Date: Thu, 25 Aug 2022 05:42:59 -0400
From: Michael Wisser <mikeewisser@gmail.com>
Subject: Barracks Bitch - Chapter 29

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U.S. ARMY RANGER TRAINING BRIGADE

TUESDAY 0845 HRS


Marine Major William `Billy' Collins glanced at the clock in his
temporary office.  He had fifteen minutes before his meeting with Col.
Ulrich.  He wasn't looking forward to this.  Nerves weren't the issue,
it was all about personality conflict.  Colonel Ulrich was the type of
old guard that believed his Command was his Kingdom and he was the King.
And King Ulrich did NOT like the Pentagon playing games with his Airborne
Course and Ranger School.  His resentment for the presence of Major
Collins came through loud and clear.  Full Bird Colonel Ulrich also
detested what he referred to as `weakening his training course and
creating a bunch of toy soldiers'.  Collins had to laugh at that,
privately of course.  Col. Ulrich had been given command of the Airborne
and Ranger Training Brigade three years ago.  It wasn't `his'.  And
what he referred to as weakening had more to do with the policy change
after the Vietnam War ended to allow the Airborne and Ranger Schools to
become an open opportunity for any soldier who could qualify.  In the
shake-up and draw down of U.S. forces for peacetime you had more soldiers
leaving the service than joining up.  The Pentagon needed incentive, and
training was incentive.  A campaign of promoting the military as way to
develop skills you couldn't get in the civilian world was put forth by
the PR and marketing firms that were hired to improve the public image of
joining the military.  The unpopularity of the Vietnam War had really
done a number on recruitment.  But that wasn't the worst of it.  Without
personnel, they couldn't justify their budgets to Congress.  And the
Ford and Carter Administration had gutted them.  Fortunately, Reagan and
Bush understood the need to keep a well equipped military and keep up
recruitment numbers.  But now with Clinton there was talk of base
closures and bloated budgets again.  Hell, entire Commands were being
considered for dissolution.  Brigades and Battalions gone, Fighter groups
decommissioned, it seemed every week some new plan came down from Heaven
to combine units, and cut money from some program or training.  And they
were only a month into Clinton's first term.  Nothing was set in stone
yet, but the shake-up was coming.  President Clinton certainly wasn't
winning any votes from military personnel starting off like this.

But all that was above Collins' pay grade and honestly he knew none of
it mattered.  His focus at the Naval Academy was Military History.  This
was the normal ebb and flow of a country's martial presence.  Certain
administrations found excuses to increase the military, found conflicts
to get involved in (nearly all of which weren't even a minor threat to
the U.S.), spent money on new, fancy planes, boats, and weapons.  Then
there was an almost equal amount of administrations who focused on
pulling back, cutting budgets, limiting promotions and weeding out dead
weight personnel, ending weapons programs, decommissioning outdated
equipment, decreasing stockpiles.  When you looked at it overall, there
was a natural balance.  And the most impressive part was the country
never shirked when a REAL threat presented itself.  Collins always
laughed secretly at the old guard officers and NCO's who whined about
how `they're weakening the military' or `back in my day soldiers were
tough'.  One thing was ALWAYS true:  Leadership set the tone.  So if
there was any weakness manifesting it fell squarely on the shoulders of
this `old guard' because they dictated policy and direction.
Essentially, just like Sergeants told their green recruits: find a way to
succeed with what you're given.

And that was exactly why Collins was here sticking his nose into Col.
Ulrich's Airborne and Ranger Training program. There was enough history
with homosexual troops to recognize the military didn't have a
performance issue with those troops.  They had a behavioral issue with
the heterosexual troops.  Study after study, as well as post-discharge
examination of individual service records and unit records indicated
homosexual troops performed right in line with all other personnel, to
the exact percentage in everything from rank achievement, mission
success, job performance, every marker they could look at.  In fact,
strangely enough, those units who discharged suspected or admitted
homosexuals saw absolutely no increase or decrease in achievements,
success, or mission goals before or after the discharge.  Those units
didn't perform worse when a homosexual was present, and they didn't
perform better when a homosexual was removed.  Which said to anyone
looking that the policy against homosexuality because it affected the
mission had no basis in fact.  But, the Pentagon already knew that,
because in WWII, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War unless a soldier was
blatant and open about it, every single branch refused every request for
discharge based on suspected homosexuality.  The sad part of that was
those troops would have been safer with a dishonorable discharge than
left to the unmerciful personal justice of their unit.  And that was a
failure of leadership.  Still, there were far more examples of a unit
that overlooked or ignored such activity within its ranks than there were
examples of street justice.  Collins had spent months piecing together a
picture from research.  This wasn't a new issue.

That was the entire reason for this test program.  The dynamic needed a
focused and eyes-on determination of what happened within a unit from the
very start, through low and high pressure situations, training, missions
and even off duty down time.  From that, he was tasked with outlining a
policy that the military could live with.  He'd presented the general
idea of this test program four years ago to his Commander and he'd
gotten the green light to develop it into a working model.  As with
everything, the military moved slow.  At that time it wasn't a priority
and he wasn't to spend too much time on it.  But slowly, along with a
couple other officers and even one civilian at the Pentagon they'd
fleshed out a very controlled program.  The beauty of it was that he'd
created it as a double blind study.  The subjects, Private Harris and his
Bravos, Lamont and his Charlies, and the other two Platoons, had no idea
why.  Nor did their Sergeants, Lieutenants, or anyone below the highest
levels.

It actually surprised Collins to find out Harris and Lamont had been
chosen for leadership of their Platoons.  Collins' team had selected
Private Harris specifically because his background check indicated he had
a boyfriend in High School, one Kevin Copeland.  That wasn't certain
though, as he was also reported to have a girlfriend, who was now at
USC.  From the time of his enlistment Harris hadn't had a single
romantic interaction that could be identified, with men or women, and
there had been no contact with either the suspected boyfriend or the
girlfriend until his father's funeral.

