Bayview Heights Trilogy (3 page)

Cassie chuckled. “And I like to play
softball.”

“Yeah, she teaches our spring Phys. Ed.
unit,” Arga told him.

“Are you certified to do that?” Mitch
asked.

She gave him a disgusted look. “The law says
you can teach one course out of your certification. Now, how about
you, Captain?”

He squared his shoulders and struggled not to
wipe his sweaty palms on his pants. How long since he’d been forced
into such uncomfortable disclosure? “I’m Captain Lansing.”

“Captain your first name?” the young Italian
boy—DeFazio—asked.

Unnerved, Mitch shot back, “No. It’s
Mitchell. Mitch Lansing,” he corrected himself, feeling foolish.
“And I…Suddenly he was at a loss. What did he tell these kids? Who
was he, really? His family came to mind—what was left of it after
his parents had died within six months of each other. “I have a
brother Kurt. He’s important to me.”

Revealing anything about himself was tough,
but the soft approval in Cassie Smith’s eyes made him even more
uneasy. He didn’t expect her good favor, didn’t want it.

“Can we ask him some questions now?” Nikki
directed the question to her teacher.

Cassie looked to Mitch. “It’s up to him.”

He scanned the kids. How hard could this be?
“Sure.”

“You can pass on some if you want,” the young
girl told him helpfully.

He gave her a small smile. He was going to
like Nikki Parelli. “Fair enough.”

“You the one who arrested Johnny?” Arga
asked.

“I didn’t arrest him. I had him brought in
for questioning.”

“He lost his job.”

“I was sorry to hear that.”

“Why you here?” the boy continued.

“Because the Bayview Heights Police
Department decided it would be good business for the law
enforcement agencies to work with the schools. Remember the DARE
program when you were younger?” Mitch asked, referring to the
statewide anti-drug program the police conducted in the lower
grades. Arga nodded. “This is an extension of that. They believe it
will help crime prevention and establish better relations between
the school and the police department.”

“They?” This was from Peterson, the sports
star.

Mitch ducked his head. These kids were quick.
“I just came to Bayview Heights six months ago. I guess I’m not
fully acclimated.”

“What’s that mean, Ms. S?” Peterson
asked.

“He’s not used to being in Bayview Heights
yet.”

“Will you be teachin’ us anything?” DeFazio
asked.

“Yes. There’s a curriculum of ten lessons,
one a week, that I’ll be delivering.”

“On what?” several asked at once.

“Drugs, weapons, juvenile crime, vandalism,
addiction, violence prevention, theft.”

Their teacher added, “It’s a lot like the
other people who came into your science, math and social studies
classes. We’re trying to integrate the community into this program
and use their expertise to help you.”

“Yeah, I liked that social worker broad,”
Peterson said. “She was great lookin’.”

“I liked her because she helped me out, you
know, at home,” Som Choumpa said.

“And the business guy, he got me the job at
the garage.” This from DeFazio.

“See,” Cassie told them. “Some good things
came out of those programs. Captain Lansing has a lot to offer, I’m
sure.”

The lady doth protest too much
,
Mitch thought. He seemed to be the only one to catch the note of
uncertainty in her voice.

“Where were you before, if you just came to
Bay-view Heights?” popular Brenda asked.

“I worked in New York City. On their police
force.”

A few of the kids whistled. “Yeah? You ever
kill anybody?” Jones asked.

Not as a cop
. “I pass.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cassie
studying him critically.

“What did you do in the city?”

“I worked in vice. Then, for several years,
in the narcotics unit.”

“Hey, DeFazio, you better watch out.”

He saw Cassie stiffen and quell the kids with
just one look. Amused in spite of himself, Mitch thought he’d shut
up, too, if she looked at him like that.

“How old are you?” Amy asked.

“Forty-six.”

“That’s old. Even Mr. T ain’t that old,” Arga
teased. “Why you still a cop?”

What else would I do?
“I like it.
But I wanted a change, so I left my job in the city and decided to
come out here.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a slower pace.” He smiled.
“Because I’m old.”

They laughed. “Why here?” Jen asked.

“Because your chief of police is a long-time
friend of mine.”
Who tricked me into working with you
kids
.

