“You carry a shank?” he asked.
“A knife? No, sir.”
“Turn your pockets out. Put everything on the desk.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did I tell you to stand up?”
“No, sir.”
My hands were shaking as I removed my belongings from my pockets. He sat on the corner of the desk and watched me. “What do you call this?” he said.
“It’s a penknife. I use it to cut string at the grocery.”
“You sack groceries?”
“I tote them outside, too. Sometimes I work at a service station.”
“That’s a good job for a boy. Pumping gasoline, fixing tires, and all that,” he said, half smiling. “That’s what you do, right?”
“Yes, sir, oil changes, too.”
“What were you doing last night?”
“Not much. I took a walk.”
“Where’bouts did you walk?”
“I can’t rightly say. I have spells.”
“What kind of spells?”
“Like down in the dumps. They pass. They run in my family.”
“Know who Loren Nichols is?”
“A guy I had trouble with up in the Heights. He came to the school with his friends yesterday.” I straightened my back and took a fresh breath. Maybe this was about Loren Nichols and his buddies, not me.
“Were they in a 1941 Ford that belongs to Loren and his brother?”
“It was a ’41 Ford. I don’t know who owns it.”
“You wouldn’t have vandalized his car, would you?”
“No, I don’t do things like that. Are my folks on their way?”
“You mean ‘no, sir’?”
“Yes, sir, that’s what I meant.”
“Loren says he saw you in the Heights last night, not far from his house. Were you in the Heights?”
“I never bothered those guys. They came after me. I don’t know what’s going on, Mr. Jenks.”
“Detective Jenks. You didn’t answer my question. Were you in the Heights or not?”
“I don’t know where I was. Did somebody cut their tires? Is that why you asked if I had a knife?”