Private Lamont was a different matter.  There were quite a few rumors
from his old unit and Collins' team had put surveillance on him off duty
when he was being considered for this program and it turned out Lamont
was quite active with men sexually.  Exclusively men.  Numerous men.  But
in spite of the rumors in his unit, his fellow troops, his Sergeant and
his Lieutenant said he was an exceptional soldier.  When specifically
asked about the rumors, both the Sergeant and Lieutenant shrugged and
said `Rumors.  You know how units are.  He doesn't seem the type to me,
and no one's brought any accusations.'  Their wording was almost
identical, as if rehearsed.

That was another aspect to this he'd have to put in his report.  Whether
Lamont's Sergeant and Lieutenant knew anything or not they'd chosen to
protect either Lamont or the unit from scrutiny.  One or the other was
true, perhaps both, but that dynamic couldn't be discounted.  Any
external investigation into a single troop or the unit as a whole was
considered disruptive.  Any kind of investigation.  No one liked that
sort of thing.  So, either the Sergeant and Lieutenant liked Lamont and
were protecting him, or they didn't want these outsiders making a mess
in their unit.  But either way, the underlying message was that they
didn't feel Lamont's suspected homosexuality was a big enough deal to
warrant disruption of their day-to-day.  And that in itself spoke
volumes:  Lamont wasn't a problem, not for them, and not for their
troops.  That was exactly the sort of thing this test program was trying
to determine.

The other two Platoons chosen for this program, the Alphas and the Deltas
were also operating smoothly and had performed well in phase 1.  Because
they had ranked 3rd and 4th though they were steered towards other
training for phase 2.  Collins had already figured out most of the reason
why Harris and Lamont were so successful with their Platoons as both
seemed to be natural leaders who set an example for their troops,
identified weaknesses and developed them into strengths.  For instance,
Private Sendahl and Private Evans, the troublemaker twins, Wanker and
Bootlicker.  Privately, Collins was curious how they got those nicknames,
but in any other unit those two would probably have been busted down or
even booted for their activities.  In their previous units both had
numerous black marks and reports for conduct, discipline and being where
they were not authorized but had never been caught doing anything that
violated the UCMJ, even if Collins suspected both actually HAD.  But,
doing something and getting caught doing something were two different
things.  Somehow though in the Bravos, Harris was able to keep them from
getting out of hand and instead steered the two in a way that utilized
their crafty intelligence for resourcefulness instead of trouble.  Before
phase 1, Collins would have put money on those two being the ones to rat
out the homosexual troops.  Both Privates seemed hell bent on discovering
secrets and using them to their advantage.  But Harris identified that
they were kindred spirits so he paired them up, while overlooking
everything that wasn't a major offense, even purposing their talents to
often help the Platoon.  Basically, instead of cracking down on them, he
made them feel like their skills were a valuable contribution.  Because
of that, no one saw them as the troublemakers.  In other units, they'd
be considered a weak link, a problem to be disciplined and never treated
as part of the team.  Harris just somehow knew they needed focus and
purpose, so he gave it to them.  The simplicity of the solution impressed
Collins.  When Harris  encountered a problem, he turned it into an
opportunity.  With a leader like that any unit would push themselves to
go the extra mile.

Collins glanced at the clock again.  It was time to deal with Ulrich and
as distasteful as he found the man personally he couldn't avoid
coordinating with him for the program's transition to Ranger School.


***********************

BOOTLICKER

After the success of selling the answer key to his 6th grade History
test, Peter was looking for his next opportunity to make money.  The key
to not getting caught was in not getting greedy.  He knew to stay away
from the good kids, the rule followers, the ones who would tattle to the
teacher.  Besides, they didn't need to cheat to pass the test and he
wasn't going to make any serious money off them anyway, plus money was
just a way to keep score.  No, his target market was the lazy kids, the
stupid ones.  Peter hadn't stolen the answer key for himself, he could
pass that test with his eyes closed.  He could read the chapters and the
facts just stayed in his head.  The tests and homework were almost
disgustingly easy for him.  And the stupid and lazy kids were easy marks
and so eager to give him every dollar they had.  He'd lucked across the
answer key one day when he went up to Mr. Houston's desk to ask him if
he needed any help with anything and saw the key for the next test
peeking out from under some other papers.

Peter loved that he had Mr. Houston fooled.  Mr. Houston actually liked
him because he made sure to act interested and he always participated in
class, plus he made good grades.  Teachers always liked the students who
made good grades.  It made them feel like they were good teachers.  Once
he realized that aspect of teachers when he was 8, he understood how he
could make school easy.  Teachers were really dumb and so easy to
manipulate but they weren't any different than other adults.  The kids
who struggled, or caused trouble in class were treated like prisoners,
viewed with distrust and basically watched for any infraction.  Peter
though was given every benefit of the doubt, a ton of freedom, and was
easily forgiven for tardiness and a hundred other little things that
students often got in trouble for.  It was never a question that he
finished his work early and when he did he always volunteered to do
something in the classroom that the teacher needed.  Yeah, they fucking
loved that.  What made it all even better was they never suspected him of
any wrong doing.  Nothing made him feel warmer inside than getting away
with a scheme purely by virtue of the belief that the smart, helpful,
eager and charming kid would NEVER do something bad.

So lifting the answer key while Mr. Houston was away from his desk was
easy.  A brief moment in which Mr. Houston's back was turned was all he
needed, passing by the desk to go to the pencil sharpener and a casual
grab and it was in his hands.  After he copied it all down in his
notebook at his desk (which only made him look like he was crunching away
at homework)  another moment of inattention was all he needed to slip it
back exactly where it was before.  He remembered exactly which pile, how
much was sticking out, which other papers it was found between.

Then by the end of the next day he had $64 of desperately surrendered
lunch money.  Honestly, he owed his success in part to teacher laziness.
Multiple choice tests meant the teachers didn't have to spend so much
time grading, and Peter didn't have to copy out test questions.  Plus,
all the answers fit on a small easily hidden scrap of paper.

