Gun Games Read online

Marge said, “If they were a secret item, it would certainly explain why she became so sad after Gregory died.”

  “Gregory’s death affected all of us,” Heddy said. “But . . .” A pause. “You know? That is when she started doing all those real nasty cartoons of Dylan and Stance and JJ and Cam and Darla . . . like really, really nasty stuff. Right after Gregory’s death.”

  Decker said, “Is it possible that she blamed Dylan for Gregory’s death?”

  “I dunno,” Heddy said. “She never talked about it. Just started drawing some graphic things.”

  “Like what?” Decker asked.

  “Close your ears, Mom.” She started whispering. “Like Dylan getting it in the rear end or Cameron doing it with a donkey.”

  “Oh God!” Georgette said.

  “Cameron Cole?” Marge asked. “The girls’ president of the school council.”

  “Yep. She and Dylan are on-again, off-again. Currently, they’re on. She’s popular and beautiful, but a real mean girl. It’s not enough that she’s mean to you, she has to get other girls to be mean to you. She tortured Myra because she had Dylan and she knew that Myra has this mad crush on him.”

  “How did she torture Myra?” Decker asked.

  “Just whenever she and Dylan saw Myra, they’d start French kissing. It was pretty gross. She’s a real whore and a real bitch.”

  “Heddy!”

  “It’s what she is, Mom.” A pause. “Personally, I’ve never had any problems with her.” Heddy shrugged. “But then again, I’ve never had anything that she’s wanted.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  After Heddy and Georgette Kramer left the station house, Marge recapped the interview for Oliver. She said, “It’s possible that Gregory and Myra knew each other, but we haven’t found any real connection between them.”

  Oliver said, “But you told me that Myra was depressed after Gregory died.”

  “Yes, that’s true, but who wouldn’t be sad.”

  “I’m just thinking it may be a case of overidentification.”

  “A copycat suicide?” Marge paused. “Sure, it could be.”

  Oliver said, “Where’d Myra get hold of a stolen gun?”

  “Maybe the same place that Gregory did.” Neither detective spoke. Then Marge said, “We need to talk to Saul Hinton again. Heddy told him about Myra’s depression. He didn’t say a word to us about that when we talked to him.”

  “Yeah, he didn’t say much to us, period. I don’t think he likes the police.”

  “For sure, but I wonder if he acted on Heddy’s tip. And if he didn’t, maybe he’s feeling guilty. And if he feels guilty enough, that might make him more loquacious. I want to ask him about where kids in the school might get stolen guns. Do you mind going down to B and W with me again?”

  “You want to just pop in?”

  “No,” Marge said, “we won’t get anywhere with that. I’ll call up Hinton and try to arrange it for sometime next week.”

  “Sounds good,” Oliver said. “Don’t expect much.”

  Marge said, “I never do and that’s why I’m so rarely disappointed.”

  Yasmine never called him. Their chief form of communication had always been texting. So Gabe was nervous when he picked up his cell. He asked if she was okay and she burst into tears. He started to panic. “Are you in trouble?”

  She was sniffing a lot. “No.”

  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I dunno.”

  Gabe paused, confused. “Can you give me a hint?”

  “I got a cold, I got my period, and I look like a blob.” Yasmine’s voice broke. “And it’s yucky outside!” More tears.

  Sheets of rain blasted his window: she got that much right. He heard her blow her nose. “I’m sorry.”

  “And on top of everything, I’m all alone.”

  Gabe felt his heart skip a beat. “For how long?”

  “The entire night. My family’s at a cousin’s wedding in Santa Barbara.”

  It was Sunday, four in the afternoon. He had nothing to do except practice and he’d already done that for four hours. “I’m coming over.”

  “Don’t you dare! I’m bloated with a big red nose and I look terrible!”

  “See you later.” He hung up while she was still protesting, grabbed a coat and an umbrella, and walked into the living room. A fire was roaring in the hearth, and both Rina and the Loo were reading while drinking red wine. It was TV domestic tranquility.

