Theodore Boone: The Activist (13 page)

Theo knew, though, that he was in possession of information he wasn’t supposed to have. Once again, he had sniffed through the secret files of Boone & Boone and allowed his prying eyes to see things that were forbidden.

Now what was he supposed to do? Maybe Ike would know.

Chapter 23

B
y the end of the school day on Monday, the little gang of activists had put together an impressive list of almost 400 kids who played soccer at the complex. Chase, the mad scientist and computer whiz, and sometime hacker, in the eighth grade, had been recruited to join the effort. Using the videos of the license plates taken by Theo and April the previous Saturday at the complex, the team made a list of all the cars, trucks, and vans. Meanwhile, Chase attacked the county’s online vehicle registration records, and in less than thirty minutes had found his way into a file listing the names and addresses of all owners. These names led to a lot of kids’ names.

Some names led to Facebook pages and e-mail addresses; others did not. Not immediately anyway. But the longer the activists toyed with their list, and tweaked it, and added to it, the more solid information they had.

Their plan was taking shape. They even had their own Facebook page and called it, “Bypass to Nowhere.”

Unlike most of the mandatory Monday afternoon visits, today Theo really wanted to talk to Ike. Around 5:00 p.m., he left Judge at the office and raced away on his bike. Ike’s office was only five minutes away from Boone & Boone, the firm he had cofounded twenty-five years earlier. That firm had prospered well over the years, while Ike was banished to the bush leagues with no license to practice law and little to do but prepare tax returns for people without a lot of money.

“How’s my favorite nephew?” Ike asked as Theo fell into a rickety chair.

Same question every Monday. Theo, Ike’s only nephew, replied, “Great, Ike, and how’s everything in your world?”

Ike smiled and waved his arms around as if to say, “Look at my world. It’s beautiful.” It was not. It was cramped and dingy and depressing, and Ike’s world was not a happy one. “Couldn’t be better,” he said. “You wanna beer?”

“Sure,” Theo replied.

Ike reached into a small refrigerator partially hidden under a credenza and pulled out two drinks—a bottle of beer and a can of Sprite. Theo got the green one as Ike popped another top. Bob Dylan was singing softly in the background.

Ike took a long slurp and said, “So how’s school these days?”

“School is a boring waste of time,” Theo said. “I should be in college getting ready for law school.”

“You’re thirteen years old, not exactly college material. You’d look pretty silly walking around a college campus with a mouth full of braces.”

“Thanks, Ike, for reminding me.”

“Stick with the eighth grade for now. Straight A’s still?”

“Close.” The last thing Theo wanted was another painful discussion about his grades. He wasn’t sure why Ike thought he had the right to pester Theo about his grades. “I met Joe Ford last week,” he blurted, to radically change the subject.

Ike took another sip and said, “I’m sure that was a real thrill. Where?”

“At the office. He was there seeing my dad on some legal matter. He’s the kind of guy who thinks talking to a kid is a waste of time.”

“If Joe Ford can’t make a buck off you, then he has no time for a little chitchat.”

“Then he fired my dad. He got mad when he saw me and Judge in the newspaper vowing to fight the thugs who want to build the bypass.”

“That was a bit strong.”

“So. I was mad. And Dad got mad too when Boone and Boone lost such a valuable client. I’m not sure why our little law firm represents people like Mr. Ford, but I guess that’s none of my business.”

After a long pause, Ike said, “Look, Theo, I’ve never met Joe Ford. I guess I know some things about him, same as most folks in town. I doubt if he is a crook. Let’s just say he’s a typical businessman who’s always looking for the next opportunity. That’s the American way, right? And guys like Ford need lawyers, so there’s nothing wrong with your father doing legal work for him. A law firm has gotta pay the bills, Theo.”

“What if I saw something?” Theo blurted. “Around the office, some old files, you know what I mean, Ike?”

Ike glared at him. Theo’s snooping around the office had caused problems in the past, and those problems usually ended up involving Ike. He asked cautiously, “Something to do with Mr. Ford and one of his deals?”

Theo just nodded.

“Something to do with the Sweeney Road property and the bypass?”

Theo just nodded.

“Something that I probably do not know about?”

Theo just nodded.

“Something that Fast Ford is hiding?”

Theo just nodded.

“Have you hacked into the firm’s digital storage files again?”

Theo said, “No, and I wasn’t snooping. I was minding my own business when I stumbled across some Joe Ford files someone had placed on a table to be retired.”