He also figured out that his copies couldn't have ALL the correct
answers.  He diligently substituted deliberately wrong answers in his
copies so that the grades would vary between a 85 and a 91.  Mid B's and
low A's were far better than most of his clientele usually got, and not
so high that a stupid, lazy kid couldn't achieve with a little luck,
especially on a multiple choice test.  Plus, he figured he was doing the
teacher a huge favor.  Higher test scores made it look like they were
actually good teachers.  Overall, Peter felt he was helping everyone and
they all got something out of the deal.  While he couldn't care less if
others benefited, it did make him feel like they should be grateful he
put in all that effort.

"What's next?"  He thought.  He was toying with some kind of pay to
play game at lunch time.  He'd recently read a magazine article about
how carnival games were rigged in favor of the carnival and he felt that
held some potential.  He was afraid that the lunch monitors wouldn't
allow it once they knew the kids were giving him money.  Plus, he hadn't
quite decided on what game.  That might be more suited to an after school
thing, maybe on the bus or in the neighborhood.  That was something still
in development.  Also on the list was learning how to stack cards and do
tricks, which had the potential to be a good regular source of income.
He'd have to be good though, which meant a lot of practice.  He'd
checked out a couple books that described how it was done, so he had the
knowledge, he just needed the skill.  In the movie The Sting, Robert
Redford and Paul Newman said the best con was one in which the mark
thought they knew how the game worked, but the trick was that it was all
a distraction from the REAL con.  The Sting had to be his favorite movie
of all time.  The elegance and complexity of Redford and Newman's plot
sent shivers up his spine and he often imagined himself in a career as a
con man.  If you were good, you could fake your way into any situation,
be whoever you wanted, do whatever you wanted, and people would just hand
over their money with a smile.  They'd even thank you for doing them the
favor of taking their money.  By the time they realized it was all a
trick, you were gone.  At 11, Peter had it all figured out.


******************

"Mr. and Mrs. Evans, thanks for coming in."  Principal Nichols said.
Peter Evans' parents sat across from him in his office, looks of
resignation on their faces.

"What has he done?"  Mr. Evans asked.  Principal Nichols was surprised
that his tone was not combative and instead sounded amused.

He immediately revised his approach.  He was prepared for a battle with
parents who would defend their child with indignation and disbelief.
Instead, these two seemed open and unsurprised.  So he let his guard down
and gave it to them straight.

"It seems Peter has been selling mice to the other kids.  They've been
keeping them in their lockers like some kind of pet.  Did you know about
this?"

Mrs. Evans looked at Mr. Evans.  They seems like a nice couple.  Mr.
Evans was the serious type, not a single smile.  Mrs. Evans appeared
intelligent and practical, and she paid attention to the social niceties,
like smiling, eye contact.  But that look, the very first reflexive
response to what Nichols told them... Mrs. Evans was NOT pleased, and her
look said `this is YOUR fault' to her husband.

"No, we didn't know."  Mr. Evans replied.

Wow.  This was not the normal parental response.  They didn't ask `how
do you know it was Peter?  It could be anyone.'  They didn't deny it.
They didn't accuse the administration of failing to supervise the kids,
lack of control, not doing their job.

Mrs. Evans gave Nichols a satisfied smile.  "We allowed Peter to get a
pet snake, a Burmese Python.  The snake is still small, and he feeds it
mice that he buys at the pet store.  It's supposed to teach him
responsibility."  She turned to her husband again.  "Did you know he
was breeding the mice?"

"How would I know that?  There's mice in the aquarium all the time.  I
can't tell if there's more mice or less mice.  They all look the
same."  Mr. Evans replied.  "How much has he been selling them for?"
He asked Principal Nichols.

Nichols grimaced.  "$3 each."

Mr. Evans stared off into space, lost in thought for a moment.  Then he
looked at Principal Nichols again.  "Yes, he's breeding them.  They are
$2.75 at the pet store.  There's no way he'd settle for making just a
quarter from each mouse.  Can we get him in here?"

"Absolutely."  Principal Nichols picked up his phone and waited for his
secretary to answer.  "Mrs. Gatling, please have Peter Evans come to my
office.  Thank you."

Mr. Evans crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.  "So...it's not
illegal or against the rules for Peter to sell animals.  What is he in
trouble for?"  He said in a conversational tone.  "And please
understand we will take care of this...I'm just curious what school
policy he's violated."

"Well...". Principal Nichols started. "Technically no rule has been
broken by Peter, only the kids who bought the mice and kept them in their
locker.  But, it's caused a problem.  Lockers aren't a secure way to
keep mice, most escaped.  Uh.... We have a mice infestation now.  They are
really difficult to get rid of.  You need to keep Peter from bringing his
mice to school."

Mrs. Evans chuckled and shook her head.  "We'll tell him, but he'll
probably stop on his own.  We thought it would be worse."

"Mrs. Evans, it needs to stop now.  Today."  Principal Nichols said.

"Yes."  She nodded.  "He will.  I don't think you need to worry.  You
see, once Peter finds out we all know about his little enterprise, it
won't be fun and exciting for him anymore.  He'll move on to something
else."

"Excuse me?"  Nichols said.

"Peter likes his little games."  The husband said.  "Not getting
caught is one of the goals.  I THINK another goal is to see how far he
can get BEFORE he gets caught.  If a game goes on too long, he will drop
bread crumbs to see if you notice.  He'll leave clues, evidence...almost
like he wants to get caught or he's become bored with the game so he
wants you to end it.  And then, after getting caught he plays his other
game, where he cries, says how sorry he is, he didn't mean to, or tries
out a new excuse to see if it'll fly.  But once he's caught, the game
is over for him.  He starts on something else.  For the longest time, we
didn't know how to handle him.  But a counselor a couple years ago told
us Peter is a master manipulator.  Every single thing he does, every
reaction he elicits, goes into his brain and he figures something else
out about how to get people to do what he wants."

Nichols stared at the Evans'.  He really didn't know what to say.
"Mr. Evans, Peter is only 12 years old.  I know he's intelligent, but
that's a lot for a 12 year old."

