Homicide Related (2 page)

Worse than school was homework, and he was looking at a gigantic heap of it when he stepped outside again at three-twenty that afternoon. At least, that's what he was looking at, at first. And then there it was—that pop-quiz moment. It wasn't even multiple choice. It came down to A or B—pay attention to this or pay attention to that. It seemed dead easy.

He had just left school through one of the side doors when he saw a car pull up half a block away—a midnight blue Jag convertible with the top down, because it was an astonishingly warm day for early November and the sun was brilliant in the clear blue sky overhead. Dooley stopped short on the school steps, surprising the kid behind him, who rammed into him and swore at him: Why the fuck didn't he watch where he was going? Dooley turned and, okay, there was no point in denying it, he got a kick out of way the snarl and bluster died on the kid's face when he saw who he'd rammed into. He got even more of a kick out of the kid's muttered apology. He turned from the kid to stare again at the Jag. Even at this distance he could see that the guy behind the wheel had more going for him than just the vehicle he was driving. He also had a haircut that looked like it was windproof. He'd probably paid a bundle for it so that it would lie down where it was supposed to, when it was supposed to, no matter what. His teeth were so white that they gleamed like a porcelain gash across the middle of his face when he flashed a smile at his passenger. The fact that he was driving a Jag meant that he was probably loaded—or, more likely, Daddy and Mommy were. Also—and this was where Dooley's stomach did a backward double-gainer—he had the prettiest girl Dooley had ever seen sitting right up there beside him.

Beth.

Her head was turned to the driver, but Dooley would have recognized her even if she'd had her back to him and she was a full block away. He continued down the steps and onto the sidewalk. The driver of the car was saying something, and Beth was laughing. Dooley stepped back a pace so that he was out of sight while he tried to figure out what it all meant. What was Beth doing with that guy? Who the hell was he? What were they doing
here
?

Then, behind him, someone—a woman—said, “Excuse me” in a soft voice.

Dooley tore his eyes away from Beth and the guy with the porcelain mouth and turned toward the sound of the voice.

And there it was—suddenly he had two females claiming his attention, and all he had to do was pick one and let the other one go.

It was a no-brainer. He turned back to see what Beth was doing. He was aware of the soft voice behind him, but the blood was pounding so loudly in his ears that he couldn't make out the words. He could barely feel his feet on the sidewalk, either. He was looking at the Jag but, from where he was standing now, all he could see was the front bumper and the hood. Beth hadn't appeared yet. She must still be in the car with that guy. What was she doing?

He started toward the car, but found himself tugged backward and felt something—a slip of paper—being pressed into his hand. He glanced over his shoulder, annoyed. The voice speeded up, the words coming at him in a breathless rush, like the woman who was talking was afraid he was going to walk away before she finished whatever it was she had to say.

He heard a car door slam.

Beth stepped into sight down the block. Dooley caught his breath as he waited to read the expression on her face. She smiled. She seemed glad to see him. And, boy, he was always glad to see her. She had lively brown eyes, and hair the same color, only glossy. She had creamy white skin and full pink lips, and she was nice and slim.

He crumpled the slip of paper, let it fall to the ground, and started to walk away. Something closed on his arm again, and again he felt himself being hooked backward. The crumpled paper was pressed into his hand again. Jesus, what was the matter with her; why didn't she leave him alone? He jerked his hand away and strode toward Beth, jamming the piece of paper into his pocket this time, thinking he would toss it later. His heart pounded. His eyes and thoughts were on Beth and only her. He wanted to throw his arms open and see if she would walk into them, but at the last minute he was afraid to, because what if she didn't? She came straight to him and slipped her arms around his waist. He inhaled the familiar scent of her hair, her skin, the soap she used, the shampoo, and then, he couldn't have stopped himself even if he'd wanted to, he kissed her and slid his arms around her and marveled, not for the first time, at how soft she was and how firm, too, underneath the long sweater she was wearing.

“Surprised to see me?” she said.

