Gun Games (7 page)

And there it was: that all-too-familiar jolt below his waistline. Not that his pants were tight, but he was tall and, lucky him, he was proportional. All she had to do was look down to see it. Thankfully, she was too naive to notice. It was going to go to waste, but it did feel good to get a buzz from something other than porno.

“There you go.” He laid the strands over her shoulders and sat back. “Now you look hot.”

“Yeah, right!” Yasmine turned away. It was hard for her to look at his face without blushing. He was the most gorgeous boy she had ever seen in her entire life.

Gabe checked his watch and became irritated again. Which was good but it was hard to be aroused and angry at the same time. He tapped his foot as the taxi sped to its destination. He checked his watch as they approached the Music Center. By the time the taxi pulled over, they had five minutes to go.

They were at the Ahmanson Theatre side of the block instead of the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion where the opera was. Rather than redirect the cabbie, it was quicker to run it.

Gabe peeled out five twenties for a sixty-two-dollar bill. “Thanks.” He threw open the door. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”

He began to run across the pavement, assuming she was with him. But a moment later, when he looked over his shoulder, she was twenty paces behind. Her dress was too tight to allow unrestricted movement and her heels too high for her to run with any speed. He stopped and grabbed her hand, dragging her along, hearing the
click, click, click
of her heels.

“How much did you tip that guy?” she asked.

“I dunno. Who cares?”

“I’m splitting the bill with you so I care.”

“I said I’d pay for it, if you came . . . even though you were forty-five minutes late.”

She was panting. “I said I’ll pay half—”

“Forget it!” He pulled her forward. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

They made it to the entry at 3:04.

The lights were giving their final on and off blink, indicating that the show was about to start. Over the speakers, he could hear the orchestra tuning.

He started bounding up the steps, taking two at a time with Yasmine in tow, but her weight was dragging him down. He turned around and saw the problem. Her mouth was agape. She was gawking upward. “Look at the size of those chandeliers!”

“Yeah, they’ll still be here at intermission.” He yanked her forward. “
C’mon!
”

They made it inside just as the lights were dimming. He ran past the usher telling her he knew where their seats were.

Stepping over people.

Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me, excuse me.

Finally, he found the seats.

“Turn off your phone,” he told her.

“Right.”

Gabe slumped backward in his chair and exhaled out loud. He glanced at Yasmine who was unfazed by their in-the-nick-of-time arrival and seemingly unscathed by his churlish behavior. As soon as the orchestra launched into the overture, she sat at attention with her knees pressed together, her hands gripping her beaded purse, her body pitched slightly forward as if there was something to see besides a velvet curtain.

Unbelievable!

After several breaths, he rolled his shoulders and started to relax. They were in the first row of the loge so he had the luxury of a little more legroom for his six-foot frame. He sat back, spread his legs apart, and dropped his hands into his lap.

By accident, his knee touched hers. He pulled his legs together.

She glanced at his face and gave him an ear-to-ear grin, mouthing a silent
thank you
before returning her eyes to the stage.

He raised his eyebrows, a small smile of his own settling across his lips. He made himself comfortable in the seat, slouching back with his arms folded across his chest. Slowly his legs fell open until once again his knee found hers.

This time he kept it right where it was.

Chapter Seven

S
ince the station house was quiet, Decker was planning to rip through some of last week’s paperwork, but he couldn’t concentrate; his mind was still on Gregory Hesse’s memorial service. A giant blowup of the boy’s face had been strung across the altar, young eyes without a hint of the disaster to come. To a packed church, the minister delivered wrenching prose about a life cut short by the deepest secrets of the heart. He had to stop several times to compose himself. Then friends and family spoke, dredging up memories about a child too young for the past tense.

The service ended at twelve, and the reception lasted another hour. Decker did note that there were a lot of kids in attendance. After waiting in line to offer condolences to the parents, Decker figured he made the right move by coming to the service because Wendy Hesse squeezed his hand.

Please don’t forget about my son.

“Knock, knock.” Rina was at his door, holding a paper bag. “Room service.”

“Sit down.” He grinned. “What’d you bring me?”

“Cold roast sandwich on rye with horseradish and mustard. I have a meeting at school in twenty minutes. In the meantime, I thought I’d do what I do best and that’s feed you.”

“You do a lot of things extremely well, including feeding me.”

She sat down. “And you will be home by seven, right?”

“Yes, I’ll be there.” Koby and Cindy were coming over with the babies for dinner. “Are you sure you don’t want to go out?”

“If we went out, none of us would be able to eat. So I cooked. Even if none of us eat, it’s still more cost-efficient than going out.”

“No one cooks as good as you do. What are you making?”

She gave him the menu: roasted veal breast stuffed with rice pilaf and dried fruit, green beans, whipped yams, and peach pie for dessert. His mouth was watering even as he ate his sandwich. “Try to be on time.”

