The Suits: A Cam Ringer Novel

By Ben Redcliffe

Growing up in a foreign land Cam leads an adventurous childhood with his best friend Rich. Tragic events lead to Cam's comfortable childhood being snatched away from him, almost driving him mad. Tragedy and heartache follow Cam as he bounces from foster home to foster home. Rescued by an old woman he finds compassion and a deep love for learning

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ben Redcliffe
• Release date: Feb 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869176950

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BEN

REDCLIFFE

THE SUITS

A CAM RINGER NOVEL

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the author.

Copyright © 2017 by Ben Redcliffe All rights reserved.

THE SUITS • A Cam Ringer Novel/ Ben Redcliffe

To my loving wife and best friend Carissa.

Thank you for never settling for less . . .

A long ring sounded out over the empty playground. Bursting from the classrooms door a moment later, a group of kids ran out into the sunlight. Touching a kid next to him, a little boy with a missing tooth in the front and a head full of black hair yelled, You’re it. Running away from other the boy, he passed through a row of swings, throwing them to the side.

Carrying a faded red kickball high, another kid stopped in the dirt field. Turning to find himself surrounded, he dropped the ball. Eyeing the other children, he drew back and kicked it. A girl leaned in close and held her hand over another’s ear to whisper. Listening avidly to her friend’s words, she rolled her eyes and giggled.

Eyes shifting from side to side, their teacher Mrs. Lugo walked to a picnic table in the center of the yard, her long dress flapping in the wind. Scanning the area, the prudent woman’s eyes locked on her classes’ top two vandals.

She’s on us, said Rich, trying to pretend like he wasn’t watching her. Taller and more muscular, Cam walked beside him. Geez, she’s like a robot, said Cam. Reaching the pavement, he bounced the basketball twice and then ran by for a layup. It rolled around and off the rim, striking the pavement.

You’re garbage, said Rich. Catching it, he threw it up.

Swoosh.

That’s what I’m talkin’ about, MJ baby. Rebounding, Cam threw it back.

We might as well play twenty-one. She’s going to watch us for a few minutes, said Cam. Checking his friend, he quickly ran up to cover him.

Sliding on her sunglasses, Lugo watched the boys play basketball, her eyes never wavering. Pulling a truant tendril of hair blown by the wind, she caught two of the children playing kickball getting a little too rough. Yelling at them, she turned to find the basketball court empty.

Was it past the rocks? Cam moved quickly through the forest, breathing heavily,

It was . . . up here. Wiping the sweat from his eyes, Rich looked back. Barely visible, his classmates ran, laughed, and played on the rec yard.

Breaking through the thick canopy, sunlight lit the area in front of a large birch tree. Their sneakers wrestled against the saw grass and moist vegetation. Staring up in awe, they caught their breath. High above, hanging off one of the birch’s limbs, a giant hornets’ nest hung. Majestic, the large pine cone-shaped nest was gray and white swirled together. About two-foot-tall and as big around as the basketball that Cam held at his side, the nest had been found by the youths a few weeks ago.

You sure it’s empty? whispered Cam in reverence.

Sure . . . look at it. Picking up a rock, Rich struck the nest solidly.

See, I told you. Hit it with the ball. Shrugging slightly, Cam backed up a little. Staring at it for a moment, he drew back and chunked it. It struck the branch and clipped the nest off cleanly. The nest fell to the ground with a soft thud and lay there motionless.

Both of the boys had backed away out of fear. Bounding up to the nest brazenly, Rich kicked it lightly. I told you. Coming to stand beside him, Cam saw no evidence of life. CAMRON. . . RICHARD! Hearing Lugo’s voice, they both turned instinctively. Ignorant to the world around them, they didn’t see the piece of rotten branch fall from above. Hearing a crunch and then the sound of a million angry hornets, they turned to find the nest severed in half by the same limb it was attached to.

RUN! yelled Rich, his eyes wide open. With a giant black cloud behind them the two ran for their lives. They grunted, feeling stings on their necks and arms.

Her feet spread apart and arms folded, Mrs. Lugo stood at the forest’s edge, a look of severe consternation on her face. Seeing the two vagrants running towards her, she steadied herself. Don’t try to run you two. I told you not to go in the . . . what?

RUN! they both yelled, waving their arms, but it was too late.

Passing by their teacher, they continued to run. Behind them, she was engulfed by the cloud for a moment before she too ran. Jerking the classroom’s door open, they swatted at the air and started stripping.

I am so sorry Mrs. Lugo, said Cam’s mother, biting her lip. Sitting at the table across from her, the woman’s face and arms were a collage of angry red welts. I told them not to go in those woods Mrs. Ringer, replied the woman in strained English.

It was an accident, Mom, Cam said. Mrs. Ringer raised her finger up to him and glared. In the chair on the other side of her, Rich kept his mouth shut. Both boys were covered in the red welts, but neither combined look as bad as their teacher.

I’m sure you did Mrs. Lugo. I am so sorry for this. You can believe me when I tell you Camron will be punished . . . severely. This brought a small smile to the teacher’s face. And just as soon as Mrs. Colón gets home, I’ll let her know what happened. Another nod condoning approval from the teacher.

Hearing his mother’s name, Rich grunted, shaking his head. Walking out of the office behind his mother, Cam looked back. Mrs. Lugo bared her teeth and twisted her neck in anger. It was going to be a while before she forgot this . . .

On their march out of the Ringer’s yard, Rich’s mother slapped him in the back of the head as she spoke maledictions to him in Spanish. Just wait until your father gets home. Look at you . . . and that poor woman. Looking away, his mother covered a smile with her hand.

It was an accident, Mom.

You expect me to believe that?

That afternoon, Tom was told about what had happened. It was an accident, Summer. A steaming plate of food being set in front of him, he campaigned for his son. An accident, Tom? The woman’s face looked like someone tried to put a fire out with an ice pick. And look at your son.

Having a hard time swallowing a mouth full of food after hearing his mother’s analogy, Cam choked.

He goes out in the woods to get a basketball and a hornets’ nest falls on him. How is that his fault? Placing a spoonful of green beans in his mouth, his father winked at Cam. Ugh. Shaking her head, his mother unfolded a napkin in her lap. Next time, you go talk to the teacher then . . .