  Rina looked up. Gabe was dressed in a bomber jacket and carrying an umbrella. She knew he frequently took long walks, but this was ridiculous. “You can’t possibly be thinking about going out.”

  “Some friends called,” Gabe told her. “I’m meeting them at the mall.”

  “I’ll take you,” Decker said.

  “No really, I can walk.” Outside a gush of wind shoved a bucket of rain against the picture window. He smiled. “No biggie.”

  “Gabriel, that’s absurd,” Rina said.

  Decker said, “Which mall are you going to?”

  Gabe paused, trying to think of the closest area to Yasmine’s house. He knew that Peter could tell he was winging it. “Parthenia.”

  “That’s at least a mile away,” Decker said.

  “Who are you meeting?” Rina wondered who the boy even knew. Of late, she’d stopped keeping track of his comings and goings.

  “Some guys from the SC music department. One of them lives around here . . . his parents do.” He was sounding like a complete doofus. “He lives on campus but he’s visiting his parents for the weekend. So we decided to get together.”

  Man, he was a shitty liar.

  “He can’t pick you up?” Rina said.

  “He’s already at the mall,” Gabe told her.

  The Loo’s face was skeptical, but he got up and said, “C’mon. I’ll take you.” He got his keys and they made a beeline for Rina’s Volvo. Once they were inside the car, Decker cranked up the heat. It was cold on top of being nasty.

  They rode a few minutes in silence. Gabe stared straight ahead, the windshield wipers slapping rhythmically, straining out a natural A.

  Decker said, “Who’s the girl?” When the boy didn’t answer, he said, “Going out in the pouring rain. Plus, you’re wearing contacts.”

  Gabe felt himself redden. “Someone I know from piano at SC.”

  “She’s in college?”

  “Freshman. She’s seventeen.”

  Decker said, “She drives?”

  “Yeah. She can take me home.”

  “Why couldn’t she pick you up?” When he didn’t answer, Decker said, “I suppose it’s none of my business.”

  “Thank you for taking me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “We’re just hanging, Peter. Probably going somewhere for dinner.”

  “I’m glad you’re getting out.” Decker stopped at a red light. “You know, Gabe, I really don’t know much about you. And I suppose I haven’t made much of an effort. I’m sorry about that. I hope you haven’t felt neglected, but if you have, I plead guilty.”

  “You’ve been terrific.” He really meant it. “You guys have been just perfect—the right combination of being there and not being there if that makes any sense. Me and my friend are just hanging. No biggie.”

  “Second time you said that . . . which makes me think it is a biggie.”

  “I like her, I guess.”

  “I hope so.”

  Gabe smiled, but it was a sad one. “It’s hard to get close to someone. I know I’ll be leaving soon.”

  Decker said, “Gabe, I’m not your father, but we’ve been through some stuff together. You know that if you have something on your mind, you can come to me.”

  “I appreciate it, but I’m fine. Honestly. I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs, and should it be necessary, I know how to use condoms.” He regarded the Loo. “Please don’t tell Rina. It’s kinda a guy thing, right?”

  Decker nodded. “I’ll try to respect your p
rivacy. And I won’t tell Rina. But just to reiterate, if you really ever do have a problem, talk to me. Don’t try to handle it on your own. You’re still only fifteen.”

  “I know. Chris says the same thing.”

  Decker was surprised. “You’re in regular contact with your dad?”

  “I had to call him last week. To be taken on by my agent, I have to sign a contract. Chris has lawyers, and I didn’t want to bother you. Also, I think he has to sign for me.”

  “He’s still your father so that’s true. How’d the conversation go?”

  “Okay. Chris was a terrible father, but I think he likes me better now that Mom’s gone. Besides, I don’t live with him so I guess I don’t get on his nerves.” He turned to Decker. “Do you ever talk to him?”

  “He calls from time to time to check up on you.”

  “What do you tell him?”

  “That as far as I can tell, you’ve adapted well. They’re two-minute conversations.”

  “That’s about right.”

  “Within his capacity, he cares about you.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And so does your mother.”

