Chapter 29

“Thanks, Mom,” Haley said to her mother as they sat together, along with Philippe, in the back of the limo a little less than an hour later. “And thanks to you too, Matt!”

Matt waved a hand but kept his eyes on the road. He silently thanked his stars that he had kept the limo out for the rest of the night after he had dropped off David Burton at his boss’s house after work. As this was prom night, with all of its craziness, he had wanted to be prepared for any contingency.

‘And, lo and behold, I actually get a contingency!’ Matt thought.

Earlier, Haley had called Jennifer by cell phone and had let her know about the situation that had actually put one of the girls from school – despite the girl’s being one of Haley’s least favorite people – in real danger; and their need of assistance from Jennifer, and most definitely Matt.

Jennifer was very proud of Haley at this moment. Not only had her daughter demonstrated a caring heart, even for a girl who, up to tonight, had been sort of a nemesis. Haley had also, evidently, cut short her own romantically pleasurable time with her date, Philippe – a really cute boy, who was the son of one of the other executive protection chauffeurs – in order to offer the aid to the girl, who was evidently in real trouble.

But, Jennifer was also very proud of Connor. He had evidently been the one to allow Sally into his and Ginger’s hotel room, offering the girl safe haven; even though he and Ginger had obviously wanted to be there alone in order to continue enjoying each other sexually for the rest of the night.

After Matt and Jennifer had arrived in Connor and Ginger’s room, they had been told the details of Sally’s troubles. Everyone had already dressed again before the adults had arrived; so now, they gathered all the stray belongings, except for a wrap that Sally had abandoned in the room from which she had fled earlier in the evening. Then, with Matt and Connor leading the way, with Jennifer’s arm around Sally, and with Haley, Philippe, and Ginger following, the group had walked to the elevator, taken it to the lobby, and exited the hotel. On the way out, Ginger had given the key cards to the hotel desk clerk.

Matt’s limo had been parked in a spot normally reserved for check-ins, and everyone had moved toward it. “Is it okay with you, Mrs. Crandall, if Connor and I go back to my house in my car?” asked Ginger, as the others were loading into the limo.

“Sure, Honey, as long as you guys have not been drinking,” Jennifer said. Receiving a nod and a smile from both of them, she continued, “And, Connor, we’ll see you back home; whenever.” She smiled at him as she saw his eyes gleam.

“Thanks, Mom,” said Connor. “And thanks for the help in all of this.”

“Sure, Sweetie,” said Jennifer in reply. “Just try to be home by noon; okay?” Then she and Connor both chuckled before the boy turned to take Ginger’s hand and they walked around the side of the hotel to the parking barn and Ginger’s car.

Thankfully, there had been no sign of Deshandre and his friends, so there had been no altercations as they had left the hotel.

After stopping to drop Sally off at her house, where the girl’s mother and father were waiting anxiously on the front porch following a head’s-up call earlier, Matt and Jennifer, along with Haley and Philippe, turned back toward the part of town where the Crandall and Florissant families resided.

“Mom,” said Haley a bit tentatively, but with some resolve. “I would really like to wake up tomorrow at home the same way I had imagined that I would be waking up at that hotel.”

Jennifer looked over at her daughter with a mildly confused look.

“With Philippe,” Haley said looking into her mother’s face directly without flinching.

Jennifer’s eyebrows went up at that, and the conventional ‘mother response’ was just on the verge of emerging, when a voice from the front seat said, “I think that would be the perfect ending to a very romantic prom date.”

Jennifer was about to react indignantly, but she turned and saw the encouraging smile on Matt’s face. Taking a breath, she said, “I believe that we could ... allow that. Is that what you want too, Philippe?”

Philippe was about to piss his pants! Stay in Haley’s room – at her house – with her mother and this man in the house too! Then, realizing that this was a serious invitation, and a wonderful offer from his date, Philippe got his voice under control and said, while trying to hide any noticeable indication of nervousness, “I – I – that would be very nice, Ms. Crandall.”

And so it happened. Matt dragged a still-worried Jennifer down the hall to the master bedroom while Haley led Phillippe down to her bedroom at the opposite end of the upstairs hallway for the rest of the night. It had been three-fifteen when they had finally gotten in.

Matt soothed Jennifer’s angst with kisses and reassurances and they finally got to sleep with him holding her in his arms; him falling asleep probably fifteen minutes before she did, as she listened for any sounds coming from her daughter’s end of the house without success.

