D Is for Deadbeat

was the word "simply" that tripped him, I thought, and the "obviously" didn't help.
    Tony glanced at me with a half shrug. "It's okay, I guess. Like, right now?"
    Mr. Westfall nodded. "It won't be for long. You'll need a jacket, of course."
    Tony moved out into the hall and I followed, waiting until he found his jacket in the hall closet.
    At fifteen, I thought he could probably figure out if he needed a jacket or not, but neither of them consulted me on the subject. I opened the front door and held it while he went out. Mr. Westfall watched us for a moment and then closed the door behind us. God, it was just like a date. I nearly swore I'd have him home by 10:00. Absurd.
    We made our way down the path in the dark. "You go to Santa Teresa High School?"
    "Right."
    "What year?"
    "Sophomore."
    We got in the car. Tony tried to roll down the smashed window on his side without much success. A shard of glass tinkled down into the door frame. He finally gave up.
    "What happened to this?"
    "I was careless," I said, and let it go at that,.
    I did a U-turn in the lane and I headed for the Clockworks on State Street, a teen hangout generally regarded as seedy, unclean, and corrupt, which it is… a training ground for junior thugs. Kids come here (stoned, no doubt) to drink Cokes, smoke clove cigarettes, and behave like bad-asses. I'd been introduced to the place by a seventeen-year-old pink-haired dope dealer named Mike, who made more money than I did. I hadn't seen him since June, but I tend to look for him around town.
    We parked in a small lot out back and went in through the rear entrance. The place is long and narrow, painted charcoal gray, the high ceiling rimmed with pink and purple neon. A series of mobiles, looking like big black clock gears, revolve in the smoky air. The noise level, on weekends, is deafening, the music so loud it makes the floor vibrate. On week nights, it's quiet and oddly intimate. We found a table and I went over to the counter to pick up a couple of Cokes. There was a tap on my shoulder and I turned to find Mike standing there. I felt a rush of warmth. "I was just thinking about you!" I said. "How are you?"
    A pink tint crept across his cheeks and he gave me a slow seductive smile. "I'm okay. What are you doin' these days?"
    "Nothing much," I said. "Great hair." Formerly, he'd sported a Mohawk, a great cockscomb of pink down the center of his head, with the sides shaved close. Now it was arranged in a series of purple spurts, each clump held together with a rubber band, the feathery tips bleached white. Aside from the hair, he was a good-looking kid, clear skin, green eyes, good teeth.
    I said, "Actually, I'm about to have a talk with that guy over there… a schoolmate of yours."
    "Yeah?" He turned and gave Tony a cursory inspection.
    "You know him?"
    "I've seen him. He doesn't hang out with the kind of people I do." His gaze returned to Tony and I thought he was going to say more, but he let it pass.
    "What are you up to?" I asked. "Still dealing?"
    "Who me? Hey, no. I told you I'd quit," he said, sounding faintly righteous. The look in his eyes, of course, suggested just the opposite. If he was doing something illegal, I didn't want to know about it anyway, so I bypassed the subject.
    "What about school? You graduate this year?"
    "June. I got college applications out and everything."
    "Really?" I couldn't tell if he was putting me on or not.
    He caught the look. "I get good grades," he protested. "I'm not just your average high school dunce, you know. The bucks I got, I could go anyplace I want. That's what private enterprise is about."
    I had to laugh. "For sure," I said. The "bar maid" set two Cokes on the counter and I paid her. "I have to get back to my date."
    "Nice seeing you," he said. "You ought to come in sometime and talk to me."
    "Maybe I'll do that," I said. I smiled at him, mentally shaking my head. Flirtatious little shit. I moved over to the table where Tony was sitting. I handed him a Coke and sat down.
    "You know that guy?" Tony asked cautiously.
    "Who, Mike? Yes, I know him."
    Tony's eyes strayed to Mike and back again, resting on my face with something close to respect. Maybe I wasn't such a geek after all.
    "Did your uncle tell you what this is about?" I asked.
    "Some. He said the accident and that old drunk."
    "You feel okay discussing it?"
    He shrugged by way of reply, avoiding eye contact.
    "I take it you weren't in the car," I said.
    He smoothed the front of his hair to