“I will not try, I will be on time. Look around this place. I’m the only one crazy enough to be here Sunday afternoon. Where’s Gabe?”

“He went to the opera. He said he’ll be home by dinner.”

“The boy is an enigma, but he knows a good meal.”

“How’d the memorial service go?”

Decker gave her a recap. “Actually I’m here to talk to Gregory’s best friend. He’s a little odd. Or maybe I made him nervous when I pulled him over.”

“Y’think?” When Decker made a face, Rina said, “What struck you as odd?”

“He’s holding back.”

“That’s not odd, that’s cautious.”

“Since when have you been hired as his defense attorney?” The intercom beeped, the receptionist informing Decker that Joey Reinhart was on line two. “Hi, Joey, this is Lieutenant Decker.”

“Uh, I could make it a little earlier.”

“Sure. What time?”

“I’m actually right outside the station house.”

“Go inside and I’ll come get you.” Decker put the receiver back in the cradle and stood up. “My interview showed up early.”

“I’ve got to go anyway.” She stood up and gave him a peck on the lips. “Today we’re discussing whether to install a vending machine or to set up a snack bar and sell our own food to the kids.”

“What’s the issue?”

“Well, if we let a vending machine company provide the food, there could be potential problems with kashrut. But the pro is that they handle everything and just send us a check. Plus we don’t have to have someone manage it. If we sell our own snacks, we make more money and kashrut isn’t a problem. But then we have liabilities issues and health department issues and we have to find someone to run the snack bar. Yes, it seems trivial, but these kinds of niceties go a long way with the kids.”

“I get it. Ever since we put in a professional coffee/cappuccino machine to go along with our candy dispenser, everyone’s been much happier.”

“So there you go.” Rina smiled. “Just goes to show you. Never underestimate the power of caffeine and sugar.”

E
ven layered in a bulky, hooded sweatshirt and baggy jeans, the kid was all limbs and bones. Decker took the boy into an interview room, setting him up with a glass of water and a candy bar. The kid said, “I got the taillight fixed.”

“Great.”

“Thanks for not giving me a ticket.”

“No problem. Glad you got it taken care of.” Decker pulled out a portable tape recorder. “Do you mind if we record the conversation? It’s standard procedure. No one has a perfect memory.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Decker gave the introduction, the name of the person he was talking to, the time and the date. “Thanks for coming in.”

“Sure.” Joey interlaced his long fingers and shrugged. “What’s there to say?”

“Gregory’s mom is completely in the dark about what happened. It caught her off guard.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You didn’t see it coming, either?”

The boy looked doleful. “No.”

Decker said, “Tell me about Gregory Hesse. What was he like?”

Joey’s eyes darkened. “It’s hard to describe a person that you’ve known forever. Greg was Greg.”

“What did you two do together?”

Another shrug. “We hung out . . . went to movies, played video games. We always got along. We’re both kinda nerdy . . . like you can’t tell. I’m more the typical math/science guy. Greg was great in math also, but he liked English. Reading and writing came easy to him. He used to help me with my essays.” Joey bit his lip. “He was a smart dude.”

“You have other friends in common?”

“Yeah, we have group—Mikey, Brandon, Josh, Beezel. If you’re going to survive at B and W, you need buddies.”

“What happens if you don’t have buddies?”

“You’re screwed. B and W is not a nice place. But if you don’t come across as desperate, you can get by and get a good education.”

“What happened with Kevin Stanger?”

“Oh man, poor Kev.” He shook his head. “Survival of the fittest, you know. Kev couldn’t hack it.”

“Why not?”

“You know, not all nerds are smart. That was Kevin’s problem. He was dorky without having any brains to back him up. It made him a target.”

“Guys were beating on him?”

“Nah, it’s more subtle. They just crowd you, man. Like you’re walking along and suddenly there’re a dozen of them walking next to you, flicking the back of your head or groping you or asking for money, which you give them. But even afterward, they don’t let up. With Kevin, it went on day after day after day.”

“He didn’t go to the administration with his problems?”

“You do that, it gets worse. Best thing to do is ride it out and hope they find some other target. Crowding is especially anxiety provoking because inside you’re thinking that any moment, it’s gonna turn violent.”

“That’s what they call it? Crowding?”

“Yeah, a group of guys and girls just get in your face.”

“How many?” Decker asked.

“Anywhere from four or five to upward. And since they’re not really hurting you, who are you going to whine to? It’s just all about mastery—like who’s the boss.”

“Who are they?”

“Just jerk-offs,” Joey said. “It’s stupid for me to name names because once you become a target, it’s like the word gets out and you’re fair game for everyone. I get by just fine. No offense, but I’m not going to screw myself over.”

“They wouldn’t know the source, Joey. We could keep it private.”

