Story of Tj: Part Xx IV - Crash Course in Brain Surgery


by Paul Frey <Frey769@hotmail.com>

This time we drove on for three hours. We had a break at a shopping center, where mr Jackson bought a loaf of coarse rye bread and a sixpack sparkling mineral water for me and a coke and a couple of sandwiches for himself. He cut a fourth of the loaf and gave to me and put the rest in the saddle bag. We ate by the bike in the parking lot. I felt a little better afterwards, the headache withdrew to a lurking position in the back of my head. Then mr Jackson lit a cigarette and offered me one, too. He could have knocked me down with his pinkie by then. I took one and he lit it for me, and we leaned against the bike, side by side, smoking. Just like two ordinary guys out on a midwinter bike trip, brothers, even, or father and son. I tried to imagine what it would be like to have Russell Jackson for a father. Tough, no doubt, but I guessed he could be like a nice dad, too, to those of his own kin. He seemed used to children from how he handled the Simkin boys. Maybe he actually had a son. He could have twelve of them for what I knew.

"By the way, TJ, I´ve considered recommending you for adoption", he said.

"Sir?" I said, very startled. Was he a _f_u_c_k_ing mind reader, too?

"Crowmill has a system for it. We call it adoption, but it´s more like mentorship. I´ve met your family and frankly, you won´t get much help from them. They´ve already screwed you up once and you´ve conned them too many times. Your mother even told me you could go _f_u_c_k_ yourself. That´s tough, TJ, really tough. You don´t stand a chance on your own, once you´re out of Crowmill. You´ll tip too easily. This won´t come in effect until Step Four, anyway, but you need to get thoroughly aquainted with your mentor before you´re at large again."

"I guess you know what´s best for me, sir", I said. "And I mean that, at least I do right now, sir."

"Yeah? Bet you won´t think as highly of me the next time I flog you. You worry much about the 200?"

I nodded some.

"Yes, sir."

"You should. Won´t make it any easier, though, but you have to prepare yourself. Anyway, you´ll survive. Will do you good in the long run, too. You know the say, don´t you?"

"Pain is an excellent teacher, sir. I know it by heart."

"So I´ve noticed, TJ. Well, enough of the small talk, now. Get yourself going."

We rode on for another half hour and stopped by a housing area, looking recently built and rather exclusive. There was a long double row of locked garages and a parking lot in between them. Only three cars were parked there, a rusty black Ford Scorpio, a black classic Morris Minor and a white Missypissy Cunt. Seeing that Japanese car made me remember the nice couple. I hoped it wasn´t them we were about to see. I had to ask mr Jackson. I immediately noticed that he didn´t like me asking. Maybe he regretted the small talk and the cigarette, too, and decided he´d slackened the leash too much.

"Mr and mrs Conway", he said. "Doesn´t ring your bell, does it? You just nick whatever you come by and don´t bother with names."

"Sir, if these are the ones that picked me up I don´t want to tell them about the whippings and all, please, sir."

"And why should I let you keep that a secret, Jennings? Because you´re ashamed of it? So you should be, the more the better. Because you´ve had enough humiliation for one day? You haven´t. You don´t call the shots here, TJ, you´ve already found that out a couple of times. Maybe I should actually let you have it in front of them, bareassed over my knee? Would remind you of what this is all about."

"Sir, please sir, don´t get mad with me, please. I didn´t mean any of that, sir, I didn´t. It´s just that she´s pregnant and they were really nice people. They don´t need to know there are places like Crowmill and people getting whipped and stuff, sir, they´ll be miserable knowing." Then I bit my tongue. What the _f_u_c_k_ was I up to, trying to direct him, knowing he was already annoyed with me, knowing he was capable of doing whatever came to his mind and I just had to take it.

"Yeah, Jennings, you thought they were nice, that´s why you stole her wallet and cellphone and the CD´s, wasn´t it? Stupid punk. Get going. You walk in front of me so I can keep an eye on you."

I did. I carried the left saddle bag and my crash helmet. It was already late afternoon and very dark and the halos of the street lights were softened by the fog, making everything around seem spooky and unreal. I was very tired. I also worried about mr Jackson´s mood and how he´d act once we were there. Maybe he was tired, too. Couldn´t be much fun, driving me around on this _f_u_c_k_ing apology tour.