  Gabe looked at him. “Has she contacted you?”

  “An occasional message on my computer telling me to take care of you. I’m assuming she’s contacted you as well.”

  “We Skyped about three days ago. I saw her face for the first time in almost a year.”

  “How’d she look?”

  “Mom always looks great.”

  “How was it for you?”

  “Weird. It was like two in the morning. The good news is I got to see my baby sister. She’s real cute. It’s kinda cool having a sister.”

  “Have you told Chris that you’re in contact with your mom?”

  “No. I don’t think he’d even care.” Decker raised his eyebrow and Gabe caught it. “Yeah, he probably would care. But I see no need to volunteer any information. If he asked, I couldn’t lie. I mean, I would if I could get away with it, but I’m a terrible liar.”

  “Yes, you are. I’m not even sure this piano girl really exists, but I’m willing to take your word for it.”

  Gabe was silent, but try as he might, he couldn’t keep the smile off his lips. Decker decided not to comment. When they reached the mall, he said, “You got my cell number in your phone?”

  “I have Rina’s but not yours.”

  A surge of guilt ran through Decker’s veins. He really had left the kid to his own wits. “Let me give it to you, and I want your cell, too. I have it written down somewhere at home, but I should have it in my contact list.”

  “Okay.” They exchanged numbers. Gabe said, “Thanks, Peter. I mean that. And I really do feel okay talking to you. It’s just that there’s not much to talk about. My days are pretty routine and mostly revolve around my practice schedule.”

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Decker told him. “Your discipline is otherworldly.”

  “I love what I do. Not all the time, but most of the time. The main entrance is on the other side.”

  Decker negotiated the parking lot, raindrops bouncing off the blacktop like hot grease. He pulled up as close as he could to the doors and Gabe tore out of the car.

  From inside the mall, Gabe looked out the glass doors and watched the Loo drive away. He waited the requisite amount of time, then flipped up his umbrella, and embraced the rain.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  When he knocked on the door, she told him to go away.

  “Yasmine, open up.”

  “Go away,” she repeated.

  He shook out his umbrella underneath her covered porch and closed it. “Yasmine, I’m soaking wet! For goodness’ sake, open the friggin’ door!”

  She looked out the peephole. He was dripping water from everywhere. She opened the door. “Come in and take off your clothes. I’ll throw them in the dryer.”

  Gabe stepped over the threshold and began to strip. “I’m liking this already.”

  She scuffled away in bunny slippers. Her eyes were droopy, and her nose was red. She wore oversized red-and-white-striped pajamas. She looked like a candy cane. The house was big, and it took him a minute to find the laundry room. She took his clothes, threw them in the dryer, and pushed a button. The drum started to rumble. She hung up his sodden bomber jacket over the utility sink, and then leaned against the washer, her back to his face. He came up from behind and kissed the nape of her neck. He was naked except for his briefs.

  “You’re gonna get sick,” she told him.

  He kept kissing her neck. She smelled hormonal. Something primal coursed through his body and within seconds, he was rock hard. “I don’t care.”

  She broke away and left the room without explanation as he followed into her bedroom. She went under her covers and crossed her arms across her chest. She was angry that he was aroused when she felt so lousy. But then she noticed he was shivering. She sighed, opened her blanket, and he slid under. They sat without talking. “Viene La Sera” came through her stereo speakers . . . the two of them listening to the haunting love duet from Madame Butterfly. Gabe put his arm around her.

  “You shouldn’t be so close to me,” Yasmine said.

  Gabe dropped his arm. “Do you want me to leave?”

  She looked up with wet eyes. “No.” A pause. “I’m sorry I’m so grumpy.”

  “That’s okay. I love you even grumpy.” Tears spilled over her lower lashes. He hugged her again. This time she didn’t resist.

  “It’s a horrible cold, Gabe. I don’t want you to catch it.”

  “You’re worth a thousand colds.”

  “Not a million colds?”

  Gabe laughed. “A million trillion, okay?”

  She ran her fingers through his damp locks. “What happened to your glasses?”