Ike knew that Theo was rarely minding his own business around the law office. Ike slowly stood, stretched, rubbed his beard, then walked to a shelf and turned off the stereo. He leaned against the wall, folded his arms across his chest, and said, “Don’t tell me anything else, Theo. The lawyer-client relationship is strictly confidential. Every client has the right to be protected—every current client and every former client. Those files are none of your business and you were wrong to look through them.”

Theo suddenly felt lousy. He knew Ike was right, though he was not expecting such a sharp rebuke. But, Ike wasn’t finished. “I don’t care what’s in those files. Theo, you have to forget about it. Am I clear?”

Oh
yes.

“A lawyer has a duty to protect his client. Period.”

“Got it, Ike.”

Ike fell into his swivel chair and stared at his nephew. There was another long pause. Theo finally asked, “Should I tell my dad?”

“No. Just bury it.”

“Okay.”

Theo left a few minutes later. Riding slowly back to the office, he still could not accept the fact that his secret information would remain buried in a retired file, boxed away in the depths of Boone & Boone. It did not seem fair.

Chapter 24

A
fter the final bell Tuesday, the activists hurriedly gathered in the school’s auditorium. The room would be vacant for about thirty minutes, until rehearsal began for a sixth-grade production. Mr. Mount had bargained for thirty minutes on the grounds that his debate team needed some vague form of practice. They quickly arranged the stage to appear ready for a real debate, with a podium in the center and a long folding table on each side. Since it wasn’t a real debate, chairs were moved in close and filled with fake spectators, a dozen or so friends drafted by Theo and Hardie. To improve the quality of the video, Mr. Mount used a camera on a tripod. When everyone was in place, Mr. Mount announced, off camera, “And now, Theodore Boone.”

Theo stood from behind his table. To his right were Hardie, Chase, and Woody, all four wearing clip-on ties and bright-yellow surgical face masks. Theo walked to the podium and nodded to the opposing team, which consisted of Justin, Brian, Darren, and Edward, four other volunteers from Mr. Mount’s homeroom. They, too, had bad clip-on ties and the yellow masks. The spectators, including April and some guys from Hardie’s homeroom, were bunched together close to the podium. Their faces were also hidden behind yellow surgical masks.

Hardie’s father had found the masks online. Nine bucks for a carton of fifty, available in every color imaginable.

Theo yanked his down and looked at the camera. With a frown he said, “My name is Theo Boone, and today the issue before us is the so-called Red Creek Bypass.” He coughed twice, then covered his nose and mouth with the mask. Next to the podium was a large map of the county with the bypass highlighted in bloodred as if it were a deadly gash on the landscape. Theo pointed and said, “This bypass will take Highway 75 around the city of Strattenburg, out here into a more rural area, where it will destroy fifty homes, several farms, a hiking trail, a historic church, and it will bring about twenty-five thousand cars and trucks a day to the front door of Jackson Elementary School.”

On cue, the spectators hissed and booed.

Theo continued: “It will also take out part of this soccer complex and cross the Red Creek River in two places.”

More booing and hissing.

“The bypass will cost two hundred million dollars and is being pushed hard by businessmen, politicians, and trucking companies north and south of Strattenburg.”

More booing and hissing.

“One of the worst aspects of this bypass is right here, at Jackson Elementary School, home to about four hundred students from prekindergarten through fifth grade. There has been no reliable study as to the noise and pollution near this school, but it’s safe to say that the quality of air will be greatly harmed.”

On cue, everybody started coughing, even the members of the opposing debate team. Theo, with great drama, said, “In short, this bypass is a bad project, a waste of money, a dangerous idea, and it should never be built.” He stomped away from the podium as if ready for a fistfight.

The spectators managed to stop coughing and began applauding.

For the other side, Justin rushed to the podium, and from behind his bright-yellow mask said, “On the contrary, this bypass is needed so that some folks can make more profits. Trucking companies, land developers, construction companies—all of these and more will make huge profits. That’s especially good for them, but it’s also good for us.”

A loud round of booing and hissing from the spectators.

“The more money they make, the more taxes they pay—well, some of them anyway—and the more taxes we rake in, the more stuff our leaders can do with it. Don’t you see?”

The spectators did not see and continued their show of displeasure.

Mr. Mount stepped forward and said, “Okay, let’s cut for a minute and rethink this.”