Mr. Evans laughed.  The very first time he broke his seriousness.  "12?
Wow, he's got you right where he wants you.  Ah, Mr. Nichols, your life
is going to be very difficult for the next year and a half, ESPECIALLY if
you think of him like your average 12 year old.  Yes, Peter is 12.  But
he's not like any 12 year old you've ever met.  And unfortunately, when
Peter gets here to the office, he's going to play his game with you, and
you're going to buy it.  He's really good.  And we, Jessica and I,
we're going to let him do it.  And we'll play our part in his little
game, because he can't suspect we have him figured out.  We are going to
pretend to be terribly disappointed in him.  Right now he thinks we
don't know about his games.  The minute he discovers we know... he'll
change and we will spend a year or more figuring out what he's trying to
do, what his new game is with us.  Here's how it works:  Peter is
operating on several levels at once.  First, he's manipulating the
kids.  No one just buys a mouse to have a mouse.  I'm pretty sure Peter
made having a mouse somehow cool, or fun, or attractive.  It doesn't
matter, you just need to realize Peter can talk kids into doing almost
anything.  So his first level is seeing how much he can get them to do,
how far he can take it, how many he can get to follow him."

Then Mr. Evans leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees.  "His
second level is seeing how much he can control of the situation.  When
are the grownups going to find out?  Will they notice on their own or
will one of the kids give it away.  Which kid will do it?  Which adult
will notice?  How long will it take?  If you watch him closely after
he's caught at his game, he always seems very satisfied.  And beyond the
required tears, begging, and promises he immediately becomes unconcerned
with his punishment.  You're probably saying to yourself `there's no
way a 12 year old does that.'  Here's what's going to happen:  We're
going to take his python back to the pet store, and his mice.  After his
initial protests, as soon as tomorrow...Peter will not shed a single tear
about the snake or the mice.  He won't regret what he's done, he won't
even miss the snake.  He'll never mention the snake again unless
mentioning it is useful in some manipulative way.  It won't bother him
at all, because he doesn't really care about the snake.  He cared about
what the snake MEANT, he cared about how he could use it for his games."

Principal Nichols scowled.  "That seems a harsh way to describe your own
child."

"Is it?"  Mr. Evans asked. "For years we thought of it like that.  We
thought there was something wrong with him.  I'd offer THAT was a harsh
way to think of our own child.  But Peter isn't violent, he doesn't
want to hurt people, he also doesn't get angry.  If someone tells on him
or rats him out, he doesn't blame them, doesn't get mad, he doesn't
seek vengeance, really doesn't care at all.  He's somewhat of a
sociopath, we think.  He has a basically, foundationally, good nature.
His games aren't intended to be vicious, or hurtful.  In fact, I don't
think he grasps why people would be hurt by anything they willingly
participated in.  And even if they weren't willing participants, they
should understand it wasn't personal.  We're still trying to figure out
some way to reach him emotionally, thus the purpose of the pet snake.  We
figured out happy, cute animals that loved attention like dogs and cats
were only annoying to him.  We think they were too easy to manipulate.
He had a puppy and a cat trained in less than a month.  After that, it
was unfair to the animal, almost cruel.  Imagine a puppy commanded to sit
and stay, then the person they loved the most going across the room to
sit, and ignore them for over an hour.  A grown dog might understand that
level of patience.  But for a puppy it seemed like unnecessary torture to
us.  Like I said, he wasn't mean, he didn't hit or punish or abuse the
puppy or the cat.  But once he figured them out, and how to make them do
what he wanted, they didn't mean anything to him.  So, we thought an
animal that didn't need physical touch, or an emotional connection would
be more his speed.  And I don't know how well anyone can train a snake,
so it might prove to be just the kind of challenge that would keep his
interest."

Principal Nichols was at a loss for words.  To hear the parents tell it,
Peter Evans was some sort of mastermind.  Nichols found that hard to
believe.  Just about every parent over-estimated their child's
intelligence.  "Mr. Evans, what do you do for work?"

"I work for OSHA.  Jessica works on the base."

The office door opened.  "Peter, come in and sit down."

For most kids, getting called to the Principal's office was a big deal.
Seeing your parents there would be a bigger cause for concern.  But
Nichols noticed the look on Peter Evans' face didn't change.  He simply
gave his parents a glance before moving to the chair against the wall.
After he sat down, he gave Nichols a bright smile.

"Hi Mr. Nichols."  The 12 year old said in a bright, eager voice.  The
kid was charming, that was certain.  His voice hadn't deepened yet with
puberty.  "Hi Mom, hi Dad."  The way he was acting he didn't seem to
suspect his was in any trouble at all.

Mr. Evans was looking at Nichols with eyebrows slightly raised, and a
barely perceptible grin on his lips.

Nichols cleared his throat.  "Peter, have you been selling mice to the
kids?"

Peter didn't drop his smile.  "Yes, sir.  They wanted to keep them as
pets like I do."

It was more difficult than Nichols thought it would be to be mad at Peter
for causing an infestation in his school.  Peter seemed to be just an
innocent kid who made a poor decision with no intention of causing
trouble.  That smile, the eagerness, the respect he was showing... his gut
feeling was that Peter was a good kid.

"Peter, you can't do that."  Nichols said.

Peter's smile fell.  "But why not?  They don't make any noise, and are
real easy to take care of.  They don't have any diseases."

Nichols sighed.  "Peter, your classmates are keeping them in their
lockers, and they are getting out.  We have mice running all over the
school now."

A look of concern came over Peter's face.  "Oh.  I told them they
needed to keep them in a Tupperware box with holes in the lid."

Did he?  Nichols thought.  The locker search they'd done two days ago
didn't produce a single tupperware container, containing a mouse or
otherwise.

"Am I in trouble?"  Peter asked, his voice weak and trembling, a
worried look on his face.  The very picture of a worried little boy.  If
Nichols believed the parents, this acting job was superb.  Timing, the
emotion, the body language, the facial expression, the words...

