“My boy says it wasn’t him,” Bar Hag stated.

“Bull!” I shouted.  “I watched the whole thing!”

“My boy don’t lie to me!”

I rolled my eyes.  “Right, I’m sure he’s the picture of honesty.  If it wasn’t him, then who was it, and why did they go into YOUR HOUSE afterward?”  (note: there were a lot more R-rated words in the actual conversation)

Girl Jeans spoke up.  “It wasn’t me!  It was my friends.” I should also note that Girl Jeans stands an easy 4 or 5 inches taller than me.  His hands were shoved deep into his… girl jeans… and he was hunched like he was trying to hide his head in his shirt.  Apparently, I’m a little unsettling when I’m raving.

Girl Jeans goes on to tell me that he was at a nearby park when three of his friends showed up and announced that they had egged one of his neighbors.  He then returned to his house with them; he was the one on the bike.

“Names,” I demanded.

“Uh…” he rattled off three names.

I pointed at him.  “Do you have any idea what egg does to paint?”  He nodded.  “I hope you realize just how lucky you are that this house is brick, and that it came off Ron’s siding.  I don’t want to see those three around here again.  If anything else happens around here, I’m coming after you.  Keep them on a short leash.”  I turned my back and stalked up my driveway.

As they crossed the street, thy passed Matt.  He gave a head nod, then “Sup.”  Just to let them know I wasn’t the only one watching.

About a week or so later, Girl Jeans was hanging out in front of his house with about five other kids.  They were skateboarding and riding bikes up and down the block, and one ballsy kid was riding up and down my and Matt’s driveways.  I got an idea.

I called Matt.  “Dude, I’m gonna go out there and get those names from Girl Jeans again.  Want to come with?”  The answer was an enthusiastic “Hell yeah.”

Matt and I came out of our respective front doors at the same time.  “Sup guys!” he greeted them.  A confused chorus of “sup” responded.

“Girl Jeans!” I said, using his real name.  The shock was clear on his face; he had no idea what our names were, and no idea how we knew his name.  “What were those names you gave me the other day?”  I was standing right in front of him, and he was seated on the curb.  Matt was a few feet to my right.

“What names?”

“Don’t get stupid.  The names of your friends who egged my house.  Any of these guys involved?” I pointed at the other kids.

“No, no, none of them.  The names, uh, are Chris, Cody, and Cameron,” he said, giving the last names as well.

“Phone numbers and addresses,” I said, writing the names on a notepad.

“I don’t have addresses -“

“Real close friends of yours, huh?”

”- but I got Chris and Cameron’s numbers.”  I wrote those down as well.

“Now let me tell you something, Girl Jeans.  This isn’t some game.  I’m taking this seriously because this is a nice block.  I like it here.  And I’m not going to stand for you or your moron friends messing it up for the rest of us.  Every house on this block knows what happened and who was involved.  This is not the place to be fucking around.  Got it?”

“Yeah, ok, fine,” he said, trying to shrug me off.

“Don’t get a fuckin’ attitude with me!  Do you understand that there is a police report on this?”

“I’m not getting an attitude!  Sorry!”

With that, I started to walk away.  Matt then said, pointing at the kid on the bike, “And stay out of his driveway!  And stay out of my fuckin’ driveway, too!”

Next up: The shocking (not shocking) conclusion!

One Response to “Get the trouble frying (part 3)”

1. Matt, on March 24th, 2008 at 8:42 am, said:
   

   When is Part 4 coming?

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