Hour 23 Read Free Page A

less talking they did, the better, Jim and Min continued to sit in silence.
    “These reports are numbered, see it? See this number at the bottom of the page? Do you remember that from academy? You can’t crumple this up and start writing a new report, this is it, sayonara, say goodbye to it because it has to be entered into the system. This is enough of a clusterfuck as it is, and I don’t owe the either of you any favors, so don’t expect it to go missing!” Ingram was marching back and forth in the living room, his heavy legs shaking the floorboards beneath him.
    “Sir, we’re not asking to rewrite the report,” Jim said.
    “Good,” Ingram said, “because you’re going to need to focus all of your creative energy towards filling out security guard applications at the East Violet Mall. For real, boys, you better get your story straight because the hammer is going to fall hard on this when the captain sees it.”
    A phone began buzzing in the sergeant’s pants. Ingram jammed his meaty hand deep into his left leg pocket and grabbed a small flip phone, then pulled it out.
    “Speak of the Goddamn devil, that’s the captain calling now. Because that’s what I need right now,” Ingram said, and he flipped the phone open. “Good morning, captain,” he said, and he walked towards a far off corner of the living room.
    Min and Jim looked at each other, and then at the sergeant. The expression on the sergeant’s face changed from anger, to vacancy, and then to seriousness as the heavyset man paced back and forth. Every few moments, Jim could hear the sergeant utter an uh-huh , but not much else. On the other end of the line, the captain was doing most of the talking.
    Ingram plodded back towards Min and Jim, folded his phone in half, and stuffed it back into his pants pocket. “Listen, boys, in about five minutes an ambulance is going to pull up outside,” he explained, “and it’s going to take you to East Violet Memorial. Don’t argue it. Higher-ups want a full panel blood test on anyone that was in direct contact with the deceased.”
    “Is that really necessary, sir?” Jim asked, leaning forward on the couch.
    “Don’t argue it,” Ingram repeated. “Go get any of your personal belongings that you may need from your car. You could be there a while.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

TWO
     
    Nolan Fischer sat on the foot of his bed playing a Grand Theft Auto game, ignoring the digital clock on his bedroom dresser. He couldn’t decide whether he would completely ditch school or not.
    Since his parents left for work before his bus arrived, and came home after school ended, he could easily stay in bed all day without them ever finding out. If the school secretary at Henderson High decided to call his parents, they would dial the only number they had on file—the Fischer’s home number. If a message was left on the home answering machine asking why Nolan was absent, Nolan would simply delete it before his parents came home. It was an ingenious trick he wasn’t shy of using, and it had been successful in the past.
    I should just go and get the day over with, Nolan thought. He let out a yawn. The high school senior had stayed up all hours of the night before writing a last minute research paper on William Wordsworth.
    Nolan twisted a joystick on his controller, and a helicopter on screen blew up into a million fiery bits. Rad. After the explosion finished, Nolan paused his game and looked at the clock for the first time since he heard his parents leave for work. It was 7:02. The time to decide whether he would cut class or not had passed. He either had to commit to staying in his warm, messy bed or hop up and quickly get ready if he wanted a chance at catching the bus.
    “I wouldn’t have to leave so early if I had my own car,” Nolan said to no one, his feet landing on the shag rug beside his bed.
    He glanced around the room and