And he had to be tricked into this.
Interacting with these teenagers had already caused a little bit of
the wall around his heart to crack. He didn’t want to care. He
couldn’t afford to care.

He’d cared once and it had ripped him
apart.

o0o

CASSIE WATCHED MITCH straighten his paisley
tie, pull up the legs of his trousers and sit down on a straight
chair. He was armored with his suit, tie and wing tips again today.
She was only partly amused by his stuffed-shirt demeanor. Mostly,
it raised her old fears.

They’d had an inauspicious beginning with
Johnny’s visit to the police station Friday night and then with
Lansing’s attitude yesterday—they wear hats? for God’s sake—but
she’d hoped today would be better. If this program was going to
work, she had to readjust her attitude.

And he had to participate. She insisted he do
the activities right along with the kids. He’d looked displeased,
almost fearful, but he’d done them. Right now, his green eyes were
as cool as dewy summer grass, watching her intently.

She addressed the class from where she sat on
top of a desk. “It’s time to start, everyone. May I have your
attention, please.” On the signal, the kids quieted down. “The
quote’s on the board. Write.” She walked over and handed Mitch
Lansing a black notebook and pen. “This is a journal. It’s a very
important tool in language arts instruction. We begin every class
by writing. You can use the quote on the board, relate it to what
you’re feeling, or you can write about anything that’s on your
mind.” She smiled, trying to make it a pleasant one. “Then we
share, so don’t write something you don’t want anyone else to see.”
That had been the biggest source of resistance she’d had with the
kids. That they had to share with a stranger and a police
officer.

“No passing today?” he asked.

“You can always pass, but it’s not a good
example to set for the students.”

His chagrin made her bite her lip to hold
back the mirth. She wasn’t here to rile him, even though she really
wanted to. His uptight attire, his proclivity for rules, his staid
manner just begged to be taunted.

Which was why she’d chosen the quote for the
day. “Rules were not made to be broken. But they need to be
examined carefully.”

Lansing reached into his pocket, drew out a
pair of glasses and settled them on his nose. He looked nice in
them—scholarly. He had a honed body, big and powerful, and she
imagined he used his strength and muscle skillfully.

She sat down on the floor next to Brenda to
write. Yesterday, all the girls had been abuzz over Captain
Lansing’s physical attributes. “Hunk...stud...totally rad…”

Reluctantly, Cassie admitted that his
perfectly cut dark hair, sprinkled with gray, the cleft in his chin
and those chiseled features
were
appealing—in a Jim
Cazeivel kind of way.

Forcing herself to stop thinking about him,
she began to write, analyzing why she balked so much at rules. Why
she felt such a need to buck the system. Wondering how, at
thirty-five, she could still be such a misfit. As usual, putting
things in words clarified and released her feelings. Ten minutes
passed, then the door opened.

Johnny Battaglia sauntered in. If Cassie
didn’t know the kid so well, she’d be tempted to take him down a
peg or two. If she didn’t care so much, she’d scold him for being
late. But she was lucky he was here at all, and she knew it. At
seventeen, he’d already dropped out once.

And she was going to save him if it was her
last act on this earth.

Johnny closed the door quietly and headed
straight for her. Cassie smiled at him, though it was hard. The
boy’s face was drawn, lines of fatigue marring his youthful brow,
bracketing his sulking mouth. His shoulders sloped with weariness.
When he met her eyes, he gave her a weak grin. And she knew in her
gut that the last few days had been hell for him.

According to procedure, he put the late pass
in the envelope on the wall behind her, signed in, then settled
onto the floor. She handed him his journal. As he opened it, he
glanced around.

And spotted Mitch Lansing.

Johnny’s entire body tensed. Reaching out,
Cassie touched his arm and squeezed it. He looked over at her, the
sudden flare of anger in his eyes making her heart stutter. She
watched him warily.

She could see him struggling with
himself.

So she stood, inclined her head to a little
alcove designed for private consultations, and drew him over to it
while the others kept writing.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Johnny
asked in a whisper.

She cocked her head at his language. All the
teachers insisted on no cursing or obscenities in front of them, or
in class.

“Sorry,” Johnny said.

