Fight or Flee Read online

  Copyright © 2016 by Patrick Jones

  All rights reserved. International copyright secured. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc., except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.

  Darby Creek

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  Minneapolis, MN 55401 USA

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  Front cover: © Photoeuphoria/Dreamstime.com (skull).

  Main body text set in Janson Text LT Std 12/17.5. Typeface provided by Adobe Systems.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Jones, Patrick, 1961– author.

  Title: Fight or flee / Patrick Jones.

  Description: Minneapolis : Darby Creek, [2016] | Series: Unbarred | Summary: “In this remake of Shakespeare’s Hamlet set in Williston, North Dakota, seventeen-year-old Hinton, released after a year in juvenile prison, faces rumors that his uncle—now married to his mother and running the family drug empire—caused his father’s overdose. Conflicted, Hinton knows bloodshed is likely however he reacts”— Provided by publisher.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2015026042| ISBN 9781512400045 (lb : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781512400939 (pb : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781512400946 (eb pdf)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Revenge—Fiction. | Criminals—Fiction. | Organized crime—Fiction. | Families—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.J7242 Fi 2016 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015026042

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  1 – SB – 12/31/15

  978-1-5124-0513-2 mobi

  978-1-5124-0514-9 epub

  978-1-5124-0515-6 epub

  To Adam, Chrissy, Sabrina, and Shyanne

  —P.J.

  Prologue

  North Dakota Youth Correctional Center Case Manager’s release plan notes:

  • Hinton Helsinger, 17-year-old male, from Williston, North Dakota

  • Family part of Silver Skulls gang that runs drug trade in Williston / Helsinger denies this

  • Highly intelligent, yet history of school suspensions for antisocial behavior

  • Arrested for status offenses and misdemeanors several times between ages of 13 and 15

  • In January, at age 16, accepted plea deal to serve eight months at Youth Correctional Center in Mandan with five years’ probation for aggravated assault with a weapon (switchblade)

  • In June, six months into sentence, his father died (drug overdose). First reaction was anger / attacked and injured a corrections officer (CO)

  • Sent to solitary for one month / sentenced increased four months to December release date

  • In October, two months before release, mother remarried, to uncle. Helsinger did not attend ceremony

  • Upon release from solitary, finally began making progress in therapeutic interventions

  • Participated in CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy) and drug counseling at Mandan

  • Helsinger completed GED. Upon release in late December, he plans to return home, marry longtime girlfriend in the summer and start college in fall. He seems future focused

  • Has large support system, though many are ex-offenders or suspected offenders

  • Release plan calls for Juvenile Probation supervision including urine analyses (UAs) at home & Parole Officer’s (PO’s) office

  • Helsinger made significant positive changes at Mandan but needs support to continue to curb antisocial behavior and drug use, including court-ordered family counseling

  • Helsinger is conflicted about big changes within his family during his incarceration

  He seems torn between seeking conflict and avoiding it; a hard case

  1

  “Listen to what I’m telling you!” Frank’s hot words cut through the freezing North Dakota evening winds. “It was a frickin’ ghost. Hansen. Hinton’s dad. The old man himself.”

  “You’re high,” Barry snaps back. He pantomimes Frank smoking a blunt. “We’re supposed to move it, not use it.”

  “I’m straight up,” Frank says. He shrugs, and then stands at attention like the guard he’s supposed to be. He and Barry work guard detail for the party at Clay Helsinger’s house outside of Williston, a former boomtown now busting on the frozen Dakota tundra. Lowest in the pecking order, Barry and Frank answer to Hinton, his blood brother Horace, and Hinton’s uncle Clay among others. “I swear to you, it was Hansen.”

  “I don’t believe in ghosts, but I believe in zombies,” Barry says. “I see one every day.”

