American Outlaw by Jesse James Page B

room. Their eyes scanned every surface.
    “Hey,” I objected. “You don’t have permission to come into my room. Where’s your warrant?”
    “We do have permission,” he said, pointing to Nina. “You’re still a minor. Aren’t you, son?”
    “Your dad said you were probably up to no good,” said Nina. “He said he figured these gentlemen had plenty of reasons to see you.”
    The policeman smiled pleasantly. “Mind if we take a look around?” He didn’t wait for an answer.
    My room was tiny. It took them less than two minutes to discover the pile of Canon cameras and lenses that Bobby had unloaded on me.
    “Funny,” the first cop said, looking at the expensive equipment. “That’s precisely what he said we’d find here.”
    “Who, my dad?” I fumed.
    “No,” the cop said. He checked a notebook. “I’m referring to . . . Robert Murphy.”
    “Bobby?”
    “You’re acquainted with Mr. Murphy, son, are you not?”
    I shrugged. “Yeah, he’s my friend. So what?”
    The cop patted his notebook in a businesslike manner. “We found stolen goods at Mr. Murphy’s house this afternoon, goods that appeared to match those taken from the burglary at Rybeck’s Cameras on September sixteenth of this year.”
    It was a small town. It figured that even these idiots had been able to put two and two together. “Yeah, and?”
    “Mr. Murphy has stated on record that he received these stolen goods from you.” He smiled again, then shoved the knife in deeper. “He informed us that if we came to your house, we’d find the real stash. According to him, he was simply holding the cameras until you had time to sell them.”
    With his own ass on the line, Bobby had sold me down the river. For a minute, I didn’t say anything. I shook my head, sadly.
    “Yeah,” I said dully, after a minute. “You got me. I did the break-in.”
    The cops looked at each other and shared a victorious grin. “We’re going to need you to come with us, son.”
    “He’s in trouble?” Nina asked.
    “Oh yes, ma’am,” the cop said, smiling. “This young man is in quite a
lot
of trouble.”
    ——
     
    I had an extensive record and a probation officer. I’d already used up all my chances. Now they were ready to do me in.
    “Do you realize the severity of your crime, Jesse?” Ms. Torres asked. I suppose she felt kind of vindicated—I’d been proven to be a real-life criminal, after all.
    “Yep,” I said curtly.
    “You can’t just go around burglarizing places. Do you understand that?”
    “Are you done yet?”
    “You have absolutely no remorse, do you?” she snapped at me. “Well, listen to me, you better change that attitude before you see the judge. You are going to serve time for this, Jesse. Do you realize that?”
    What she said scared me. But I was so furious, her words barely cut through. My father, Bobby, the cops: none of them gave a damn about me. Just like it had been for my entire life, the people closest to me had fucked me over the hardest. So the state wanted to send me to jail, huh? Well, then
great.
Maybe that was the best place for me.
    At my hearing, several of my coaches showed up and spoke on my behalf. They said I was a good leader and a credit to our town. They pled with the judge to give me another chance, or, barring that, to reduce my sentence.
    He frowned. “How much of the football season do you have left, gentlemen?”
    “Two more weeks.”
    The judge looked me over sternly. “Given the gravity of your crime, Mr. James, and your past criminal record, I’m inclined not to hear any pleas on your behalf. But these men seem to believe in you.”
    I looked up at the judge, who held my future in his hands.
    “I will reluctantly agree to suspend your sentence, Mr. James, until you have completed the final football game of this season. Immediately after, you will enter the California Youth Authority, where you will serve ninety days of rehabilitative therapy.” He banged his gavel. “That is