When Haley had said that she had wanted to wake up in Philippe’s arms; that is just what she arranged. The young teens did not have another round of sex when they finally got into Haley’s small twin bed. But they kissed and caressed each other as they lay in each other’s arms holding onto each other’s naked bodies until they dropped off to sleep.

“Si,” said the man who had been watching the Crandall house from a car parked a few houses down and across the street. “It is him, and his puta; and one other couple. I could not see who they were, but they could be los niños.”

Waiting for a response on the other end of the cell call, the watcher said, “Si, entiendo.“ He cut the call from his end and put his phone on the car seat beside him. Tossing his spent cigarette butt out the window, he started the car and drove off.

As they had walked around the side of the hotel, Ginger and Connor had passed two youths, of indeterminate age and race in the gloom of night, wearing jeans and t-shirts, as well as partially-zipped hoodies – sort of unusual for the warm late spring night, which was just one of the reasons for their drawing the attention of Ginger and Connor. The other reason was the furtiveness of the two young men’s activities.

Ginger looked away first and began to focus on getting to the car, while Connor was feeling as if he needed to watch out for anything that might be a danger to him and Ginger; thus, his attention was drawn to the two mysterious guys a bit longer. He noted that one of the youths put what looked to be a lumpy plastic grocery sack in a trash bin on the sidewalk at the entrance of the garage as the two moved on out and down the sidewalk.

After walking up two levels, Connor and Ginger came to where she had parked her car. They had both been tempted to kick the side, or break the headlights, of another car parked on that level that they both recognized as Deshandre Wilkins’ dark blue classic 1967 Pontiac GTO.

That car had raised eyebrows around Middlebury, as it belied the perceived poverty of Deshandre’s family. Cynics in town believed that it was actually an unauthorized gift, in violation of NCAA rules, from some anonymous backer of Boston College, just to get Deshandre to commit to play football there the following year. Needless to say, rumors abounded on the subject.

As Ginger reached her own car, a late-model Toyota Corolla, and hit the remote entry button on her key fob, she and Connor both heard the car let out the distinctive chirp that indicated that it was now unlocked. Ginger looked back to see that Connor had stopped and was looking away to the left.

Another two distant chirps of a louder sort and what appeared to be a flashing blue strobe from just outside the far side of the parking barn, toward which Connor was now giving his attention, gave evidence of a police unit having stopped for some reason around the corner. Before Ginger could say anything, Connor turned to her.

“Hey, Ginger, give me a minute; will you?” Connor asked her as he turned back the way they had just walked, and hurried off, leaving her standing there for the two hours that it felt like, even though it was only about two minutes. Finally, Connor returned carrying the plastic grocery bag that they had both seen the two mysterious youths dump in the trash bin outside.

“Connor!” said a now-angry Ginger, “What the hell do you think you are doing? We can’t have anything to do with ... with ... whatever that shit is! I am NOT having that in MY CAR!”

“Hey, keep it down,” insisted Connor with a sly grin. “And I believe that it is time for a little payback on a real Grade-A-Prime asshole. Do you have any tools in your car?”

“Ooh,” said Ginger in frustration, “Boys! You just can’t...” sigh, “Daddy put some things in the glove boxes of my car and Mom’s. He wanted us to be prepared for any mishaps on the road.” She slid in and reached over to open the glove box. When she stepped out again, Connor could see that she had a small canvas zip bag.

“Let me see,” Ginger said as she looked at what was inside. “Flashlight, small roll of duct tape, HAH! Pepper spray – that stuff is illegal around here, but Daddy doesn’t care – and, let’s see, Leatherman, and...”

“Hey, Leatherman?” asked Connor, now a bit somewhat excited. Ginger passed the legendary multi-purpose knife-tool to the younger teen. Connor paused for a second to admire the adult version of the old Boy Scout knife, containing many folding tools as well as utility knife blades.

Connor and Ginger were in a pretty dark part of the hotel’s parking garage. Evidently, through either neglect or vandalism from passers-by, two of the overhead light bulbs were dark, especially in the area of the level on which they were parked and where Deshandre’s car sat. Telling Ginger to keep her eyes peeled and to wait where she was, Connor disappeared once again into the darkness back in the direction from which they had just passed.

Ginger was beginning to get nervous again, standing there alone in a somewhat empty parking garage, wearing a sexy gown, and waiting in silence for her date to return. After a few moments, Ginger heard a series of three muffled thumps, followed by silence, and then what sounded like a door or a car hatch or maybe a trunk lid closing.

She was just about to call out to Connor when she saw him hurrying toward her with a strange gait.

“Hurry,” Connor called to her in an exaggerated whisper, “get in! Let’s get out of here.”

