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The administrative residences are a series of townhouses and apartments built behind the soccer fields. They exclusively house teachers and staff, and while students aren’t forbidden from entering them, it’s definitely frowned upon. I pause at the chain-link fence, watching for any movement. I hate coming here during the day—there’s no cover and anyone could spot me—but I don’t have much of a choice. This can’t be delayed. I check my watch, nod to myself grimly, and walk the long way around the cluster of white structures with their red roofs and big windows.
I move around the back of the row, up along a stretch of underbrush bordering the cut lawns and the beach beyond, trying to stay quiet. The beach isn’t far and the waves help mask some of the noise. I hear whistling from one of the windows, and a TV’s playing a cowboy movie nearby. Life goes on, life continues, even if I feel like mine’s on hold. I inch my way through the back yards until I reach the very last one, with its metal lawn chairs and the back porch I helped fund last year. I walk up the steps and pause at the back door, trying to look inside, but the glare from the sun makes it impossible.
I pull a key from my pocket and unlock the bolt. It thunks undone. I turn the handle and the door creaks softly, the hinges warped from the salty ocean air, and step inside.
The back hallway has a bathroom on the left and laundry on the right. I smell coffee and eggs and a radio is tuned to NPR. I creep into the living room and pause at the edge of the kitchen. Vintage typewriters are lined up on the windowsill, and one’s sitting on the floor, half taken apart, its ink smudged across a towel.
The dean of students is sitting at the breakfast table, humming to himself, reading a paper on his iPad and sipping from a mug emblazoned with the wordsI Type, Therefore I Am.
“Good morning, Walt.”
He spits out some coffee and sputters, staring at me in shock. He grips his chest and I wonder if I gave the bastard a heart attack, but no, I’m not that lucky.
“Emilio, what the hell are you doing in here?” He goes to rise but I step closer. “This is extremely unwarranted. You can’t just—”
“Stay seated, Walt. We don’t have to talk long.”
His jaw works. I know he wants to correct me, make me call him Mr. Wotherspoon or Dean Wotherspoon, but I won’t give this man one ounce of respect, not when he doesn’t deserve it.
“Why are you here?”
“I assume you haven’t heard what your new pet society did this morning.”
His eyes flick to the phone lying on the windowsill. If I wasn’t sure of his involvement before, I am now, the asshole. Rage flows into me, white hot and painful.
“I don’t know what you mean.” He speaks primly, like he’s a teacher talking down to his inferior, but we both know that’s not true.
“Save the bullshit, Walt. We’ve always been honest with each other, haven’t we?” I move toward the table and he watches me like I’m a rabid dog and he’s not sure when I’ll bite. Slowly, he sinks back down, probably recognizing something in my look. “That’s how the Cask is able to get away with their clumsy little operation. I suspected, but I wasn’t sure, and it breaks my fucking heart. You’re covering for them.”
“Cask and Barrel is one of many student societies at our fine institution, and the administration doesn’t favor any one of them.”
“Stop the bullshit, Walt. We both know why you’re doing it, and I won’t tolerate that, not for one second.”
He stares at me hard and taps a fingernail against his mug. “All right then. Shall we be honest with each other?” His lips quirk into a smile.
“Tell me.”
“I’m tired of the noose you’ve kept around my neck for the last year.”
I laugh once. “We have a good thing going. You turn a blind eye, run a little interference, and I keep my mouth shut about what I know. That way, everyone wins. I’ve kept the noose remarkably loose for a long time.”
“I’m not happy. I’ve been getting pressure from some of the other teachers and administrators—”
“That isn’t my problem.”
“It will be when the board hears some of the stories. The drugs and the alcohol are getting too obvious. We can’t ignore it anymore. You’ve gotten too bold.”
“I don’t see how doubling the amount of drugs and alcohol coming onto the island helps that at all.” I frown slightly, trying to work it out, and shake my head. “It still isn’t my problem. This is the deal we made.”
“And you’re going back on it. We made the deal before you lost your damn mind.”
I work my jaw. Walt looks like a skeevy little failed academic, but he’s a clever man and he knows what he’s doing. I grip the back of a chair and stare at him.
“You’re putting me in a bad position. I like the way things are. I want to keep your secret.”
“I’m done with secrets. From now on, the Cask will do the smuggling, and you’ll learn to deal with it. Once you’ve been squeezed out entirely, I can take down Malcolm and his idiot frat cronies and solve all my problems at once.”
My heart races as he stares at me defiantly. This stupid bastard has no clue what he’s doing right now. I could ruin him, destroy him, bury him, and so far I’ve held off. He’s been useful, but now he doesn’t seem so fucking useful anymore.
