Chapter 39 Colton’s Wild Ride
This performance art—Matt’s pantomiming frustration that his Jeep wouldn’t start—was tiresome, affected.
He and Colton were ostensibly headed to the old farmstead to steal William’s little, wooden box of cards and “fairy letters,” which Colton would then use to get William expelled.
Matt’s real goal was to get Colton and his Audi to that farmstead. Everything—the entire planned take-down—hinged on that outcome. And the thing about Colton was that he was the type person who, if you even suggested he drive his car, would refuse to do so on principle. Hence this charade.
“Give it another go,” Colton growled.
“One of us needs to check under the hood,” Matt said. “The other should be ready to try starting it again.”
“It’s your piece-of-shit Jeep. You look under the hood.”
Matt had hoped Colton would make that choice but wanted him to believe otherwise.
“You’re the one whose dad owns car dealerships with body shops,” Matt groused. “I would think you would know some basic mechanics.”
“I’m not getting my hands mucky looking under your hood.” Colton gave Matt an appraising look, arched an eyebrow. “Not yet anyway.”
Matt froze. Had Colton Langley just made a clumsy pass at him? Surely not.
Matt popped his hood, propped it up with a rod. Peered in and frowned. Pretended to jigger with something.
“Try it now,” Matt called out.
Nothing.
“I think the starter is shot,” Matt said, “which is way above my skill set. In case I’m wrong, though, I should find someone to try jumping it. There’s no harm in trying, right?”
Colton shook his head. “This has been embarrassing enough without the added humiliation of asking people for a jump. I’m the SGA president, and you’re almost certainly my vice president elect. We’ll just take my car.”
“Are you sure?”
“Grab those bolt cutters out of the back of your Jeep and come on,” Colton said. He took off across the parking lot, towards his Audi.
Matt smiled.
5:23 p.m. “Where is this place?” Colton asked as he pulled out of MCU.
“Head west,” Matt said. He’d already spotted, in his side mirror, William, Evan, Josh, and Kevin walking to his Jeep. They would reconnect the battery, then drive to the rendezvous point. Harley and Luke would join them there in Harley’s pickup.
Jake should have already stopped at a liquor store and been nearing the Habana Inn. As soon as he picked up Bella, they too would head to the rendezvous point.
Matt’s job now was to slow things down, lead Colton on a circuitous route, and give everyone time to rendezvous.
Hopefully he could distract Colton with conversation, distasteful as that might be.
Besides, William had set two conditions for his acquiescence to Colton’s take-down, one of which was that Matt probe to see if the turd had any regrets about his misdeeds, and, if he did, Matt was to abort the whole operation.
Matt wasn’t worried about that possibility.
The fact that today’s mission was to steal William’s “fairy letters” and use them against him did not bode well in terms of Colton’s redemption.
Nor, apparently, did William hold out much hope for remorse on Colton’s part.
William’s second condition was that no unnecessary violence be used in Colton’s take-down.
“Do you ever think about Adam Maxwell?” Matt asked.
“Who?”
“The kid you reported to the dean for being gay. The one who tried to kill himself. Turn left, by the way.”
Colton made the turn. “That fairy? No. I didn’t make him pull a Kurt Cobain. That was his idea.”
“But how would you have felt if he had died?”
Colton shrugged. “My dad says looking back is for losers and to just keep your eyes glued on the road ahead.”
“Seems like that would lead to a lot of accidents,” Matt said—”figuratively and literally.”
“Most accidents happen when people are backing up. Seems like dad is right.”
“Turn left at the light,” Matt directed. Then, “Does your dad ever say he’s sorry? Apologize? By definition, doesn’t remorse require reflection? Looking back, so to speak?”
“Dad claims he’s never apologized in his life. The closest he comes is saying he won’t do something again.”
“Okay,” Matt said. “What about you? Would you do it again? Report Adam to the dean?”
Colton turned left. “Jesus! I warned you not to take that do-gooder card to that fairy, and you did it anyway. And now, all these months later, you’re still thinking about him. Write this down: ‘Never look in life’s rearview mirror.’”
“More advice from Daddy Langley?”
Colton nodded. “Rules to live by. If I’m ever going to be governor of this state, I’ll have to be a strong leader.”
Matt slipped in two more left turns. Colton never noticed that they had gone in a wide circle.
The dash clock showed 6:14 p.m. Everyone should be at the rendezvous point by now. It was time to head that way as well. Matt directed Colton to May Avenue and N.W. 150th Street.
“Speaking of that Adam kid,” Colton said. “Do you remember our conversation the morning you were collecting signatures for your do-gooder card?”
“Not really,” Matt lied.
