RAMONE WAS IN THE waiting area at his son’s middle school in Montgomery County, sitting next to a black father about his age. He had arrived ten minutes earlier and told an administrative assistant that he’d like to speak with Principal Brewster. When told that he would need an appointment, Ramone had badged the woman, informed her that he was Diego Ramone’s father, and said that he’d wait until he was called. The woman had told him to have a seat.
Ten minutes later, a tall thin woman in her late forties emerged from a hallway leading to offices. She came around the counter, smiling, and looked around the waiting area, going to the black man and extending her hand.
“Mr. Ramone?” she said.
“I’m Gus Ramone.”
Ramone stood and shook her hand. Ms. Brewster had a humorless long face, what newspaper feature writers called “equine” when they meant “horsey.” She seemed to have too many teeth. Her forced smile had faded, but she managed to bring it back. Her eyes, however, had not recovered. She had met Regina several times but never Ramone. It was obvious that she had expected him to be black.
“Please come with me,” said Ms. Brewster.
Ramone followed her. He checked out her backside, because he was a man, and saw that she was light an ass.
Mr. Guy was seated in one of three chairs in Ms. Brewster’s office. The assistant principal held a clipboard tight to his chest. Unlike Ms. Brewster, he had an ample behind, and a belly and girl-tits to go with the package.
“Guy Davis,” he said, extending his hand.
“Mr. Guy,” said Ramone, pointedly using the ridiculous name Davis had chosen to be addressed by the students. He shook Mr. Guy’s hand and had a seat before Ms. Brewster’s desk.
Ms. Brewster settled into her chair. She glanced at her computer screen, couldn’t resist clicking her mouse to check something, then looked at Ramone.
“Well, Mr. Ramone.”
“Detective Ramone.”
“Detective, I’m glad you came by. Something has been brought to our attention, and we intended on bringing you in to discuss it. Now’s a good time.”
“First let’s talk about my son,” said Ramone. “I’d like to know why he was suspended today.”
“I’ll let Mr. Guy explain it to you.”
“There was an incident,” said Mr. Guy, “between a student, Toby Morrison, and another student recently.”
“You mean they had a fight,” said Ramone. “I know about it.”
“We have reason to believe that your son was a witness to it.”
“How did you come to that?”
“I interviewed several students,” said Mr. Guy. “I conducted an investigation.”
“An investigation?” Ramone gave Mr. Guy a small and meaningful smile.
“Yes,” said Mr. Guy, looking at his clipboard. “I brought Diego in to discuss the events that transpired, and he refused to answer my questions.”
“Let me get this straight in my mind,” said Ramone. “Diego was a witness to a fair fight off school grounds that I understand was between two boys. Nobody ganged up on the other boy or anything like that.”
“Essentially, that’s right. But the other boy was hurt in the altercation.”
“What, exactly, did Diego do wrong?”
“Well,” said Ms. Brewster, “for one thing, he did nothing. He could have stepped in and stopped the fight, but he chose to watch it instead.”
“You’re suspending him for an inaction?”
“In effect, yes,” said Ms. Brewster. “That and insubordination.”
“He refused to answer my questions in the course of the investigation,” said Mr. Guy.
“Bullshit,” said Ramone, feeling heat come to his face.
“I’m going to ask that you refrain from that sort of language,” said Ms. Brewster, her fingers laced together, her hands resting on her desk.
Ramone exhaled slowly.
“Diego could have helped us sort this out,” said Mr. Guy. “Instead, he hampered our efforts to get to the bottom of the incident.”
“You know something?” said Ramone. “I’m glad that my son didn’t answer your questions.”
Ms. Brewster blinked rapidly, a nervous tic that she had, up to this moment, managed to control. “Certainly you of all people should understand the value of cooperation in matters such as this.”
“This is not a homicide. Boys get in fights. They test each other and find out things about themselves that they carry the rest of their lives. And it wasn’t a case of bullying, and no one was seriously hurt.”
“The boy was punched in the face,” said Mr. Guy.
“That’s one way to lose a fight,” said Ramone.
“I can see we’re looking at this from wildly different perspectives,” said Ms. Brewster.
“I didn’t raise my son to rat out his friends,” said Ramone, looking at Ms. Brewster, deliberately not addressing Mr. Guy. “Now Toby Morrison will know what kind of friend Diego is to him and he’ll always have his back. And Diego will have respect out in the street. That’s more important to me and my son than your regulations.”
“Diego’s protecting a dangerous kid,” said Ms. Brewster.
“What’s that?”
“Toby Morrison is a dangerous young man.”
Now I know what you’re about, thought Ramone.
“He’s a tough young man, Ms. Brewster,” said Ramone. “I know Toby. He plays on my son’s football team. He’s been over our house many times, and he’s welcome there. If you don’t know the difference between dangerous and tough —”
“I certainly do know the difference.”
“I’m just a little curious,” said Ramone. “I’m sure there are some white kids in this school who have also gotten into fights from time to time. Have you ever sat in this office and described those kids as dangerous?”
“Please,” said Ms. Brewster with a small wave of her hand. Her smile was joyless and sickly. “I’m the principal of a school that’s over fifty percent African American and Hispanic. Do you think they would have brought me in here if I didn’t have an empathy and understanding for minority students?”
“Obviously, they made a mistake,” said Ramone. “You separate these kids by test scores. You see color and you see problems, but never potential. Pretty soon it starts to become a self-fulfilling prophecy. And having a black man doing your hatchet work for you doesn’t excuse any of it.”
“Now wait a minute,” said Mr. Guy.
“I’m talking to Ms. Brewster,” said Ramone. “Not you.”
“I don’t have to take this,” said Mr. Guy.
“Yeah?” said Ramone. “What are you gonna do?”
“In any event,” said Ms. Brewster, still collected, “this is all moot. In the course of Mr. Guy’s investigation, a student informed us that you and your family do not live in Montgomery County but rather reside in D.C.”
“Would you like me to show you the deed on my house in Silver Spring?”
“A deed makes no difference to us if you don’t actually live in the house, Detective. You and your family reside on Rittenhouse Street in Northwest—we’ve confirmed this. In effect, Diego is illegally attending this school. I’m afraid we’re going to have to terminate his enrollment, effective immediately.”
“You’re kicking him out.”
“He is disenrolled. If you’d like to appeal —”
“I don’t think so. I don’t want him here.”
“Then this conversation is over.”
“Right.” Ramone got out of his chair. “I can’t believe they’d put someone like you in charge of kids.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I believe you. But that doesn’t make you right.”
“Good day, Detective.”
Mr. Guy stood. Ramone brushed by him and left the office. He had a spring in his step. He knew he had been aggressive and needlessly insulting, and he did not feel sorry at all.