Ginger noted that Connor was holding one shoe and was hobbling toward the passenger side of her car in one sock foot. As the two of them got into the car and they were bucking their seatbelts, Ginger saw Connor reach down and slide his foot back into his shoe.

“Why ... wh ... what was in that bag?” Ginger asked, “And what did you do?”

“There was a semiautomatic pistol with its serial number ground off, along with several plastic baggies of pills and powder. Don’t worry, I did not touch anything in the bag,” Connor told her, with the excitement of his adrenaline making his high-pitched voice sound like it had about four years ago.

“Connor! Just what exactly did you do?” Ginger asked Connor firmly, while wearing a frown. She started the car, backed it out of the space, and headed for the ramp leading to the exit.

“Just a second, and I’ll tell you,” Connor said, as he opened the glove box, took out the canvas bag, returned the Leatherman tool, re-zipped and returned the bag, and closed the glove box door.

As they turned into the street, Connor said, “Hey, Ginger! Stop by that trash bin once more.”

Ginger huffed in her frustration about being kept in the dark about Connor’s intentions and actions, but she did pull to the curb beside the trash bid. Connor unbuckled and reached into his inside tux pocket. Ginger saw him pull out a very basic flip model cell phone.

“What... ?” Ginger began, but Connor held up a hand and opened the old-style cell phone.

“It was in the bag with the other stuff,” Connor said, all the while with an evil grin on his face. “It is what the cops on TV call a ‘burner phone’. The guys we saw probably bought it at a convenience store and kept it so that they could use it one time to make a drug deal and throw it away and not be traced.” Then, he turned toward the door and stepped out. Bending to look back at Ginger, Connor smiled and said, “Now, let’s see if we can cause Deshandre Wilkins some real problems.”

As Connor stood back up, Ginger could not see him from the chest up, but she could see his hands as he opened the burner phone and hit the call button, followed by three key presses. Then she saw the phone go up past her line of vision, evidently to his face.

“Hello, 9-1-1? I want to report something strange going on in the parking barn at my hotel,” she heard Connor say, in a put-on excited-yet-nervous youthful voice, followed by the name of the hotel.

“Un-huh! There were three of them, dressed pretty well, like for a party or something, and they were cursing; they looked and sounded as if they were on something ... some kind of drugs or alcohol, I guess. They put some stuff in the trunk of an old dark blue classic muscle car parked on the second level of the garage, and one of them had a gun that he put in there. Yeah ... it looked like an old style Oldsmobile Cutlass or a Pontiac GTO or something. The tag number is Vermont...” and then Ginger heard Connor give out the license plate information to the 9-1-1 dispatcher.

Ginger was getting nervous now. What did this kid think he was doing!

“When they left the car, they did that fist bump thing and I heard one of them say, ‘Allāhu Akbar!’ before they walked into the hotel and ... No ... unh-uh ... they looked to be dark-skinned; but, in the dim light of the garage, I could not see well enough to tell if they were African-American or Middle Eastern ... look ... I am not going to tell you my name ... I don’t really want to become a jihad target ... maybe this was a mistake calling you ... never mind...”

Then, Ginger watched as Connor hit the end button, pulled out his handkerchief to wipe the phone down completely, and then put the phone in the trash bin.

As Connor hurriedly got in and buckled his seatbelt, he said, “That ought to stir up some shit for our boy, Deshandre, and his compadres; don’t you think? Now, let’s get out of here.”

With his door barely closed, Ginger hit the accelerator a bit too suddenly, causing a squeal of the tires as she pulled away from the curb. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Ginger slowed down and got them a good three blocks away from the hotel before she said anything.

“Just what the hell was all that stuff you were saying back there?” Ginger asked Connor sharply.

“Oh,” Connor said while still wearing a big grin on his face, “I just wanted the 9-1-1 dispatcher to know that a ‘concerned citizen’ had seem three well-dressed ne’er-do-wells putting what might be contraband into the trunk of a classic car; and that they could be anything from common criminals to international terrorists.”

“I heard you maligning them as possible Muslims. You aren’t one of those crazy Islamophobes; are you?” Ginger asked, her political sensitivities rising, as she suddenly realized that she really did not know much about the guy she had actually been fucking in a hotel room just a little more than an hour earlier.

Connor laughed and said, “No, but there are enough of that type in Homeland Security that the message I left just might cause this to be elevated to the Federal level and really give that shit, Deshandre, some grief!”

“Wow!” Ginger said, “I did not think that you would react so strongly to a guy all because of something he did to a girl that you don’t even really like that well.”