  Frank snorts. “Sure you do. Now who is sampling product? What zombie do you—”

  “Hinton. Ever since he got out of Mandan, it’s like he’s the walking dead, just shuffling around.” Barry puts his arms in front of him, groans, and pretends to be a zombie. Frank laughs so hard he’s almost crying. “That kid used to be slam and sharp with a knife, but ever since his dad died he’s—”

  “What’s so frickin’ funny?” Horace shouts from the house. The thin ray of brightness from inside flashes like a switchblade into the dark. Horace slams the door behind him.

  “Nothin’,” Barry and Frank grumble one after the other like they were counting off in County Jail. They glare at Horace, only seventeen years old, yet treating his twenty-two-year-old watchmen like dogs.

  “I asked a question.” Horace gets up in Barry’s bearded white face and green tatted neck.

  Barry and Frank exchange nervous glances like school kids busted by a teacher, but both stay silent. “Do you know who I am?” Horace pokes Barry in the chest. Barry winces from the thin hard finger. “I’m Hinton’s blood brother. He’s number two in line, so that means I’m number two. You listen to me like you’d listen to him. Get it?”

  Barry nods, head down. Frank does the same, but he can’t stifle his snorted laugh.

  “What is wrong with you?” Horace digs his finger hard into Frank’s chest.

  “I saw Hansen,” Frank mumbles. He shivers and braces for another finger poke.

  “What?” Horace snaps.

  “I saw him.” Frank points toward the pond. Barry moves from Frank like he has Ebola.

  “Hansen’s dead,” Horace reminds Barry and Frank. “Clay’s in charge now. He married Hinton’s mom so everything that was Hansen’s is now Clay’s, including your loyalty. Got it?”

  “What about Hinton? Is he loyal to Clay or to his dead—” Frank starts.

  Horace laughs, cuts him off. “My bro’s standing in line, just biding his time. You wait.”

  “He’s Hansen’s son.” Frank won’t look up, like if he took his eyes off the snowy ground in front of him, it would swallow him. “You guys were in Mandan together, so I thought—”

  “You don’t get paid to think,” Horace interrupts. “You get paid to stand here and tell us if Forty or the native gang or those tomahawk state cops are out here. That’s your only job.” Before Clay ran the Silver Skulls and owned the drug trade in the oil fields, Hansen’s rival Forty—called that because he drinks only forty-ounce beers—controlled the territory. Since Hansen’s death over six months ago, the word was that Forty would try to reclaim his ground and soon.

  Frank starts to talk, but Barry whispers hard, “Shut up Frank.”

  “Tell you what, guys.” Horace blows on his gloved hands. “If you see Hansen again, ask the ghost what we should do if Forty makes his move. I mean, with guys like you as guardians of the gate and messed-up-in-the-head Hinton inside
, what chance do we really have?”

  More nods, more silence. The cranked up metal from inside Clay’s castle is the only sound. Horace turns his back on Frank and Barry, unzips his fly, and urinates into the snow. “This is our ground. Not Forty’s, not Hansen’s, not even Hinton’s now. Clay is kingpin. Get used to it.”

  Horace zips up and admires the pattern in the snow. After a deep breath pulling cold air into his lungs, Horace adds a last hard finger poke into Frank’s chest as he exits. The sliver of light from the open door gives way to the pitch black of a moonless and starless prairie night.

  The guards stand silent until Barry points in the direction of the yellow snow. “That’s what’s going on. Everything used to be great before Clay took over. Now it’s all piss.”

  Barry nods, turns to look behind him, and then pulls out his phone. The screen lights up. “Maybe.”

  Frank looks toward the party inside, and then turns to Barry. “Who you texting?”

  “Hinton.”

  “What for?”

  “I want to tell him I saw his dead dad.”

  Barry shakes his head, pantomimes again that Frank is smoking a blunt, and takes two steps toward the house. There’s no sign of Forty or the ghost of Hansen, nothing but snow. Inside the house, the seemingly endless party continues. There’s music, dancing, drinking, and more than one member of Clay’s main crew using product, not just moving it. In the corner, away from it all, Barry sees Hinton sitting by himself, buds in his ears as if to block out the sound of the living and the fury of the dead. Barry sends the text and watches as Hinton receives it.

