Chapter 8

The rest of the summer was sort of a bummer, except that I did go to Arlington at every opportunity to practice my shooting. Grandfather had advised me to stick to a revolver because it retained the shells after the cartridge was fired, and that made it more difficult for the cops to identify the gun used. I thought that was a good idea.

Back in the late ‘40s, Alabama had no laws about who could carry a gun, as long as it was not concealed. Well, mine was concealed, so I was violating the law. On the other hand, that windbreaker that Grandmother had made for me did such a good job of hiding the gun that I figured that I did not need to worry about it. If I ever did run into a situation where it made a difference, I could slip off the windbreaker and comply with the law. I would get a Concealed Carry Permit as soon as I was old enough. With Dad to vouch for me, I figured that I would not have any problems getting the permit.

By this time, I was 15 and in high school. The bullies in high school were as bad as those I had run into everywhere else, but they were a bit more careful about how they acted. There was very little physical harassment; instead, it was much more often oral. The primary insults were, “Hello, Gimp” or, “How’s it going, Crip?” My usual answer was something on the order of, “I’m doing fine, Pansy. Thanks for asking.” I was usually ignored after I said that a few times.

The school had been in session for about a month when a horrible rumor began circulating: Girls were being raped in the school! There was a gang that was snagging girls during lunch or study hall and taking them to an empty room where they were raped. No girl had reported the rape to the principal’s office because of that stupid notion that rape was the girl’s fault. The rumor had it that the rapists were all Seniors, but that was open to question.

I didn’t know what I could do about this, but I was sure going to try. The girls of the student body knew me better than the boys did, mostly because there were few boys who were willing to be seen talking to a handicapped person. This somehow adversely affected their macho image. On the other hand, any girl was ready and willing to talk to me, so I knew all of the girls in my class and several in the other two classes. It was through this talk with the girls that I heard of the rape gang.

At every opportunity, I urged the girls to tell me anything they could about the rape gang and how they operated. I went for three weeks without getting a nibble on my request for information until I heard from Liz Watson.

I bumped into her just after lunch one day. She was off in a corner trying unsuccessfully to stifle tears. “My God, Liz, what’s the problem?”

She mumbled something to the effect that she was alright and for me to leave her alone. Well, that triggered my protective side, and I thought hard about what could have happened to her. Then it dawned on me. “Liz, were you raped?”

That was all it took to change her attitude. She grabbed me around the chest and laid her head against me. “Yes, it just happened to me, and I feel so dirty. How can I face my friends now? It was awful, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I was passing the door to the chemistry lab when an arm reached out and grabbed me. I was dragged into the room and a bag was put over my head. I could hardly breathe.

“I was pushed to the floor, and somebody grabbed my arms. Somebody else grabbed my legs and held them open while another person pulled up my skirt and pulled off my panties. I was a virgin before it happened, but it was all so quick that I can hardly remember what happened. I think the rapist was wearing a rubber (condom) because he felt greasy as he pushed inside me.

“Oh, God, it hurt! He broke my cherry and just kept pushing in until I felt his pubes bang against my pussy. I don’t know how long it lasted, but it could not have been for very long. I’m so sore that I can hardly walk. The rape didn’t last for very long, and they just left me on the floor and walked out when they were through. They even kept my panties.”

“Come on, Liz. Let me take you to the nurse. You might be seriously injured.”

“NO, absolutely not! I would be too embarrassed to come back to school if the word got out that I had been raped. No boy would ever date me if he knew that I had been raped. Well, the few that did would want sex with me because it would not make any difference. Oh, Jack, what am I going to do?”

“Well, I would still date you. I think that business about rape is always the girl’s fault is a bunch of bull shit. Can you remember anything about who the boys were? Did you see anything that would identify even one of them?”

“Yeah, maybe so. The boy who pulled the sack over my head had darker skin than most, as if he had a deep suntan. And he was wearing a funny watch with a whole lot of dials on the front and a lot of knobs around the side. I’m sure that I would recognize that watch if I ever saw it again.”

“Okay, Liz. Calm yourself or everybody who sees you will know that something bad just happened to you. Be careful when you walk, and your skirt is long enough that nobody will see that you aren’t wearing panties. One piece of advice for all of you girls: start walking everywhere in groups. One girl is vulnerable, but a bunch of girls could fight off the rapists. Maybe some of you who have been raped could form a kind of guard for the remaining virgins.

“I will do what I can to find that watch you described. I have reached the point of being ignored to the point of invisibility by most of the boys, so I should have a chance to spot that watch. Give me a few days to see what I can find.”

“Okay, Jack. Thank you for being so sweet and understanding. I’m going to tell the girls about what you said. Maybe we can stop the rapes.”

Frankly, I didn’t think that the girls could get together enough to stop the rapists, but I knew that I could if I could just spot one of them. The big break came two days later.

“Jack, have you got a minute?”

“Sure, Christine. What’s up?”

“I know the name of one of the rapists. He is Joe Edson, one of the football players.”

“Oh, my God, Christine, are you sure?”

“I’m absolutely positive! I saw his face while I was being raped two weeks ago. Liz said that you were going to look into the problem, so I figured that I had better tell you what I knew.”

“Thank you, Christine. I’ll have a little talk with Joe Edson this afternoon following football practice. He may be able to tell me some more names if I ask him properly.”

The bell for classes to start rang just then, so Christine ran off, and I did the same. That afternoon, I left school at the usual time, but I knew when football practice halted. I added 30 minutes to that to give Joe Edson time to shower and get dressed. I knew him by sight because he was the star running back, so I would have no problem spotting him when he headed for his car. Yes, all of the star football players had cars—one of the perks of being on the football team.

I went home and fooled around for about 90 minutes before I returned to the high school parking spot used by the football team. I hid my scooter among some trees where it was not likely to be spotted and picked the lock to his car door. I hid on the floor in the back seat after locking the door again. I had to wait about 40 minutes for Joe to show up, and I let him drive away from the high school.

All of the boys were very careful to follow all driving laws because they would lose their cars if they were stopped by a cop. The first time Joe stopped at a cross street, I let him see the gun in my hand, and I stuck the muzzle against the back of his neck. “Joe, I want you to drive to the make-out place and park. I know that it will be empty because this is Thursday.