A Darker Justice by Sallie Bissell Page B

before Sergeant Wurth demerit-free. He gave his shoes a final swipe against his pants legs as Wurth drew near. If David Forrester had told him the truth, Tommy would soon be talking to his grandfather. Maybe together they could figure out a way to get him out of here. Maybe they could even figure out a way to get Willett out, too.
    “Mr. Cabe!”
    Tommy jumped as Wurth towered in front of him. Despite all his efforts to “stand like a man,” his knees began to quiver.
    “Sir?”
    “This says you’ve not had one demerit all week.” From over his clipboard, Wurth eyed Tommy suspiciously. “How can that be, Mr. Cabe?”
    “I j-j-just tried real hard, sir.” Someone down the line snickered. Only Willett never laughed when Tommy talked.
    Wurth made a mark beside his name. “Well, Mr. Cabe. That’s good news. Maybe you should try-try-try real hard more often.”
    Tommy nodded, his cheeks on fire.
    “Congratulations, son,” Wurth told him. “You’re finally beginning to catch on.”
    With a gulp, Tommy waited for Wurth to award him his phone call, but instead the sergeant moved on down the line, questioning Willett about his split lip. Why hadn’t Wurth said anything? Surely he hadn’t forgotten.
    “Uh, sir?” Tommy asked, sweat beginning to trickle down his armpits, despite the freezing temperature.
    Wurth glared at him as the hiss of twenty-six breaths being simultaneously held rose from the line. No one had ever called Sergeant Wurth back to stand in front of them a second time. “Mr. Cabe?”
    Tommy swallowed hard. “C-c-can I make my phone call now?”
    “Your phone call?” Wurth frowned.
    Out of the corner of his eye Tommy saw Tallent and Grice growing red-faced as they struggled to suppress their laughter.
    “What phone call would that be, Cabe?”
    He realized then that it had been a lie. David Forrester had been no better than the others, setting him up for the unlikely day when he stood here, demerit-free. But there was nothing he could do now. He could not call back his request for a phone call; the whole camp was waiting to hear what he was going to say. He heard Willett groan beside him.
    “I thought that if you had a perfect week on Judgment Day you got to m-make a phone call, sir.”
    Wurth took a step back; his bulging eyes narrowed. “Just who is it that you want to call, Mr. Cabe?”
    “My grandfather, sir,” explained Tommy over the tittering line. “He lives in Kentucky. He doesn’t know where I am.”
    “Is this your mother’s father, Mr. Cabe?”
    “Yessir.” Tommy’s voice cracked.
    “Is this the father of the woman who’s currently in jail for robbery and prostitution? The woman who spends every dime she makes on whiskey? The woman who cared so little about you that she dumped you at a skating rink so she could flee prosecution for passing bad checks?”
    His cheeks blazing as more giggles broke from the line, Tommy shook his head. “It wasn’t like that, sir. She didn’t—”
    “Yes, she did, Cabe. I’ve seen your mother’s criminal record. This grandfather of yours raised a whore and a thief.”
    “He did not!” Tommy cried. “She’s not like—”
    Suddenly Wurth stepped forward, and pushed his face into Tommy’s. “I’m not sure where you got the idea that you could make a telephone call, Cabe, but you are sadly mistaken. I am working very hard to see that you grow up to be a decent human being. To communicate with an old man who raised some whiskey-besotted sow would run exactly counter to that purpose. Do you understand, Cabe?”
    Fighting hard to keep the tears from spilling down his cheeks, Tommy shook his head in protest. He moved his mouth, but his words balked, now worse than ever. “She’s n-n-not—!”
    “N-n-not what, Cabe?”
    “N-n-not—”
    “What, Cabe?”
    “N-n-n—”
    “He’s telling you she’s not like that!” came a small, angry bellow. Tommy glanced to the left. Willett stood glaring up at Wurth, his face white with