Free Little Deadly Things by Harry Steinman Page B

nothing.
    “Okay,” Sorenson shrugged. “Let’s get your father.”
    When Sorenson brought Galvin Ecco into the office, the attorney glared at the principal, glared at his son, looked around the office and, for good measure, glared at Sorenson’s framed credentials.
    “Mr. Ecco, you’re an attorney. Can you explain to your son how serious this is?”
    “No.”
    “No?”
    “It’s his mess. Let him fix it. Are we done here?” Galvin rose to leave.
    “No, Mr. Ecco, we are not done here. Please sit down. There’s a second problem, one that involves you directly.”
    “I don’t like the tone of your voice,” Galvin said.
    “Sir, I’m sorry you’re upset. But your son is going to be expelled. It’s school policy.”
    “That’s his problem. He also vandalized my office. Did he tell you that?”
    “It sounds like he’s pretty angry about something. Do you know what that might be?” Sorenson asked.
    “I don’t know and I don’t care.”
    “Mr. Ecco, the question is, what are you and Mrs. Ecco going to do about Jim’s education? If we can show a plan for rehabilitation that includes keeping him in school, the police will drop the charges. But he’s not going to be able to return to this school.”
    “So, what’s going to happen?” Jim asked.
    “Well. That’s why we’re here,” Sorensen said.
    Jim’s father raised his voice, “He vandalized my office, he hit the teacher. He’s a big boy, he can pay the price. He’s got to learn some discipline.”
    “Mr. Ecco, can you do me a favor?”
    “What?”
    “Settle down for a few minutes? Every family has problems. But yours cross over into my school and you can’t just wash your hands of the matter. Your son is thirteen years old, and you’re responsible for him.”
    “What the hell am I supposed to do? He crossed the line with this stunt.”
    “I’m trying to help, Mr. Ecco,” Sorenson said quietly. Then, a bit sterner, “Now please listen.” Galvin’s face colored. He opened his mouth and closed it, then opened and closed it again. For the first time since his books were stripped from his room, Jim became animated. A half-smile turned up one corner of Jim’s mouth.
    Sorenson looked at Jim’s father. “Here’s my proposition. I’ve arranged a transfer to another school district where your son can start fresh.”
    “Where?”
    “Los Pobladores High in East Los Angeles.”
    “East L.A.? Some ghetto school? Let’s see how smart he can be down there.”
    “Actually, Mr. Ecco, Los Pobladores would be a good school for Jim. It’s one of the schools sponsored by the Hidden Scholar Foundation.”
    “What’s that?” asked Jim.
    “The Foundation takes good students from poor neighborhoods around the world. It places them in low-income neighborhood schools in the U.S. and then provides funding to those schools. The Hidden Scholar Foundation is the creation of the philanthropist, Robert Murray Herbertson.”
    “The rich guy?” Jim asked.
    “Yes, the rich guy.” Sorenson stroked his chin and his eyes went back and forth between the father and son. Then he fixed his gaze on Galvin. “Mr. Ecco, your son won’t be a Foundation scholar, but he will benefit from the Foundation’s programs. I’ve arranged for him to transfer to Los Pobladores. I know the principal there and we worked out an arrangement. We do this from time to time when a change of location might benefit a good student.”
    “Jim is
not
a good student,” said Galvin.
    “He’s an underachiever, but he has a lot of potential.”
    “Well, I’m not driving him all the way down to East L.A. every day. And there’s no train from Pasadena to East Los Angeles.”
    “Actually, sir, in view of the, uh, tension, at home, we’ve arranged for him to board with a local family—with your permission.”
    “What about my dog?” said Jim. “What about Ringer?”
    Sorenson sighed. “You’re going to have to work that out. Right now I’m trying to keep you out of the court