"It's okay, Mom. I'll go. Call Reggie and tell her to meet me at the jail. She'll probably sue these clowns by lunch and have them fired by tomorrow." The cops grinned at each other. Cute little kid.
Nassar then made the very sad mistake of reaching for Mark's arm. Dianne lunged and struck like a cobra. Whap! She slapped him on his left cheek and screamed, "Don't touch him! Don't touch him!" Nassar grabbed his face, and Klickman instantly grabbed her arm. She wanted to strike again, but was suddenly spun around, and somehow in the midst of this her feet and Mark's feet became tangled and they hit the floor. "You son of a bitch!" she kept screaming. "Don't touch him." Nassar reached down for some reason, and Dianne kicked him on the thigh. But she was barefoot and there was little damage. Klickman was reaching down, and Mark was scrambling to get up, and Dianne was kicking and swinging and yelling, "Don't touch him!" The nurses rushed forward and the security guards joined in as Dianne got to her feet.
Mark was pulled from the fracas by Klickman. Dianne was held by the two security guards. She was twisting and crying. Nassar was rubbing his face. The nurses were soothing and consoling and trying to separate everyone.
The door opened, and Ricky stood in it holding a stuffed rabbit. He stared at Mark, whose wrists were being held by Klickman. He stared at his mother, whose wrists were being held by the security guards. Everyone froze and stared at Ricky. His face was as white as the sheets. His hair stuck out in all directions. His mouth was open, but he said nothing.
Then he started the low, mournful groan that only Mark had heard before. Dianne yanked her wrists free and picked him up. The nurses followed her into the room and they tucked him in the bed. They patted his arms and legs, but the groaning continued. Then the thumb went in his mouth and he closed his eyes. Dianne lay beside him in the bed and began humming "Winnie the Pooh" and patting his arm.
"Let's go, kid," Klickman said.
"You gonna handcuff me?" "No. This is not an arrest." "Then what the hell is it?" "Watch your language, kid." "Kiss my ass, you big stupid jock." Klickman stopped cold and glared down at Mark.
"Watch your mouth, kid," Nassar warned.
"Look at your face, hotshot. I think it's turning blue. Mom coldcocked you. Ha-ha. I hope she broke your teeth." Klickman bent over and put his hands on his knees. He stared Mark directly in the eyes. "Are you going with us, or shall we drag you out of here?" Mark snorted and glared at him. "You think I'm scared of you, don't you? Let me tell you something, meathead. I've got a lawyer who'll have me out in ten minutes. My lawyer is so good that by this afternoon you'll be looking for another job." "I'm scared to death. Now let's go." They started walking, a cop on each side of the defendant.
"Where are we going?" "Juvenile Detention Center." "Is it sort of a jail?" "It could be if you don't watch your smart mouth." "You knocked my mother down, you know that. She'll have your job for that." "She can have my job," Klickman said. "It's a rotten job because I have to deal with little punks like you." "Yeah, but you can't find another one, can you? There's no demand for idiots these days." ^ They passed a small crowd of orderlies and nurses, and suddenly Mark was a star. The center of attention. He was an innocent man being led away to the slaughter. He swaggered a bit. They turned the corner, and then he remembered the reporters.
And they remembered him. A flash went off as they got to the elevators, and two of the loiterers with pencils and pads were suddenly standing next to Klickman. They waited for the elevator.
"Are you a cop?" one of them asked, staring at the glow-in-the-dark Nikes.
"No comment." "Hey, Mark, where you going?" another asked from just a few feet behind. There was another flash.
"To jail," he said loudly without turning around.
"Shut up, kid," Nassar scolded. Klickman put a heavy arm on his shoulder. The photographer was beside them, almost to the elevator door. Nassar held up an arm to block his view. "Get away," he growled.
"Are you under arrest, Mark?" one of them yelled.
"No," Klickman snapped just as the door opened. Nassar shoved Mark inside while Klickman blocked the door until it started to close.
They were alone in the elevator. "That was a stupid thing to say, kid. Really stupid." Klickman was shaking his head.
"Then arrest me." "Really stupid." "Is it against the law to talk to the press?" "Just keep your mouth shut, okay?" "Why don't you just beat the hell out of me, okay, meathead?" "I'd love to." "Yeah, but you can't, right? Because I'm just a little kid, and you're a big stupid cop and if you touch me you'll get fired and sued and all that. You knocked my mother down, meathead, and you haven't heard the last of it." "Your mother slapped me," Nassar said.
"Good for her. You clowns have no idea what she's been through. You show up to get me and act like it's no big deal, like just because you're cops and you've got this piece of paper then my mother is supposed to get happy and send me off with a kiss. A couple of morons. Just big, dumb, meatheaded cops." The elevator stopped, opened, and two doctors entered. They stopped talking and looked at Mark. The door closed behind them, and they continued down. "Can you believe these clowns are arresting me?" he asked the doctors.
They frowned at Nassar and Klickman.
"Juvenile Court offender," Nassar explained. Why couldn't the little punk just shut up?
Mark nodded at Klickman. "This one here with the cute shoes knocked my mother down about five minutes ago. Can you believe it?" Both doctors looked at the shoes.
"Just shut up, Mark," Klickman said.
"Is your mother okay?" one of the doctors asked.
"Oh she's great. My little brother's in the psychiatric ward. Our trailer burned to the ground a few hours ago. And then these thugs show up and arrest me right in front of my mother. Bigfoot here knocks her to the floor. She's doing great." The doctors stared at the cops. Nassar watched his feet and Klickman closed his eyes. The elevator stopped and a small crowd boarded. Klickman stayed close to Mark.
When all was quiet and they were moving again, Mark said loudly, "My lawyer'll sue you jerks, you know that, don't you? You'll be unemployed this time tomorrow." Eight sets of eyes looked down in the corner, then up at the pained face of Detective Klickman. Silence.
"Just shut up, Mark." "And what if I don't? You gonna rough me up like you did my mother. Throw me down, kick me a few times. You're just another meathead cop, you know that, Klickman? Just another fat cop with a gun. Why don't you lose a few pounds?" Neat rows of sweat broke out across Klickman's forehead. He caught the eyes darting at him from the crowd. The elevator was barely moving. He could have strangled Mark.
Nassar was pressed into the other rear corner, and his ears were now ringing from the slap to the head. He couldn't see Mark Sway, but he could certainly hear him.
"Is your mother all right?" a nurse asked. She was standing next to Mark, looking down and very concerned.
"Yeah, she's having a great day. She'd be a lot better, of course, if these cops would leave her alone. They're taking me to jail, you know that?" "What for?" "I don't know. They won't tell me. I was just minding my own business, trying to console my mother because our trailer burned to the ground this morning and we lost everything we own, when they showed up with no warning, and here I am on the way to jail." "How old are you?" "Only eleven. But that's not important to these guys. They'd arrest a four-year-old." Nassar groaned softly. Klickman kept his eyes closed.