Nichols sighed.  If this kid was everything his father said, he was
EXCEPTIONALLY good at it.  And there was no way Nichols could be sure the
kid had any other motive than selling pets to his classmates.  As
principal, his disciplinary latitude was wide.  This wasn't a court of
law, a crime wasn't necessary to trigger discipline, just some
infraction.  But Nichols wasn't the type of principal that saw every
child as a manufactured product produced by the factory of public
education and he didn't buy into student uniformity like so many other
educators.  Peter was smart, his standardized tests were all in the top
percentile.  He wasn't a behavioral problem, his teachers all reported
he was engaging and helpful, hard working and involved.

"Not exactly, Peter.  Just... well stop bringing animals to school, and
stop selling them to your classmates."  Nichols replied.

Peter looked down.  "Okay."

"You don't have any mice at school today, do you?"  Nichols asked.

"No sir."  Peter answered.

"Good.  I think I can leave it at that.  Mr. and Mrs. Evans, I'll leave
you to have a talk with Peter.  I trust you'll handle this as you feel
appropriate."


*************************

"Dad, please don't leave me in jail."  He pleaded with his father.

"Peter, I know you understand so just stop.  You're 18.  You're being
held until your bond hearing.  Hopefully it'll only be a few days."
His dad said.  "I can't do anything until they set bond.  This is a
consequence.  We'll get a lawyer, but you aren't a minor anymore so
you're in the adult system, which means you don't get released to your
parents.  This is far more serious than the juvenile system you're used
to.  Just be careful.  The men you're in jail with aren't very
forgiving.  And you're not going to get much help from the jail staff."

Peter didn't respond right away.  He knew he made a mistake trying to
sell the stuff at the pawn shop.  But he had no idea someone would
engrave their name on lawn equipment, and pawn shops weren't supposed to
care that much about where the stuff they bought came from.  The books
he'd read all said pawn shops were excellent places to fence stolen
goods.  It was stupid of him to take advantage of the open garage door he
saw, but only in hindsight.  Had he thought it through he would have
known he wouldn't have any place to hold the lawnmower and weed eater
until he could sell it, and he should have considered that none of the
people he knew would have any use for either of those things so he
wouldn't be able to unload it that way.  The pawn shop was a last
resort.  He was usually more clever than that but he could still turn
this to his advantage.  Even the learning experience had value and
knowing how the adult criminal justice system worked would serve him
well.  His attempt to sell the cops that the pawn shop called on the
story that he'd found the items on the curb on trash day and he'd fixed
them up to sell didn't convince them.

Trouble was, the local cops all knew him by now so he didn't get a
break.  He'd overplayed that hand, hadn't covered all the angles and
got stupid.  The items were reported stolen and the owner's name
engraved on them easily revealed his lie.  Well, lesson learned.  This
wasn't going to be too terrible.  He could take care of himself and he
wasn't intimidated by the common criminals in jail, most were just
regular dumb people.  Even cops were regular dumb people and that
included the ones that ran the jail.  It wouldn't be difficult to get
them to like him and once he did that he'd be just fine, maybe even
comfortable.

"Yeah, I understand Dad.  But look, they don't feed us much here and
it's not good food.  I only ate a dry piece of chicken last night, and
there's no breakfast.  They say we only get a sandwich for lunch.  They
have a commissary I can buy food at, but I need money in the jail
account."

His dad sighed over the phone.  "How much do you need?"

"Just fifty dollars if it's only a few days.  If I'm in here longer
I'll need more."  He knew his dad could afford it and he wouldn't say
no.

"Okay.  I'll get the money in your jail account.  Peter, stay out of
trouble in there.  You stand a better chance of being released on bond if
you keep your nose clean.  And the disposition of your case will go
better if you have good behavior."

Peter grinned, which his father couldn't see.  "I will Dad.  Thanks."

"I'll come down there with the lawyer, but it will probably be
Monday."

"Okay.  Bye Dad."

"Bye son, see you in a couple days."

Peter hung up the phone.

"Did you get your rent?"  His cell mate asked.

"Yeah, Dad's going to put the money in my account in a little while.
I'll pay you when it shows up."  Peter replied.

"Good boy.  If you keep doing what I tell you to do, nothing bad will
happen to you in here."

Peter wasn't stupid.  He knew a con job when he saw one.  Rent.  Sure.
But along with that came a certain amount of protection.  His cell mate
would make sure he got his money, which meant nothing could happen to
Peter.  He'd transfer $15 every day, buying a day of security at a
time.  His cell mate wanted a week up front, but Peter's willingness to
push the issue saying his Dad wouldn't give him that much money at once
forced his cell mate to agree to once a day.  Plus, from his cell mate
he'd learned how the commissary system worked, how the jail prisoner
account system worked, and a glimpse into the fascinating black market
economy of the jail.  Everything was for sale, everything was for trade.
From labor, to food, to items.  He'd only been in jail less than 24
hours and he even discovered the correctional officers were part of the
food chain.  You could get almost anything smuggled in if you had someone
on the outside willing to pay the C.O. a little money.

Peter's cell mate was a mid level fish.  Peter was a small fish, and his
cell mate knew right away he'd never been in jail before.  Peter was
only too happy to play the scared, dumb kid which meant his cell mate
didn't have to work too hard to come across as the older, knowledgeable
protector.  Peter had met plenty of that type in juvie, they were
stupidly easy to manage and were useful.  The scared dumb kid act was
second nature to Peter now and it worked far better than being a tough
guy which only brought out challenges and raised hackles.  The tough guy
type, even the fake tough guys who were all bark and no bite, loved
having a scared, cooperative pawn they could take advantage of.  It gave
them a sense of power, of superiority, made them feel like they were
somebody big.  That type was easy to play.  The best part of playing the
act for Peter was that nothing big was expected of him.  His complete
lack of confidence, the weakness, his pretense that he didn't know how
to fight... all of that meant he wasn't trusted to do anything except
feed egos and suck up.  In juvenile detention he'd honed his act to
perfection.  Bullies were perfect animals, easy to reward and easy to
fool.  All they really wanted was subservience.  Higher brain function
wasn't a character trait they possessed.

