Gun Games Page 23

  Oliver stood up. “Let’s go.”

  Marge said, “We’ll fill you in if we find out anything.” The two of them walked out together. “Do you have any plans tonight, Scott?”

  “Actually I’m going to dinner with my son and daughter-in-law.”

  “That’s lovely.”

  “Yeah, it’s fun.” He let go with a smile and she asked what was funny. “It’s especially fun for them. I always pay.”

  A flash of the badge and B and W’s campus security guard gave ground without a fuss. They walked past the Administration Building and promptly got lost looking for Saul Hinton’s classroom. They asked a fireplug of a boy in a letter jacket where to find room 26 and he walked them to the correct classroom. Erasing a whiteboard, Hinton had his back to the door when they came in. Marge cleared her throat and he turned around, frowning with immediate recognition. But his speech was civil. “I did get your message, Detectives.” He continued erasing the board. “I just haven’t had a moment to call you back.”

  Marge said, “I know, sir. We’re sorry to intrude if this is a bad time. We were just on our way home.”

  “Where is home?” Hinton asked.

  “About a half mile from here,” Marge answered.

  “So you live in the district where you work.”

  “I do. So does Detective Oliver.”

  “I suppose that’s admirable.” Hinton put down the eraser. “What can I do for you?”

  Oliver said, “Do you mind if we sit down?”

  “So this is going to take a while?”

  Oliver shrugged. “I’m just old and tired.”

  A small bit of red came to Hinton’s cheeks. “Of course. Sit anywhere. No need to even ask.”

  Marge said, “Are you all right, sir?”

  “I’m fine.” Hinton chose a student’s desk chair. “What do you want to ask me?”

  “The gun that Myra Gelb used to kill herself . . . it was stolen.”

  “I heard something about that.”

  “It was taken in a year-old burglary along with some CDs and an iPod. We all think that kids did it.” Marge waited for a reaction and she got it—a deep blush. “There are rumors, sir, about certain seniors who like guns. And the same certain seniors were people that Myra did not like.”

  “She used to draw cartoons of them,” Oliver said. “The only reason we’re not mentioning names is that we want to see if you mention the same ones first.”

  “If you do know someone at the school who might be dealing in stolen weapons, now’s the time to tell us. Remember, please, that two stolen guns were used in two separate suicides.”

  The thin man with the long arms seemed to fold up over himself. “We’re all probably thinking about the same people. I won’t mention names because anything I’d tell you would be speculation and I don’t speculate.”

  “Even if it could save another depressed teenager’s life?”

  Hinton looked away. “I can’t help you. Take it up with the administration. They’re the only ones allowed to open school lockers and they won’t do it without probable cause or a court order.”

  “So we have to wait until another child commits suicide to get what we need?”

  “First Amendment rights supersede the nebulous possibility of something that may happen in the future.” Hinton spoke but his heart wasn’t into it.

  “First Amendment rights don’t apply to the kids in this school,” Marge said. “I know that the parents and kids sign contracts that allow the administration to go into school lockers without asking their permission.”

  “With probable cause.”

  “If you implied that a certain person might be dealing, that would be probable cause,” Oliver said. “Think about Gregory Hesse or Myra Gelb. If you could have done something to stop their suicides, you would have done it, right?”

  Hinton became very pale and Marge grew worried. Perhaps the accusation came too fast and too pointed. “You’re white, sir. Are you okay?”

  He dropped his head between his knees. “I feel a little dizzy.”

  Oliver stood up. “I’ll get you some water.”

  Hinton said, “There’s a bottle of orange juice in my backpack. I think my blood sugar is low.”

  Marge retrieved it and gave it to the teacher. He drank greedily. A minute later, he could sit up, but his complexion remained wan. “If I tell you names and the administration opens lockers based on my accusations and it turns out to be wrong, I could get fired. Worse still, I could get sued. I would probably lose everything and be blackballed from teaching. There are certain kids in B and W who are products of very litigious parents.”

  The detectives nodded.