The Conways lived on the second floor of a three storey building. There was a hand painted sign on the door that said Welcome to Nathalie and Frederick Conway. The sign was made of wood and shaped as a unicorn, and the text was meandering along its side. _f_u_c_k_ing nauseating.

"Ring the bell, for _f_u_c_k_´s sake!" mr Jackson retorted. I had waited for him to move first, like he´d done all the way, but I obeyed instantly. Mr Jackson pushed me aside and the door opened. Yes, that was him, the smiling guy. Wasn´t smiling now, though. I knew I´d blush as soon as he looked at me. I really felt ashamed. Her open purse was on the car floor in the back and I didn´t steal her things because I needed them but because I thought they were too _f_u_c_k_ing gullible, leaving it all back there with a stranger. I figured they needed a lesson in reality. They could be far worse off another time, otherwise. That reasoning of mine seemed completely screwed up right now.

We were let into the hall. Mr Conway shook my hand aswell, looking sad and very serious, and when mrs Conway came, even more knocked up than I remembered, she just nodded to both of us and asked us to step into the den, as she called it. Everything was white and serene in there and the furniture and paintings and stuff seemed carefully chosen and bought at the same time. No old football awards on the shelfs (would´ve been mrs Conway´s if there were, that guy looked like he couldn´t tell a football from a head of cabbage) or worn out easy chairs or old heirlooms or even souvenirs. I´d never call that a den. It was more like a design exhibition. I couldn´t picture a kid in there, putting his dirty little hands on the cream white cushions or spilling lemonade on the carpet. I didn´t feel at ease there, either.

On the coffee table were snacks and fruit and cider and mineral water, and four tall white glasses on a tray. I sat down on the uncomfortably rigid sofa with mr Jackson and mr Conway, and mrs Conway was in the armchair.

"Please help yourselves", she said, making a swooping gesture at the table."We thought about offering you supper, but we didn´t know when you´d get here."

"We´re not pressing charges, you know", mr Conway said, leaning forward to look at me. "We figured it´s not necessary, getting our things back anyway."

"Thank you, sir", I mumbled, not looking at mr Jackson. I could sense he was still grumpy.

"We were very upset when we found out what you´d done", mrs Conway said. "You seemed such a nice boy. Why did you do it?"

This was where I could tell them anything, and it still wouldn´t explain why. Why is mostly an impossible question when it comes to behaviour, if you´re supposed to give a reasonably short and truthful answer. I decided to go easy on that one.

"I don´t know, ma´m."

"Come on, Jennings, you can do better than that", mr Jackson said. "Answer the question."

"Yes, sir. Ma´am, I stole your things because they were right in front of me. I couldn´t resist an easy catch like that. That´s why, ma´am."

"So you usually steal things, then? Is that why you´re at.....Crowmill, is it?"

"Yes, ma´am", I said to all of it. "I´m sorry, ma´am, sir. I regretted it afterwards. You were very nice to me and I shouldn´t have done that to you."

"No, you shouldn´t. But there are always reasons why you do such things. Maybe you´ve had a hard time growing up?"

It was like hearing the Cunninghams all over again. I cleared my throat.

"Ma´am, even if I had, that´s no excuse for bad behaviour. There´s always a choice, ma´am."

Mr Conway cut into the discussion.

"But your means of choice may be more or less limited, depending on how you´ve been brought up and the context around you."

"I guess so, sir", I said, not knowing where this was heading. "But I´ve been taught that stealing is wrong, like everybody else. I just didn´t care about it."

"You can´t expect a child to make the right decisions", mrs Conway said mildly, smiling at me. "Please – was it Thomas? Right. – don´t be shy, help yourself to something to eat."

"Thank you, ma´am", I said, pouring myself a glass of water, hoping she´d forget about the rest. I felt increasingly uneasy. Even staying with the Simkins for a whole _f_u_c_k_ing week would be better than this, and I was as scared as ever of mr Jackson, all my sensors shivering from the aggressive vibes around him.