“Yeah,” Dooley said, and that was the truth. “You skipping school?” Beth went to a private school, girls only. She actually seemed to like it. She took school seriously, too. But her classes ended twenty-five minutes later than his, so there was no way she could be all the way down here so early, even if someone—Mr. Midnight Blue Jag—had given her a lift.

“There was a faculty meeting,” she said. “They let us out early, so I decided to surprise you.” She glanced around him. “Who were you were talking to?”

Dooley turned and saw that the woman was standing exactly where he had left her. He gave her a sharp look. Her eyes met his and a little smile played across her lips. She nodded almost imperceptibly before turning and walking away.

“Just some woman,” Dooley said.

“What did she want?”

“She was lost. She wanted directions,” Dooley said. He glanced at her again. She was a block away now, looking small and getting smaller with every step she took. “Who's the guy in the Jag?”

Beth's cheeks turned pink, like she'd been caught out.

“That's Nevin,” she said.

“Nevin?” Who the hell was Nevin? Dooley had never heard the name before. And what kind of name was Nevin anyway? “Who's he?”

“A guy I know. From school.”

“From school? I thought your school was girls only.”

“I don't mean he
goes
to my school,” Beth said. “He's on the debating team at his school.” Beth was on her school's debating team. Dooley didn't understand why. He didn't understand why anyone would want to be on a debating team. But Beth said it gave her experience in public speaking and in thinking on her feet. She said they were important life skills, and it would be good for her to know how to do both things. “We debate all kinds of schools, Dooley, not just other girls' schools. We debate boys' schools, co-ed private schools, even public schools.”

“So, what, you know him pretty well?” Dooley said.

“I guess. His parents are friends of my parents—well, of my mom's.” So she didn't know him just from school. “You should see him in action.” Dooley bet he was really something, especially with that Jag. “He's amazing. He wins almost every debate he enters. We get together sometimes and take each other on.”

“Take each other on?”

“We put a bunch of be-it-resolveds into a hat—you know, be it resolved that history is the academic branch of propaganda, or be it resolved that citizens should be required by law to vote—and then we debate them raw.”

“Raw?” He didn't like the sound of that.

“That's what Nevin calls it. It means without any preparation. I've learned a lot from him.”

He wondered why she'd never mentioned that before.

She'd never mentioned Nevin, either.

“This getting together and taking each other on,” he said.

“When does that happen?”

She shrugged. “Just whenever.”

“Do you do it at school?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes we do it at his place. Or my place.”

“Your place?”

She pulled away from him a little, and the warmth that her body had imprinted on him cooled almost instantly.

“You're not jealous, are you, Dooley?” she said, frowning up at him. “He's just someone I know. He gave me a lift, that's all. I came over here to see
you
. I thought we could go to the library and do our homework together. How about it?”

Dooley's chest, which had been so tight that he could hardly breathe when he'd seen Beth sitting in the Jag, slowly relaxed. He pulled Beth close and noticed right away that, as usual, she didn't resist. Sometimes they held each other for what seemed like forever. It was the best feeling in the world, better even than being high. If there was something between her and Nevin, she would have been pulling away from him, wouldn't she? He would have been able to feel it—wouldn't he?

Then she did it. She wriggled free of him.

“So,” she said. “Are we on?”

Dooley reached into his pocket, feeling like a pathetic loser because now he had to do something that he bet Nevin never had to do. He had to call his uncle to ask—
ask,
for Christ's sake—if he could go to the library because, as his uncle never tired of telling him, they had a deal. The deal was: Dooley went to school and then, unless he was scheduled to work, he went straight home. Any deviation from the deal required a phone call and the third degree.

He pulled out the cell phone that his uncle had finally agreed to let him have to replace the stupid pager that was all his uncle had allowed at first.

“Yeah,” Dooley said when his uncle asked him if he couldn't just as easily do his homework at home, meaning where his uncle could call him on the home phone and know, when Dooley answered it, exactly where he was, whereas with a cell phone, well, who really knew where anyone was? “Yeah, I could do it at home. But I'm with Beth.”