  “All that being said . . . if I knew someone was dealing in weapons as a certainty, I would have told the administration a long time ago. It would be morally outrageous for me not to say something.” His eyes grew wet. “If I could have prevented past deaths, I would have stepped up to the plate. I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

  Marge spoke softly. “Your sincerity is evident. I hope you’re not speaking from personal experience.”

  Hinton was quiet. “You talked to Heddy Kramer, didn’t you?”

  “We did.”

  “So she told you.”

  “She did.”

  No one spoke. Then Hinton said, “I did talk to Myra. She said she was saddened, but personally she was okay. We spoke for about twenty minutes. She seemed angry more than anything else.”

  “Did she say who she was angry at?” Oliver asked.

  “No names. Really it seemed she was angry at life. So after she left, I called her mother . . . left a message for her to call me back, that I had some concerns about Myra.” He licked his lips. “No one called me back. And then I promptly forgot about it. Now I’m thinking that Myra might have intercepted the message and erased it. I should have made a follow-up call.” A pause. “I blew it.”

  Time to offer him a life preserver. Marge said, “You know that if someone is determined to kill himself—”

  “Yes, I know,” Hinton interrupted. “It doesn’t alleviate the pain or the guilt. It’s eating me alive. I’m going to have to find my own expiation. Otherwise . . .” He threw his hands in the air. He finished his juice. Color had returned to his cheeks. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll keep my ears open. If I discover something concrete, you’ll be the first to know about it. I promise you I’ll call . . . even though it violates every moral code I’ve ever established for myself.”

  “To tell the police about a kid who’s dealing in stolen firearms?” Oliver said.

  “I’m fifty-nine, Detective.”

  Marge was astonished. “You look much younger.”

  “Nonetheless, I am of that age,” Hinton told her. “I grew up in the sixties. Old hippie habits die very hard.”

  The babies wore wristbands, the only way that Decker could tell them apart physically. Aaron, the oldest by four minutes, was calmer by nature than Akiva, but neither boy was very fussy. They were huge: off the charts in height and weight. They ate round the clock: Cindy called them organic milking machines. In addition to nursing them, she had brought a half-dozen eight-ounce bottles of expressed breast milk. By the end of dinner, the boys had depleted everything.

  “Thank you for feeding me and by extension, your grandsons,” Cindy said. “And as always, we were fed extremely well.”

  “The curried lamb was delicious,” Koby said. “I think I ate an entire sheep by myself. Everything tasted so good, so I overate.”

  “You and me both, son,” Decker said. “You’d think I’d learn by now.”

  “Would you like a care package, kids?” Rina asked.

  “I should say no, but I won’t say no,” Koby said.

  Cindy laughed. “Homemade food has been a scarcity in our fridge since the babies were born.”

  Rina smiled. “I’ll pack you a few meals’ worth of grub. We certainly don’t need all the leftovers.”

  Cindy looked at Gabe who
had been clearing the table. She cocked a thumb in his direction. “You can pack Mr. Piano Player up some food while you’re at it.”

  “You know, I do eat.” Gabe put down a dirty plate. “I’m at that lucky stage where none of it sticks.”

  Cindy walked over to Gabe and threw her arm around his shoulders. “If I pat your tummy, will your lack of fat rub off on me?”

  Gabe gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You look great. Your sons are very lucky to have such a wonderful mother.” Said a little too strong.

  “Thank you, Prince Charming.” Gabe smiled, and Cindy took Aaron from Rina. She patted Koby’s flat stomach. “Some lucky people are just naturally blessed with a good constitution.”

  Decker hefted Akiva and patted his paunch. “Others are born with a good constitution but have resorted to gluttony.” He turned to his grandson. “How about you, buddy? Is all that yummy milk going into a hollow leg?”

  The baby responded by spitting up on Decker’s shirt.

  Cindy laughed. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  To the baby, he said, “That’ll teach me to hold you without a burp cloth.”

  Koby took Akiva from his grandfather’s hands. “Thank you very much for dinner. I think we’re wearing out the doormat.”

  “He means the welcome mat,” Cindy said. “As often as we come here, we’re probably wearing out both.”

