Chronicles of an Academic Predator Pt. 02

The other two leading families were the Hendricksons and the Schluters. Bill Hendrickson ran (and owned most of) the local mill. He was a pretty rough and tumble kind of guy, but had a good heart. I guess you had to be tough to run a mill and deal with the mill workers. His daughter is married to my brother, so I see them pretty often. The Schluters are the "old money" in Claremont. Barry Schluter is a descendant of one of the city founders, serves as the local judge and owns a shitload of land. He's also my uncle, married to my father's sister Gail. The cool thing, and a rarity I'm sure, is that all three of these guys worked together, usually for the good of the city. Schluter had control of the local government, Hendrickson dominated the local economy, and my father had tight state political connections.

I continued my deliberation between the sun and sand of the Florida beaches or the filial choice, to go back to Claremont. It would be great to see my parents, my brother, my relatives, but with Billy Schluter gone I didn't have any friends there that I really wanted to see. I'd wander around the house for a week, bored out of my mind.

André burst in, interrupting my train of thought. André always seems to dominate a room. From his entry to his exit, his raw persona just demanded attention.

"Hey André, wanna go to Florida or Ohio next week?" I asked. Why not let him make the decision?

"Can't go anywhere man. Gotta work." He said this matter-of-factly, as if it wasn't a big deal, as if we hadn't been talking about going somewhere all semester. He knew we were supposed to leave town, and he was just tossing this out casually, hoping I wouldn't make a big deal out of it. Fat chance of that.

"I'm confused. I thought we agreed to go out of town next week?" My sudden calmness and deliberateness warned him that I was pissed off.

"Old man Caro needed me to work. He's done so much for me, I couldn't say no. So I promised I'd work Saturday, Monday, and Tuesday." He looked at me, pleading with his eyes for me to understand. He was such a nice guy, of course he couldn't say no to anyone who asked for his help.

"That's too bad." He waited for me to say more, but there wasn't anything. The frustrating thing is that I knew he'd already made the commitment and that nothing I did would change that. And, quite frankly, if I really thought about it, I probably wouldn't want him to either. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to have to pay the price, a little guilt, for caving to old man Caro.

"Look JP, how about if we wait until Tuesday to leave? Maybe we can go back to Claremont? We can leave after I get off on Tuesday. I'll make sure I'm done by 7." I just looked at him. Then I relented grudgingly.

"That will work. My parents will be happy to see us. I've got to run back to campus and hit the library. I'll catch up with you later." I could feel his eyes on my back as I left. What a great spring break. Hanging out in a deserted college town, then with my parents. Whoopee.

March 24, 1962

Friday. The last day before Spring Break. Most people were bailing out already, trying to get out of New-Fucking-Jersey as fast as they could. Not me. I had nowhere to be. Just go home and beat off. I was feeling sorry for myself.

I found myself walking to my favorite bathroom once again. I knew why. I wanted to see my red-headed friend again. Maybe he'd be stuck in town too? I checked all week for him, but he wasn't there. I hadn't seen him around campus either. I'd found myself taking longer routes around campus just to see if I could spy him. I'd even made a point to stroll down by the diner a couple of times a day, just to see if maybe he was in there. I don't know what it was about him, but I was becoming a little obsessed. I forced my emotions back where they belonged, deep in my psyche.

I walked down the familiar stairs, and I was about to open the door when I heard loud voices in the restroom. I opened the door a crack and peeked in. There was my red-headed friend, handcuffed, leaning forward against the sinks, with a look of absolute terror on his face. This was real fear, complete and uninhibited horror, on a scale so much larger than I'd seen on his face at the diner. He had tears running down his cheeks.

"You're under arrest you fucking faggot." The man behind him must be a cop. "You put your dick through the hole in the wall, that makes you a fuckin' queer, and it means you're going to jail you sick bastard!" This guy was on a roll.

I gently shut the door and fled up the stairs. The smart thing would be to just get the fuck out of there. I had too much to lose to get involved. That kid's life was ruined. He'd probably go to jail. He'd at least get kicked out of school, probably deported back to, where was it? Montreal? What would his friend say? Man, he was in some deep shit. The only times I'd seen his face had either been when he was scared, like he was at the diner, or close to blowing his load, like he was last time in the bathroom. Yet this time, his expression went way beyond that. Figuratively, he was tied to the tracks and the train was coming.

I'd always done the right thing, the proper thing, at least as far as anyone else knew. I'd never seriously defied the law, gotten arrested, or even gotten a speeding ticket. Yet now, as I rounded the narrow stair case, I was contemplating something very illegal. Something that, if it failed, would land me in deep shit. As deep as that kid in there. The only interactions I'd I had with him had been basically with my dick. Why did I feel such a strong need to help him? Why was I willing to risk so much to save him? I stared at the fire extinguisher on the wall in front of me and slipped my gloves on.

I heard the door open below, heard the cop growl "You first queer, and no tricks." They started walking up the stairs. I made my decision and grabbed the fire extinguisher. The stairs made a switch back, with a wall in between, so as I crouched on the next flight, they couldn't see me as they walked up. The steps got closer and closer. Then I saw a shoe on the riser in front of me. It was a square-toed, ankle high shoe. He took one more step, and I jumped up, spraying the fire extinguisher in the cop's face. He reeled, blinded by the chemicals. Then I took the extinguisher and smashed it into his face, knocking him down the stairs.

