The Legend of Roddy Purcell

Content Warning: High school bomb threat

The sun is dipping red below the horizon when I drive the Durango into the Little Bluestem High parking lot. According to my preliminary file, less than two hundred students attend. A small high school for a small town.

Agent Chang, my newest partner, sits in the passenger seat. He’s only been out of Quantico for two weeks and this is his first big assignment. We’re practically the same age, but I’ve been with the Bureau for six years. That’s probably why Keenan told me to take him when she gave me the file. His face is passive, but I can tell he’s nervous. His fingers won’t stop fidgeting with the edge of his regulation tie.

A trailer, like a silver bullet, sits in the lot and next to it, I can see a man, wringing a cowboy hat between his hands. “Sheriff,” I say, noting the man’s star badge.

The man looks at us, and in an instant, I can see at least five different emotions pass through his face. Relief, anxiety, terror, curiosity, exhaustion. He puts the hat back on his head as we exit the SUV.

I’m the first to show my badge. “Special Agent York. This is my partner, Special Agent Chang. Is he in there?”

“Name’s Fiedler.” He nods at the trailer. “He’s in there, all right.”

“Any changes since this morning?”

“Nuthin’,” says Fiedler. He hands me a thin vanilla-colored folder. “Got this from the school counselor. She says he’s a smart mouth, but other than detention, he’s never been in serious trouble before.”

I scan through the file, speed reading and absorbing. Rodney Michael Purcell Junior. Age sixteen. Known to his peers as “Roddy” and “Roddy the Dickhead.” Father deceased, mother’s whereabouts unknown. Grandfather legal guardian. Grades mediocre but passing. It’s not much, but like an underpainting on canvas, I can see the beginning of the picture.

Sheriff Fiedler is beginning to wring his hat again. “Honestly Ma’am,” he says. “Little Bluestem’s just a small farming town. Worst thing that happens around here is the Colton cousins gettin’ drunk on peanut butter whiskey and stealing watermelons from the Hudson farm. We don’t have the resources or the manpower like you big city folks.”

“Oh we’re not-” Chang starts to say.

“Going to let you down then.” I shoot a look at him from behind my sunglasses.

“Well, I guess it’s time.” As Fiedler climbs up the trailer stairs to open the door, Chang leans close.

“Why didn’t you tell him we’re from the satellite office in Monroeville?” he whispers. “He thinks we came all the way from Mobile.”

“Please,” I say. “The man is stressed out enough. Let him think whatever he wants for now.” I follow Fiedler up the steps.

As I step inside the trailer, a nauseating odor hits my nose. For a moment I think it’s unwashed armpits before I realize it’s onions and beef. Fortunately, years of investigating murder cases with mangled and mutilated corpses have given me a stomach of steel. Chang, however, pinches his nose in disgust. “That’s rancid,” he mutters.

Sitting on a bench, one wrist cuffed, a teenage boy is eating a burger. “You gave him fast food?” I say to Fiedler.

“It’s been eight hours since we put ‘im in here,” he says. “I may not like the boy, but the boy’s gotta eat.”

I take my first look at Roddy Purcell. He’s blond, greasy in both the face and the hair, with sharp blue eyes and hollow cheekbones that give him an intense, broody look. He sneers at us. “What’s with Mulder and Scully?”

“We don’t have time for this.” I yank the half-eaten burger away. “Get rid of it.”

“Hey! Bitch!”

Setting a chair down, I sit and look him in the eye. “Where is it, Roddy?”

Roddy smirks, rocking back and forth on the bench. “Where is what?”

“I’m not here to play games,” I say brusquely. “Tell us where it is.”

“I’m not a mind reader, you know…”

“Where’s the bomb, Rodney!” I say it loud and I do not say it as a question.

“Oh the bomb,” Roddy draws the word out as a song. “Come here. I’ll tell ya.” Leaning in, he whispers, “Check up your partner’s butt.”

Chang is bright red as Roddy laughs. No one else does. Fiedler’s mustache is trembling with rage. “Look here, you punk! I’ve put up with your crap all day, but you’ll treat her like a lady!” He tips his hat. “Sorry about the language, Ma’am.”