The goal was a two-minute video, with the debate scene burning about thirty seconds. Under Mr. Mount’s direction, they did another take, then another. On the third take, the two teams actually began yelling at each other, with names like “Liar!” “Crook!” and “Sleazebag!” thrown in for a bit of exaggerated drama. The spectators tossed debris at the podium while Justin ranted on.

With all faces hidden behind the surgical masks, it was easy to conceal the smiles and laughter. After half an hour, Theo, Hardie, and Mr. Mount were satisfied. They had enough footage for a great opening scene.

The filmmaking would become more difficult. For the second scene, many more actors were needed and there was a greater risk things could go wrong.

After school Wednesday, the activists met at an old softball field not far from Strattenburg Middle School. Softball season was several months away and the field was supposed to be vacant that afternoon. However, in Strattenburg, as in most cities, no vacant field was safe during soccer season when coaches scoured the neighborhoods in search of any open area that might work for a quick practice. There had even been fights. The fine new soccer complex near Jackson Elementary was built to provide adequate space and thus reduce the pressure. It was packed five afternoons a week and throughout the weekend, but it seemed as though there would never be enough soccer fields.

But there was no soccer in sight, at least not of the organized variety. At precisely 4:00 p.m., bikes and cars arrived in a rush. Many of the players of Red United, Hardie’s team, showed up and quickly began changing into their uniforms. Their coach, Jack Fortenberry, brought a bag of balls, some orange cones, a small, portable goal complete with netting, and some extra practice jerseys for the other “team.” The other team was a ragtag bunch of nonplayers who’d been recruited by Theo and Hardie, most of whom came from their homerooms. In all, about fifteen players took the field, half wearing a Red United jersey, half wearing a white practice shirt, and all wearing bright-yellow surgical masks, as if the air was pure poison. Along the sidelines, parents held homemade signs that read:
STOP THE BYPASS
,
PROTECT OUR KIDS
,
NO BYPASS GAS
, and so on. The parents were also wearing the yellow surgical masks. Many of the adults were either Quinns or related to the family.

For extra drama, and perhaps a bit of humor, the two coaches, Mr. Fortenberry and Mr. Mount, strapped around their heads bulky gas masks of the World War I variety. They weren’t real—Hardie had found them online for ten bucks each—but they looked authentic.

Theo was in charge of special effects, and after gauging wind directions, he and Chase eased down the foul line in right field. When no one was looking, they lit a smoke bomb, tossed it on the ground, and quickly got away from it. A slight breeze lifted the bluish smoke into the air and carried it over the field. Theo had done his homework. There was a city ordinance against the use of fireworks unless proper permission was granted, and Theo, of course, had chosen not to get permission. However, fireworks were defined as portable devices and objects designed to make loud noises when triggered. In Theo’s opinion, the city’s ordinance did not outlaw the use of silent smoke bombs. That’s what Theo was prepared to argue, if, in fact, he got caught. Getting caught, though, seemed highly unlikely. Who was going to complain? Everyone at the site was on the same team, so to speak.

As a light fog settled over the field, the game began. It wasn’t really a game, but more of a playtime as the boys chased the ball around and kicked it as far as possible. They coughed and coughed, and gagged, and, under Theo’s fearless direction, even collapsed in fits of wheezing as if overcome by diesel exhaust. Theo and Hardie filmed the fans, their signs, and the coaches trying to yell from under their gas masks. They filmed a penalty kick in which the goalie seemed to fall dead at the precise moment the ball blew by him.

The final scene was a pathetic shot of all the players lying on the field, all gasping and wheezing and unable to continue, much like dying soldiers left behind after a gun battle.

An elderly man from a nearby house showed up and began asking questions. “Where’d that smoke come from?” Everybody shrugged.

“You kids all right?”

More shrugging as the kids got up and began walking away.

“Should I call 911?”

“That’s not necessary,” Mr. Mount said.

“Why’s everybody wearing a mask?”

“Air pollution,” Theo replied as he hopped on his bike.

Saturday afternoon, the soccer complex was packed with ten games under way and cars wedged into overflow parking lots. Hardie had played that morning and was free for the afternoon. Theo, Chase, Woody, and April met him near the elementary school for the shooting of another scene. Because the driveway that led to the school also ran along farther to the soccer complex, there was a lot of traffic. They had to be careful. It was not a crime to wander across the campus of a public school on a weekend, but Theo did not want curious people asking questions. He knew from experience that security guards kept a casual eye on the various local schools during nights and on weekends.

