Hector sat across the desk, looking morose and unhappy. His jeans and jean jacket were streaked with dirt. His shoulder length black hair was tangled, with fragments of leaves in it.
The principal said, "You really did it today. They say you started the fight."
"He started it, the tall white kid. Called me a dago. I decked him." His dark eyes stared at Ralph without flinching.
"You knocked him out. He's at the ER with a possible concussion."
"You get one of the girls in here privately and she will tell you what really happened."
"I believed you the first time, but the system will be coming down hard. I don't think I can run much interference, even though you are one of my best students. You're eighteen, so they'll be after you as an adult."
"They can't do much. My dad's dead, my mom's in prison. The foster home folks can't be tagged with anything."
Ralph looked at Hector, admiring the grit, the determination to get even with the bigoted whites who tried to bully him. One by one, he had picked them off, leaving a trail of broken noses, cracked fingers and bloody shins. He was tall, with muscles to show for the hours he spent in the gym.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'll be gone by morning. You don't want to know anything more than that when the cops come looking for me. I've been reading those police novels."
They stared at each other. Hector pulled a small folded up piece of paper from his back pocket. "Maybe you would do me a favor and see this gets to Beth, but not for a day or two. It's ok for you to unfold to see."
In small, precise cursive, it said, "Love you. I'll be back."
"Not leaving a trail are you?"
"I figured it might come to this. I've been preparing. You know that phrase about the backcountry, 'Leave no trace?' That's me."
Hector started to stand but Ralph said, "Sit for a minute." He pressed a button on his phone and said, "Come in and close the door behind you."
Sharon walked over to his desk, but Ralph said, "Sit in his lap." She stared at him but it was the end of the day, so she did it. "Pull your blouse out of your skirt and unhook your bra."
"Hector, you've been admiring those tits since Sharon arrived. Kiss them and love them a little. It's a going away present from Sharon and me."
It took Hector a few seconds to realize this was for real. After that, his dark fingers were busy exploring the blond's gorgeous tits. She leaned over, "Kiss them and then kiss me."
Hector knew this was a tease, but a nice tease. He stood with her in his arms and prolonged the kiss. He whispered in her ear, "Thanks, you are a wonderful teacher."
As he reached the end of the corridor, he heard her warbling cry of passion. Principals had the best perks, he thought.
The police detective was at Ralph's office before nine. "I'd like to talk to Hector Nunez about yesterday."
Ralph pressed a button and Linda, his morning shift assistant, said "Yes, sir."
"Please send someone to bring Hector to my office." He gestured to the officer to sit. He told him that the school's anti-bullying program was having trouble getting off the ground. The detective said, "The Whitmors and their lawyer don't see it that way. They're after felony assault and civil damages."
Ralph was going to respond when the intercom opened up and Linda reported that Hector was not in class and no one had seen him this morning.
The detective rose and said, "I hate to put out an arrest warrant for him. Any idea where he might have ducked out to?"
Ralph allowed as how the foster parents probably knew as much as anyone.
As the detective left, the principal didn't wish him luck.
Linda closed the door and kissed him on the cheek. "Sharon told me Hector got a going away present last night."
"He deserved it, poor bastard. Schedule a meeting of the steering committee of that group we have on bullying, will you? I need to light a fire or two."
The foster parents told police that Hector had been to the house before they came home from work, and cleaned out most of the stuff in his room. No note, no sign of where he was going.
Hector hadn't shown up at the pizza delivery job, either, but the truck he drove every evening was missing. The police thought the truck would be easy to trace until the owner told them the colored signs on the doors peeled off easily. After that, it looked like a lot of other tired, dirty vans on the highway.
The chief of detectives called a meeting at four-thirty. "We just had a call from the sheriff in Creekside, saying the pizza truck is sitting in front of his grocery store, with the key in the ignition, a full tank of gas, and a one word note on the dash that says, "Sorry."
The detectives sat there waiting for the boss to say something. Creekside was a village in the foothills about a hundred miles away, population three hundred, if that. Surrounded by ranches and a lot of public land. "Kirk," the boss said, "did you tell me the principal didn't seem sympathetic to the Whitmors?"
"He didn't say much, but he seemed inclined in that direction. I did hear a black kid in the hall say he was glad that Danny Whitmor finally got what he deserved."
"So we have a schoolyard fight to sort out, which means a lot of he said, she said. Then we have one of the fighters, with no family and no money we know of, has stolen a truck but left it filled with gas and an apology note, and disappeared into foothill trees a hundred miles from here."
"That's about it, boss."
Turning to his most junior detective, a tough Irishman recently promoted from patrol, he said, "Shamus, I want you to pursue this case aggressively. I want a written note to the file every day for the next seven days documenting the intensity of your investigation. Since the budget is tight, you are to conduct the investigation from your desk. I'll talk to the DA about fending off the warrant requests from the Whitmor's lawyer. Clear case of insufficient evidence. By the way, that dope trail involving the stripper from Vegas is really hot. The Chief wants results by the weekend."
Shamus responded, "Yes sir, I'll get right on it. Oh sir, the staff room is buzzing with a story that the stripper has skipped, but her twin sister is filling in at the club. Last night she had a wardrobe malfunction and her bra fell off and all the tips went on the floor. Two drunks got up there to help and... well, the rest of the story is x-rated."
The chief paused and smiled. "Shamus, you ever read any Damon Runyon?"
"Yes, sir. Hard to miss for an Irish cop originally from New York."
"Shamus, I want a two thousand word report on this twin sister stripper situation for the Chief by the end of day tomorrow. I want the main characters in this story, shady or not, identified. I want you to find printable words to describe some of the interesting activities going on. Do you have that, Shamus?"
Addressing the room, he said, "Now go on home to your spouses, partners or whatever, and enjoy the evening. Some days are better than others."
Hector wasn't so sure about that. He was dug into the side of a bank at the bottom of a ravine about three miles uphill from Creekside. It was cold and he was more than damp, and he didn't dare make a fire. Under the parka, he had on everything he owned in the way of outdoor clothing. He was wondering about his bright idea when three deer came up the creek to drink. They saw him but he didn't move and they trotted back into the brush.
