Doing Something by Cole Parker

A sixteen year old boy faces major life changes, ones he hates,
and there isn’t anything he can do about them but make the best of it.

Chapter 12

We eat lunch at the Mussos’ kitchen table.  I’m used to sandwiches for lunch.  Not here.  Mom M serves us spaghetti.  I can’t believe how good it is.  I ask her if she’ll give me the recipe, and she smiles her big, warm smile and says of course she will and gets a piece of paper and begins writing.

We go out behind the barn after lunch.  We just chat awhile, and then Lindsey says to Chase, “Troy told me, you know.  About you and him.  I think it’s cool.”

I quickly look at Trevor.  I hadn’t known if she’d told him, but now I can see this is a surprise to him.  He’s looking at me, and I can see confusion in his eyes.  But he figures it out quickly enough; that’s clear to me.  Then he seems to come to some internal decision because he smiles.  He obviously has no problem with it.  I wonder if he’s gay or is wondering if he might be.  If so, he’ll tell me when he wants to—or not.  It’s no big deal.  He’s 11.  I think a lot of guys that age aren’t quite sure of anything yet.

Chase glances at me.  “I had to tell her,” I say to him and leave it at that. 

Eventually we go inside.  Trevor wants to play Monopoly.  He says he wants to be partners with Chase.  I don’t know if that’s because he’s still making up for being so rough at basketball, or because he knows Chase is gay and finds him attractive, or just because he wants to play Monopoly and being the friendly type wants Chase as his partner.

They beat us, but it’s just luck.  They get better rolls of the dice than we do.  That isn’t why Trevor says they win, but he’s just a little kid and doesn’t know squat about anything.

--- --- {} --- ---

Chase and I are in our kitchen.  Chase is looking tired, but after basketball, swimming, playing Monopoly and eating enough for two people today, I’m not surprised.  I’m looking in the refrigerator, thinking about dinner, when I hear a car outside.  There are so few cars on the old dirt road that the sound of one makes me look up.  It sounds like the car is close, too close for being on the road; it has to be coming up our driveway, which I can’t see from the kitchen.

No one has ever visited us here.  I walk into the living room and look out the front window.  A police car is pulling to a stop.  As I watch, a policeman steps out of car on the driver’s side, and someone in plain clothes comes out the other side.  My stomach suddenly feels like an acid pit.  The other man is Detective Martinez.

I rush to Dad’s office, knock four times, and call through it.  “Dad, the police are here, and Detective Martinez is one of them.”  Then I hurry back to the front door.

The two men climb the steps onto the porch, and the one I don’t know steps to the door and knocks.  The solid door’s already open; only the screen door is standing between us.  I look through it without opening it up and say, “Yes?”

“Hi,” says the one I don’t know.  He sounds pleasant and friendly.  Detective Martinez is behind him and is standing so I can’t see his face.  “I’m Sergeant Fredericks of the White Oak Police Department.  Could I come in?”

“Uh, maybe,” I say.  “Do you mean you or both of you?”

“Oh, well, I’d like to come in, and this is Detective Martinez.  He’d like to come in with me.”

“I’m sure you know that I , we—my dad and I—know Detective Martinez.  He’s not welcome here.  If you want to come in, I’d like to know why first, but I probably won’t have any objection.”

I smile at him to show him I have no hard feelings for him.

He looks a little surprised, probably because a kid my age should be intimidated by two policemen standing at his door and should be cooperative, too.  Then he looks embarrassed.  He says, “Well, actually, I have a search warrant.  So I’m afraid you have to let me in.”  

“Oh,” I say, not moving from the door.  “Well, that certainly is different.  May I see the warrant?”

His surprise increases.   I guess people don’t usually ask to read the warrants.  “Well…” he says, and hesitates.

“See, the reason I ask is, I’ve had some experience with this.  And with Detective Martinez.  He had a warrant once, too.  And other times, he didn’t.  But he broke the law with us, both times.  As you certainly know, policemen are limited to what they can do by the Fourth Amendment when it comes to searches.  I looked it up.  He violated our rights when he was in our house without the warrant and when he had one.  There were times he came to see us, asked to come in, and we allowed it.

“One of those times, he sat down in the living room when I went to get my father, but when I came back, I found Detective Martinez was in the kitchen, looking through a calendar we have hanging there that shows appointments, events, things we were planning to do.  He had no right at all to do that without it being specified on his warrant what he was searching for.  He doesn’t play by the rules.  So I don’t want him in this house.”

I can see the sergeant doesn’t know what to say.  So I continue.

“I don’t want him in this house, or even on this property.  If your warrant allows police officers from this county, or city, or even this state, to search our house, and it specifies what you’re searching for, then I’ll be happy to let you in.  If it doesn’t specifically allow police officers from outside this district to enter—and I don’t know how a judge could do that because his authority is limited to the jurisdiction in which he works—then I’d like you to respectfully ask Detective Martinez to get back in the car, shut the door, and stay there.

“But, of course,” I add, “you’re quite welcome.  We have nothing to hide here.”