“I warned you that if you delivered that card, you would regret it. Does that ring a bell?”
“Yeah? So?”
Colton sneered. “I guess you never put two and two together and figured out I was the one who got your little registrar friend fired!”
Matt stared straight ahead, breathing slowly, trying to keep his face from betraying his anger. This wasn’t news to him, but hearing Colton admit it stirred fresh fury.
“You got Debbie fired right before Christmas to punish me for having taken a ‘Thinking of You’ card to Adam in September? Debbie didn’t even sign the card.”
“She was your friend. That was good enough.”
“Why?” Matt asked. “Why get her fired? Why tell me about it now?”
“Because you need to understand that when I say a thing, I do it. I told you I’d punish you if you delivered that do-gooder card. I kept my word and did it.”
Matt stewed on that logic. What was good for the goose was good for the gander, as the saying went. He had said he would take Colton down. He would do it.
A few minutes later, heading west on 150th, Matt and Colton passed an old convenience store with a couple of gas pumps and a pay phone. That was the GM rendezvous point.
Harley’s truck was parked in front of the pay phone, signaling that everyone had arrived. The other cars should be parked behind the store.
“Keep heading west ‘til you get to MacArthur Boulevard,” Matt said. “We’ll turn right there.”
He watched in his side mirror and saw his Jeep and the Jetta pull out of the convenience store’s drive and follow from a respectful distance. Luke should be riding with Jake and Bella. Harley would have stayed behind. That pay phone was critical to the plan.
Soon the road narrowed. Fields with reddish clods and sprigs of winter wheat rolled by. Traffic thinned. They were nearing MacArthur.
Matt felt Colton’s hand on his thigh. A cold shock ran up his spine, as if a rat was hunched on his leg, poised to snack on his cock. He fought the urge to knock Colton’s hand away.
“Is there any light in that storm shelter?” Colton asked, referencing the place where William’s “fairy letters” were supposedly stored.
“There’s an old kerosene lamp.”
“Good. Once we retrieve those letters, you can suck me off.”
Matt protested. “I told you I’m not queer. You aren’t queer either.”
“I’m not queer,” Colton said. “Any port in a storm, remember?”
“And my mouth is the port?”
Colton leered at Matt. “For starters.”
6:36 p.m. Ground Zero, the old farmhouse drive. Matt thrashed through thigh-high dead weeds, swinging the bolt cutters like a scythe, looking for the hatch to a non-existent storm shelter.
Colton stood about ten feet away, arms crossed, ready to steal William’s little box of “fairy letters,” almost certainly imagining Matt’s mouth on his cock—science fiction though, because Matt would not ever suck Colton’s dick.
The sky was a dull orange. The sun would set at 6:44 p.m., about the same time that Colton’s political hopes and dreams faded to black, never to see the light of day again.
Matt was just killing time, waiting for the GM to show up.
There was the sound of tires crunching the drive’s gravel. Headlights backlit Colton, temporarily blinded Matt.
“WHAT THE FUCK!” Colton spun around. He scrambled to a nearby scrub oak, crouching behind it.
The Jeep and Jetta pulled in behind Colton’s Audi, blocking it in.
Headlights arced, overlapped, and formed a small amphitheater of yellow light. Car doors opened, closed.
Five figures emerged from the blood-orange gloom and stepped into the stage light. They stopped in front of Colton’s Audi, standing side by side, as though waiting for the curtain to rise.
They wore children’s Halloween masks. There were a Pirate, Clown, Lion, Princess, and the Devil.
The tallest figure—Evan in his Pirate mask—called out in a sing-song voice: “COL-TON LANG-LEY! COME OUT, COME OUT WHEREVER YOU ARE!”
“Shit! How do they know my name?” Colton whispered.
Matt shrugged.
All five of the masked figures called Colton’s name. “COME OUT, COME OUT WHEREVER YOU ARE.”
“I DON’T H-HAVE ANY MONEY ON ME,” Colton yelled back, his voice cracking. “YOU CAN TAKE THE AUDI. I’LL TOSS YOU THE K-KEYS.”
Pirate spoke. “WE DON’T WANT YOUR MONEY OR YOUR CAR, COLTON. NOW, STEP FORWARD AND BE A MAN FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE.”
Colton froze.
Matt prodded Colton’s back with the tip of the bolt cutters. “You heard the Pirate. Walk towards the light. It’s showtime.”
Colton’s face crumpled with the realization that the threat was both behind him in the person of Matt and before him in the row of masked figures. He stumbled towards the arc of light.
Colton stopped a few feet in front of the masked figures. Gnats swirled in the foggy light. “W-who are you?” he asked. “What do you w-want?”