“If you’d been here yesterday, you’d have
heard the entire explanation. I’ll give you a shortened
version.”

When she was done, his dark brown eyes were
even more tumultuous. “You gotta be kidding me.” His voice rose,
and everyone looked over. Cassie moved in between the other
students and Johnny.

“I’m not working with any cops. Especially
not him.” He looked around the room, his eyes bleak. “Especially
not here.” Then he focused on her. “Why, Ms. S? Why here? This is
the only place I feel…” He stopped, but Cassie knew what he was
going to say. This was the only place he felt accepted,
comfortable, different from being on the street. It was, really,
his only chance to go straight. Cassie knew personally, and from
having read the statistics, that success outside of the home—and it
usually meant doing well and fitting in at school— was one of the
most important factors in at-risk kids graduating from high school
and becoming productive members of the community.

“Johnny, we don’t have any say. The school
board decided to implement this program. He’ll only be in language
arts class for the next ten weeks.”

“Then I won’t be.”

“What?” Cassie gripped his arm.

Roughly, Johnny shrugged it off. “You heard
me. I won’t be.” He stepped out from behind her and faced the now
avidly attentive group. His cold stare zeroed in on Mitch Lansing.
“If he stays, I’m gone.”

With that, Johnny Battaglia strode out of the
room.

JOHNNY CHALKED THE POOL cue and bent over the
battered table. His eyes were gritty, and he had a pain between his
shoulder blades that wouldn’t quit. “My break,” he said without
inflection. He had long ago perfected the art of not letting
anybody know what he was really thinking.

Except Cassie. Damn her. He’d let her in, and
she’d gone and blown it. Well, no more.

Sure. Who are you kidding,
Battaglia?
He’d tried a thousand times to get the woman out of
his life and nothing had worked. Now that he’d had time to cool
off, he didn’t really expect that one lousy pig would affect his
and Cassie’s friendship.

As he broke the stack and took the shots, he
thought about Cassie.

He only called her that in private. In
public, it was Ms. Smith, Ms. S., or affectionately, “Teach.” At
one time, his feelings for her had been all mixed up with
male-female stuff. But that had stopped once he started dating
girls his own age. Plus, despite her warmth, Cassie had always
played the grown-up; that had helped keep things clear in his mind.
Now he saw her as his friend first, teacher second, and sometimes,
dangerously, his savior.

Damn, why had she done this? As he banked a
shot off the side, he let his mind form vile obscenities, just
because she wouldn’t allow them around her or in school. Why had
she done this?

We don’t have any choice, Johnny. The
school board insisted.

Yeah, well, people always had a choice.
Hadn’t that been what she’d drilled into their dumb-ass little
heads since ninth grade?
You choose whether you win or lose in
life, you decide how addicted you get to the bad stuff, you pick
how you handle the lemons fate throws your way.

Eventually, he’d begun to believe her. It
took him a whole year, but he’d learned to trust her.

Except when he’d dropped out for six
months.

Johnny shivered just thinking about it. That
had been the worst time in his life. So he pushed it— and Cassie
Smith—out of his mind.

“Six ball in the far left corner,” he called,
and proceeded to demolish his opponent, a scruffy little man who
worked the night shift at the electronics plant down the road.
Johnny bested him for ten bucks, and the guy wasn’t too happy.

So, join the club, buddy.

“Battaglia, phone call for you.” Pepper stood
by the wall phone, holding out the receiver to him. The guy was the
oldest man Johnny knew, with more wrinkles on his face than in his
clothes.

Johnny tried to quell the spurt of hope that
it might be Cassie on the line. “A chick?” he asked casually.

“Nope, it’s your pal, Zorro. He asked for
Tonto.” Pepper gave him a dirty look. Cassie had gotten to Pepper,
too. They were all watching out for him, trying to keep him from
hooking up with the Blisters again, now that he’d moved out here
from the city with his mother on the advice of some starry-eyed
social workers. Probably that’s what this Lansing guy was supposed
to do, too. Make sure Johnny didn’t get into any trouble. He
smiled. Cassie hadn’t seemed too pleased that the cop had been in
their class, either. Johnny could tell by the way her shoulders got
real stiff and her mouth got those lines around it like it did when
she was mad about something.