The sheriff has old fashioned manners, I note. When I’m on the job I don’t think of myself as a lady. I’m an agent who happens to be a woman. But if it gets him to tell me where in that school he hid the bomb, then Roddy Purcell can think of me as a grand duchess for all I care.

Unfortunately at the moment, he just thinks of me as another adult he can toy with. “Maybe I know where it is,” he says. “Maybe I forgot. What’s in it for me to remember?”

“I’m not going to bribe you, Kid, if that’s the game you’re playing,” I say.

“What about him?” he says, looking at Chang. “You must be the good cop. How about you get me a PlayStation 5 Pro and I might drop a hint where I left it.”

“He’s not bribing you either!” Lord I hope he didn’t set this whole thing up just to get a PlayStation, though I have confronted suspects with stupider motives. “Besides, where you’re going, you won’t be playing any video games for years!”

Fiedler looks out the door. “Your gramps is back, Roddy.”

Roddy’s face crumples into a scowl. “I don’t wanna talk to him.”

“Well I do.” I stand up from my chair. “Come on, Chang. Let’s make our introductions.”

“Don’t come back without my PlayStation!” yells Roddy.

The old man has two paper cups of coffee, and as we come down the stairs, he hands one to Fiedler. “Thanks, Phil,” says Fiedler.

“Least I could do for ya, considering…” He smells of hay and sweet grass. Years of outdoor labor have made his skin rawhide tough. Still, there’s a certain gentleness in his eyes that reminds me of an old bloodhound. “I guess he hasn’t spilled it yet?” Fiedler shakes his head. He looks at Chang and me, guilt washing over his face. “And you must be the FBI.”

“Special Agents York and Chang,” I say. “You’re Rodney’s grandfather?”

“Name’s Philip Purcell,” he says. “Been raising Roddy since his father died. Seems I failed.”

Fiedler looks sympathetic. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Phil.”

“What about his mother?” asks Chang.

Something hardens in Phil Purcell’s gentle eyes. “Don’t know where she is,” he says. “And don’t care.”

“Any idea about why he would bring a bomb to school?” asks Chang. “Is he being bullied?”

Purcell shakes his head slowly. “Not that I know of, aside from that whole ‘Roddy the Dickhead’ thing. Honestly, he kinda brings it on himself with his attitude.” He spreads his hands out in frustration. “I just don’t understand it! A bomb! Where did he learn to build a bomb?”

“I blame the internet,” mutters Fiedler. “These kids can pick up anything on the night web.” I don’t bother to tell him it’s dark web.

“I’m an old ranch hand,” says Purcell. “Been working with cattle since I was a kid. I tried to get the boy interested, but he didn’t want nuthin’ to do with it. Instead it’s BOMBS!” He shouts the word.

I look at the thin slice of sun. “We’re losing daylight,” I say. “If we want that location, we need to get it out of him fast.”

The inside of the trailer is dim with shadows, so I flip the wall switch. It floods the cabin with harsh, yellow light. “Sure you don’t want to interrogate me under a swinging bulb?” says Roddy.

“You hush up!” Purcell snaps. “You see how serious this is, Roddy? The FBI is involved now! It’s bad enough you got your whole dang school evacuated! Now the feds are here, because of you!” He looks at us. “Do whatever you have to do.”

“You want me to have a go?” asks Chang.

“Be my guest,” I say.

He slides into the chair. “Hi Roddy, I’m Special Agent Chang.” He shows his badge, and Roddy snorts. “So Roddy, you like building things. Do you want to be an engineer?”

“Don’t patronize me,” says Roddy. “I’m not five.”

“I’m not patronizing you,” says Chang. “I’m trying to figure you out.”

“Ugh,” Roddy says. “You’re trying to bond with me. That’s even worse.”

“Well, you didn’t bring that bomb to school and then brag about it for no reason,” says Chang.

“Maybe I’m a psychopath,” says Roddy. “The next Ted Kaczynski! I could just be nuts!”

