Gentlemen by Michael Northrop

didn’t even really get rid of the bodies, but he did clean off the ax and put it back where he found it. And with the guilt, I don’t know yet. He just killed them, but like I said, he’s pretty messed up in the head, and I could see him freaking out about it. He’s a weird dude and a total bedwetter about pretty much everything else he does. Like he’ll give people money and then go on and on, like, Why the hell did I give them my money for? I think maybe that’ll be in the next section.”
    â€œDo you think the chicks who got killed had any friends? Remember, Haberman’s like, ‘That’ll cause a lot of problems for their friends’?”
    â€œNah, I don’t think so, but it seems like maybe more people will get killed. I mean, it’s just part one and there’s already a body count.”
    â€œYeah, maybe he’ll kill someone more popular next time,” Mixer said, and we both laughed. And then we both really laughed, because there was a 99 percent chance that all this stuff was totally ridiculous, that we were talking aboutthis book for nothing and the only real crime was Tommy maybe getting molested in Manchester. And I said that, too, and so we were laughing even more, feeling pretty good. Then Bones turned the corner, and I was getting ready to tell him why we were laughing, but he was all serious and told us both to shut up.
    â€œWhat’s your problem, man?” Mixer said.
    â€œThrockmorton’s here, and he’s going to be talking to people,” Bones said.
    â€œThrockmorton?” said Mixer.
    â€œYeah, ’morton,” said Bones.
    â€œHe want to talk to us?” I said.
    â€œWhat do you think, dumbass?” said Bones, so that was pretty much a total buzzkill. Sheriff Throckmorton. Not Principal Throckmarten, that we could handle. It was just two letters off, but a major difference. The story was that they were the same family back in the day in Soudley, and that the two names were the result of an old family feud. I’ve got no way of knowing if that’s true or not. I mean, my family has been in town a long time, but that family’s like the Founding Fathers or whatever, only no one knows which family that was: Throckmorton or Throckmarten. There’s a brook named after one and a street named after the other and, no surprise, everyone always gets confused as to which name goes where.
    The other rumor was that the two didn’t get along at all, and I heard that one was definitely true, so Throckmorton wasn’t here for a social visit.
    â€œOh, crap,” I said, and it was kind of weird, because I honest to god hadn’t done anything. None of us had—not recently, anyway—but getting grilled by some dude with a badge and a gun was just not my idea of a good time. Not unless I was watching it on TV. It’s like they wrote down what you said and asked you again and tried to get you to screw up. And then it’s like you’re guilty, even though the only thing you’re guilty of is getting confused and saying the wrong thing.
    So Thursday schedule, same as Tuesday, and that meant Practical Math with Doucheley first period. And sure enough, not halfway through it there was a knock on the door. Sometimes they call the teacher and sometimes they knock on the door. They don’t announce it over the loudspeaker like they did in elementary school: “Will the following students please report to the principal’s office.” And then the class would start snickering and looking over at you. They don’t do that in high school, because sometimes in high school it’s serious, and sometimes in high school it’s not the principal you’re going to see.
    Dantley opened the door a crack, and a hand curled around the edge so you could see the fingers. It was a black man’s hand, so I knew it was Trever, but I pretty much knew that anyway. The door opened up and no one