  Rina returned with a grocery bag filled with plastic containers of food. She kissed Cindy, then she kissed Aaron. “Take care of your mom, little boy. She’s a good woman.”

  Koby, holding Akiva, said, “Thanks for everything, Rina.”

  Rina kissed his cheek and then kissed Akiva. “Be kind to your parents. They’re good folk.”

  “Listen to her,” Koby said to his son.

  “Come anytime and I mean that.” But as soon as the door closed behind the Kutiel family, Rina let out a sigh of relief. “Oh my Lord, I’m getting old.”

  Decker whispered in a plaintive voice, “Do you need any help?”

  “Oh please, don’t give me that ‘have pity on me’ voice.” Rina laughed. “It’s fine, Peter. I’m fine. Go read the paper.”

  “No, I don’t want to stick you with all the work.”

  Gabe said, “Why don’t you both relax? I’ll finish up everything. I didn’t work all day.”

  “By the way, what do you do all day?” Decker asked him.

  “Peter!” Rina said.

  Gabe laughed. “It’s a good question.”

  Decker said, “It’s a serious question. I want to make sure you’re not bored.”

  “Nah, I’m not bored.” Lonely was another story. He answered them with sincerity. “I practice an awful lot. I take it much more seriously now that I’m actually performing for money. Or I will be this summer. When I’m not practicing, I listen to the music that I’m practicing. It’s almost as important as practicing. Plus I’ve started composing. When I’m not doing music, I read . . . I take a lot of long walks.” He shrugged. “I keep busy. Certainly I’ll be busy enough next year, so I’m kinda enjoying having unstructured time.”

  “Do you keep in contact with any of your old friends?”

  “No.” A pause. “That part of my life is over and done.”

  Said with an angry note in his voice, Decker noticed. “Have you talked to your mom lately?”

  He shrugged again. “I’m fine, guys. I’d let you know if there was a problem and there’s no problem. So seriously, go rest. I’ve got KP covered.” He adjusted the earbuds of his iPod, then went into the kitchen and closed the door. A moment later, they could both hear the faucet running.

  “Serious kid.” Decker sat down on the couch. “I hope at some point fun fits into his schedule.”

  “I think he might be seeing someone,” Rina said.

  Decker said, “Did he tell you that?”

  “No, but he leaves the house very early every weekday morning. I think he’s catching someone before she goes to school.”

  “Good call.” Decker thought a moment. “It can’t be much of a relationship if all they do is meet before high school.”

  Rina patted his cheek. “That’s why God invented weekends.”

  “That’s true enough. We really don’t know what he does once we leave the house,” Decker said. “Should we be worried?”

  “You know, I thought about being worried.” Rina folded her arms across her chest. “But he’s never given us any reason to worry.”

  Decker picked up the paper and settled into the couch. “If you’re not worried, I’m not worried. He’s leaving for somewhere in the fall. How much trouble could he get into in six months?”

  “If he were inclined, he could get into a lot of trouble,” Rina said.

  “Well, I choose to think positively. You know what they say. Hope for the best, then learn how to duck when the stuff hits the fan.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The knock was timid. When Gabe opened the door, Yasmine was breathless. “I can’t stay more than maybe an hour. I promised my family I’d make it to shul.”

  She was dressed in a short tight black number with a faux fur jacket, complete with stockings, makeup, and jewelry. Every hair was in place. Clearly he wasn’t getting any today.

  “So come in for as long as you can,” Gabe told her. “You want some coffee? You look lovely by the way.”

  “Thank you.” She stepped into the Deckers’ living room. “You always know what to say. How can one boy be that charming? Do you practice in the mirror?”

  “Every day along with my piano. Sometimes I combine it by practicing the piano in front of a mirror.”

  Yasmine’s ultraserious face managed a small smile.

  Gabe said, “Honestly, I just made a fresh pot of coffee. The Deckers don’t use the coffeepot on Saturday. They drink instant. It sucks.”

  “I’m okay.” She perched herself on the edge of the sofa cushion, her back ramrod straight.

  “Suit yourself.” He got up and went into the kitchen.