Sergeant Fredericks looks like he doesn’t know what to do with his face.  I can see he’s trying very, very hard not to laugh.  I start to wonder just what his relationship with Detective Martinez has been.  Does he feel some of the same dislike I do for the man?

“Well, the warrant really isn’t specific on who can be involved in the search,” the sergeant tells me. 

“Then, could you please call the judge and find out?” I ask.   “We’ve had our rights trampled several times by that man.  I’m sure you don’t want that happening in your jurisdiction.  I can tell, just meeting you, that you have some respect for the law you’re sworn to uphold and the rights of the citizens who live here.   That man hiding behind you doesn’t.”

Detective Martinez steps out from behind Sergeant Fredericks.  “Open the door, you little bastard,” he says as he reaches for the door handle.  I quickly slip the hook hanging from the door into the eye screw attached to the doorframe.  I look at Sergeant Fredericks, and from the expression on his face, see that any questions he might have had about Detective Martinez being a decent cop have just been answered.

“Will you make that phone call, please?” I ask, smiling at the sergeant.

The sergeant turns to Detective Martinez and takes his arm, which the larger man quickly jerks away, and they move away from the door.  He speaks to the detective, and I see the detective’s face redden and a blood vessel in his large neck start to bulge, and then the sergeant walks back to the car.  Detective Martinez stands where he is, watches the sergeant, then turns to look at me.  My father has now joined me at the door. 

Detective Martinez walks back to the door and speaks to my father through the screen, not looking at me at all.  “I’m back. We have a search warrant.  Let us in or we’ll take you downtown and book you for obstruction of justice, not complying with a police order and delaying an investigation.”

My father is taken aback.  His mouth drops a little, and his eyes widen.  I put my hand on his bicep and squeeze it—hard.  He drops his eyes to me.  “Don’t say anything,” I tell him and then move so I’m between him and the door.

“You’ll do what?” I ask, sarcasm undisguised in my voice.  “You’ll do jack shit, is what you’ll do!”  I smile at him.  It takes an effort, but I do it.  “You can’t do anything out here, and you know it.  You’re a city cop, and you’re not in your city—or even your state.  Besides which, unlike you, Sergeant Fredericks seems to be a cop who follows the law.  Maybe you’ll get in here; maybe you won’t.  But your bullying won’t get you anything here.  Now, get off our front porch.  I’ve told you that with two witnesses listening.  If you don’t do it, I’ll ask Sergeant Fredericks to arrest you for trespassing.”

I think it’s possible the man’s head will explode; he looks that apoplectic.  “Now!” I say, and I say it loudly.

He doesn’t want to do it.  His pride almost won’t let him.  I am staring at him, and then I unhook and open the door and step out on the porch.  I take a step toward him.

And he caves.  I’d decided long ago he was simply a bully, and bullies almost always back down when facing a challenge they aren’t sure they can win.  This one, he isn’t sure.  If there’s a physical scuffle, he’ll end up looking bad no matter how it started because I’m fifteen.  So he takes a step backward, reaches the edge of the porch, then simply turns and stomps down the stairs.   I stand watching him all the way.

He doesn’t get back in the car.  He stops halfway between the porch and the car, turns his back on me and just stands there, staring out at the woods, or in that direction at least.

Sergeant Fredericks gets out of the car.  He comes back on the porch, passing by Detective Martinez but not speaking to him.  Dad has joined me on the porch, and so has Chase.

“I spoke to the judge,” Sergeant Fredericks says.  “He says the warrant only covers police within his jurisdiction.  He says I can ask to have the detective admitted, but it’s up to you.”

“Then he stays out,” I say.  My father gets a grin on his face.  He doesn’t say anything.  I guess he’s happy with the way I’m handling this.  “Just what are you searching for?” I ask.  I didn’t get that far when reading the warrant.  

“Anything that might give us a lead on that little girl who went missing a couple of days ago.  We got a call from Detective Martinez, and he said he had a tip that you knew something about it.  He said your father was a computer specialist and we might find something on his computer that’s related to this, that he was never cleared in the disappearance of his child.  I guess that was your sister?”

Again he looks embarrassed saying this.  But he says it with his head up, and while I can tell he doesn’t like saying it, he goes ahead with it.

“This tip,” I say.  “I’ll bet Martinez didn’t give you many specifics about it, did he?  When it came, man or woman supplying it, how they came by the information, why he believed them—you know the sort of thing.  You may realize now that he was very likely making up that tip.  He hassled us so much when my sister disappeared that Dad had to move us up here to get away from him.  And now the man’s still at it.  You saw how he is.  He probably wants to take Dad’s computer, not because he thinks he’ll find anything on it but just to mess with Dad.”

Sgt. Fredericks nods.  “Yes, that’s what he was talking to me about doing.  Taking the computer.  He said I should take it, then he’d have the experts where he works search it thoroughly.”

My dad breaks in.  “If you want to check my computer, feel free.  I’d rather you didn’t take it because I use it for my work, and it would be very inconvenient, but I know that’s your call.  If you want to look at it now, that’s fine.  Do you know computers?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Sergeant Fredericks tells him.  “I had a training class in forensic computer analysis.”