The gang put on their yellow surgical masks and posed for photos by the large JACKSON ELEMENTARY SCHOOL sign near the front entrance of the campus, then they drifted behind the main building until they came to a playground. There was no sign of a security guard or school employee. Theo dropped another smoke bomb and walked away from it. Soon, there was a cloud drifting over the playground. While Chase worked the camera, Theo, April, Hardie, and Woody jumped into swings and began kicking and ripping through the air. At thirteen, they were too old to be posing as elementary school students, though the yellow surgical masks hid most of their faces. Shot from a distance, the scene just might work. Chase continued to back away with the video camera, and from fifty yards, he found his range. The scene became almost too good—kids on a playground, faces covered for protection as a cloud of dirty diesel exhaust settles over them.

“Perfect!” he yelled to his friends. “Just perfect.”

Theo and Hardie slept over at Chase Whipple’s Saturday night. The Boones and Whipples were close friends, and there was often a weekend sleepover in the works. The boys said they had a couple of movies to watch, but the real reason was to polish up their video. Chase knew of a website where they could purchase footage of almost anything imaginable, and for six dollars (paid for by Hardie’s father and his credit card) they downloaded scenes of real eighteen-wheelers roaring along a crowded highway, exhaust pouring from their pipes. They downloaded shots of four-lane highways choked with slow-moving traffic. With Sebastian Ryan’s permission, they borrowed footage, diagrams, and scenes from the Stratten Environmental Council’s website.

Everything was loaded onto Chase’s laptop, since he was the principal editor. Chase could do more with a laptop than anyone they knew. He had recorded albums, made movies, created comics, built science projects, illustrated stories, and had live interactive chats with kids from around the world. In the school’s annual Computer Olympics, he had won the gold medal the past three years, often competing against kids three years older. If it was online, Chase could find it, and often before anyone else could find the On switch. And if the software existed, Chase could master it in minutes.

As they watched and brainstormed and sometimes argued, the video came together.

It began with a black screen and the loud noise of big truck diesel engines. The title
Bypass to Nowhere
appeared as the trucks grew louder offscreen. Cut to Theo, at the podium, introducing himself as he covered his nose and mouth with a bright-yellow surgical mask. As he railed against the bypass, the camera cut to the spectators, all wearing yellow masks, then to the other team. The audience booed and hissed as the debate raged on. The next scene, borrowed from the SEC, was a virtual ride along the proposed bypass. When the ride approached Jackson Elementary, the narrator, Sebastian Ryan, spoke gravely offscreen about the dangers to the students. Cut to a photo of the activists posing by the Jackson Elementary sign, all wearing yellow surgical masks. The sounds changed back to the roar of diesel trucks as the video changed to an action shot of the kids swinging happily on the playground while a dangerous fog settled over them.

The smoke bomb had worked perfectly, and the three boys were quite proud of themselves.

Suddenly there was the face of a young mother, wiping tears and going on about the unknown dangers that 25,000 vehicles a day would pose to Jackson Elementary. She had two kids at the school. How could the county even think about such a project? Why not put the safety of the kids first?

The next scene was back at the debate, with Justin arguing the bypass was needed so more profits could be made. While the spectators booed and hissed, a couple actually tossed wads of paper at him. As he spoke, the video cut to a four-lane highway jam-packed with eighteen-wheelers and cars bumper-to-bumper.

The mock soccer game was the climax of the video. Chase cut and pasted until the scene was a mix of players trying to play while coughing and gagging in the toxic air, and parents watching and cheering behind yellow masks and hand-painted protest signs, and coaches trying to yell through bulky gas masks. When all the players had finally passed out, the final scene was a close-up of Judge, sitting in the bleachers, with a broken leg and a yellow surgical mask strapped around his face.

On the black screen were the words:
PROTECT THE KIDS. STOP THE BYPASS.

After they watched it the second time, the boys couldn’t suppress their laughter. If they could be forgiven for a bit of bragging, it was nothing short of brilliant, at least in their opinions. They tweaked it some more, cutting and adding a little here and there, and at 11:00 p.m., Mrs. Whipple stepped into Chase’s room and announced it was time for bed.

Chase asked his mother if she wanted to see their masterpiece. Of course she did. Long ago, Mrs. Whipple had learned not to be surprised at anything that came from her son’s laptop, most of which he kept hidden from his parents. But when he offered to give her a peek, she never said no.