Beth took the phone from him and, with a smile in her voice that outdid the one on her face, said, “Hi, Mr. McCormack.” She chatted with Dooley's uncle for a minute and laughed and said, yes, she bet it was hard to get used to, before finally handing the phone back to Dooley. “He wants to talk to you again,” she said.

Dooley put the phone to his ear.

“You gonna at least return those books?” his uncle said.

Jesus. Dooley said goodbye and dropped his phone into his pocket.

“You just bet what's hard to get used to?” he said to Beth.

“The thought of you in a library.”

Dooley started to say he didn't know what was so hard about that. His uncle knew he went to the library; where did he think he'd gotten those library books he kept nagging Dooley to return? But he was interrupted when his cell phone rang again. He checked the display. J. Eccles.

Jeffie.

What the—?

Jeffie was never good news. But Dooley took the call anyway because Jeffie was one of those people, if you ignored him, he'd keep calling and calling until you finally found yourself answering just so you could tell him to leave you the fuck alone. The first thing he said to Jeffie was, “How did you get this number?”

“I heard where you were working,” Jeffie said. “There's this girl there.” Dooley bet he was referring to Linelle. “I told her how long I've known you and some of the shit we did together—nothing you probably wouldn't tell her yourself.” Uh-huh, Dooley thought. “Hey, is she with someone, because she sounds—”

“What do you want?” Dooley said.

He listened to what Jeffie had to say and then thought about his request while Jeffie moaned about how important it was and about the shit he'd be in, clear up to his mouth, maybe even over his head; he'd be drowning in it, if Dooley didn't help him out.

“You owe me, Dooley,” Jeffie said. “If it hadn't been for me, you would have ended up just like Tyler.”

Just like Tyler?
No way, Dooley thought. But, yeah, he owed Jeffie. He owed him big-time.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, I get the picture. I'll see if I can get away.” Jeffie didn't like the if part. Well, too bad for him. “I'll do my best, but I can't guarantee it,” Dooley said and then held the phone away from his ear—when it came to bitching and moaning, Jeffie was a champion.

“Can't guarantee what?” Beth said when Dooley dropped his cell phone back into his pocket. “Who was that?”

“No one,” Dooley said. When she gave him a look— where had she heard that before?—he said, “Really, it's nothing.” There were some things that it was better she didn't know, especially if she was learning stuff from a guy named Nevin who drove a Jag.

“Oh,” she said. “Before I forget—I finally got my own cell phone.” She'd had a cell phone before, but her mother had paid for it and had got into the habit of borrowing it from time to time, which had led to a major screwup one time before Dooley realized what was going on. He'd punched in Beth's number, had assumed the hello was hers, and had started in being cute—he thought. It turned out the hello had come from Beth's mother, and she was not amused. “Here's the number.” She wrote it down on a scrap of paper she tore from her school agenda. He put it in his pocket.

Five hours later, Dooley was dancing from foot to foot and wishing he was still with Beth, partly because there was nothing better than being with her, partly because, if he was with her, he wouldn't be freezing his ass off down in this godforsaken ravine, and mostly (he hated to admit it) because if he was with her, it meant that Nevin couldn't be. His hands were buried in the pockets of his jean jacket and he was thinking he should have put on something warmer. It had been bright and sunny after school, but then the air had started to change. A sheet of cloud had rolled across the sky like a tarp across stadium turf, signaling fun over. In the past couple of hours, it had turned bitingly cold. The wind whipped away the protective layer of warmth that came off Dooley's body, leaving the dampness in the air to close in until he felt like he was encased in a film of ice. He looked around. Where the hell was Jeffie? On the phone, he'd told Dooley ten o'clock. It was twenty after already and Dooley was still waiting. And why had Jeffie insisted on this place? Why outdoors? Why not a nice, warm restaurant? Even a not-so-nice restaurant would have been fine, just so long as it was heated.