History of the Trap: March Coup Part 5

5

"What were you thinking?" He paused and brushed his bright red hair back with a sweep of his hand.  Even though I was seated and he was standing, he was still barely taller than me.  Small as he was, the power and drive of his personality made him seem much larger.  "No, wait.  It's obvious you weren't thinking.  Why would you poke him that hard, especially when he's right there in the studio watching?"

"What are you talking about?" I sputtered.  I wasn't tied to the chair, but I felt like I might as well be, Davis Deen standing to one side of me, and Mickey Beacham (a rather large black kid, and close ally to David Izzner) on the other.  It was clear that I was to just sit and listen.

"I'm talking about your little stunt with that soap opera of yours," David Izzner said, pacing.  "I mean, it's all well and good when you're just telling a diverting story.  I understand that.  I mean, what do you think I try to do?  I provide diversions.  I provide things to help people feel better, to step away from the maddening reality of this...Trap.  But that wasn't enough for you, was it?  No, you had to make some sort of point, didn't you?  You had to advance your odd little theory about what happened to your girlfriend, Lisa, because you just can't let it alone, can you?"

He paused again, but I said nothing.  I didn't know what to say.  Yeah, I had the power of the pen to say something and I did, even if it was obscured and indirect.

"I mean, I get it.  Reddy Pulvey was your dig at Robert Pelley.  You think he killed Lisa.  I get it.  We all get it.  But you couldn't leave it at that, could you?  You had to go farther, didn't you?"

"Farther?" I asked.

"Yes!  You had to drag Dr. Ronald Scott into it, didn't you?"

"Sorry," I replied.  "I didn't know you were such a fan of Dr. Scott."

David Izzner laughed.  "Oh, trust me; I am definitely not one of his fans.  But I'm smart enough to have to deal in the real world.  And I know exactly what you were implying with the 'Dr. Scott as mastermind' plot line.  And whatever else he is, he's not stupid.  Don't think for one second he didn't understand what you were accusing him of."

"Fine!" I spit out.  "Let him think it!  Let him know at least one person doesn't think he's St. Athlete!"

David Izzner rushed towards me.  I thought he was going to smack me in the face.  Instead, his face was only an inch away from mine, and he said, "You idiot!  You think he's scared of you, or anything you do?  You have no idea what's about to come down!"

I felt a twinge of anxiety, but mostly I was angry.  "He helped cover up Robert Pelley's murder of the girl that I loved!  He had to have known that Pelley killed her!  And he still helped Pelley by lying to the court, and getting his buddies to do the same!"

David backed up a bit.  "But your little story implied more.  Your story implied that Dr. Scott actually directed the murders that occurred.  That Pulvey was just his 'hitman'."

"You're right.  I wanted him to know.  I wanted to shake him up. So what?" I said defiantly.

"So what?  So what?  Are you serious?  You have no idea what you did, do you?  You have no idea...," David continued getting close to me again, "...how close to the truth you got."

I cocked my face, puzzled.  "What?"

"You know, for what I do, I really like the status quo.  It's true.  Your father put limits on me.  But I think he understood my services, and the need for someone like me, and I was able to thrive in the parameters he gave me.  Sure, I had to forego some of the cigarette trade, but that supply was dwindling anyways.  You want your product to be rare enough that people seek you out, but not so rare that people are willing to kill for it.  I operate with stealth, with manipulation, with negotiation.  I want all sides to be winners, and if that stays true, I keep making my profit, for as long as we're here.  I gain for myself when I make things better for other people.  Violence should never be used first.  It should be used, at best, eleventh or twelfth, or not at all."

He backed away, pacing.  I felt like I was in World Humanities, getting a philosophy lecture, the philosophy of the black marketeer.

"So when forces come along, forces that believe in violence above all else, forces that upset the apple cart, that make the business environment and it's relationships uncertain, I get worried.  Very worried.  I mean really, Lance, what do you think happened in that trial?"

"Mark Granite and his buddies lied to prevent Robert Pelley being convicted, and my overly proper father did not challenge them.  He just rolled over for them, and helped set free the scum who killed Lisa," I grimly answered.

"Really?  Your father?  You blame your father?  I hope I never have a son as faithless as you.  Think again.  Who had control of that trail?  Who determined how aggressive the prosecution against Pelley would be?"