Changing the channel, Tom sat up with his back against his bed’s headboard. Bursting through the door, a Spanish siren approached a man on the screen and kissed him. A moment later his wife walked in. Screaming, she ran the woman off before calling her husband a pig for cheating with her sister. Slapping him, she slammed the door behind her on the television. Grimacing, Tom turned it up.

Tying her hair back with a rubber band, his wife stood in front of the bathroom mirror with a toothbrush in her mouth. You’re as bad as a woman. All you want to watch are those soaps. Taking the toothbrush out, she spat in the sink.

You’d like ‘em if you’d taken the time out to learn Spanish. Wearing only his boxers, Cam’s dad looked at his wriggling toes before checking his belly button for lint. It’s too late now . . . Only three months left. Smiling, his wife reached inside her shirt to take off her bra. Climbing into bed, she snuggled up to him.

I was thinking about signing up for another five, Tom said.

Go ahead . . . You’ll be doing it by yourself. She put her palm on her husband’s stone chest and her chin on the back of her hand. Blonde with blue eyes, fine features, and a curvy body, Summer was as beautiful at thirty-one as she’d been in high school. Let me take that back. You and your son will be here by yourselves. Laughing, Tom’s white teeth stood out against his skin, which was darkened by the sun. When they’d moved to Colombia from the states almost five years ago, Tom and Cam had been white. Now, after years of exposure to the tropical climate, they’d become as dark as the natives. Tom worked for Stanford Enterprises, a large conglomerate company based in the U.S. After receiving his masters in botany, he’d signed a five-year contract for one of their subsidiaries, Les Café, one of a dozen major producers of coffee beans in Colombia.

Handsome with a strong jaw, sharp eyes, big hands, and an even bigger heart, her husband still made Summer’s heart flutter. Kissing him, she took the remote and turned the TV off, cloaking the room and darkness.

As part of Rich’s punishment, his father borrowed a pressure washer from Les Café’s warehouse for Rich to spray their house off with. A foreman presiding over the fieldworkers, Jiménez Colón worked with Cam’s dad every day. Of course, they privately shared their son’s exploits with each other, often sitting on the tailgate of Tom’s old truck during the lunch hour, laughing and eating sandwiches.

His mother says I should be tougher on him. Maybe I should make him do something in the yard? Wondered Tom aloud. Women don’t understand what it’s like to be a boy.

Send him over to help Rich out if you want . . . offered Jiménez.

Yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll show Summer that I’m putting my foot down. Thanks Jiménez. Finishing his soda, he hopped off the tailgate.

No problem.

Do you really think they knocked that thing down on accident?

Sliding off the tailgate, the rugged Colombian shrugged, a twinkle in his eye.

Glaring at the boys through the window, Rich’s mother pulled the curtains all the way back so she could see them. Everyone that worked for Les Café lived in a huddle of block houses near the fields on the southeast tip of Bogotá.

Carrying a bucket and bottle of dish detergent, Rich’s mother yelled from across the street. I’ll set these next to the truck. There’s two rags in the bucket. Smiling sweetly, she walked back inside, her blonde hair shining in the sun. The industrial pressure washer between them, Cam and Rich stared after her blankly.

Great idea genius.

Ahhhh, come on, replied Rich defensively. Nothing came out of it when I hit it with that rock.

His logic was accepted by Cam. What’s that orange stuff? Cam asked. Covering Rich’s welts was some type of bright orange paste.

Something my mom made. Picking at it, he took a piece off and studied it. Come on let’s figure out how to crank this thing.

Turning on the water spigot, Cam screwed the water hose onto the machine while Rich primed it up. Here we go, start. Thumbing the small lever, Cam found the pull cord’s handle. Pulling it, Cam tried to start it again and again. Next door, Rich’s neighbor let her kitchen window down. Coughing and sputtering, the machine came to life. Holding the sprayer like a machine gun, Rich shot the concentrated stream of water onto the whitewashed blocks of the house.

Woooooo! Rich yelled. Knocking dirt and grime away, and the window’s screen, he held the pressure washer like Rambo. Cleaning a large patch, he let off the trigger. The motor ran loudly and he admired it. Bro, if we had a lot of gas and a lighter, we could make a flamethrower.

Come on. It’s my turn. Taking it, Cam cleaned off another section of block. Spraying it against an empty garbage can, he knocked it over. A gray cat ran from behind it, becoming an instant target.

Leaning downward, Cam sprayed while Rich yelled, GET IT, GET IT! Catching the fluffy feline, the jet tossed it across the yard where it hit the ground running.

WHOA! said Rich. Aiming at the sky, Cam pulled the trigger like a pistol, sending spurts of water flying.

Finishing the house around lunchtime, the two boys filled the pressure washer up with gas before pulling it over to Cam’s. Waiting for Cam to drag his water hose over, Rich leaned down to inspect the controls on their new toy. Uh-huh, he said. Finding the knob that read pressure, he turned it. More is better, right?

Mom’s got us some sandwiches made, Cam said. Peanut butter and jelly? asked Rich.

You know it. Reaching down, Cam twisted the hose on while Rich poured detergent in the bucket, shooting plumes of soap all over them. It’s too strong, I’ll get Mom to fill it up, said Cam, wiping suds off his face.

I turned it up, yelled Rich back.

Aiming at the front fender, Cam fought to hold the gun. His look of concentration turned to a frown. Stripping the old green truck’s paint off, the stream had left a wide line of bare metal. Dropping his jaw, Cam continued to spray in shock. Reaching the window, the powerful jet shattered its glass. Releasing the trigger, he dropped the gun.

UH-OH . . . I gotta’ go home, Rich said.

Opening the door, Cam’s mom yelled, What was that noise? Rich you better get back here. Slumping his shoulders, the boy walked back slowly.

I think you turned it up too high? said Cam. Beside him, the pressure washer slowly died. It was cutting like a laser.

Talk in English you two, said Summer to the boys. Shadowing her, his father was carrying a rolled up map.

Ahh man, not my truck . . . What did you do? Crestfallen, both of the boys looked away. You used the pressure washer on my truck? Still leaking water from the hose connected to the bottom, it was hard to deny that it had been an accessory in the crime. It did a great job on Rich’s house," Cam said.

