Chapter 3 -- Class with Mr. H; grapevine is alive

Chapter 3 -- Mr. H's class; grapevine is at work

6

Monday morning

Downey's Juvenile Court was gaveled into session at eight a.m. The second case on the docket was for Crispin Rodrigues Rosales, now known by his crew as "Verde" or "Señor Green."

Judge Karl Schoemer had no patience for vandals. His sentence for the first-time offender was swift and hard -- a $500 fine for the damning evidence seen in Phil Marble's photos; 100 hours of community service with the City graffiti removal team; and, suspension of driving privileges for one year. The shaved head of sixteen-year-old Verde sagged, crushed by the verdict. Seated between furious parents, he hadn't dared look around the miniature courtroom.

Marble had slipped into the courtroom, noting Verde's mother wore a red beret. He raised his fist in joyful triumph at the judge's call, exited the courtroom, and parked unseen across the street from the Court's parking lot.

Marble tailed the dirty white Comet with the woman in the passenger seat sporting a red beret. Verde's father roared away when he dropped his wife and son at the curb of a run-down four-unit apartment in Bell Gardens.

Marble took several unobstructed zoom shots of the apartment with his backup camera, writing the street address into a notebook he kept on all the taggers he had unearthed. He'd told acquaintances it would be worth a lot of money someday.

7

Monday morning, 7:45

Kimo, full of caffeine, revved his Chevy in Rob's driveway. Rob shielded his eyes from the bright morning sun on his way into the car, adjusting his shades and mindset to another Monday school day. Post-WW II bungalows and split-level 1960s apartments dotted their route through Bell Gardens, their blue-collar hometown of forty thousand souls.

The boys entered nearby Montebello north of Telegraph Road, driving below the always packed Santa Ana Freeway, swinging a right on Elm, and a left on Vail to school.

Rob glanced at his phone. "Kimo, Liz just texted the new guy, Angel, called."

"What's he want?"

"Said it's about Friday night. Let's find him at school. If not, we need to hook up with him this afternoon."

Kimo nodded and swung into Chavez High's lot to park his ranfla as the school bell rang, starting another week.

Fernie, the campus security guard, herded students into classrooms with the help of a half dozen teachers.

Rob hopped out of Kimo's Chevy Malibu and sprinted toward the near stairwell of the school's only two-story building, bounding two steps at a time to reach his first period Art class. Teens filtered into classrooms like sand through an hourglass. It was ten after eight.

Jaime opted to visit his counselor, Mrs. Kazcan, before class, so he wouldn't get in trouble for being late again to first period. "Be with you in a minute, Jaime," she said with a smile. Minutes later, he left with a list of every art scholarship he qualified for. Pumped with possibilities, he hustled to Econ.

About to enter Mr. Horsley's classroom, Jaime's sister Liz was on her way out. She pointed at the wall clock, cocked a carefully-shaped eyebrow, and shook her head.

Jaime stuck out his tongue, pointing to his perfectly-pressed khakis, then to the sharp-creased, perfectly-starched mid-thigh white T. "Perfection takes time, hermana. Where you goin'?"

She said over her shoulder as she walked away, "ASB. Prom business."

Jaime entered the room, and Mr. H sounded like a nagging parent, "Class starts at 8:10, not 8:30. If I can be here on time, you can too. And you don't live 30 miles away." Jack Horsley embraced punctuality and tried to have his students find value in the habit.