After the students had mostly left, Kyle Miller got a call from the station saying there seemed to be a fight near The Marquis Club, so he hung up in a hurry and told me, "I'm heading over to The Marquis Club now. You stay here and keep an eye on the students as they're leaving school; once they're all gone, come find me."
I nodded.
After Kyle left, I stood by the roadside looking at the high school entrance. The traffic police were handling the cars, and I was in charge of security, so I didn't slack off, cruising around nearby on my motorcycle. In an alley, I spotted several high school students pushing a lone teenager around.
I honked my horn and called out, "It's late, aren't you heading home?"
The five high schoolers saw it was a cop and immediately lost interest, snorting as they left the alley, casting me a sharp, annoyed look.
After the five had left, I finally saw the teenager squatting against the wall.
"You alright?"
This kid had dyed blond hair and wore an earring. I could tell the earring was worth quite a lot—real diamonds, to be precise. The boy lifted his head and shot me a disdainful look, "Why are you butting in?"
"You almost got beat up and still acting tough?" I smirked.
"Didn't you notice they only jumped me because they couldn't handle me one-on-one?" the blond sneered.
"School's out, just head home. Adam't hang around outside," I said.
"I'm already sixteen, need you to babysit me? If the outside is so dangerous like you say, then what are cops for?" The blond boy wiped blood from his mouth, muttering, "Even my parents don't care about me, so who are you to tell me what to do?"
I wasn't bothered by the sarcasm, saying, "I don't worry about just anybody. But with that watch, those earrings, and your clothes, if a kidnapper knew what they were worth, you'd be in a risky spot."
The blond narrowed his eyes, surprised as he peered at me: "Didn't think you knew your stuff."
"Armani clothes, a limited edition watch, diamond earrings—easily worth around two hundred grand. A kid who can go out dressed like that definitely comes from money." I grinned. "So it's not that I care about you; it's just that if a rich kid like you gets snatched, the trouble falls on us. Adam't make things harder for us. Go home early, and quit trying to pick fights."
With that, I was about to leave, but the blond called after me, "My brother isn't picking me up tonight. Can you give me a lift somewhere?"
"Not my responsibility," I replied.
"My money was just stolen by those upperclassmen. I really don't have cab fare; you have to take me." the blond said.
I squinted at him. "Where to? If it's too far, I still have to patrol."
"To The Marquis Club," the blond said.
Tobby: "No way. You think that kind of place is good for kids like you?"
Blond: "My brother's there. He's got the house keys. If I don't find him, I can't get home. If you don't take me, I'll complain about you at your station." He gave me a defiant glare, as if to say he didn't have a choice.
I clenched my teeth at the kid, glanced around to see most students were gone, and finally said, "Get on."
After picking him up, I notified Kyle Miller and met up with him at The Marquis Club.
We'd barely arrived when I heard shouting nearby. I revved the engine and rushed over, seeing several of my patrol colleagues already gathered, trying half-heartedly to break up a fight.
In the crowd, the blond saw his brother. Watching his brother argue with others, he furiously jumped off the bike and rushed over, shoving someone: "What do you think you're doing!"
That shove escalated the tension between the two groups, sparking a chorus of curses and shouts.
I took stock of the area: sports cars and luxury vehicles everywhere, and the club itself was high-end. Clearly, only the rich or privileged came here. I also saw four or five coworkers just standing around, holding people back to keep things from getting worse, but not actually intervening.
I walked over to Kyle Miller and asked quietly, "What's going on?"
"Two groups clashed. Someone spat and it hit the hood of the other side's sports car. The group that got spat on has fewer than three people, the spitting side has seven or eight. They've been arguing for over half an hour."
The teen Tobby gave a ride to—his brother—was with the side that got spat on. He'd come to pick up his brother from school, and before starting his car, another group walked out of the club, randomly spat, and hit his car. That sparked the dispute; with plenty of backup, the spitting crowd refused to apologize, or rather, acted downright nasty, so the others wouldn't let them leave and called for reinforcements.
Sure enough, I soon saw several mid-range and luxury cars pull up, at least seven or eight young men stepped out—all slick, rich kids—heading straight for the teen's brother: "Who the hell dares mess with Thomas?"
The boys and his brother, surnamed Thomas, instantly had backup and confidence. He looked at the other group and said, "Not apologizing, huh?"
The others saw their side outnumbered, suddenly nervous. "It's just spit, right? You can spit on my car too and we'll call it even. I'll apologize if you insist. How about that?"
Young Master Thomas and his buddies, all there now, weren't about to let it go that easily. He said, "Why didn't you apologize right away? Now you want to settle it, fine—go lick up the spit you left on my car."
"You!" The leader of the other side gritted his teeth, face twisted: "So you want trouble, huh? You think you got more people? Fine, I'll call my crew too."
He grabbed his phone and started calling for backup.
"All these rich kids—so pampered, can't stand even the slightest humiliation," I sneered.
Kyle elbowed me: "Keep quiet, they're always hot-tempered."
"Old Miller, what do we do about this? If they start brawling, that's a public fight—right in front of us." I asked.
"We've already tried to mediate. If they really start fighting, just call for an ambulance. Adam't get involved otherwise," Kyle said.
"Is that gonna work?" I frowned. "If someone films these kids partying and running wild with no discipline, reports that we're doing nothing on the public dime—it'll look bad. Public fighting has a big impact."
"Doesn't matter who you side with, you'll catch heat from both. Understand?" Kyle gave me a glare. "Either side will blame you if they feel slighted. You still want to keep your job?"
"I'm a soldier—I believe discipline is for everyone!" I snapped. "Pretend I didn't see anything? Sorry, I can't do that."