Sighing, his father shook his head. Rubbing the trail of missing paint left behind, he leaned into the hole bordered by broken glass. Hope you weren’t planning on getting allowance for a while . . .

Lining the fields of Coffea arabica, the Mema forest slalomed around, its brush burgeoned into wilderness that ran 150 miles south to Guaviare. When their fathers worked on the weekends the two boys would go along to play in the rows of Coffea arabica bushes that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Jumping out of the back of the truck, Cam watched his father rubbing the bare metal with his fingers again. A piece of glass caught his eye before he shut the door. Throwing it out, he looked for more under the seat. When he swung the door shut he could hear the sound of glass moving around inside of it.

No trouble from you today Richard, said Rich’s dad, kneeling down to be eye level with him. Yes Papa. No trouble today.

Cam, we’re going over here to check the field on the bend. I think that the runoff is washing all of the fertilizers away. The PH is low. I don’t want you to go any farther than these two fields, and no touching the equipment . . . Pulling his baseball cap on, he checked his watch.

Yes sir.

I want to be outta here by lunchtime, Rich’s father said.

Running alongside his friend though the fields, Rich turned while still running. I got you, Dad . . . lunchtime.

Tall and full, the Coffea Arabica plants created an enchanted world of tunnels and mazes. When they found baskets left by the workers, they checked their contents. Finding nothing of interest, they barreled along to the edge of the woods. Holding Rich back, Cam held his breath. In the distance he could hear the motor of the golf cart his father used fading away. They’re gone. Let’s go, he said. Bowing truant tree limbs back, they followed a trail left by small game. Winding through tall spindly pines, stout junipers, and tall water oaks, the trail crossed the creek and then ran alongside a natural fort the boys called their castle.

These things itch, Cam said, scratching his neck. He ducked under a low branch.

Jumping from one tree to another, a monkey yelled at them.

Whatever that yellow stuff my mom makes works, said Rich. Shorter than Cam, he only had to duck to get under most of the limbs.

The trail wound around a bunch of old trees, covering the forest floor like veins.

Their roots spread and every once in a while, they’d trip on one.

Is your dad still talking about moving? Rich asked. Breaking a rotting limb off, Rich carried it like a staff.

Yeah, they say in June . . . I don’t know? Mom’s been saying that forever though, answered Cam, wiping the sweat from his brow. Breaking through the trees, the sunlight roasted the moist ground they were treading on, causing it to be warm and muggy.

She’s never set a certain date before though. Running ahead, Rich clambered up a rugged mound. Finding truth in his friend’s words, Cam frowned. He didn’t want to leave Colombia. He didn’t want to leave Rich. They’re back, Cam! Running to the mound’s peak, Cam gazed across the shallow creek. Forming a natural bridge, a fallen cypress was lodged firmly in the edge of the bank. Through the brush Cam could make out the dark rock that formed the fort’s walls. Jumping from one of the bantam walls, a tawny youth with lanky arms ran. A moment later another kid wearing no shirt shot up. Tall and lean, he threw a rock, striking the sprinting youth in the back.

There’s Hector, said Rich, flinching when the rock connected, knocking the kid down. The fort had been the boys’ exclusive clubhouse up until a few months ago when Hector and his friends started showing up. Since then, a private war had been declared.

It’s about time we caught them, Rich said.

Careening over the fallen tree with Rich on his heels, Cam yelled out, stopping the other boys in place.

Yo Hector, you and your friends lost?

I think you’re the lost one, white boy. Jumping up and over a rock, Hector came up to Cam. Around Rich’s size, his two friends followed.

Moving slowly, Hector’s lazy eye came to rest on Rich while he stared at Cam. That’s what happens when you eat glue, said Rich in English.

This is our fort, we found it . . . said Cam.

Make us leave then gringo. Pushing him, Hector threw up his dukes. Bouncing back, Cam caught him with a left hook that knocked him down. Following his example, Rich popped the first kid he saw in the nose. Claiming the victory, a little too early, he found himself in a headlock. Climbing off the ground, the lanky kid jabbed Cam once. Hitting him back with another hook, Cam grabbed Hector around the waist, driving him to the ground. Sitting on his chest, he hit him a few more times. Hearing Rich calling for help, Cam got up hit and Rich’s attacker. Infuriated by the asphyxiation, Rich boxed with another kid. Being punched by the kid while his friend had him in the headlock had really made him mad.

Your mother sleeps with the dogs . . . Your sister looks like a goat with hair . . . yelled out Rich between punches.

Stumbling a little, Hector and the other kid ran. Cam stopped after chasing him for a while. Walking back to the fort he saw Rich hit the kid one more time before he tucked tail and ran. Bending over hands-on knees to catch their breath, the boys looked around for them to return. But they didn’t.

Man . . . those chumps . . . don’t know . . . who they was messin’ with, said Rich between breaths. Looking up to the sun sitting high in the sky, Cam slapped him on the shoulder.

Come on, it’s got to be close to lunch.

I’m good. Turning his face up, Rich exposed a busted lip.

You’re good . . . pretty boy. Taking off across the tree bridge, Cam ran from him.

Rich hated to be called a pretty boy.

Tearing small pieces of paper from a sheet quietly, Cam listened to Mrs. Lugo with a tepid ear. Like a sentinel, she paced the pathways between desks, her eyes forever roving, watching. Resembling a bad case of the chickenpox, red nodes left behind by the hornets shrouded her face and hands.

The whale and barnacle, for instance. Attaching itself to the whale’s stomach, the barnacle . . .

Although stern, the woman was actually a good teacher. Continuing her lesson, she walked down Cam’s row. As soon as she passed, he took the hidden straw from his lap. Chewing a constant reservoir of paper balls swathed in saliva, he put it to his lips and loaded the chamber.

Aiming at the back of Rich’s head, he filled his lungs and blew through the chamber. Pwooot! Removing the spitball from his hair, Rich smiled at Lugo when she walked by. It wasn’t reciprocated by the woman . . . Snarling slightly, she locked eyes with him.

When she was gone, he gave a small ball in his hand the once over. Cam watched Rich bob his head; the declaration of war had been signed. Seated two seats up on the next row, his head turned with Lugo, Cam could see Rich fumbling under his desk for something.