All in all, Peter could have ended up with a much worse cell mate.  At
least this idiot was positioned well enough that being paired with him
meant an easy stretch until his hearing.  Gary wasn't completely awful,
and wasn't as stupid as most.  Peter actually admired the confidence
this guy possessed.  He didn't know what Gary was in for, but he knew it
had to be something bigger than pawning stolen goods.  He'd been here
long enough to make his way up the hierarchy to be comfortable and
unworried about jailhouse politics.  And Peter figured he could learn
something from him that would educate him about judges, lawyers and
surviving.

"Back to our cage.  You have work to do."  Gary said, walking away.

Peter shrugged, then followed.  He already knew more would be expected of
him than just paying Gary money.

They went back in their cell, and Gary laid down on his bottom bunk.
"Go sit on the toilet."  Peter did as instructed, sitting down on the
metal.  Only a few seconds passed before another prisoner walked in.

The man was about six feet tall, tattoos covered both arms.  White, a
little muscular, maybe mid twenties, buzz cut brown hair, with a bored
look on his face, the man said in a deep voice "He ready?"

Gary responded in an equally bored voice "Yep.  Get to it."

Peter was curious.  Was he supposed to go with this guy somewhere?  He
glanced over at Gary but his eyes were closed.  He didn't look worried.

"Watch your teeth."  The man said, pulling down the front of his orange
jailhouse bottoms when he stood in front of Peter.

Peter's eyebrows went up.  After a look at the guy's soft dick, he
looked up at his face.  "You want me to suck your dick?"  He asked
calmly.

The man blinked.  "I'm not here to talk.  Get on it."

Peter took a breath.  Well, this would be a first.  Fine.  Best to get it
over with.  He grabbed the dick in front of him and leaned forward,
opening his mouth.  No teeth.  He knew that already, he didn't like it
when the girls who'd blown him scraped his dick with teeth either.  He
could probably do a decent job of it.  As he started sucking on the
gradually expanding cock, he was considering how this played into his
deal with Gary.  Blowjob guy had to be a bigger fish than him.

It wasn't all that big of a deal.  Peter was more concerned with
figuring out what kind of transaction was taking place, his value within
it, what exactly blowjob guy and Gary were getting out of it.  This
wasn't really about a blowjob, the guy with the now hard dick probably
had other ways to get a blowjob in jail.  Peter wrapped his lips around
his teeth as he bobbed up and down on the average sized dick like girls
did.  The guy had a little funk going on, the smell hitting his nose
wafting up from the guy's hairy balls.  A little gross, but not
intolerable.  He made sure to use his tongue a little on the underside of
the shaft and used his hand to stroke it while he sucked.

"Yeah, that's it, kid.  Suck my big cock."

Peter almost laughed.  Big cock?  These tough guys were all the same.
All ego.  Peter knew what he had to do.

First, he gagged, then pulled off and let out a gasp.  "It's too big
for my mouth.  I don't think I can..." he said in a pitiful whine.  That
was straight from Traci Lords in Educating Mandy, a porn video he stole
from his boss' house when he worked at Orange Julius in the mall at 16.
"I've never done this before..." he said, forcing a tear from the
corner of his eye.  That wasn't too difficult, the gagging on the dick
helped the tears come.

Tough guy grabbed his head and pulled him back down.  "Yeah, I know,
you're gonna suck it anyway, bitch."

Ah, part of this was about this guy feeling like a boss, Peter thought,
getting back to work.  He couldn't be too good then.  The guy wanted to
exert dominance, establish his power.  Fair enough.  Peter resisted a
little, using a little push of his other hand to try to push the guy
away.  Not too hard, just enough to send the signal he didn't want to do
it.  The guy increased the pressure on the back of Peter's head, forcing
him further down on his dick.  Peter grunted a protest, making sure to
let the guy bury his dick to his funky pubes and he forced a choke even
though the dick wasn't near big enough to get him to do it naturally.
That was somewhat of a shock to him.  Having never sucked an actual dick,
Peter hadn't given it a lot of thought but he'd seen enough porn to
know taking a dick all the way down wasn't easy.  Or maybe the chicks
were just really good actresses.  A lot of the blowjob portion of porn
was focused on the guys trying to get the chicks to take more while the
chicks seemed to have a certain amount of difficulty.  Peter wasn't
finding it difficult at all.  Like most everything he encountered this
wasn't difficult and he didn't feel excited about it or disgusted.

"Hurry it up, Levitt."  Gary said from his bunk.

Levitt grunted in acknowledgment and grabbed Peter's head with both
hands and started thrusting with his hips.

Peter dutifully let Levitt guide his head while his cock thrust in and
out of his mouth, and less than a minute later Levitt buried his dick and
held Peter's head down as he grunted in orgasm.

This time, Peter did choke for real as Levitt's cum shot into the back
of his throat and filled his mouth, but Levitt wasn't letting up.
"Swallow it bitch.  Swallow all of it."  He gasped as his hips
spasmed.  Peter did what he could, but swallowing wasn't easy with a
dick in your mouth.  Suddenly Levitt pushed his head back and pulled
away, yanking up his pants.

"You're good for the week, Parker."  Levitt said as he walked out of
the cell.

Peter looked over at Gary who'd gone back to closing his eyes.

"Get out, kid.  Come get me when you get the money in your account."

Peter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and walked out of the
cell.  He walked down the stairs to go sit against the wall in the pit.

So, Gary owed Levitt something.  Rent, dues, protection money,
something.  Gary paid with Peter's sexual services.  But Gary got a
pretty good deal, a whole week?  Hmmmm.  Levitt was the one who wanted to
get at Peter, it was the only way the deal would be so favorable for
Gary.  Smaller fish didn't get good deals from bigger fish unless they
had something the big fish wanted.

Looking around, Peter could see he was getting a few looks.  So Levitt
was a bigger fish.  Bigger fish were more useful than medium fish like
Gary.  If Peter was in here longer, Levitt would be a better connection.
In the meantime, Peter was figuring out a way to make this work to his
advantage.