The red-head looked at me, amazed. "Come on," I whispered loudly, "Let's get the fuck out of here." I dropped the extinguisher and we both ran from the building. I threw my jacket over his shoulder so it would hide the handcuffs, and we rushed to my car as fast as we could without arousing suspicion. I found myself wondering if the cop was dead. I decided that he probably wasn't, and realized, much to my surprise, that I really didn't care.

I opened the car door, pushed him in, jumped in myself and took off. Neither one of us said anything as I headed off campus and out of town. I think we were both too keyed up to talk.

As soon as we were on the highway, heading south, I calmed down enough to start planning our next moves. "I don't suppose you can slide your hands out of those cuffs?"

He looked at me dubiously. "Do you think if I could have, I would have been sitting here with them on?" That's the first time I'd ever heard him speak, or at least knew that it was his voice. It was the Deep Voice, the resonant sexy voice. I was secretly relieved, because it went with his overall cocky demeanor and good looks so much better than his friend's squeaky, effeminate voice would have.

"Fine. Be a smart ass. You can keep them on for all I care," I said in my normal monotone voice.

The silence returned, but I felt my anger building. Then, for the first time since I can remember, something extraordinary happened. I lost my self control, and actually yelled.

"You know, you sure have a weird fucking way of showing your gratitude. I risked everything to save your sorry ass. You would have ended up in jail, thrown out of school, deported...." I glared over at him, and then continued. "I should just toss you out of the car, handcuffs and all, and let you try to explain it to the locals."

He said nothing. Interestingly enough though, I didn't care, at least not at that moment. It dawned on me that venting my anger like that made me feel much better at first. Then, after I calmed back down again, I felt like an idiot. That's why I never lose control. You always regret it afterwards. I sighed, and that seemed to prompt a response from him.

"Look man, I'm sorry if I seem like a fucking ingrate. I guess I'm still a little shaken up. It's like I saw my whole life flash before my eyes, you know? And then there you were, spraying the cop with the fire extinguisher and knocking him down the stairs like you're Attila the Hun or something."

That made me laugh. "So I'm the knight on the white horse, and that would make you the damsel in distress." He laughed with me. He had a deep laugh, and when he smiled his cheeks sported two cute dimples.

"More like some cat in a red Pontiac rescuing a fag," he joked wryly.

I looked at my watch. It was almost 3pm and time to consider options. I started looking for a hardware store and found one when we hit Trenton.

"I'm going to go in here and try to find something to cut those hand cuffs off. I'm thinking a hack saw? I don't spring convicts very often, so I'm not sure exactly what we'll need. I figured I'd go in alone. You might arouse some suspicion."

He grinned at me, then felt them with his hands. "Not that I've spent any significant time shackled up to know what to do with them either, but some chain cutters might be useful too." So I went in and dealt with the plodding old man in the hardware store. If he moved any slower he'd be going in reverse.

I got into the car and drove down the road about a mile until we found a secluded place to pull over. I pulled out the chain cutters and went to work on the links connecting the cuffs. It wasn't easy, and it took some assistance from the hack saw, but I finally got the chain cut. He wisely kept a good look-out, but fortunately I'd found a pretty good place to pull over.

I started the car off and began driving again. "I figured with the chain cut you have free hands and you can work on the cuffs?" He nodded, and started sawing away on them.

"So what's your plan, now that you've sprung me?" he asked. He had a really playful sense of humor, one that I found both disarming and relaxing.

"Well, my first instinct was to haul you off to some motel, keep the handcuffs on you, and just have my way with you for the next week." His humor was contagious.

"Here, let me see if I can put them back on," he retorted, which made us both laugh, and made me think about how much fun it would be to actually have him chained to a bed for a few days.

"Seriously though, I thought I'd head down the Delaware Coast, maybe find a motel on the beach, and then try to figure out what to do next. We'll need to find out if I killed the cop or not, and whether or not there's a massive man hunt on for you. That work for you, or did you have some pressing social engagement this evening?" I heard my humorous comment fly from my mouth. Amazing how he had that effect on me.

He seemed suddenly somber. "No, I have nowhere to be, and nowhere to go." I regretted his change in mood.

"Well, you do now. By the way, my name's JP." It had suddenly occurred to me that I didn't even know his name.

"I'm Peter. I'd shake your hand but I seem to be indisposed." We both laughed again.

"Nice to meet you, Peter. Anyway, I thought we'd start looking around Dewey or Rehoboth Beach, so when we get there keep your eyes peeled for a good place, OK?

He looked over at me, slightly worried. "That sounds like a good plan, but I don't have much money, and these are the only clothes I've got. I basically have nothing." By the time he'd finished his sentence, the worried look had changed to despondency.

"Don't worry about it. I got it covered." Thanks to my parents, money was not something I had to worry about.

"I don't want to be a charity case" he said with a degree of pride in his voice.

"Well, you don't really have a whole lot of choices right now do you? So be a good fag in distress and look out for motels will ya?" We both laughed at that, and traveled on.