"Actually, the things were no big deal", mr Conway said. "It was more the....violation of being robbed. Neither Nathalie nor I have ever had this happening to us. Somehow you imagine everybody to be good and honest."

"Sir, you just have to read a daily paper to know that´s not true", I said, and that´s when mr Jackson came at me.

"Shut up, Jennings!" he barked out. I involuntarily jerked away from him."You´re not supposed to argue with these people. Just zip it and listen. Nobody´s asking for your opinion."

There was a short silence. I stared straight ahead at a white wooden tulip on the wall.

"Mr Jackson, you´re bullying the boy", mrs Conway said, cheeks flushing. "He wasn´t arguing. He was merely expressing his point of view."

"Jennings is not here to have a tea time chat", mr Jackson retorted. "He committed at least five crimes in hardly more than 24 hours, and he wouldn´t have stopped there. He´s eighteen years old, not a child. You don´t wind up in Crowmill for occasional pranks."

"Now look here, mr Jackson", mr Conway said, leaning forward again, "I don´t like the tone of your voice. There´s no need to treat the boy like that, and absolutely no need to be harsh to my wife. We´re civilized people, aren´t we?"

I just wanted to get the hell out of there. This was rapidly going completely bananas and I didn´t want to stick around for the finals.

"Please, sir", I said very, very softly, "May I be excused? I need to use the bathroom, sir."

"You stay right here!" mr Jackson said, voice like a razorblade. Then he turned to mr Conway. "Yes, mr Conway, we´re civilized people. That´s why Jennings and I came here. Otherwise he´d be rotting in a dungeon somewhere or even got hanged for what he did. This visit is to confront him with the victims of his deeds and teach him responsibility for his actions, seeing how they affect others. You don´t help him by excusing him, he´s very clever at doing that all by himself. Jennings will cost society – that is, you and other tax payers – he´ll cost vast amounts of money and suffering unless he decides to change his attitude and way of living."

"And how do you suppose he´ll be motivated to do that?" mrs Conway asked. "By being yelled at and humiliated in front of strangers?" She beckoned at me. "The bathroom is the second door on the right."

"Thank you, ma´am." I didn´t budge. I was sweating like the Marathon Man.

"What do you people know about criminals? I´ve worked with them for 15 years and never met anyone who´s gone straight from being understood and pitied. " Mr Jackson had turned towards the Conways, pressing me into the corner of the sofa. I moved myself over to a wooly footstool by the table to give both of them some space. He didn´t seem to notice.

I didn´t feel well at all. My head was throbbing, I was kind of dizzy and had a dull, weakening ache in my stomach, starving from my four soon to be five days on bread and water. I wondered if we were going back to Crowmill tonight. The thought made me feel even worse. I could hear them go on arguing, raising their voices little by little, seemingly having forgotten I even was around. I didn´t want to listen to what they were saying. I had to do something. My skin was crawling. If I kept sitting here, pretending to be calm and cooperative, waiting for my entry in this scene straight out of Fawlty Towers, I´d just wither and die. And I was certain mr Jackson would make me pay dearly for witnessing this, to save his own face or just to get it out of his system. I knew I would have.

I got up and made for the door.

"Where the hell do you think you´re going, Jennings?" I heard mr Jackson roar, but I didn´t stop to answer, because I didn´t know. I snatched my jacket from the hanger and was out of there in a split second, running for my life. Then I came to my senses. I turned and ran to the parking lot, throwing myself down in the shadowland beside the bike, curling up to protect my head and body from what was coming. He couldn´t accuse me of running away if I stayed here. He couldn´t really beat the _s_h_i_t_ out of me either, in public. I´d yell my lungs out if he started on me, I swore to God.

I sat there for maybe 15 minutes with my back against the bike, the cold slowly creeping through the clothes and further into my skin. A couple of times I heard distant footsteps from somebody running but they didn´t turn my way. I had absolutely no idea of what to do. I didn´t want to go back to the flat, I didn´t want to stay here, either, and I was too scared to go anywhere else. It was a golden opportunity to get away from mr Jackson, Crowmill and the 200. The main problem was that I had nowhere to go. Eventually, they´d track me down anyway and I´d be Lucky Luke if I only got 200 for it.