Moving on with her discussion, the teacher grabbed the chalk and wrote whale and barnacle. Clad in a gunmetal gray business suit, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, the austere woman’s script was neat and precise. Twisting in his chair, Rich raised his hand, a rubber band held taught between thumb and forefinger. Drawing a piece of rolled up paper back, he fired. Expelling his missile at the same time, Cam was dealt the losing hand and struck in the eye by the projectile.

Ugh, he groaned. The girl sitting next to him giggled. Covering his eye with his palm, he massaged it. Cam . . . maybe you can tell the class what kind of relationship these creatures share? Folding her arms, the woman glared.. . Symbiotic? answered Cam, still rubbing his eye.

Inhaling sharply, Mrs. Lugo looked down her nose. As soon as she turned her back, Cam hit Rich with another spitball.

"Your homework this week class is going to be a single project that you will be graded on Friday. This week’s topic is going to be air, children. How carbon monoxide is used by plants and then turned to oxygen. Where does wind come from?"

Stationary in front of her class, Lugo’s eyes watched over them. Stepping forward into the cluster of desks and chairs, she came to a point beneath Cam’s shooting range and stopped.

How parachutes work, or even gravity. As if saying the word invoked its powerful properties, one of the many spitballs Cam had plastered on the ceiling then fell, landing on top of the woman’s hair. It clung there.

Chuckling, the other students acted like it wasn’t there. You can work with a partner if you want. I want at least two pages written by each of you. Finding the children’s behavior suspicious, she discreetly groomed herself. Just as she found the gooey hitchhiker, the bell rang.

Shaking, the old painter’s ladder threatened to topple as Rich hoisted himself off its top step, onto the roof. The shingles were hot. The beaming sun seemed way closer from up there. Getting his bearings on the slant, he looked down. Cam, balancing himself, crouched on top of the ladder. Standing slowly, he waited only a moment before jumping the rest of the way.

Their sneakers gripping the shingles’ greased surface, the two boys scaled the peak of the Ringers’ home. Light blue and cloud-free, the sky stretched on forever in every direction.

Whoa, we’re as high as the trees, said Rich, pointing at the ones growing behind Cam’s house. You can see everything from up here. Look, there’s Mr. Hurrara in his backyard. Surrounded by a privacy fence, the overweight man felt there was no need to wear anything but a pair of briefs. Yuck! said Rich, frowning.

How far you think I’ll go? asked Cam. Standing on the house’s, peak he gazed into the distance.

Finding a sheaf of papers in one pocket and a pen in the other, Rich started writing down calculations.

Probably at least to Mr. Marable’s . . . Rich pointed at a house about 300 yards in the distance.

"This is going to be awesome!" Rummaging through his waistband, Cam pulled out a bunch of folded up trash bags, old belts, and a couple of old shoestrings.

Jerking on the belts wrapped around Cams shoulders and back, Rich checked the makeshift harness’ slipping for faults.

Looks good. Taking the four garbage bags by their bottoms, he stretched them out. Tied at four corners of each bag, slips of black and white shoestrings held them to the harness. A quick breeze made Rich’s eyes light up when it filled the bags.

Peering over the edge of the peak, Cam was a little daunted. Are you sure this is going to work?

Another gust caused the bags to flare up, giving Rich confidence. Of course . . . Why wouldn’t it?

Breathing in deeply a few minutes later, Cam bent, touching the peak like a professional sprinter. Fluttering and rasping behind him, the bags toiled in the wind.

Ready . . . set . . . go! yelled Rich.

Taking off like a rabbit, Cam ran fifteen feet to the edge’s peak and jumped.

Expecting him to float off, Rich’s excited face went slack when Cam vanished. "Ahhhh! Yelled Cam.

Rushing to the roof ’s edge, he looked down to find Cam across the fence in the neighbor’s yard. On his back, he rolled, one knee lifted.

My ankle! he called out, his face distorted with pain.

Ruff, ruff, ruff. Scampering around the house, the neighbor’s small dog made Cam climb to his feet and hobble towards safety.

Slapping the sides of his head, Rich yelled out, I’m coming! He threw his pencil at the dog before running to find the ladder.

Hobbling down the classroom steps the next day, Cam was engulfed by the small class’ students running past. Racing to the slides, top kids jostled to be the first to slide down. A few that were Cam’s age started a game of soccer, while others, especially the girls, milled around in groups.

The ace bandage around his ankle was hot and uncomfortable. Each step he took sent a sharp pain through the spring in his left foot. Bright and searing as usual, he could tell by the steel benches’ glow that the sun had already warmed it up like a stovetop.

What happened to your ankle Cam? asked a girl named Olga. Petite with a small mouth and big brown eyes, she always looked sad.

I fell off my roof.

. . . Rich told me you went parachuting, and the parachute broke, the little girl said, seeming to prefer Rich’s story.

Making his way to the swing set, he grabbed a swing’s chain and lowered himself down. Catching Rich with his rubber band drawn back earlier, Mrs. Lugo had slapped the desk with a ruler so hard that it caused him to miss Cam and hit the person behind him.

He could see a little anger in his friend’s eyes. Coming out of the classroom, Rich pulled his belt tight. Scanning the playground, he found Cam. On his way over, he yelled over to one of the kids playing soccer. You kick like my sister Manuel!

He was still a little sulky when he sat in the swing next to Cam, but the fire in his inflamed eyes had been extinguished.

What, did she want an essay? asked Cam. The teacher had told Rich to stay behind; projecting missiles was a serious offense in her classroom.

Nah, three licks with the paddle.

. . . That’s better. I’d rather get the paddle any day. Cam pushed himself back and forth slowly, rocking.

Sucks about your foot. Could’ve played soccer today. Manuel and Valdez are garbage.

Cam studied the white wrapping peeking out from the top of this shoe. Yeah, I wonder what Mrs. Lugo’s going to say when we share our project Friday?

After their unsuccessful trial with the parachutes, the duo had quickly decided to alter the data they’d collected. Now, based on gravity, their tests showed what went up must come down. They intended to throw other things off the roof to time their fall to the earth, their first specimen being the neighbor’s dog. It was still in the works and they had a few days yet.

"No telling . . . I wish we could throw her off the roof." Narrowing his eyes, Rich rubbed his backside.

