Eye of the Sh*t Storm Jackson Ford (detective books to read txt) 📖

transformed into a classroom by someone on a real budget. There’s a pile of hand-me-down children’s toys in one corner; the metal frame I felt was one of those gizmos where you move beads along a curved, looping track. A stack of puzzle boxes and books sits next to the toys, along with a couple of thick foam mats. There’s no blackboard – just an easel with a thick pad of plus-sized paper hanging from it.

The kids are sitting on the floor, cross-legged, giggling at something. In front of them is a middle-aged woman with a messy ponytail, dressed in jeans and a green zip-up hoodie. She’s holding a book – one of the Captain Underpants stories.

And in the middle of the group of kids: Leo.

His black hair is messy, sticking up in all directions. There’s a giant grin on his face, a grin which turns to laughter as one of the other kids pokes him in the ribs. His arms are still twitching – something which doesn’t seem to bother the other children – but he’s awake. Alive.

The woman in front turns to look at us, her eyes going wide. One by one, the kids follow her gaze, all of them going silent as they spot us framed in the doorway.

Leo is one of the last to notice. When he does, his whole face lights up. “Nic!” He tries to get to his feet, but his legs aren’t working right. His left eye has started to twitch, too, jumping and spasming.

Annie strides into the room. She grabs the woman by the hoodie, and slams her against the wall, ignoring the children’s screams.

The woman shakes her head frantically, trying to twist away. Annie won’t let her, jamming a forearm against her throat. She cocks back an arm, fist clenched. Her knuckles are already caked in blood. Apparently, beating Minnie to a pulp didn’t do enough to drain off her anger.

Nic and I sprint after Annie, yelling at her to stop. I don’t know what’s going on here either – I’m just as confused as everyone else. But it isn’t some kind of kiddie torture chamber. I have no idea why there’s a school or a daycare or whatever the fuck this is inside a biker hideout, but these kids clearly aren’t in immediate danger.

This has been the roughest of rough days, but somehow, Nic and I have mostly managed to keep it together. Annie… it’s like she’s wandered off the edge of the map. Like her pain has taken her somewhere the rest of us can’t go. She’s reacting to everything like it’s a threat, meeting every situation with raw emotion.

“No.” Leo is still trying to get to his feet, helped by one of the other kids, a little girl with cornrows. “She’s nice! Don’t hurt her!”

Nic gets to Annie first, jamming his hands in between her and the woman. I have to stop two of the kids in the front row, stepping into their path. “Chill,” Nic is saying to Annie. “Just chill, all right?”

Annie grunts, like she’s been punched. Then abruptly, she lets go of the terrified woman, stepping back. She turns away, hands laced against the back of her head, shoulders heaving.

By now, at least half the kids are pushing past me – there’s no way I can stop them all. They get between Nic and the woman, shoving him away, yelling at him to stop even though he hasn’t touched her. Some of the other children are sobbing, the rest staring open-mouthed at us. The noise builds and builds, filling the room.

“Hey!” Nic yells, making me jump.

It’s loud and sharp enough to stop the kids shouting. As they simmer down, he levels a finger at the terrified woman. “Start talking. What is this?”

“We’re just reading,” one of the bigger kids says.

“Yeah,” says another. “Go away.”

“Why are there children here?” I say to the woman. “Who are you?”

She swallows, starts speaking very fast. “Lo siento, soy Gabriela Garcia, solo estoy aquí para enseñar a los niños—”

Annie snaps her head around, still looking venomous. The teacher – if that’s what she is – actually flinches.

“¿De dónde vienen?” Annie says. “¿Qué hacen éstos aquí?”

They go back and forth in rapid Spanish for a few moments, then Annie turns to us. “These kids lost their parents in the quake. Or they’re Dreamers.”

“What?” I ask.

“Children of immigrants. Mexican, Salvadoran, Haitian. She says Pop came to her, asked her to help out, teach the kids.”

“She was reading to us,” Leo says.

The woman’s fear gets the better of her. She dissolves into hacking sobs, burying her face in her hands.

It starts the kids off again. Several of the bolder ones get right in Annie’s face, even try and push her. The room fills with angry little voices.

Somehow, Leo – with the help of the little girl holding him up – manages to squirm his way to the front, between Annie and the others. He turns to face them, a determined look on his face. “No, guys! They’re my friends!”

Annie looks down at him, blinking in astonishment.

Leo’s bravery doesn’t seem to help matters. The bigger kids step around him, continuing to yell at Annie. Shit, if we don’t calm them down soon, the noise might bring some more goons…

“Tranquilo,” Annie says. “¡No vamos a lastimar a tu maestro!”

We’re not going to hurt your teacher. I think. Annie keeps talking, patting the air, raising her voice over Leo, who is still trying to get a word in edgeways. And slowly, the mob of kids quietens down, although they still look restless.

Pop’s words, coming back to me. After the Big One, here in LA – you think the US government treats people fairly? They don’t give a shit. They never have… Me and my brothers – we do way more than the government ever will.

It doesn’t make sense. Pop and her brothers sell drugs. Weapons. They’re a fucking cancer, a tumour worming its way through my city. They came in here to take advantage after the