Chapter 14

You would think that, after getting drunk and having a wreck where someone gets killed, that you would be in a lot of trouble. I'm talking years worth of trouble, in the slammer forever, kind of trouble. If that was true, then why was Walter sitting in our living room when I woke up Sunday morning?

More importantly, why wasn't he in jail? The answer lies in the presumption of innocence, and in the fact that my parents had found themselves a well connected lawyer to represent Walter.

I wasn't the only one who was asking those kinds of questions either. We had phone calls all the next week from reporters and from just ordinary people who were upset that Walter was allowed to sit at home and recuperate while that other girl lay in a funeral home, waiting to be buried. Walter's arm break had been pretty clean, and it was in a cast. His knee was really banged up though, and he was going to need surgery on it.

"You just had to go and fuck up my truck didn't you, asshole?"

"Fuck you Barry. I'm already getting it from everyone else, I don't need you to put in your two cents worth too."

"It was my truck Walter. I'm the one who is having to walk to school now. You promised that you'd take care of it."

"You know what? I didn't plan on any of that to happen, okay? It isn't even my fault Barry, not really. I wanted to fuck her in my room, it was her that wanted to go for a goddamn ride to some place that she knew. So, be mad at her, not me."

"Walter, she's dead, I can't be mad at her. She wasn't driving drunk, you were. Don't you think killing her was punishment enough for her already?"

"I didn't kill her, she was in an accident, and she died. Don't go around saying that I killed her."

I had had enough of that asshole. Christ! It isn't like we were having a difference of opinion about correct semantics or something. The girl was dead as a direct result of Walter driving while drunk, and flipping my truck over, on a road where no one else was driving.

How did he expect to distance himself from the responsibility for that? I realized that the loss of my truck wasn't the most important thing here, that the death of that girl was. Still, fucking Walter, would have to pay for both.

"Jimmy and I were fucking Carla while you were gone Walter. Her pussy's a little loose, but she was tight in the ass when we double teamed her."

"You're pathetic Barry, you know that? My knee will get better asshole, and when it does, let's just say that you won't be able to hide from me then."

"Glen Carter and George Fleming fucked her too, before Christmas Walter, why don't you ask them about it? Of course, Jimmy and I did her together though, so that makes it even worse. Plus, the two of you were going steady when Jimmy and I spent all afternoon fucking her together. A lot of it was done right on that couch that you're laying on. The rest, including when we double fucked her, that was in your bed Walter."

"Keep up with those lies Barry, you're just digging a deeper hole for yourself."

"How about if I call her and you can listen in down here?"

I could see that my offer was affecting him now. He had to wonder why I would make such an offer if I wasn't telling him the truth.

"You want to listen in on the living room phone while I call her from upstairs?"

"Just leave me alone for now. My knee hurts really bad. We'll talk about it later. It doesn't really matter anyway, because she and I were already finished."

That was such a pussy statement that I made a big mistake then, I got too close to him, close enough where he could reach out with his good arm and grab me. Which is exactly what he did. His problem was that he only had one good arm and one good leg. I kicked his bad knee as hard as I could and he let me go.

Even with his knee brace and the wrapping, I could see that it hurt him. His scream of pain brought both of our parents running in from the kitchen to see what was wrong with him. I just stood there and let him tell them what had just happened. He was crying. As big as he was, as strong as he was, he was crying because I had hurt his bad knee. I felt a power that I'd never known before. I almost kicked him again, but I didn't let myself do that.

"He grabbed me, and I slipped and jostled his bad knee. I'm sorry."

My father sent me to my room. I was happy to go. Let the two of them deal with that asshole. My father came up about ten minutes later to have a talk with me. He said that I wasn't to take advantage of Walter's limitations. For the last ten years, where was he when Walter was taking advantage of mine?

I stayed quiet and listened to him though. When he was done, I asked him if he told Walter to try not to mess with me too? He just looked at me. I knew where I stood now. I'd just have to see to my own protection. I went back to my reading, figuring that my father would take the hint and leave. He did. I picked up the phone and dialed Carla. She answered the phone on the first ring.

"Hey Carla."

"Is Walter home, Barry?"

"Yeah, he's home, but you might want to avoid him for awhile."