Okay, here's chapter four. Thanks for all of you readers (whoever you may be) for sticking with me while I write this fic. As you probably have guessed already, it isn't going to be one of those fics with only three acts, as they have to format the actual show like that just to cut it down to only a half hour. Also, I should probably point out that this entire fic takes place over the course of February. BAD author for not pointing that out before! BAD BAD BAD! Anyway, you have my permission now to read on.
*****
Ingrid slid back into her chair at her computer and immediately logged in to search for Smith's files. Fillmore rushed to her aide and stood over her, looking over her shoulder and watching her get to work. When she finally found his file, she read:
"Jared Smith. He takes social studies in period three in room six." Ingrid glanced up at Fillmore, sounding slightly disappointed. "His record is clean, though, and he apparently has an A/B average, so I guess I was wrong before…"
"We'll have to interrogate him tomorrow," Fillmore decided. "We should catch him in class so that he doesn't try to bolt or do anything stupid." He stared at the picture of Smith on the computer screen. Well, Jared, he thought, by this time we have questions to ask, and we know that you have some answers.
Karen approached the two, holding on firmly to a small plastic bag holding Linda's ripped bumper sticker in one hand. "There were some fingerprints," she informed them, sounding discouraged. "But they don't belong to anyone who goes to this school. Someone must be getting some help from a student off-campus."
"That's okay, Tehama," Fillmore replied. "We think we've found someone who might have something to tell us."
Karen walked around to the other side of the desk and peered over Ingrid's shoulder. "You mean Smith? That twitchy little dork? I don't think so, guys. He's in my Phys. Ed class and he just doesn't seem capable of doing anything like steal all of those bumper stickers."
"We found his social studies test in the utility closet," Ingrid explained. "On the back of the test were the numbers 7, 13, 22, 9 and 16. We think that it might be the combination for somebody's locker."
"So you think that if you can find the locker and open it using the combination all of the bumper stickers will come spewing out into the halls?"
"We're not sure," Fillmore admitted. "That's why we need to get hold of Smith in class and take him in for interrogation. He obviously knows what that combo can lead us to."
*****
Smith slammed his locker closed after removing his books, only to be reminded by a searing pain coming from his knuckles of the incident that had happened only hours earlier. A scar ran along his bony knuckle, dried blood forming a dark red crust over it. Sticky Fingers' words rang through his ears as he stared at the ugly blemish. I should have never assumed something that impossible.
It bothered Smith. No matter how much he had tried to please his master, he would learn to hate him more and more every day. But why would he continue to serve the wretched teen? Because he was too afraid not to. And why wouldn't he just stop working for him? Because he had feared the punishment that would have been laid before him.
But why the need to worry now? Smith had most certainly been fired already (not that he had intended to return to the clubhouse before). He had experienced watching other members of the club who had obeyed their leader get punished before. It was probably the most complex way of torture among all clubs within the states, and the most horrible. Everyone feared and hated the device that Sticky Fingers used, but as Smith wasn't part of the club anymore, what did he have to fear?
Already he knew the answer. If he were to rat out Sticky's plan to steal the school's five thousand dollar earnings, that was what he had to fear. His former leader would be after his blood, and before long it would be a few days stuck to the torture device as an end result. He knew that Sticky Fingers was going to be watching him from now on. He wasn't safe. He wasn't going to be safe until the money is stolen.
Half-heartedly the seventh grader gathered his things and headed for fourth period, sliding his hand into his jacket pocket so as not to draw attention to himself. He was just about to turn the corner when suddenly he felt a tug at his jacket. He spun around to face Sticky Fingers' second-in-command, Scissorblade, who shoved a slip of paper and a blue stencil at his face. "This is your last mission, Smith," Scissorblade sneered. "Even you couldn't mess this up. The boss wants you to write, 'Give up while you still can' and slip it under their door to motivate them to keep looking for the bumper stickers while the rest of us intelligent ones can get the combination again. But once you're done, then that's it—you're out of the club."
"Right." Smith fumbled with the stencil and paper, removed a pen from his pocket, then began tracing the letters onto the paper using the wall as a hard surface to write on.
"And he says that you can't tell anyone anything about the club's plan, or else he'll take you into the chambers."
"That's what I figured," Smith replied, finishing the note and folding the paper twice. "He'll be watching me, will he?"
"Yep."
Smith turned around and began walking in the opposite direction towards the Safety Patrol Headquarters to deliver the note. He could practically feel Scissorblade's sneer bearing down on him as he had his back turned.
*****
End of Chapter Four
A/N: Yes, that was short. Yes, that didn't contribute much to the plot. Yes, I'm just about to type up chapter five, so this ending won't seem as awkward as it is right now…I just decided to end the chapter here because I thought it would look better somehow if I continued in the next, and the transition wouldn't be so sudden when I switch back to the Safety Patrol POV. God, I need to stop doing that…switching back and forth from F/I to Smith. But I'll work on it, I promise.