Stuck on the merry-go-round nearby, Olga held on for her life while another boy from their class spun it around expeditiously. Like pools of water, her big brown eyes shed a steady stream of tears.

Stop Carlos . . . STOP! begged the girl. For once, the watchdog Mrs. Lugo was nowhere to be found.

Carlos is a buster, said Rich.

Yeah . . . Grunting, Cam pulled himself up onto his good foot.

Where you going . . . Cam?

With a limp, Cam headed off towards the merry-go-round. Laughing, Carlos’ face was connote to a gremlin. Slapping the worn, rusty bars, Carlos struggled to make it go faster every time.

Carlos.

Cutting his eyes at Cam, he missed only one slap and then started again. What you want?

Coming to stand beside his friend, Rich combed the area for witnesses. Resigned to her fate Olga squatted down, holding onto one of the bars.

Stop, she doesn’t like it, said Rich. Make me.

Waiting until the blur that was Olga was on the other side, Cam pushed Carlos into the windmill of swinging bars.

Ting, Ting, Bing, Bong! Catching him in the face first, they drug him in the steel web, stinging his shoulders, arms, and side. Yelling, he was flying out the other side.

Holy, said Rich in awe.

Slowed to a gentle roll, the merry-go-round allowed Olga to stand up and walk offdizzily.

Ugh, grunted Carlos. Rolling onto his side, he drew his hands in like a turtle.

Here comes Lugo, warned one of the children standing nearby.

Her eyes like those of an eagle, the stern woman marched right to them.

What happened . . .? You better not lie either. She grabbed Cam and Rich by the ears and twisted.

He . . . fell. Carlos, he fell into the merry-go-round, whined Rich. Crying Carlos sat up.

He pushed me, Carlos said. Pointing his finger at Rich, he started sobbing. I did it, said Cam. I pushed him.

It was him, added Carlos, his heavy hand of conviction singling Rich out again. Releasing Cam’s ear, Mrs. Lugo drug Rich into the classroom.

A week’s suspension had been the sentence rationed out by the imperial magistrate Mrs. Lugo. It would be five hard days of no class, no tests, and no homework. Rich was a bundle of nerves as they rode their bicycles home. If the teacher had been able to get a hold of his father at work, Rich was a dead man as soon as he walked in the door. If not—if by some great chance she hadn’t, then he had a free five-day vacation to do whatever he wanted to do.

It was still worth it even if my mom does kill me. Carlos looked like he’d been hit by a bus.

Smiling weakly, Rich’s eyes were full of dread. Cutting through to the house on the corner, the two boys stood high on their bikes, causing the sprockets to click.

Yeah, wish he would’ve gotten it worse . . . tattletale, Cam said.

Slowing down, both boys looked to see if the old white truck Rich’s dad drove was parked in the yard. Nope, he must still be at work. Across the street, a beat up Ford that Cam had never seen before sat in the drive of the Ringers’. The smell of freshly cut grass surrounded them. Cam knew it would be his turn to cut the yard soon. Hiding behind the clouds, the sun was forgotten for the moment.

Wonder who that is? asked Cam, leering at the strange vehicle. Twisting to look through the glass, its passenger tried to hide his face when he saw them.

Aw man, it’s Carlos, Rich said. What’s he doing in my house?

Speeding up they shot past the truck, sliding to a stop under the carport. Squealing, the truck’s door popped when it was forced all the way open. A portly man with a handlebar mustache and a balding head slid out and told his son to get out.

Oh crap, it’s his dad. He’s going to talk to my mom . . .

. . . Better than mine, said Rich, laying his bike down.

Why’s that?

Because your mom doesn’t speak Spanish and mine does. Come on, I think your mom’s going to need a translator . . .

Looking from Cam to Rich, the man’s eyes were full of contempt. Next to one pupil he had a permanent red spot where a vessel had busted. Both weather worn, his clothes and face were a testament to his life in the field. No matter what farm the men worked for, they all look the same.

Livid and bitter, Carlos had an air of confidence now walking beside his father. Puffed out over the brow, the side of his right eye had already turned blue. Carrying his arm at an odd angle, the boy leaned a little.

It’s him, father. Pointing his finger yet again, Carlos singled Rich out. Is your mother home, boy? asked the man sternly.

Lugo must have given him the wrong address, whispered Cam.

Yes sir, I’ll get her . . . Come on Cam.

Still waddling, Cam, with Rich on his heels, got his house key out discreetly and opened the door.

Closing it behind them, they both whispered. What are we going to tell her? asked Cam.

. . . That . . . that a white woman hit his son with a car and that someone in town told him it was her.

That’s crazy.

You got anything better?

Cam sighed, rolling it over in his mind. What if he speaks English?

Are you kidding me, the guy looks like Juan Valadez himself. Alright, said Cam, rousing his courage.

We’ve got to hurry before your dad gets home.

Wearing gray sweatpants pulled up to the knees and a plain white tank top, Cam’s mother pulled moist clothes from the washer and dropped them in a woven clothes hamper.

Mom.

Finding one last article of clothing, she blew a tuft of golden hair out of her face. What is it Cam, I’m doing clothes right now.

There’s a man out front that wants to talk to you about his son getting run over. Me? What does he want to talk to me for?

Impatience showing on his face, the man was visibly confused when a white woman came out the front door.

Yes, can I help you?

Unable to understand her, he spoke. My name is Junta Sildaz. My son goes to school with this one . . . Is he your son? he asked.

He said his name is Junta Sildaz and he wants to know if you can see a kid my size standing in the road, Rich translated.

Yes. Why . . .? she replied, nodding.

When I picked my son up from school today, the teacher told me your son had attacked mine. Look at him. Opening his hand, he waved towards Carlos.

He wants to know how you can run him over . . . Look at him.

I didn’t run your son over Mr. Sildaz. I don’t know who told you that? But I don’t even drive . . . Folding her arms with much attitude, she scowled.

Your son deserved what he got Mr. Sildaz. He shouldn’t have been picking on little girls. You should teach him to have more respect Rich said in Spanish, changing her words. His eyes opening wide, he turned on his son. You were picking on little girls, boy? No father, I was only pushing her on the merry-go-round," whined Carlos.

Squinting, his father saw through his lie.

He’s getting onto his son for lying, whispered Cam to his mother. I’m sorry for wasting your time Mrs. Ringer. I will deal with my son.

