The Seal's Return. Patricia Potter
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Defiance and bravado oozed from the boy as he stood his ground. “You gonna make me?”
Jubal noted the boy was probably sixteen or seventeen. And he was really pissing Jubal off now. He knew he probably didn’t look that threatening. He hadn’t regained the weight he once carried.
“You need to cool off, kid.” He flipped him into the water, then kicked the kindling off the other side of the dock, stomping out the few remaining sparks. The flames had never really caught. The kid knew nothing about starting fires. Nor, obviously, when to take a threat seriously.
The water came up to the kid’s nose even as his feet found the bottom. He struggled to breathe, lost his footing and went under. Jubal jumped in, lifted the kid onto his shoulders and carried him out of the water. The kid was shivering when he regained his footing.
“What’s your name?” Jubal demanded.
The kid hesitated and Jubal gave him a look that usually silenced arguments.
“Gordon,” the boy finally said.
“Well, Gordon, we are going to have a little discussion, unless you want me to call the cops right now.”
“No...no.”
Jubal marched the boy to the cabin and forced him inside. Both of them were dripping.
“Let go of me,” Gordon demanded.
“Will you run?”
There was no answer.
“At least you don’t lie,” Jubal said. He steered the kid into the bathroom. “There’s towels in the cabinet. Take a hot shower.”
“Then what?” Gordon asked.
“I’m not sure yet. Depends on whether you do as I tell you.”
“Who the hell are you, anyway? They said nobody lived here.”
“So that makes it okay to burn someone’s property?”
“It’s only a stupid dock.”
“Which cost money to build and maintain. What right do you have to destroy it?”
The kid looked down at the floor. “Whatever,” he mumbled.
“Take a hot shower,” Jubal said.
“You some kind of pervert?”
Jubal gave him a look that had cowed a hell of a lot meaner adversaries. “I’ll lend you some dry clothes. I’ll expect them back. Clean.”
“You aren’t going to call the cops?”
“Did I say I wasn’t?” Jubal closed the door and went to hunt for something the boy could wear. He finally picked a pair of sweatpants with a stretch waist and an old T-shirt. The kid would probably drown in them, but there wasn’t any help for that. Jubal changed into a pair of jeans and a sleeveless sweatshirt.
He would sit the kid down and read him the riot act. Scare the hell out of him. Like someone had scared the hell out of him years ago.
Why would he start a fire on a dock? What in the hell did the dock ever do to him? It might be interesting to find out. Then he would take the kid to his parents.
He planted himself outside the bathroom. He wasn’t going to give the kid a chance to escape. There were consequences to actions.
The sound of running water stopped.
Jubal opened the door and threw in the clothes. “Dress and then we’ll have a little chat about arson.”
He closed the door and took up his post. The door didn’t open. He would give the kid five minutes. No longer.
The door opened after four and a half minutes. Gordon was indeed swallowed in Jubal’s clothes. He was maybe five foot nine to Jubal’s six-three. He was lean, had an athlete’s supple frame but not the muscles. He was holding his wet clothes at arm’s length.
“Into the living room,” Jubal said.
“Why?” Gordon said with attitude. The shower apparently gave him courage.
“Okay,” Jubal said. “If you’re going to play it that way, I’ll call the cops now. Let them sort things out. Your parents know you’re out this late?”
“I don’t have any parents,” Gordon said defiantly.
“You just dropped from above?” Jubal asked.
“They died.”
“Then who looks after you? Or who is supposed to?”
“I’m seventeen. I don’t need anyone to look after me.”
“After seeing you tonight, I’d disagree,” Jubal said calmly. “Where do you live?”
“Where do you think?”
“I’m not fencing with you.” Jubal’s voice hardened. “It’s three in the morning, and you’ve disrupted my peace and tranquility. I didn’t plan on confronting a juvenile punk and taking another swim.”
“I was doing okay. You didn’t have to come in the water.”
“That so?” Jubal said with a raised eyebrow. “In any event, you think I was just going to let you stroll away?”
“Why not? It was just a small fire. No harm done.”
“Only because you obviously don’t know how to build one. I take it you’re not a Boy Scout?”
“That’s for losers.”
“Losers who clearly have more sense in one finger than you have in your entire body.”
Gordon stared at him. Jubal noticed the boy’s gaze seemed more careful now, hesitating when he saw the tattoo on his arm. “What’s that?”
“I thought you were smarter than anyone else,” he said. “You tell me.”
“Military?”
“Yeah.”
“My sister thinks they’re all fascists.”
“So your sister is the source of all your information? You live with her, then?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me where you live, or I’ll call the police. Maybe those fascists can straighten you out.”
The boy’s face paled. “We just wanted to see if it would burn,” he said. “He said no one lived here.”
Jubal raised an eyebrow. “Who told you that? Your chickenshit buddy who ran out on you? I saw him run.”
Gordon didn’t say anything.
“Okay, have it your way.” Jubal took his cell out of his pocket. “The police chief is a friend of mine and I have his number. I didn’t know I’d need it so soon.”
“Don’t!” Gordon said, adding a belated, “Please.”
“You don’t want him to know a juvenile pyromaniac is running around the community?”
“I’m not... I mean, you can’t call the police.”
“Why not?”
“I’m...” Gordon’s voice trailed off.
“Yes?” Jubal said, and raised his eyebrow.
“I’m...on probation,” Gordon admitted with obvious reluctance.
“Burn someone else’s house down?”
“No!”
“Anyone missing you right now?”
“No.”
“Why don’t I believe that?” Jubal said.