The dark figure, silhouetted against the distant light, stood only a few steps away. Duane closed his eyes and bit hard on his lips. A chill went down his back as a cold hand gripped his neck and pulled him away from the car. Duane swallowd hard and said, “What do you want?” He tried to tell himself he had nothing to fear. Hadn’t the older boys explained it? The cop rubbed his chin and pointed to Duane’s hands. Duane held the shining beauty rim in his left hand and the screwdriver in the other. Duane tried to make his eyes look pleadingly up at the cop ior a moment. He lowered them in what he hoped looked like shame. The cop walked Duane around the corner onto the bright main street. A burnt-oil smell filled the air. The street was alive with cars and glaring lights. The cop opened the door of the rear of the black and white police car. Duane stepped into the dirty back seat. He thought it looked as if every tramp in the state had been in there. A smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the car. Droppng the screwdriver and rim, Duane buried his face in his red sweaty hands. He felt his hair droop over his finger tips. The car swayed, and the door slammed closed. The cop’s voice pleaded, “Why? Why do you kids have to steal?” Duane shook his head slightly. He felt he was putting on a good show for the cop. Relaxing your name?” Duane, ... more, trying the cop to 916 Rancho—but put asked, a sob I didn’t “Where into mean do you it, answered, to keep live, and “Duane what’s Hardman them.” The cop veered around and closed the door. and turned onto the busy street. _ Duane leaned back against the seat, folded forward; his lips almost turned into a smile. He started the his arms and car stared A month later Duane leaned his head against the green foam cushion. He looked around the waiting room of the Second District Juvenile Court. He smiled and looked at the gray filing cabinets across from him. Fluorescent lights lined the ceiling, giving off a soft light. The room was filled with boys and girls and their parents. Some were nervously reading or looking at a magazine; others were just sitting. Duane looked at his father sitting next to him in his clean white shirt, brown suit, and tie. His father also was flit- ting through a magazine. He seemed almost as nervous as when the cop had brought Duane home that night. Duane glanced at the two wooden chairs next to the mahogany door. He stared at it almost as though he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. The door opened— Duane straightened up and swallowed hard. A woman in a black suit called out, “Duane Hardman, please step in.” He rose slowly and walked to the door. He hesitated, wiped his sweaty knuckles in the palm of his hand, and then stepped in. He 16 behind them clicked felt his father following behind him. The door room. At the end ot any mahog huge the around looked chut. Duane pole. Next stood a its around hung the room the American flag was a man about There it. on books brown three with desk black ned chair. Light cushio blacka in desk the thirty-four sitting behind pin. tie silver s judge’ the off ed reflect “Be seated With a surprisingly mellow voice, the judge said, please, Duane.” of a brown Duane swallowed hard and sat down on the edge sweaty hand wooden chair in the middle of the room. He rubbed one a good five on his other wrist. He felt alone, since the chair was silently stood or sat father His steps from any other object or wall. and suit black plain a g wearin judge, The him. behind somewhere his over hands his put He desk. tie, sat up and put his elbows on his a paper up picked He sighed. judge The Duane. at stared and mouth out and began asking Duane some questions. Duane carefully gulped re the answers as the judge took notes. Duane was beginning to perspi rehad he though even eyes, his under heavily on his forehead and hearsed this part with the older boys. He loosened his collar and pin. He shook his shirt. The judge looked up and straightened his tie began the lecture that Duane’s father had used on Duane every day for the last month. Duane relaxed inside now. He knew all about “civic duty, God’s laws,” and that kind of junk. He wondered — MICHAEL why his father didn’t say anything. He was use to hearing him say, “We tried to be good parents and give him anything he wanted.” Duane almost let a bored sigh escape. He focused more carefully on the judge and tried to look as if he followed the words with ‘nterest. At intervals he nodded his head and said, “Yes, sir.” The older boys had told him to act like a little gentleman. He found it hard, though, to concentrate on his role. The judge politely asked, “Why did you do it, Duane?” Duane looked at him, and he looked back at his father, who was shaking. Now he would say the piece he had rehearsed for nearly a month. He slowly started, “I’m sorry. I was just being selfish, and I was wrong.” Duane lowered his head. The sympathy and sorrow story had always worked. The judged talked on, but Duane didn’t hear him. He was proud of his acting and thought he had done a tine job. Duane stood up, glanced back at his father, and humbly said, “Thanks.” It was the finishing touch of a good show. The night air blew through Duane’s hair. He walked down a dark shadowed street thinking over his day in court. The trees rustled in the wind. This time Duane walked steadily up to a car. He raised his arm and began pounding the windows with a crowbar. He was a juvenile, and the law couldn’t touch him. 17 DEAMER