He’s sorry for wasting your time. He said he’ll deal with his son for lying, said Rich. No problem.

Not waiting for Rich to translate, he pointed his son towards the truck while uttering obscenities. Choking to life a moment later, the truck backed out, coughing white smoke from its tailpipe. He ground it into gear and left. Not a second later, their fathers’ truck came from the other end of the street

Shrouded in a thick bedim of fog, the old road that wound through their neighborhood was so thick it seemed to slow them down. It was overcast. The sun was lazy and slow to get out of bed, preferring to relax in its blanket of clouds.

Crisscrossing each other slowly, the two boys tried to come up with a solution to Rich’s problem.

Lugo called the office. Dad was out in the field though. I told him it was about donations for a new baseball diamond . . . that way I know he wouldn’t call her back. Rich didn’t sound too proud of what he’d done, but he was already in too deep.

I guess she figured sending Carlos’ dad to your house was as good as getting hold of him.

Yep, now all I got to do is find somewhere to hang out at all day.

You got any ideas?

Dull yellow headlights penetrated the gloom only moments before another of Colombia’s choice vehicles, an old, beat up pickup truck, caused them to veer into the other lane.

Probably go out to the woods for a while, go exploring or something.

I’m jealous. Maybe I should skip too?

Lugo would call your mom. Dejected, Cam agreed.

Rich followed alongside him all the way to the schoolyard

Alright, I’ll meet you here when you get out. Locking his brakes up in plain view of the playground, Rich leaned forward. Ducking like a fugitive, he swiftly vanished from sight.

Stirring a boiling pot of pasta, Summer smiled when she felt her husband’s arms close around her waist. Kissing her cheek, he reached over and lifted a small pot’s lid.

Mmmm . . . smells great. Bubbling in the pot was a tomato sauce thick with beans, peppers, and meat, which filled the kitchen with a hearty aroma. Finding a wooden spoon, he delved in the pot and brought a steaming sample to his mouth. Shoving him lightly with her hip, she removed the pot of boiling pasta and dumped it in a strainer, turning the cool tap water on.

I still can’t believe that man thought that I had run his son over? Steam rose from the noodles. Opening the oven, she put on a mitt and pulled a pan of garlic bread out.

Ah, this is good. Closing his eyes, Tom savored the taste of the sauce.

Don’t . . . Swinging the pan full of bread away from her husband’s reaching hand, she emptied it off into a basket.

"If a white woman ran my son over, you’d be the prime suspect. You are the only one around."

Yeah I guess. It was just weird. I got a letter from Malieah today. Gazing out the window, she made sure Cam and Rich were still in the backyard playing.

Everything ok?

Yep, great. I’m so excited about September. She told me about this live poetry group she’s in. They meet every weekend at this café and everyone listens to the local talent and then they have a big name come in to perform. It sounds so . . . big city, ya know?

Wiping his mouth with a paper towel, he snatched a piece of the hot bread out of the basket. He bounced it from hand to hand. Blowing on it, he bit in with only his teeth.

All this time it took me to domesticate you and now all my hard work is going to go down the drain. It starts with poetry groups. The next thing you know you’ll have found a young sophisticated man who wears designer sunglasses and goes to charity auctions, has famous painters and best-selling authors for friends.

Predicting the future, Tom walked around the kitchen waving the piece of garlic bread around.

Scared I’m going to get Americanized? joked Summer. Coming to him in the middle of the kitchen, she kissed his lips. You’ll always be my renaissance man

Snatching the bread from his hand, she stuck her finger in his face. "NOT. UNTIL. DINNER! Packing his tube with his tongue, Cam threw his head back and blew through the straw. Smacking an area already carpeted with white lily pads, the mushy ball struck and mushroomed, creating another pad. Falling to the empty seat, his eyes studied it for the tenth time that day.

Scratching a chalk piece against the board, Lugo explained her method of dividing fractions in a monotonous tone that always made Cam sleepy. He couldn’t wait for class to be over so he could find out what Rich had done all day.

Yesterday, Rich had ridden his bike into town. Perusing the market, he’d found a repository that let you kiss girls and do all kinds of other stuff for five dollars. Captivated, Cam had quickly conjured up ways to earn the money along with Rich. In the very near future, they planned on returning to this mysterious and fascinating place to kiss the girls.

The day before, Rich followed the dirt road that led all the way to Villavicencio, a town about thirty miles south of Bogotá. Passing old trucks and cars on the bumpy narrow road, he’d found the trail in the woods that led to a waterfall. This, also, Cam had to see soon.

There was no telling what type of adventure Rich had had today. The clock on the wall’s hand seemed to have slowed down. It wasn’t even lunch yet. Loading his weapon, Cam saw a window of opportunity when Lugo erased the board and began scribing new problems.

Leaning forward, he turned, aimed, and fired. Shooting in front of Sallis, his neighbor, the spitball hit Carlos in his good eye. Concealing his weapon, Cam lounged in his chair, whistling lowly.

Pushing his bike into the bushes, Rich hustled to get into the woods far away from the nearby fields of coffee berries. Entangling the pedals, vines snatched the bike backwards. Hustling to free it, he heard one of the fieldworkers yell in the distance. Freeing it, he dragged the bike a little farther and hid it behind a dense bouquet. Dashing down the small trail, Rich slowed his pace. Breathing deeply, he bent over and laughed at himself. There was no way his father had seen him cut through at the bend in the road. It was probably miles away at the farm’s north end. He was just being paranoid. I’m living a double life, a fugitive on the run, he thought to himself and laughed again.

Like most mornings, when the dew covered the ground and fog gave way to the sun more heat seemed to be coming from below than above. Perspiring beneath his shirt, he took it off and sprinted up the hill with its morass of barren tree roots.

Reaching the shallow palisade, he found that the clear creek water had risen by a couple of feet since he and Cam had been there last. Finding a place to shuffle down to the water’s edge, he dipped his hand in and moved around. He enjoyed the cool water against his skin and thought for only a moment before stripping down to his underwear and wading in. Stepping on the stones on the bottom carefully, he found a depth that dropped to soft mud in the middle. Barely able to keep his head above the water, he tiptoed and then dipped beneath its surface. Above, the trees blocked out the sun. It was a beautiful day. Wait until he told Cam about this!