“Then come on in and look.”  My dad swings open the door, and the two go inside.  I stay on the porch with Chase.  We watch Detective Martinez, who’s turned and is watching us.  He takes to staring at me.  Chase watches, then asks, “Why is he doing that?”

I shake my head.  “Maybe he’s crazy.”

“He doesn’t look crazy,” says Chase.  “He looks like, well, I don’t know.  He looks like he’s thinking, or planning, or up to something.”

I don’t want to think about it right now. “I’m not going to worry about him.  The local cop seems OK.  Let’s go see what’s going on in there.”

Just then the door opens and my dad and Sergeant Fredericks come out onto the porch.  They shake hands, Sergeant Fredericks nods and smiles at me and then goes back to his car, collecting an obviously pissed and disappointed Detective Martinez on the way.

“How’d that go?” I ask Dad.

“He scrolled through my computer—the history, everything—and found only what I’d left for him to find.  We talked a little, and I explained our dealings with the detective.  He seemed satisfied.  I think seeing Martinez in action on the porch earlier is what convinced him that we weren’t the problem.”

Dad goes back inside, back to his office.  Chase asks me what that was all about.  “I’ll tell you later,” I say.  I don’t want to be distracted right now.  I’ve just told off a cop and gotten away with it, and my emotions are running high. 

I know I need to tell Chase all about Martinez.   I need to explain things to Lindsey and Trevor, too.  About a lot of things.  But now, I have other plans.

--- --- {} --- ---

I grab a large bath towel and ask Chase to come with me, and we walk outside.  It’s hot as usual, but that’s fine with me.  We walk slowly up the driveway to the dirt road, then across it into the woods.  We’re silent; just being together.  The woods are cooler than being out in the sun, but still well over 80 degrees.  I can hear the birds chirping, and a slight breeze is ruffling the leaves.

We walk next to each other, and it seems natural to take Chase’s hand.  I squeeze it, and he squeezes back, then looks up at me and grins.

Eventually, we come to the clearing where I felt so much emotion when we first came here.

I walk into the clearing with Chase by my side.  I sit on the fallen limb, and he sits beside me.  I tell him how angry I was when I came here before, how I’d thought of him and about our first night when we’d been together naked, and how that had affected me.  I told him how aroused I’d been, and what I’d done here, and how I’d felt afterwards.

I kiss him, and he ardently kisses me back.  We are both still horny from swimming earlier with Lindsey and Trevor.  I’m still high from telling Detective Martinez off and getting away with it.  We cling to each other, and I can feel his heart racing as fast as mine.  He begins undressing, almost tearing off his clothes, and I’m right with him.  Soon we’re on the ground, together on the towel.  The ground here is soft anyway, and seems to welcome us.

We writhe together, our passions carrying us along, growing.  Being outside makes it more exciting, but we know each other, know what turns each other on; we’ve done this enough together that there’s no fumbling, no awkwardness, no embarrassment.  We are transported by our feelings and fast heartbeats and heady emotions and sensations.  All our senses are alive and urging us on.  We balance frantic with slow, urgent with teasing.  We are all there is in the world right now—each other, as one.  Everything outside of us is blocked out; we exist in the now; we, as one, are all and everything, and the only thing that matters.

When we finish, a mutual, heart-racing,  transcendent explosion, we lie in each other’s arms.  I don’t know why, but there are tears on my cheeks.  I finally begin to sense my surroundings: the fresh air, the woodland sounds, the smells, the slight breeze on my sweaty skin, the dappled sun peeking through green leaves high above.  I realize that I never once worried about someone coming along and seeing us.  And that makes me see something clearly.  There is no shame in loving Chase.  I’m going to tell Dad about us—and soon.  He’ll have to deal with it.  I don’t think it’ll bother him at all, but either way, I’m going to tell him.  I only have to find the right time.  He’s so focused on his search for Carly that I’m not even sure it would register if I tell him about me right now.  And I want it to register.  I want him to know and understand who I am.

We eventually dress and walk hand in hand back to the house.  The closeness we’ve had before is a shadow compared to what I’m feeling now. 


<< Chapter 11 | Chapter Index | Chapter 13 >>

If you enjoyed reading this story, please let me know! Authors thrive by the feedback they receive from readers. It's easy: just click on the email link at the bottom of this page to send me a message. Say “Hi” and tell me what you think about ‘Doing Something’ — Thanks.

This story and the included images are Copyright © 2017-2022 by Cole Parker; they cannot be reproduced without express written consent. The original image is under the Terms of the Creative Commons License CC0 | Codey's World web site has written permission to publish this story. No other rights are granted.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story may contain occasional references to minors who are or may be gay. If it were a movie, it would be rated PG (in a more enlightened time it would be rated G). If reading this type of material is illegal where you live, or if you are too young to read this type of material based on the laws where you live, or if your parents don't want you to read this type of material, or if you find this type of material morally or otherwise objectionable, or if you don’t want to be here, close your browser now. The author neither condones nor advocates the violation of any laws. If you want to be here, but aren’t supposed to be here, be careful and don't get caught!