His hearing had been postponed, so he had to get his Dad to put more
money in his account on Monday.  He and the lawyer asked Peter how he was
doing and Peter didn't think playing the poor terrified kid in jail
would get him anywhere so he said he was fine.  There wasn't anything
either of them could do to make the process go faster anyway.  Besides,
things were going well and he'd taken advantage of supply and demand.
Of course, he was giving Gary a cut.  He needed Gary for enforcement and
collection because Peter had no power.  They'd done well, although Peter
was getting a little bored with sucking jailhouse dick, and his fresh
meat status was now worn out not to mention most of the guys weren't
looking to get blown every day.  His new hearing date was set for Friday.


Currently he was considering what he could sell his ass for.  He'd been
holding back on that figuring he would be out on bond today.  There was
still a certain amount of interest just because he was 18 so he felt like
that might carry him through Friday.  He'd found his niche inside, he
had something to offer, there were enough guys who were interested, Gary
kept it all above board, so he probably wouldn't have to resort to
getting fucked.  Gary agreed and said once you go bitch it would be
difficult to get anywhere higher in the crew.  Gary told him a lot about
how it all worked once Peter approached him with his plan for Gary to
punk him out for blowjobs.  Peter earned a lot of respect from Gary when
he cut Gary in instead of going off on his own behind Gary's back.

"You did the right thing, kid.  You'd get chewed up on your own." He
said.  Peter gave him a blowjob for setting it up.

Peter couldn't figure out why chicks played so hard to get.  Giving
blowjobs was easy, and it was just dick.  It wasn't a big deal, just a
transaction.

This morning, before he found out about his postponement, Gary had asked
him "I don't get it, kid.  Do you like sucking dick?"

"It's not bad."  Peter answered.  "It's not that hard to do, the
guys cum pretty fast.  I make some easy cheddar, they stay off my back
and don't give me a hard time.  It's a good system."

"But do you like it?"  Gary pressed.

"I don't like it.  I don't NOT like it.  It's ... like writing a
letter or eating food. Just something to do."  Peter explained in a rare
moment of personal revelation.

"You're the weirdest guy I've ever met, Kid.  You don't get worked up
about anything.  Even sucking off Levitt that first time you just did it,
you didn't argue or put up a fight, you weren't angry or cry after.
You also don't laugh about anything, and don't think I haven't noticed
how when you smile it drops just as soon as whoever you're smiling for
looks away.  I'll be honest, sometimes it creeps me out."

Peter shrugged.  "Not much to laugh about in here, and I don't feel
like smiling most of the time.  I do it when I have to."

Gary tilted his head and gave him a look.  "Like sucking dick."

Peter nodded.  "Yeah.  Like that."

Gary crossed his arms.  "Well, good luck at your hearing, but I think
you'll be fine.  You do a good job with your innocent, harmless act.
Judges, prosecutors and lawyers love seeing that.  They don't always
believe it, but you really have a talent at it.  But you don't fool me.
You don't feel anything do you?"

That's interesting, Peter thought.  He took a moment to think.  Did he
actually feel nothing?  No, he did.  He was curious.  Figuring people out
thrilled him, working out a scheme challenged him.  But Gary was sort of
right.  Things like happy, sad, love, hate, anger... those weren't real
for him.  They were important and real for other people, which was fine.
Those were useful emotions he could take advantage of, he even knew how
to fake them even if he didn't feel them like other people did.  In
fact, people responded to those emotions in a boring predictable way.
How should he react to Gary's question?  It wasn't really worth
examining the truth of it, only the effect of the knowledge of the truth
on Gary.  Would it gain him anything?

Part of the truth then.  "I'm not sure.  I feel some things.  Boredom.
Maybe pity sometimes.  I feel loyalty, like with you."

Gary laughed.  "You sure about that?  I get the feeling if you had a
better option you wouldn't look back.  But you're stuck with me."

Peter smirked.  "Isn't that what loyalty is?  A partnership of
convenience? No one's loyal to someone who does nothing for them,
right?"

"Fuck, how do you talk like you're some college kid?  Loyalty is
devotion even when shit gets tough.  Loyalty is... fuck.  I can't explain
it.  Is there anyone you'd take a bullet for just to save them from
dying, not for anything else?"

Peter thought.  Would he take a bullet for his parents?  No, probably
not.  "I don't think so.  But I'd make sure the shooter didn't
survive if I could.  They took something from me."

Gary looked at him in disbelief.  "It's like you ALMOST feel the right
things, but not in the right way, and not for the reasons other people
feel them."

This was the most self examination Peter had ever done.  He already knew
he didn't feel the things other people felt, but he always thought he
COULD, if the right situation came about.  He just hadn't found the
right situation.  He wasn't even disappointed or in despair about it,
that's just the way they felt, and the way he felt.  Why was it
important anyway?

So he asked.  "Why does that matter?"

That made Gary think.  After a few seconds, he replied.  "It doesn't, I
guess.  I mean, I don't feel crazy like my ex was, but it doesn't mean
I don't understand she's crazy or how to deal with her.  Fucking crazy
bitch.  So I guess it doesn't make a difference if you feel what other
people do.  Just... well, you probably already know you can't let people
know that.  Like I said, it's creepy."

The week went by quick and he didn't have any problems inside.  It was
mostly boring and the worst part was none of what he gained inside would
walk out the door with him, so he just gave it all to Gary.  Cigarettes,
snacks, magazines, all of the non-cash currency he'd earned.

His bond was set at $10,000, so his Dad only had to put up $1000.  After
they released him from holding, his Dad and lawyer took him to the
District Attorney's office.

The prosecutor managed to get them in front of a judge on Wednesday the
following week after his lawyer and his Dad convinced Peter to accept a
plea deal.  He really didn't care either way, honestly.  For what he
stole he'd only spend 30 days if he got sentenced to jail which didn't
worry him.  But it was more likely he'd get probation because it was his
first adult offense and it was non-violent.  A trial would be a waste of
time and money, plus he had to move on and this was hanging over his
head.  The lawyer got the prosecutor to drop the burglary charge, the
breaking and entering charge, the conversion charge and he pled to theft
in return for a year of probation.  Getting a judge to sign off was the
last step.  Peter felt good about what he'd learned from the
experience.  He thought stealing the lawnmower and weed eater was one
crime.  But the act of entering someone else's habitation was a crime,
when you did it to steal property it was a second crime, when you
actually removed property it was a third crime, and when you tried to
sell it you committed a fourth crime.  Each crime carried a possible
sentence and fine, but he learned cops and prosecutors mostly used the
charges to put pressure on you to accept a plea or to confess.  He'd
also learned how to survive in jail.  Although he wasn't technically
afraid of going to jail, it was an unknown.  Now he realized it was no
big deal and easy to survive.  But jail was boring and your possibilities
and opportunities were severely limited.  That did not appeal to him.  So
he pled out and the prosecutor would recommend a year probation.