Paddling backwards with his eyes closed, Rich’s face looked serene and angelic. Splashing nearby, a stream of warm fluid came to hit him in the face interrupting his moment of Nirvana. Blinking, he held his hand up to block it only to find Hector urinating from atop the tree bridge.

Ha ha ha, look at the pretty boy. Where’s your friend at now? Cutting his stream off, the older boy fiddled with his pants.

Fighting to gain his footing, Rich’s frantic movements foamed the clear water up. Infuriated, he clambered up the rocky bank only to find one of Hector’s amigos waiting. When he turned, he found another one smiling malevolently on the other side.

Searching the creek’s bottom with his hand, he found a fist-sized rock. When he was bringing it up to hurl, Hector dropped down onto him. Punching him in the head twice, the bigger teen gripped hold of a jagged rock nearby. His fist rising in the air three times, he struck Rich in the face.

Shuffling between the other students, Cam limped only a little on his way to the bike rack. Bumping roughly into Carlos Cam pretended not to notice.

See you Monday Cam, said a swooning group of girls as he walked by. Smiling tightly, he waived.

Waiting patiently, he watched the last kid being picked up by a two-tone Ford Escort with no tailpipe. Diddling for only a short while longer before leaving, Cam looked around, constantly waiting for the yellow and chrome bike to appear. Where is Rich at?

Working in the field alongside Daniele for over ten years had made the two women as close as sisters. Setting down the heavy basket overflowing with plump red berries, the dusky woman laughed at her friend’s innuendo concerning her husband’s sexual performance.

Almost forgetting the light yarn sweater she’d shed at the second row’s end that morning when the sun rose. Teresa left in a hurry, dashing down the line and up the row. She didn’t want to keep her ride waiting.

Since it was already getting dim between the thick rows, the older woman was relieved to find the dark sweater beneath the brush on a basket. Shaking it free of leaves and straw, she heard a moan nearby.

Concerned, she cautiously walked to the edge of the woods. Grabbing her chest, she was surprised by the wounded child. Bloody and bruised, he leaned on the bicycle that he pushed heavily. A deep, jagged cut had split his left cheek open. Just as surprised to see her, he jumped on it and rode off.

You’re late today . . . Where you been at? asked Cam’s mother when he walked through the door. Lounging on the couch with her feet drawn together, one knee held up, she fought to keep up with the closed captions translation of the Spanish soap on the screen’s bottom.

Just riding slow. Kissing her on the cheek, he went into the kitchen to pour a glass of orange juice. He drew the curtain back and watched the Colóns’ house for a few moments, waiting for Rich to come peddling in.

I threw some sandwiches together for lunch. There’s a couple left over in the fridge if you want one? called his mother from the couch.

Thanks. I’m not hungry. What did you cook for dinner?

Meatloaf and potatoes.

I’m going to go cut the grass.

Finishing the orange juice, he set the glass in the sink. It would only take him about an hour. He could watch for Rich while he did it, and he could earn the ten bucks they would need to kiss the girls.

Cam, said his mother before he walked out the door. Where’s Rich at?

He had to stay late at school, said Cam avoiding eye contact with his mother.

Letting go of the push lawnmower’s handle, Cam listened to its engine drone out as it rolled to a stop. The last golden rays of the sun stretched out over the freshly trimmed lawn. Vibrations from the mower numbed his hands. Soon it would be dark. Stepping out of the front door, Rich’s mother combed the street with her eyes. Turning his back, Cam quickly pushed the lawnmower into the backyard towards the shed. He drug its aluminum door across the grass to open it.

Cam . . .

Stopping, Cam looked up to find Rich there.

Where you been at . . . What’s wrong with your face? What happened? Closing the door behind him, Cam pulled the hanging string. Soft, yellow light came down, bathing Rich’s face.

Holy crap! yelled Cam.

Is it bad?

Heck yeah it’s bad.

What happened? Pivoting from side to side, Cam examined Rich’s face. About a half-inch wide, a deep gash ran down his left cheek.

I went to the creek by the fort to swim. Hector and his boys caught me in the water. . . I fought back but . . .

Clinching his jaws in anger, Cam muttered under his breath.

Your mom’s standing on the porch looking for you now. What are you going to tell her?

Trying to pretend that he wasn’t expecting Rich to show up, Cam used the set of hedge clippers to trim a copse in front of the house. Rich snuck around to the next street, Cam caught the yellow and chrome bike careening up the Colón’s’ drive a moment later. Shrieking, his mother ran to him with tears in her eyes. Substituting their dinner with junk food out of the snack machine in the waiting room, the Ringers waited patiently for the doctor to finish putting the sutures in Rich’s face. The rest of his injuries had been pretty superficial—a lot of bruising but no broken bones.

Finishing his Almond Joy, Cam listened to his father translate the novella playing on the television in the small waiting room. On another wooden bench nearby, a Spanish family waiting for their grandchild to be born watched avidly.

She’s mad at her father for never telling her that she had a brother, said his father in a low tone. Missing the closed caption option on their home television, his mother was pacified by her husband’s narration.

The older man on the screen left, leaving the woman alone in her home. A moment later a dashing young man came in the picture and kissed her fervently on the mouth. Torn between emotions, she pushed him away.

Who’s that? asked Cam’s mother.

That’s the guy she’s been dating. She just found out he’s her brother

Seeing Rich and the Colóns enter, Cam shot to his feet. A collage of bruises, his puffy face was covered on one side by thick bandages. Hooded and murky, one eye couldn’t be seen. Only half his face moved when he smiled tightly. Standing tall over them, their parents talked.

You look like crap, said Cam.

I’m not even going to tell you what you look like.

Rich caught his eye for only a moment before looking away, embarrassed by his face. The doctor said he would take the stitches out in a couple of weeks. It’s going to leave a bad scar though, said Rich’s mother in her labored English.

Terrible . . . I can’t believe someone could just hit a child with their car and keep right on going? Summer said, gazing down at Rich’s face. Waving goodbye to the other couple they’d been sharing the room with, the Ringers followed the Colóns out. We’re going to get them back . . . said Cam sullenly.

Yeah . . . I don’t have to go to school tomorrow.

You want to go then?

Nah . . . not for a while.

