Filed to story: Brace Face Betty Drama Story
“I’m not really interested in arguing the pros and cons of Ravenshire High. I just want some fucking justice.”
“For her, because they hurt her? Or for you, because they broke one of your toys?”
Monty’s done a lot for me since I got out of juvie. More than anyone else would have done. But at the moment I feel like knocking his fucking head off. Common sense prevails, though. He’s my only ally in all of this. I still give him a look laced with enough vitriol to let him know what I think of his question. “She’s suffered long enough, having to see those fuckers day in and day out. She shouldn’t have to.”
Blowing out a cloud of smoke, Monty regards me. “She go to the hospital? Take a rape kit?”
I grip the arms of the chair, growling low, like a dog. “She’s not making it up, asshole. You don’t know her, man. She’s not like that.” She’s nothing at all like the girl Jake tried to paint when I first started at Ravenshire. That was all subterfuge. So much smoke. Groundwork on Jake’s part, prepping me for the time when Betty told me what he did, so I’d think she was a liar right out of the gate.
“I’m not saying she’s lying. Though high school girls do do that, y’know. I’m merely wondering if there’s any kind of evidence to this crime. Something the cops can work with.”
Bitterly, I shake my head. “She was too fucked up. Hasn’t told her folks. She told her friends, and they cut her out. Shunned her.”
“And the school?”
“The teachers heard about it. Called her in. Called him in, too. Made them do some conflict resolution counseling and swept the entire thing under the rug. They look at her the same way as all the other students do. Like she’s some trouble maker, out to cause issues for their golden boy.”
“You said there were three of them. You keep on talking about one guy, though.”
“He was the one who drugged her. He’s the one who orchestrated the whole thing. He’s their fucking ringleader. They all need to suffer…but Jacob Weaving needs to suffer the most.”
Monty’s eyebrows rocket, shooting upward. “Weaving? Caleb Weaving’s kid?”
“I don’t know who his father is.” That hardly seems important, but the look on Monty’s face says otherwise.
“Caleb Weaving used to be one of my biggest clients. Owns half of the farmland in the county. Richer than sin.”
“And what? That means Jake shouldn’t be held accountable for what he’s done?”
Slowly, Monty smiles, stubbing out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. “No, Marcus. It means, if we are talking about Caleb’s kid, then I will happily help you bring the little fucker to his knees. Caleb’s screwed me over more times than I can count. It’s about time someone taught that family a hard lesson. When were you hoping to mete out this justice of yours?”
“Today? Yesterday? As soon as humanly fucking possible. Why?”
“Because…if you’re willing to stay your hand for a couple of weeks, a couple of months, even, then I think I know just the thing that’ll strip that little fucker of his crown.”
“I don’t know, man.
Months?”
“It’ll be worth it. Trust me. By Christmas, Jacob Weaving won’t be bothering your little girlfriend any longer.”
* * *
Betty’s car doesn’t sound healthy at all. On the drive back from the cabin, I make a mental note to give the engine a once over as soon as possible. Monty drove me over to the lake to collect it, and said no more about what his plan to punish Jake involved, but he played Lynyrd Skynyrd the entire way there-his thinking music-and wore a wolfish, smug smile that meant he was plotting something genuinely vile. I thanked him, told him I’d make sure I showed up for my shift on Wednesday, grim in the knowledge that he’ll probably want me to do another run for him. When we pulled out of the cabin’s long driveway, I took a left back toward Ravenshire, and he took a right, disappearing off to god only knows where.
Now that I’m close to Betty’s, I message her to let her know I’m heading her way.
Me: Almost at your place. Gonna leave your beater. Should I knock?
I’m turning onto her street when she answers.
Betty: I resent that. My car is not a beater.
Betty: I feel rude as hell, but would you mind dropping it off and going? Things aren’t good over here.
Me: No problem
Betty: You have plans tonight?