“Find someone else. It wouldn’t help you anyway, because Greg didn’t have a problem. He could work it.” Joey appeared lost in thought. “We both do tutoring—which is also why I’m not naming names. I have to pay for my car, and gas is expensive. Tutoring brings in good money.”

“I understand. Tell me about Greg and his tutoring.”

“I wouldn’t swear to it, but I think Greg was doing some heavy tutoring.”

“As in writing papers for some seniors?”

“Nah, he couldn’t get away with that. It was more like . . . filling up the space. Senior theses are a minimum of thirty pages. That’s a lot of writing for most people.”

Decker nodded.

“There’s nothing evil with that. I mean most of the kids at B and W have been getting tutored for years: from professional teachers, SAT tutors, college kids. It’s well known that if you do a term paper at school, like forty million people have already looked it over before you turn it in. B and W has strict grading policies. You’re expected to perform at a college level—which never made sense to me. Why do you need high school if you’re already at a college level? But you know how it is. The competition is fierce.”

Decker scratched his head. His own kids were past the rat race, but he remembered all too well the stress associated with getting into top-tiered universities. Gabe was the only teen Decker knew who wasn’t nervous about college. So basically it took a musical genius to go through the process without anxiety.

“If Greg was doing well, Joey, why do you think he took a gun to his head?”

Joey’s eyes watered. “It’s a mystery.”

“You told me he was acting different lately.”

The kid paused. “Just that the past couple of months, he became obsessed with his video camera. At first, it was okay, but then it gets annoying to have a camera in your face while you’re eating a hot dog.”

“What was Greg recording?”

“He claimed he was just documenting the lives of typical teenagers.”

Decker thought a moment. “When Greg started filming, did he start distancing himself from you and your group? Did he start hanging with different friends?”

“Not that I could tell. I mean he didn’t start hanging with the bohemians.”

“Who are the bohemians?”

“Ah, you know the type—artsy-fartsy, weird dress, and soooooo intellectual. They give you this crap about how formal education is worthless and the real education is on the streets. Which means they’re stupid. I mean, give me an effing break! Anyone who goes to B and W is a spoiled brat. I mean all those so-called tough guys wouldn’t last a day on the streets.”

“Who are the tough guys?” When Joey waved him off, Decker said, “Did you ask Greg why he started videotaping?”

“He said it was fun . . . that it took the tedium out of high school.” Joey didn’t speak for a moment. “I don’t know why, but I got the feeling that maybe the hobby had to do with a girl.”

“Did you ask Greg about it?”

“I did. He denied it, said if he had a girlfriend I’d be the first to know so he could lord it over me.”

“Girls can lead you in all sorts of directions,” Decker said. “Is your theory a guess or are you thinking of someone specific?”

“I’ve gone through the roster of possibilities in my head. I can’t come up with anyone.”

“What about your sister?” Decker said.

“My sister?” He made a face. “You mean Tina?”

“His mother once picked him up from your house. She said there were girls there and when she asked Gregory about it, he said they were friends of your sister.”

“Tina’s like a kid.” When Decker didn’t say anything, Joey said, “Nah . . . impossible. And even if they did flirt—which I never saw—she certainly wouldn’t be the reason why Greg did what he did. She couldn’t possibly inspire that much passion.”

“What about her friends?”

“I can’t see it.” Joey shook his head. “If you want me to ask her, I will.”

Decker thought a moment. He really didn’t have any good reason to start questioning a bunch of thirteen-year-old girls. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.” He focused in on Joey’s eyes. “So again, what do you think is the reason behind the suicide?”

“I dunno, Lieutenant, and that’s a fact.”

“Do you think Greg could have gotten into drugs?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Did you guys light up together?”

Joey turned bright red. “Occasionally on weekends, and nothing heavy. Maybe a joint between, like, four of us.”

Decker nodded. “Could Greg have gotten in deeper?”

“Greg never acted like he was out of control with anything.” He regarded Decker’s face. “Don’t you test the blood for drugs in an autopsy?”

“Absolutely, but it takes a couple of weeks. Let’s go back to Greg and the possibility of a girl. I’m curious as to why you’d throw that out as a possibility.”

His eyes were doing a dance. “He smelled better.” A sip of water. “You know how it is when it gets a little chilly and the heat’s cranked up. A bunch of dudes get together and eat and hang out and sometimes . . .” He turned red again. “You know you watch some stuff that you can’t watch when your parents are around. It gets a little rank.”

“I get it,” Decker told him.

“Greg had always carried some extra pounds. He sweated a lot. The past month or so, I think he started showering more often.” He averted his eyes. “And when a dude starts showering that often, it means to me that there’s some girl involved. Plus . . .” A long pause. “How do I say this without sounding like a perv? We watched stuff. I think Greg finally discovered he had a dick, if you know what I’m saying.”