  “I’m wearing contacts. Rain messes up the lenses.”

  “I like it.” She smiled slyly. “I can see those gorgeous eyes of yours.”

  “Thank you. And with my gorgeous eyes I can see your gorgeous face.” He started kissing the nape of her neck again. When she didn’t resist, he moved around to the front, to that sexy notch at the beginning of her throat and then down to her chest. He slowly started to unbutton her pajama top. When it was open, he slid his hand over her two protuberances, which seemed to be growing by the week. He whispered, “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, but you’re still very sexy.”

  “I feel horrible.” He took his hand away. She put it back. “It’s okay.”

  His dick was stiff again. He gently pushed her down until she was supine, and he began to kiss her breasts. He knew he caught colds easily. He knew he’d catch hers. He didn’t give a shit. “God, you’re fantastic.”

  Lying on her back caused a drip into her throat. She tried to stifle the cough, but ended up hacking away and had to sit up.

  They both laughed.

  “Well, that was really sexy,” she said.

  “I don’t care.” But his cock had retreated. “We can just talk.”

  “I feel like crap. I don’t even know how you can stand to be around me.”

  “I love you.” He began to kiss her shoulder. “Does this bother you?”

  “No.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I like it, too.” He kissed her shoulder and her neck and smelled her musky scent and tasted her salt and got hard again. Her stomach was hollow, and she had a dark line running down the middle of her belly. He traced it with his fingertips until he got to the waistband of her pajamas bottoms. His hand rested there for a few seconds. Then his fingers dipped inside, feeling the good thatch of hair.

  She pulled out his hand and placed it back on her breast. He went back to kissing her shoulder. She whispered, “Gabe?”

  “What?”

  “Have you ever done it?” He didn’t answer and she persisted. “C’mon. I wanna know. Have you ever done it?”

  He ignored her. “No, I’ve never kissed a should
er as beautiful as yours.”

  She pulled away from him and studied his face. “You have! I know you have!” She sat upright, her eyes wide with interest. “What’s it like?”

  “It wasn’t as good as being with you now.” She was still staring at him. “Why do we have to talk about it?”

  “Because I’m curious.”

  “Why? It’ll only make you feel bad.”

  “Please?”

  He went soft again. Thinking about the past was the surest way to make him deflated and depressed. In anger, he said, “You really want to know?”

  “Yes, I really want to know.”

  He was barely controlling his rage. “Okay. Then here goes. The answer is, yes, I’ve done it three times . . . or rather with three girls. The first time was like an initiation to high school. Some upper-class girl takes you in her car and does you. Wham bam thank you ma’am. I was a year ahead in school, so I was thirteen. It was weird. The second time was at a party. I ran with a fast crowd and even though I was younger, my buddies were okay with me because I was tall, I was Chris Donatti’s son, and I played the piano and guitar and all sorts of shit that made me free entertainment and a chick magnet. There were always a lot of parties with a lot of booze, drugs, and sex. Everybody would get drunk or stoned. There was a lot of fooling around. Some screwing, but mostly, the girls gave a lot of head.”

  “Head?”

  “Oral sex,” he told her and not too nicely. “Blow jobs. That’s what girls do when they want to do something but they still want to be virgins. They’d give blow jobs. I got a ton of blow jobs, okay?”

  He was quiet. Yasmine asked softly, “What about the other two times?”

  He gave her a dirty look, but she seemed unfettered by his discomfort. “The second time was at a party with my friend’s older sister. She was sixteen and totally blasted—a real hot mess. It was a miracle she didn’t puke on me afterward. The third time was even weirder. It was my friend’s sister-in-law. Her husband—my friend’s brother—was in, like, Iraq or Afghanistan. I was supposed to meet my friend at his brother’s house—why I don’t even remember—but he got hung up and couldn’t make it. It was in the summer and it was really hot outside. His sister-in-law offered me a beer before I left. So I’m sitting on the couch, drinking a beer, when she starts massaging my leg, bending over and showing her cleavage. We wound up doing it on the couch with our clothes on.”