Melancholic, Rich looked away. Leading their families out of the hospital, he stopped by his dad’s truck. Stretched out by the neck, his T-shirt had dark grazes across its front. He was hurt; not only his body, but also his pride. Seeing his friend so downhearted made Cam angry.

Giving him a light hug, Cam patted Rich on the shoulder. I’ll see you after school tomorrow . . .

Reconstructing the fort out of Lincoln Logs, Cam stationed action figures outside it. Taking his favorite character, Snake Eyes, he simulated mock attacks on the fort by the others while the ninja repelled them from the fort’s top. Frustrated, he knocked the three attacking statuettes down.

Sighing, he sat back on the carpeted floor of his room and folded his arms. His face knitted in concentration, Cam scrutinized the small scene. He removed the black ninja and put all of the others in the fort. Lighting an imaginary fire, he hustled each one out, taking care to shake them around while howling loathly. Wielding his sword, Snake Eyes slapped them with the plastic stick.

Rising before the sun the next morning, Cam carried his small T-ball bat. Carefully leaning it by the back door, he quietly opened the fridge.

What are you doing up so early, Son? Turning on the kitchen light, his father reached past him to grab his lunchbox.

Couldn’t sleep . . . He pulled a gallon of milk out and fished a box of cereal out of the cabinet.

Yeah, the older you get the less you need. Pouring a full coffeepot into his thermos, Tom turned its timer off. Its clock read 5:30 a.m. Cranking to life across the street, Jiménez’s truck revved up several times. A belt squeaked loudly when the motor calmed down. Reaching down, his father kissed him on the forehead.

Time for work . . . Be careful on your way to school. Don’t need you getting run over. Waiting until his father went out the door, Cam went to one of the sliding drawers and pulled it open. Moving the candles inside around, he found a book of matches.

A little after daybreak, he opened the shed’s door slowly, waiting for the aluminum to sound as was customary when it reached a certain point. Pop. Closing his eyes, he willed the noise not to carry. Finding it in the dim light, Cam took the sloshing gas can out and eased the door shut.

Checking to make sure the bat was strongly secured to his handlebars, he got on.

Wobbling, he balanced the gas can and took off like a thief.

Dark one moment, then bright enough to absolutely blind you the next, the sun played hide and seek in a meadow of clouds. Traipsing through the woods, Hector and his friends closed their eyes to block out the dirt blown by the wind.

Returning to their ambush on the pretty boy yesterday, their conversation was filled with jokes and laughs. Weeding through gnarled oak trees, the trail climbed. Soon the cypress from the creek’s bank could be seen.

I thought you had cracked his head open, said one of the smaller boys.

It sounded like a melon busted, added the other.

I wish his friend had been with him . . . that’s the one I wanted, said Hector, full of machismo. Come on, let’s play in the fort. said one of the boys. Sprinting one by one, they all ran up the leafy hill. Reaching its entrance first, the smallest of them all felt his shirt being pulled by Hector. Snatching him back. Hector ran in first. Looking around, he felt his eyes burn.

You smell that? Hector asked.

Standing on the top of the fort’s wall, Cam brought the book of matches in his hand to life and threw it down.

Whoooooooosh!

Igniting on the boys, the fire traveled to the sodden ground. Cam had poured the rest of the can on earlier. Screaming, they ran out towards the creek, covered in flames. A fireball followed by smoke rose from the fort’s interior.

Leaping to the top, Cam balanced. Clutching hold of his bat, he tried to put the running fireballs out with it before they reached the creek’s lifesaving water. Wriggling and writhing, the screaming boys jumped in. Psssstt! Steam rose. Hector buoyed up a moment later, followed by his two friends.

Crying, they took off their burnt clothes. Unsatisfied with the few hits he’d gotten with the bat, Cam followed them into the water, hitting Hector in the back and arm several times. He left the bully lain out on a cluster of sharp rocks. His one eye rolled around, unable to lock onto anything. He moaned out in pain.

Is Rich home, Mrs. Colón? asked Cam through the screen door after rapping on it twice.

He sure is Cam . . . RICH! yelled his mother. Kneading a pile of dough, the woman made fajita wraps. The aroma coming from inside was wonderful. Cam had missed lunch and was starving. Their report on air had been due today. He was hoping Lugo hadn’t called his mother to ask why he’d missed.

Rich’s bruises had turned darker, and you still couldn’t see one eye. He looked a lot more upbeat though.

How’d Lugo like the report?

She loved it, said Cam. Seeing Mrs. Colón eavesdrop, Cam jerked his head to the side.

Mom, I’ll be right back!

Don’t go far Richard, I’m going to need your help with the papayas.

Shadowing Cam around the house, Rich saw the Ringers’ gas can and a bat hidden by some shrubs.

Put these in your shed. If my mom asks, you borrowed them. What’s up? asked Rich, puzzled.

I didn’t go to school today . . .

After retelling the story to an awestruck Rich, Cam got on his bike and started to take off.

So what did the others do when you were hitting Hector? asked Rich, full of questions.

They ran . . . I’ll show you everything tomorrow. We’ll ride to the fields with my dad . . . Guess what else? Rich’s face was still covered with a thick bandage and Cam thought he might rip his stitches if he smiled any broader. Cam considered not telling him for a moment.

I made ten dollars cutting the grass yesterday. Five for you . . . and five for me.

The market girls, said Rich wistfully.

Winking, Cam took off, hoping that Lugo hadn’t made that call. Opening his front door, a moment later, he was greeted by his oblivious mother. Making a glass of Kool-Aid, he headed towards his room.

Mrs. Lugo called me earlier while I was vacuuming, yelled his mother down the hall as an afterthought.

She did? Wonder what she wanted, replied Cam innocently.

Said she was calling to let me know my son had missed school. I think she meant to call Mrs. Colón . . . I can hardly understand her.

Yeah . . . Must have been an accident . . . Closing his door behind him, he breathed in deeply. His father had bought a bunch of study guides for people trying to learn Spanish not too long ago. Cam made a mental note to hide them when he could find them.

It was the following weekend before Rich’s mother allowed him to go to the fields to play. As soon as her only cub had shown up injured, Mrs. Colón had turned into a female lion, fretting over Rich and taking every prophylactic measure possible to ensure that he was safe.

Climbing