Juji -- Teen Investigator

Chapter 7 - "Hurry Up"

    “Good morning,” I said with excitement as I walked into the kitchen. The smell of fresh-baked biscuits and bacon was passing through the entire house, and I noticed my plate and utensils all laid out at the usual spot at the table.

    I had all my books, computer, and phone organized in my backpack and tightly sealed. Plus, I had bike pads and my phone laying out for my daily ride to school.

    “So you’re hungry now?” asked Grandma as she carried over a pan filled with scrambled eggs. Bacon and grits were on the table, steaming with a delicious smell in the air.

    I pretended not to remember last night’s confrontation as I pulled a biscuit from the pan in front of me. The butter was partially melted due to the heat outside, and Grandpa was refilling his serving of grits and bacon out on the table.

    “Oh boy, this smells absolutely delicious,” said Grandpa. “Nothing better than Grandma’s breakfast!”

    “Yes sir,” I mumbled between bites.

    Grandma looked at me suspiciously as she carried the pan over to the sink. “Juji? Did you sleep well last night? Or did you not sleep at all? I saw your computer was still on late into the night.”

    “We’re lucky,” responded Grandpa. “Can you imagine if she was going out with crazy teens every night, and not bringing in the A’s?”

“I had a good night’s sleep,” I replied. “Thank you.”

    Grandpa stepped in to break the tension, “You think you’re ready for the big test on England... and what was it? The fourteenth-century?”

    “The fourteen hundreds... the fifteenth century, and it’s European History,” I replied politely.

    “I know she’s going to ace another exam, Martha. With no mistakes! History is her best subject. I’ve got five times the history of Juji and one-tenth the knowledge!” remarked Grandpa with a smile.

    I cut my biscuit in half, spread on butter, and added small portions of bacon and eggs. It was my special breakfast sandwich I always made from Grandma’s breakfast. I took a couple of bites from my grits, then jumped out of my chair.

    I truly wanted to get to school early enough to check for the Triumph car and possibly document substances exchanged with students. With direct evidence, I could begin forming a provable hypothesis.

    Could a settlement be made through a common agreement, or would I have to involve security, school faculty, or the police department?

    “You think you got the fourteen hundreds all memorized?” asked Grandpa as I began strapping on my backpack.

    “Yes sir.”

    “I know you’ll ace that exam.” Grandpa wanted to talk more about my preparation for the history exam, and Grandma had more breakfast cooking. But I truly had to leave. I knew my time this morning was limited, and I just couldn’t wait.

    “Thanks again, Grandma. Bye Grandpa.”

    “Okay Juji,” yelled Grandpa. “Just be careful.”

    When I got to my bike, I checked the placement of the tires and bike chain laid out through middle spokes, providing for easy access to spin the dial on the combination lock.

    As I raced up streets explicitly following all laws, I recognized the usual cars being driven by students and teachers racing by at speeds often passing the automobile speed limit and making unsignaled turns.

    I again recognized students riding bicycles and also breaking rules by riding without required protection for people under eighteen and riding on unapproved sidewalks.

    Young skateboarders also broke rules by riding on streets and without helmets. These were all misdemeanor offenses and did not rise to a level of confrontation.

    I instead held back judgment and concentrated on my day’s calendar. At first period, I would be taking the history exam for which I felt very prepared.

    With time between classes, I could document students and personnel at the school library. That could identify the driver, students, and their history.

    A few minutes early, I pulled into the parking lot and made my daily eye contact with the school Security Guard, Hank. He looked at me suspiciously and stood up as I rode by, pretending not to notice.

    When I glanced to the back of the parking lot, I did not see the TR-4A car, a gathering of students, or the driver. It was possible that daily trips to Pixley had come to an end. That would not end my investigation, but it could set a new standard of conduct at the school.

    I pulled into my normal spot in bike parking and strapped the chain through the tires, in the same routine before sealing the lock.

    As I began walking to the front door, I looked around another parking area. I noticed the same Triumph TR-4A car in an unusual location. It was in a row of cars usually filled with faculty parking only.

    Immediately, I pulled out my phone to check the time, then quietly began making my way to the black sports car. Although there was little danger of being spotted, I walked between cars trying to remain out-of-site. I was set on gathering as much evidence as possible, without creating suspicion. The first bell had not rung so I knew I had time.

    My mind was filled with questions as I walked up to the car. Why was it allowed in this row of cars? Was there documentation? Where was the owner? And why were students not around?

    I casually walked around the sides of the car and pulled out my phone. I began speaking into the microphone and shooting video, “I see Triumph TR-4A is parked in the reserved teacher’s location. No sign of the driver. No gathering of students.”

    I then walked around the car shooting video of the full exterior of the vehicle. “I see a small exaltation on the right side of the hood, standard in the TR-4A. License plates not located in front or rear... which can result in fine, starting at two hundred dollars... plus additional insurance costs.”

    I leaned over the trunk with the camera rolling and shot through the back window. I saw garbage like fast food bags, papers, and napkins.

    Through the side window, I finally recognized a sheet that looked like a business form with big “A’s” on top. Immediately, I zoomed in to shoot detailed pictures.

    “It’s a cool car, hunh?” Sean asked nervously as he walked up through the rows of parked cars. “I was just waiting by the school entrance and saw you checking out this car.”

    “Yes,” I replied as I reset the settings on my phone. “The car is unregistered, and the driver is not a student at Pixley.”

