he had drank one too many beers.

Even though they donned oversized jackets, Stacy couldn't miss the tattoos on the young men’s necks. When you've lived in Wilkens all your life, hard-core banging tattoos stand out like a sore thumb.

Although Shelby is bad, these guys weren’t from there; they were definitely from Lee's past. This was a past that he was tight-lipped about and Stacy avoided discussing. She didn’t really want to know. The last thing she needed was to confirm her mom's thoughts and put an end to their relationship for good.

Lee had appeared in Wilkens about eight months earlier. From the day he arrived, he’d turned the heads of the school's Wannabees. Word had it that he got a special indoctrination from Mr. Parkes, the school’s vice principal and chief enforcer. Stacy wasn't concerned about the rumors. Lee treated her special, which is something Stacy let her friends know any time they confronted her about being with the boy.

So, what's up? Where we going? she shouted.

It wasn't uncommon to go back to Lee's house to play some pool, watch a movie and sip a couple of beers to get a little light-headed. Lee's parents owned a restaurant and spent around 80 hours a week taking care of the problems inherent to owning a business like that.

Lee’s family, like so many others who migrated to Wilkens, came with the hopes of escaping their past lives. For Lee it was a fresh start, which is something his parents sorely wanted to give him.

As Lee stopped at a red light, he reached in the back seat and grabbed a large grocery sack from the floorboard. He pulled out a sixer of Coors, throwing one can on Stacy's lap. Stacy knew that Lee felt comfortable enough with her that pulling out beers in a car was no big deal. Though Lee became paranoid when he found out her dad was a cop, he wasn't about to let his hatred toward police affect their relationship. Lee was like that. He was quiet, but in his own way had a charismatic charm that demanded respect.

As the black car pulled away from Stacy's house, the rain seemed to follow its path. Lee drove like a bat out of hell most of the time and a little rain wasn't about to slow him down.

Lee's friends continued to suck their beers down in the back seat while Stacy took small sips between the puddles in the road. She tried to position the opening of the can so it wouldn’t spill, but just as she had it licked, Lee would hydroplane through another puddle, causing the cold liquid to dribble down her chin.

The goons in the back got a big kick out of