The Edge

Chapter 12

"It was a nightmare," I whine, rubbing my forehead as Wes listens on. He'd had the day off from work, which means he's spent the day wallowing in the sofa amongst his various refuse. When I came home, it was oddly comforting to find him in exactly the same state I'd left him.

"I don't even want to go to school tomorrow. Will you call in sick for me?"

"Playing hooky to avoid the nasty bullies?" inquires Wes. "I think I'm getting a high school flashback."

I've been getting a lot of those too, lately.

"Principal Lawrence said it isn't my job to be questioning the students and therefore I'm forbidden to talk murder with them. He told me all this in a shouty sort of way that made me feel feelings I didn't like."

Wes nods sagely. "Reasonable request and intonation."

"You think? He also added that if I fail to comply, he will 'can my ass before the month is out.'"

"Hmmm. 'Part with your badonkadonk' is the professional term to use, I believe. Lawsuit in the making?" I smile, pleased that Wes is back to his blasé self. If he'd gone off on me again, I might have cried at this point.

"Thanks for giving me the image of Lawrence 'parting my badonadonk.' I feel scarred for life."

"You can thank me by staying out of trouble."

"Now you sound like my boss again. He insisted that associating with Luke reflects poorly on the school and although they can't stop me from doing it, they'll take my actions into consideration when deciding if they want to renew my contract next year."

"And? What have we learned from all this?" he prompts.

"That I should be sneakier and more secretive?" Probably not the answer Wes was looking for. He narrows his eyes.

"I talked to Dad today," he informs me. "Can't say he was thrilled about your meddling."

My pulse speeds up. "You called Dad? You are such a snitch, Wes, and not of the golden variety! What did you tell him, you traitorous rat?"

Grinning, he replies, "Oh, not much. Just...everything." That can't be a good sign. Wes has never been exactly forthcoming with Dad.

"So...what did he say?" I ask, preparing for a worst case scenario whilst simultaneously plotting ways to avoid talking to Dad for the foreseeable future.

"His exact words were, 'Hasn't she learned anything from me?' and 'If she's going to pursue this, make sure she's packing heat.'" He shrugs. "Couldn't believe he let you off that lightly. I always figured the man was made of tougher stuff, but there you have it."

A rush of relief floods through me. "I'm going to interpret that as an endorsement," I state matter-of-factly. "Maybe I'll even take his advice, eh? I do have my CCW permit."

"A permit to...Create Chaos and Woe?"

"No, it means I'm allowed to Carry Cool Weapons," I retort.

"You can't mean that pop gun you keep stashed in your closet."

"Wes, that's a compact sized 9mm. It actually packs a hell of a punch, and considering I'm a decent shot, I could put down a bad guy like a dog with that thing. Not that I'd ever shoot a dog."

***

"Ms. Sullivan, are you even listening?"

Startling out of my reverie, I realize that the state detective is boring holes into me with his eyes, clearly annoyed. No, annoyed is too soft a word. He's definitely peeved. Nettled. Pissed off, in fact. I'm probably wearing a rather glazed look as I've listened to him berate my intellectual abilities and investigatory tactics for the last ten minutes.