    “I didn’t think so,” replied Sean. “I don’t think a Pixley kid could afford a classic convertible like this.” Sean walked over to the back of the car and noticed the missing license plate. “And it’s missing plates! Is it okay to not have license plates? I mean... Isn’t that illegal?”

    “A new car has ninety days to register. Plates must be installed at the front and rear bumper. Temporary plates must also be attached or in corner of front windshield,” I said with confidence. “This car is unregistered.”

    “Well, this is definitely not a new car,” answered Sean. “It could probably be from way back... in the eighties.”

    “It’s a 1965 Triumph, TR-4A.”

    “Wow... You sure do know your cars,” responded Sean as he watched me going down to a lying position and reaching out my camera. “Now what are you checking?”

    “I’m just getting pictures of the engine.” I then motioned my phone around to get all parts of the old engine, the four-gear manual transmission, and the exhaust. “Just documenting all the details.”

    Sean seemed confused, “Do you think it may have an illegal engine? I know some of the old cars wouldn’t pass today’s smog inspections.”

    “I’m not worried about smog emissions,” I said as I pulled the camera up to shoot through the side window. “It’s a little more serious than that.”

    Sean walked up and looked through the same window. “Those look like leather seats. Are those legal? I mean, they come from cows, right?”

    When I noticed a small box under the front passenger seat, I quickly zoomed in and snapped pictures while Sean put his face up to the window.

    “What do you see? Could that be something against the law too?” Sean asked.

    Into the phone I spoke, “It’s an unidentified parcel inside a white paper box. Nothing identifiable.”

    “Can we search the car? Inside? I mean... Is that legal?” Sean reached out to the door handle. “Just to make sure there’s not a bomb or something?”

    “No! Opening car doors without proper cause would be illegal search and seizure.”

    “We don’t have to seize anything,” responded Sean as he stepped back. “I mean. We could just check and make sure everything is safe.”

    “Even a simple hunch of wrongdoing is not enough to obtain a legal warrant,” I replied as I snapped additional pictures.

    Sean then walked over and also tried to get a look at the edge of the box under the seat. “Wow... You sure know the law. Is it illegal to hide something under a car seat?”

    “The right to privacy refers to the concept that one's personal information is protected from public scrutiny. The fourteenth amendment states a person’s right to privacy can only be justified by compelling state interest.”

    “Oh yeah... That makes sense,” Sean said as I circled around. “What’s that?

    “It’s an angular rear ‘boot trunk’ allowing considerable capacity for a small sports car.”

    “What do you think is in there? Could he be shipping an illegal substance, then illegally distributing it to students?” Sean asked. “That could be a serious crime.

    I continued examining the bumpers before Sean yelled with excitement, “Look! There!”

    “What?” I answered in confusion.

    “Looks like fingerprints on the windshield. There!” Sean pointed to marks that were smudged. I did not believe they were legible and knew I had no access to information via fingerprints, but I walked over to snap pictures.

    “Hey!” yelled a voice. “What are you kids doing to my car?”

    “I’m sorry,” Sean said without hesitation. “We were just admiring your classic... What did you call it? The T.R.?

    When I spun around, I wasn’t surprised to see it was him, the driver. He looked me in the eye and mumbled, “I heard about you... My car is none of your business.”

    “RING!!!” The first school bell rang, and kids began heading in.

    “Not a problem,” said a nervous Sean. “Come on Juji! We don’t want to be late!”

    The boy continued staring as we turned towards the school. I stuffed the phone into my pocket and carried my bike gear under one arm. Sean was walking fast and seemed nervous.

    “That was a close one, Juji,” said Sean. “Can you think what he might have done if I wasn’t there to protect you?”

    “He couldn’t touch us,” I replied and continued walking. “Simple assault is a criminal misdemeanor punishable with up to six months in prison.”

    Not listening, Sean asked, “So what do you have going today?”

    “I have a History test now, but thanks for your help.”

    Sean continued to follow. “I really hate History. I mean... Who cares what someone did a hundred years ago? I’m just more concerned about what people might do tomorrow. You know?”

    When we got to the front door, I turned to Sean. “Studying decisions from yesterday helps you make better decisions for tomorrow.”

    Sean looked confused. “Is that a quote from Albert Einstein? Or William Shakespeare?”

    “It’s a quote from my Dad. Gotta go!”

    As I hurried down the hall Sean yelled out, “Good luck on the test, Juji!!”

    Students were clearing out of the hallway and heading to classrooms, but I was sure I had enough time to load my bike gear, store my backpack, and pull out articles necessary for my test.

    The usual one-turn of the dial on my combination lock failed. This had been happening recently, but I knew there was nothing to steal. The lock did not open, and I was forced to start over, rolling the five numbers. Each number was then carefully entered as I turned the dial again. Time was running out. After a second entrance of the full five-digit combination, the padlock opened, and the locker door opened. I immediately began loading bicycle gear and helmet onto the bottom assigned section of the locker. Backpack and books were placed onto the center shelf, and I grabbed my special pen hanging from the string at the side of the locker door.

    As a method of caution, I liked using a predetermined pen for all notes and exams. It was helpful for guaranteeing an accurate measurement of my knowledge while absolving any danger of running out of ink or resorting to a second guess.

    Carrying no books and no bicycle gear, I closed my locker door and began rapidly walking down the school hallway towards History class. I checked my watch again noticing I had exactly twenty-three seconds, which was plenty of time to enter the class and sit down in my assigned seat.