Purcell lets out a short laugh. “Your math grade ain’t good enough for you to be Kaczynski, Son.”

Roddy is looking at me. “So what’s the deal with the ice queen?” he says. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“Rodney Junior!”

I’ve been called far worse than ice queen in this line of work. “We just met today,” says Chang. “I don’t even know her first name yet. So in a way, we have you to thank for introducing us.”

“Name your firstborn after me.”

“That is enough!” says Fiedler. He’s been quiet so far, but his face is turning purple. “Don’t you care about anything? Look at where you are right now! You’re handcuffed in front of the FBI! You can sass as much as you want, but you’re still going to prison!”

Roddy shrugs. “Juvie,” he says. “And once I’m an adult, it gets expunged.”

“That’s only if the judge tries you as a minor,” I say. “You could be tried as an adult.” This smart ass in court? He’d be slapped with contempt in thirty seconds. “And even if you’re tried as a minor, you’re looking at violent felony and moral turpitude charges. Under state law, those don’t get expunged.”

In every life there comes a moment where you learn you’re not as smart as you thought you were, and that moment has come for Roddy Purcell. He’s trying to hold it together, unflappable and cocky, but his eyes are panicking.

“So tell us, Roddy,” says Chang. “Where’d you put the bomb?”

He looks at his lap, thinking for awhile. “You want the bomb,” he finally says. “I want one thing…”

“We’re not getting you a PlayStation,” I say.

Roddy the Dickhead is gone and has been replaced by someone serious, unsmiling. “I want to talk to my mom.”

“Damn it.” Chang and I look at Purcell, who has closed his eyes. “I’ve told you a hundred times, Roddy! I don’t know where she is! I ain’t lying!”

“Then find her!” Roddy snaps.

“You want me to pull her out of my hat? She don’t want to be found!”

“Well then,” Roddy sits back. “I guess you’re never going to find that bomb either.”

I lightly clear my throat. “Mr. Purcell, let’s talk outside.”

Purcell’s shoulders sag, but he shuffles out of the trailer. Chang starts to follow. “It’s Clare, by the way,” I say to him.

“What?”

“My first name,” I say. “Clare. No I.”

“I’m Adam,” he says. “No I, either.”

The sun has vanished, leaving violet dusk as its last gasp of light. Purcell is standing on the stairs, hands shoved in pockets. “Mr. Purcell,” I say. “If you can give us anything at all about Roddy’s-”

“There’s nothing to give!” he says sharply. “That girl took off when Roddy was a baby and no one’s seen hide nor hair of her since. And frankly I say we’re all the better for it!” His anger spent, he lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry. It’s just…a lot of history there. Nothing for you folks to worry about.”

What I’m worried about is the bomb in that school. We don’t even know what kind of IED we’re looking for, though it’s likely a crude pipe bomb of some sort. Still, the last thing I want is a surprise.

“I’ll buy him the PlayStation,” says Purcell. “He can have it.”

“Mr. Purcell, I’m afraid we can’t let you do that,” I say. “The FBI doesn’t hand out toys to terrorists.”

“Terrorists,” Purcell groans. “My grandson is a terrorist. Lord, I…I need to take a walk.” He makes his way down the steps and into the parking lot. Chang and I watch him, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders.

“Excuse me.” Fiedler is now standing behind us. The hat is back between his hands. “Phil doesn’t know where she is…but I might.”

“You?” says Chang.

“It’s not a sure thing, just a little gossip from ten years ago,” he says. “But if you can use it…”

“A lead is a lead,” I say.

“Her name’s Rebecca Bacon. Last I heard, she was in New Orleans.” Fiedler puts his hat on. “Phil’s not wrong, you know. I’ve known these families a long time. Rod and Ree, well they were always fire and dynamite.” He flinches. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said dynamite.”

It’s a slim chance, but it’s the only one we’ve got. I put in a call to Monroeville and have her name and location run. In a few minutes, the tech forwards me the hit and it’s not pretty. Drunk and disorderly conduct, drug possession, and arrested in an underground fight club raid. She was the ring girl. Right now, she’s working as a custodian at a water treatment plant. And there it is, listed next to her parole officer, the last known contact, a phone number.