  Hinton looks at his phone and reacts like he’s been punched in the gut. Hinton turns his back to the party and moves toward the window. Barry nudges Frank and points at the spooky visage of the lithe teen with fiery red hair, dressed all in black, peering into the frozen darkness for the ghost of his dead father. Barry laughs, but Frank shivers.

  “You scared, Frank?” Barry says and then snorts. “You’re scared of a ghost?”

  “Ghosts don’t scare me.” Frank points at Hinton staring out the window. “He does.”

  2

  “Happy four-month anniversary, Love,” Clay Helsinger says, clinks Armand de Brignac glasses with his wife, Gabrielle, and quickly downs the expensive champagne.

  Gabrielle follows her husband’s lead, although she sips slowly. The room sparkles even more than the champagne. A new chandelier overhead, gilded mirrors on the walls, and diamonds on her fingers make the room brighter than a full moon in the night sky.

  Marcus, one of Clay’s many hangers-on, shouts, “Here’s to you, Clay!” The metal music shakes the floor of the farmhouse that was converted to the Silver Skulls compound. Like everything in North Dakota, what was before the oil boom is no more, except for Clay’s business. When people had cash, they wanted drugs to celebrate, but now that they are struggling, they need them to survive. Affluence leads to a desire for instant gratification, but addiction creates a forever-hungry dependence.

  “Hinton! Come join us!” Clay demands. Hinton has returned from the window to sit in an oversize red chair in the corner that seems to swallow him. His black hoodie is pulled over his head, and beads of sweat trickle down his face. He puts his knees up as if to create a wall between him and the laughter that fills the crowded room.

  Hinton says nothing. He rereads the text from Barry and turns up the EDM, letting the beat burrow from his ears to the base of his spine. He texts his girlfriend, Olivia, arranging for them to go skating on the frozen pond tomorrow, anything to be out of the house and away from Clay.

  “Hinton, your stepfather asked you to join him.” Gabrielle is now standing in front of her son.

  Hinton opens his mouth, but says nothing. He takes a deep breath and then another.

  “He won’t ask you again,” Hinton’s mom continues. “You can’t disobey your—”

  Hinton cuts her off. “Leave me alone.” His words are as sharp as the switchblade he carries in the front pocket of his jeans. While the music blares, the partiers fall mostly silent, small whispers exchanged so that the room seems to have filled with hissing venomous snakes.

  Hinton stands to leave, only to find his stepfather, Clay, blocking his way. Clay rips the phone from Hinton’s hands, looks at it. “Olivia. Seriously Hinton, that girl’s a mess.”

  Hinton stares at the white carpet intently, locating the faintest outlines of stains of dropped drinks and spilled blood from past parties that turned into boisterous brawls. Hinton fears that his future with Olivia would be just as tainted if they remained in Williston. He starts to speak, but then bites his tongue.

  “I know she wrote you in Mandan, but listen, son, that—”

  “And when I was in County, and when I was in—” Hinton says, still staring downward.

  “Don’t remind me.” Hinton’s mom stands next to her husband. Even with her purple high heels, Gabrielle barely comes to Clay’s shoulder. Clay’s tall with muscles busting from underneath his leather Silver Skulls jacket. Five small silver zippers on the front and on the sleeves, a logo of two skulls on the back: Clay and his inner core wear them whatever the season.

  Marcus rushes to Clay’s side. “Clay, it’s Paul. He needs to talk with you,” he says. Like Clay, Marcus sports the silver and bone-white gang colors inside and out. “He’s in the pit.”

  “I got to deal with this,” Clay says to his wife before heading to his office.

  “My phone,” Hinton says to his mom. She whispers in Clay’s ear. Clay slams the phone hard into Hinton’s outstretched palm. Immediately Hinton texts Olivia, “Your dad’s here.”