  She raised her voice to be heard. “I really need to go soon, Gabe. It’ll take me twenty minutes to walk to shul.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Gabe came back carrying two cups. “Two sweeteners and a dollop of nonfat milk, right.”

  “What am I going to do with you?” Yasmine sighed. “You are perfect.”

  “Thank you. Wanna fool around?” When she blanched, he said, “I’m just kidding.” Not really. “We’ll just talk. Rather, you can talk and I’ll stare at your beauty.”

  A blush rose in her cheeks. She took the coffee cup and sipped. She was still wearing her jacket. Beads of perspiration had gathered on her face.

  He said, “Why don’t you take off your coat?”

  “Because I can’t stay long.”

  “I know that, Yasmine. It doesn’t mean you have to be uncomfortable while you are here.”

  She put down the cup. He helped her off with her jacket, and then drew her onto the sofa, hugging her tightly. “Just relax, okay? I won’t jump your bones.”

  “I am relaxed.”

  “No, you’re not.” He kissed her soundly on the lips, receiving a healthy dose of red lipstick. “I know relaxed very well and it doesn’t say Yasmine. What’s wrong, my love?”

  “I think my mom is getting a little suspicious.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me, being as you leave home every day at six in the morning without explanation.”

  “You’re taking it as a joke.” She was upset. “If she finds out, she’ll tell my dad. He’ll kill me.”

  “He won’t kill you, he’ll kill me, which is okay. I’d rather die than to be without you.” He kissed her again. “Can we make out? I’ve already ruined your lipstick.”

  “Do you ever stop?”

  “Not when you’re around.” Gabe sat up and sighed. “Okay. I’ll let you drink coffee in peace.” He gave her back the coffee cup. “Oh. Guess what. I’ve got something for you. Well, it’s not exactly for you. It’s sort of for the both of us.
Close your eyes.”

  She looked at him suspiciously.

  “No, really. It’s not what you think. Close your eyes.”

  Reluctantly, she obeyed. “This better not be a trick. Like you’d better not be naked when I open my eyes.”

  “Now there’s a thought.”

  She opened her eyes. “Ga . . . abe.”

  She had turned his name into two syllables. He definitely wasn’t getting any. “Close your eyes, Yasmine. Just cooperate, okay?”

  She let out a mock sigh and did what he asked of her. He whipped off his T-shirt. “Okay. Open up.”

  She saw his bare chest and grew irritated. “Gabe, I don’t have time—” She stopped talking, and her eyes got wide. She brought her hands to her mouth.

  Gabe grinned. “Do you like it?”

  Wordlessly, she touched the blue ink on his right arm below the swell of his shoulder. He had gotten a tattoo of two armlets: the first one was interwoven flowers that framed her name in script; the second band consisted of treble clef notes. She was speechless.

  “Did you notice that it’s a jasmine vine?” Gabe told her. “A little literal, but I think it came out nice.” She still couldn’t talk. “Do you like the band below it?”

  She was still mute.

  “Read the notes, cuckoo bird.”

  She did. It was the coloratura for “Der Hölle Rache.” Her eyes grew moist. “Why . . . did you do that?”

  “Why?” Gabe put his shirt back on. “Because I love you, that’s why.” Tears began to stream down her cheeks. “Don’t do that. You’ll smear your makeup.”

  She wiped her tears with her fingers, then leaned her head against his shoulder. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  Gabe said, “So now you know . . . that no matter what happens between us . . . I will never ever forget you. You are permanently inked into me.”

  “I can’t bear the thought of never seeing you again.” She broke into a fresh batch of tears. “I will never, ever love anyone as much as I love you.”

  “And I will never love anyone as much as I love you.” Gabe felt heaviness in his heart. Whenever they were together, he was elated. The moment she left, a black depression crowded his soul. The last year had been one of unbearable loneliness. His attachments had fallen away one by one by one. Yasmine had been the only bright spot in his dismal life. Eventually her parents would find out about them, and she’d be ripped from him. He tried not to think about it, hoping to steal as much time together as they could before he was set adrift in a sea of desolation.