Apparently he was just one of many defendants going through the process
today.  The courtroom was pretty full and they sat in the gallery on the
fourth bench back.

"When it's our turn the clerk will call out your name." His lawyer
explained.  "I'll answer and we have to go up to the Defendant's
table.  The judge will ask some questions, some for me, and some for
you.  Be respectful.  Address him as `your honor' and not `sir'
although he'll be fine either way.  Calling him `your honor' tells him
you know how to follow the rules, and you're smart enough to be
appropriate."

Peter watched as different cases were called, and different defendants
were handled.  All of them were getting deals in exchange for pleas.
Some defendants were sullen and ignorant.  The judge usually toughened
their recommended sentences.  Then there were the quiet, contrite ones,
they got what the prosecutor recommended.  There were a few who had slick
lawyers who managed to get a lighter sentence or probation, and one even
got deferred judgement, which Peter discovered meant if they kept their
nose clean for a certain period of time they wouldn't have a record at
all.

He just wanted this over with so he could get back to his life.  The last
five days his dad and mom hadn't let him out of their sight.  Of course
he'd gotten fired from his job once they found out he'd been arrested.
He wasn't upset about it, it just limited his access to certain things.
So when the clerk called his name, he stood immediately as his lawyer
called `Here' and led them around the barrier to the table.

"Mr. Reed, you've explained everything to your client?"  The judge
asked, a shockingly young man with no gray in his short hair.

"Yes, your honor.  He's ready to plead guilty in exchange for one year
probation."  Peter's lawyer responded.

"Son... Peter Evans... do you understand what you're agreeing to?"  The
judge asked.

Peter nodded, clasping his hands in front of him.  "I do, your honor."

The judge leaned back and put his hands behind his head.  "Why don't
you explain it to me."

Peter looked at his lawyer, who nodded.  "Okay, your honor.  Uh, I stole
some things and I admit that.  It was wrong.  So instead of going through
a trial, which I figure would be a waste of time, and a whole lot of work
for everyone, and a lot of money for my dad and mom, I'm just admitting
it.  And I guess how it works is if I do that, I get to stay out of
jail."

"Nicely put, Peter.  So tell me something.  Why'd you do it?"  The
judge continued.

Peter looked at his lawyer.  This wasn't what happened with the other
defendants.  The judge hardly talked to them.  What was he supposed to
say?  His lawyer hadn't gone over this with him.  Just as he opened his
mouth, his lawyer leaned over and whispered "tell the truth.  Everyone
in this room has heard every lie a thousand times.  Just the truth."

Well that would be a lot easier.  "I get bored, your honor."

"Yes, I got that distinct impression after reading your file, Peter."
The judge said.

"Judge Baker, this is Peter's first offense."  His lawyer interjected.

Judge Baker smiled.  "His first ADULT offense, Mr. Reed.  Young Mr.
Evans has had quite the adventures of misspent youth.  Isn't that right,
Peter?"

"Yes.  I've done a lot."  Peter answered.

The judge chuckled.  "Have you learned anything?"

"Quite a bit, your honor.  Most of it they don't teach in books."
Peter said honestly.

That brought a laugh to the judge's throat.  "Yeah, that's what I
figured.  See Peter, I was curious when I saw your offense, and your age,
and your lack of record, so I decided to look a little deeper.  The
justice system doesn't get many opportunities to reach young offenders
before they get chewed up and spit out.  You're highly intelligent, and
to hear your teachers tell it you are some kind of golden child.  Even
law enforcement that you've interacted with before say you weren't any
trouble, you just either cause it or seem to be in the middle of it.  A
few stints in the juvenile system, all petty stuff, but even the
counselors there say you aren't like the other troublemakers.  So I
believe you when you say you get bored."  Judge Baker smiled at the
prosecutor, Mr. Reed, and his dad.  Then he changed his smile to a grin
and looked at Peter.  "You need direction.  I don't think you're
getting into trouble because you like being a criminal, Peter.  I was a
lot like you.  Well you're 18 and you can't keep doing the same thing
you've been doing.  When I was 18 I joined the Army and I found
direction.  I think you will too.  You most certainly won't be bored.
I'm amending the plea agreement.  Defendant will enlist in the U.S.
Armed Forces with the U.S. Army for a single enlistment.  Peter, I want
you to understand, it's this or jail.  If you don't sign the enlistment
papers, you go to jail.  If you sign and don't show up, you go to jail.
If you go into the Army and then leave before your 4 years is up, not
only will WE throw you in jail, but the Army will also throw you in jail,
for much longer.

Peter's dad was whispering hurriedly with the lawyer, who was trying to
calm him down.

"Do you understand, Peter?"  The judge asked.

Peter nodded.  "Yes, your honor.  I'm to join the Army, and if I do
that, I won't go to jail."

"Excellent.  Bailiff, will you escort the defendant and his team to the
jury room?  Peter, my good friend Sergeant Compton will get you all
signed up.  What's the next case?"


Bootlicker had to admit the judge had been right.  He certainly wasn't
bored, and he did have a direction.  It had been two years and he already
knew he still had so much more to learn, skills, intelligence, military
secrets.   And Assmunch was going to absolutely love what he'd gotten
ahold of from Col. Ulrich's office.  But he didn't want to distract the
Bravos from completing their jumps, so he'd sit on it until Friday
night.

Bootlicker remembered his talk with Gary about loyalty.  Yeah, for the
Bravos, he might actually take a bullet.  Definitely for Assmunch, but
probably for the other brothers too.