  “I hope that was the last time you’re inside.” Gabrielle takes a step closer to Hinton.

  “I’m done with all that.” Hinton touches his mom’s left hand, heavy with diamond rings.

  Hinton’s mom pushes the hoodie off his head, tousles his short red hair, and kisses him on the forehead. “I hope so this time, but you said that every time before. So what’s different?”

  “Cognitive Behavioral Therapy,” Hinton says through a jaw clenched as tight as his fists. “The short stays in County did nothing, but the last months in Mandan changed me. CBT taught me to think first, second, and third before I act. To consider the consequences. Be mindful.”

  “I want to believe you Hinton, I really do, but—”

  “Maybe if you would’ve visited more when I was locked up then you would—”

  “Mandan is four hours from Williston,” she says. “And your father, Clay, was so—”

  Hinton looks down on his mom. “Clay’s not my father. He’s my uncle and—”

  “Then stepfather,” his mom says, her voice wavering. “But even before your father—” Hinton’s mom stops in mid-sentence. Hinton takes her left hand again, but this time he holds it against her face, pushing the new diamond wedding ring against her lips.

  “Say the words. Before my father was murdered.” Each syllable heavy, hard, harsh.

  Hinton’s mom pulls her hand away, and then turns her back on her son. “It was accidental overdose,” she says over her shoulder. “The sheriff—”

  “Because Clay owns the sheriff, isn’t that the reason why?” Hinton asks. Before his mom can answer, Clay enters the room, and Gabrielle turns to him.

  “Paul tells me that his son, Latrell, didn’t want to go back to college after break in case he was needed here, but I said no, think of your son’s future,” Clay says as he drops his right hand onto Hinton’s left shoulder. “But if you ask me, it’s his daughter that should go away. Far away.”

  Hinton shrugs his shoulder, but Clay clamps down harder. “Families should stay together, especially when trying to get a new start,” Clay says and smiles broadly. With his left arm, he pulls his wife closer. “So, Hinton, about next fall. You need to stay and be in the family.”

  “Our new family,” Hinton’s mom whispers.

  Hinton ducks his left shoulder down and Clay releases him. “Have some
champagne, son. Cheer up and man up. You got your whole life in front of you now. Make it count.”

  Clay turns his back on Hinton and holds out his right arm. Hinton’s mom grabs on to it, and they rejoin the party. Hinton pulls up his hood and walks, head down, out of the room. He stops at the front door and rereads Barry’s text. He turns, gazes at the raucous party scene, finally fixing his green eyes hard at his uncle, stepfather, enemy. Then Hinton texts Barry, “Show me 2morrow night.”

  3

  “Sis, I’m just watching out for you,” Latrell tells Olivia. “That’s what big brothers do.”

  The two sit in the living room of their small house outside of Williston. Latrell’s track trophies fill the mantle. “I’d like to stay, watch out for you. Keep you safe. But I got this scholarship.”

  “No worries Latrell, I got Hinton to watch out for me,” Olivia says to her older brother.

  “No, he’s different since getting out of Mandan.”

  “I know, but in a good way. He says he’s done getting into trouble.”

  Latrell laughs. “Every ex-con says that. Heck, every teenage boy says that. It’s not trouble Hinton wants to get into, you know what I’m saying, sis?”

  Olivia pulls the thick white throw blanket over her thin body. “He’s not like other teenage—”

  “Maybe he thinks he’s a man ’cause he did time in a prison instead of one of those County boot camps,” Latrell continues. “But he’s still seventeen and that’s what they think about.”

  “You’re just nineteen, so you’re not one—”

  “It’s different, I got track, I got other things to occupy my time now,” Latrell says. “That’s what scares me: that you were just something to occupy his time when he was inside.”

  “Do you want me to show you his letters?” Olivia asks. “I have a stack of them in my room. Do you want to see the texts he sends? He loves me, and I love him. He wants us to be together forever. He wants us to marry this summer, no matter what you or Dad think.”