Then footsteps were approaching. My heart leaped. I heard mr Jackson breathing heavily as he halted on the other side, dropped the saddlebags on the ground and from the sound of it started dialling a number on his cellphone. I got up, very slowly. I had to call for his attention before he phoned Crowmill and reported me missing.

"Mr Jackson, sir..." He immediately spun around and my courage failed in a wink. I quickly got down on my knees and fixed my eyes on a crease on the saddle upholstery, waiting.

"Jennings, for _f_u_c_k_´s sake, get up from there".

I wasn´t able to decide if he was still mad, but I obeyed, still keeping my face down, waiting for the hammer to fall.

"_f_u_c_k_ing loonies", he muttered to himself, then he sighed. "Chin up, Jennings. Come on now. Have a smoke."

He held out the Marlboro packet for me but my hands were shaking too badly, so he pulled out two fags, lit them and offered me the one.

"Don´t you _f_u_c_k_ing ever do this again, TJ, you hear?"

"Yes, sir."

"So, what do you want to do now? Get out of here? Go back and finish it off? They´ve had their stuff back."

"It´s not for me to decide, sir."

"TJ, don´t piss me off. I´m asking you."

"Then I want to go back and finish, sir." I didn´t, really. I had no clue to how I should go about finishing anything with the Conways From Outer Space. Still, I didn´t like the thought of just leaving. "Sir, may I ask a question?"

Mr Jackson exhaled smoke in a white streak against the darkness. He looked dead tired.

"Shoot", he said.

"How do I finish this, sir?"

"How the _f_u_c_k_ should I know? It´s your funeral. They´re your nice people." He managed to put half a ton of acid into that. "You figure that out for yourself."

I just nodded, feeling grimly disappointed. Some support. He hadn´t handled them either, the _f_u_c_k_ing smartass. I finished my fag and crushed the dog end with my boot heel, then I picked up the bag and the helmet and waited for him to get ready. We walked back in silence. I rang the bell and mr Conway opened.

"You´re back", he said. He didn´t move to make way for us.

"Sir, may we come in?" I asked.

He shrugged and left the doorway, turning his back on us, and we entered again. I didn´t put down my load. I wanted to make this brief. Mrs Conway peeked out from the den and positioned herself with her back against the doorframe. She was still agitated, looking blackly at mr Jackson.

"Sir, ma´am", I said, "I just want to tell you that mr Jackson is wrong. You are, too. None of you can change anybody by telling him off or beating him or understanding him or excusing his bad behaviour. That´s not the way change works. There has to be something to gain. Now, sir, ma´am, Crowmill is hell on earth and you wouldn´t believe half of it if I told you, so I won´t. But I know I´ll get something out of it in the end. They´ll fix me a flat and a job. They´ll also teach me discipline. Nobody gets anywhere without it. I don´t want your pity or your smoothing over or your pampering. I´d rather have you telling me to go f .....to p off. I´d deserve that. I stole from you, for chrissake!" I had to pause to swallow a couple of times. Nobody said anything, they just kept staring and I heard mr Jackson breathing behind me. "Mr Conway, mrs Conway, I´m sorry I stole your stuff. I´d do it all over again, because that´s who I am right now. But I´ll work on changing, because I want to. Not because mr Jackson or you want me to. I have a choice of my own. I´ve always had." I turned my head and looked over my shoulder. "I´m finished, sir."

Mrs Conway shook her head.

"I won´t argue with you", she said. "I accept your apology. I hope you´ll make it. If you excuse me, I have to lie down and get some rest now."

"I wish you good luck, ma´am", I said.

"I wish you that, too", she said. Then she left the company. Mr Conway didn´t take up the hatchet, either, and some hollow phrases and handshakes later we were finally out of there.

We walked back to the bike as silent as before. I felt relieved. I didn´t think much of my speech, but still, it was a rounding off to the whole business and I´d never have to see the Conways or their den again. Unnoticed by mr Jackson I dropped mr Conway´s wallet in a bush by the path. It would be found and hopefully returned, but also remind them never to trust a stranger.


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