I go back inside. “We found her.”

The color drains from Roddy’s face. “You’re lying.”

I hold up the phone, thumb over the number. “Tell us where the bomb is.”

“I want to talk to her!”

“First you talk to us!”

He glares. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“How do I know that you’re not?” I say. “No bomb, no mom.”

Roddy Purcell is defeated. “Inside the trashcan near the gym,” he says. “By the girl’s locker room. Can’s got a lid on it so no one would look inside.”

Damn. Damn kid. So smart and so stupid.

“It’s inside a package with my name,” he continues. “I ordered it offline.”

“So you didn’t build it yourself?” says Chang. Roddy shakes his head. Looks like we’ve got some dark web vendors to track down. But for now, I let Fiedler uncuff Roddy and take him while I call the bomb squad that’s on standby.

In the parking lot I tell Fiedler and Chang, “They’ll be here in two minutes.”

“What about me?” Roddy demands. “What about my call?”

A deal is a deal. I dial the number. It rings twice before a gruff voice says, “Yeah, what?”

“Rebecca Bacon, formerly of Little Bluestem, Alabama?” I say.

“Who the hell wants to know?”

“This is Special Agent York. I’m here with your son, Rodney-”

“I ain’t got a son.”

Roddy stands frozen, eyes fixed to the phone. Why did I put it on speaker? “Ma’am, if you could just-”

“Are you deaf? I ain’t got a son! Piss off!” Click.

Just then, the bomb squad tears into the parking lot. As they start unloading, Purcell appears. Or maybe he’s been here all along. He places his hand on Roddy’s shoulder. “You okay, Son?”

Roddy shrugs. “It was a long shot, anyway. I don’t really care.”

I can’t allow myself to feel sorry for this kid. By all definitions, he’s a terrorist. And a pain in the ass. Still, it doesn’t take a psychoanalyst to tell that he’s lying.

By now the bomb squad has sent in the robot and are guiding it via laptop. “Got it,” says the head tech. “Santa has the present.”

 “Merry Christmas,” mutters Fiedler.

The robot rolls through the doors, gripping a plain, brown package between its claws. It drives to a distant spot on the lot, then puts down a block of C4. As it speeds back to us, the tech says, “Okay, everyone, get ready…”

Purcell shoves Roddy behind him. “Hey! Come on, Gramps! I wanna see!”

“Three, two, one…” There’s a mighty boom as the package explodes. Into the night sky goes paper, smoke, and…sparkles? A glistening rainbow showers over the blast site.

“What in tarnation?” says Fiedler.

The tech grinds his teeth. “Glitter bomb…”

“A glitter bomb,” I say. “He brought a glitter bomb.” This whole thing was a hoax.

Another tech is now examining the mess. “They look like little penises.”

Roddy is whooping. “YES! RODDY THE DICKHEAD STRIKES AGAIN!” Purcell smacks the back of his head, but he keeps laughing.

“Get him out of here!”

Chang leads Roddy toward Fiedler’s car. “Can’t I ride in the armored truck?” says Roddy.

“Don’t let him near my vehicle!” says the tech.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself, Rodney,” I say. “You ruined your future over a prank.”

“Wake up, Lady.” He glares at me from the backseat. “I never had a future. Besides, no one will ever forget the day Roddy Purcell made it rain confetti penises at Little Bluestem High. I’ll be a legend.”

“A legend. You’re the saddest legend I’ve ever seen.” I slam the door shut.

Fiedler looks abashed. “Sorry about all this, Folks.”

“We take every threat seriously,” I tell him.

“My wife, Mabel, runs the diner,” says Fiedler. “Tell her Tom sent you and dinner’s on the house. I recommend the chocolate pie.” And with that, he slides into the car and drives away.

“I could use a slice of pie and some coffee,” says Chang.

“Coffee. Coffee is good,” I say. “Welcome to the FBI, Adam Chang.”