I thought for a second, and then slow recognition permeated through.  "Mr. Tate, the prosecutor."

David briefly rolled his eyes.  "No kidding, Sherlock.  Mr. Larry Tate, prosecutor extraordinaire."

"B-but why?  Mr. Tate is a strong disciplinarian.  He hates Robert Pelley, and all the juvenile delinquents like him."

"Ah, yes!  But you know what?  Jesus was right.  Love is stronger than hate.  And there's something that Mr. Tate loves more than his hatred for kids like Robert Pelley."

"Love?  What are you talking about?"

"The thing ol' Larry Tate loves?  Why, the Principal's office, Lance!  He wants to be Principal.  He's wanted that for years!  Ever since he was passed over by the School Board and your father was named instead of him."

My heart was racing faster.  That was true.  I remember my father talking to my mother when it first happened.  He was worried whether he should even take the job, that it wasn't good for him to jump ahead of Mr. Tate.  But the School Board wouldn't see it any other way, and he was finally persuaded to take the position.  People thought Mr. Tate would leave when he was passed over, but he stuck it out.  And apparently had been stewing about ever since.  "That may be true, but I don't understand how letting Robert Pelley off would help with that."

"It wouldn't.  Not in and of itself.  Robert Pelley is a terrible scumbag, not worth the time of day.  But Mark Granite?  That's a different prize altogether.  And if the price of Mark Granite's help is to let one scumbag go free, then Mr. Tate thought it might be worth it."

I shook my head.  "No.  I don't believe it."

"Think, you thick headed Martian!  What's happened since then?  The Student Council is now in the hands of Mark Granite and his Grani-Kinghts."  David chuckled coldly at that name. "Grani-Knights.  What a ridiculous name.  They have some real creative geniuses on their side, don't they?  And Mr. Tate has been moving as many of his supporters into place as possible as well, on the teacher and administrative side.  They create artificial disputes and slowly move towards a vote deposing your father.  And what do you do?  Bemoan how your father betrayed you in the trial, and take misguided potshots in your little soap opera."

"I - I didn't know," I said in despair.  "I didn't think..."

"No. No, you didn't.  And now we may all pay the price.  Mr. Tate thinks he'll be in control, but he won't be.  It'll be King Jock Mark Granite, and his brutal lackeys.  And you think what happened to Lisa is the only thing they've done?"  David came close and stared at me again.  "That's just the tip of the iceberg, Marty Martian.  You need to come back down to this planet before it's too late!"

"I- I have to get with Artie.  See what we can do to stop this!"

"Yes, Artie.  I've seen him operate.  Now that is a real leader.  You need to get out there with him, and your sister, and Lindsay and Jan, and Mr., Bruchow and Mr. Branch, and whoever else you can muster, and form a plan to combat this.  But anybody you confer with, you must let me know who they are, so I can give you the all clear as to what side they are really on.  Like don't include Mr. Charles Stein, the new Vice-Principal, because he's not on your side."

"Are you sure?  I thought he kind of liked my Dad."

"Good lord.  You've never met a sycophant?  A suck-up?  Trust me.  He harbors secret resentments, and he'll turn on your father when the time comes."

"How can I trust you?"

David Izzner gave a grim smile, scrunching some of the freckles on his pale face.  "You can't.  But you gotta start somewhere.  And at least I'm telling you to turn to your friends."

The door burst open, and another of David Izzner's crew came in.  It was Max Schickler, whom I barely knew.  He was a mathematical whiz, and ran the accounting side of David's operations.  He was of medium height, and had long stringy black hair.  A large nose highlighted an otherwise bland looking face.  "David!  It's starting!" Max said.

"Already?" David seemed startled.  "My sources said that wouldn't happen until next week!"

"They moved it up!  Soap Opera boy here spooked 'em!" said an irritated Max.

"Moved up what?" I asked.

David looked at me with contempt.  "The meeting to depose your father.  It's happening right now!"

I jumped up out of my seat.  "I have to go!  I have to do something!"

"Haven't you already done enough?" David sneered.  "Oh, just go.  Do whatever you want.  It's too late, though.  The damage has already been done."

I raced out.  I raced out to try to stop a train that was already crashing.