Savage Art (A Chilling Suspense Novel) (17 page)

"Shoot," Ryan said, slumping into his seat.

"We'll get it next time," Jordan said, putting his arm around Ryan.

The game started up again, and Jordan leaned forward, watching the play.

"Dad? How come that guy is so short? I thought basketball players had to be tall," Ryan said, pointing to a player who was under six feet.

"Not all of them, stupid," his older brother chastised him.

"Don't you call your brother 'stupid,' " Jordan said, plucking Will's shirtsleeve. "You apologize."

"Sorry," Will murmured.

"That's okay, Dad. He calls me 'stupid' all the time," Ryan said.

He didn't like to hear Will's mouth getting bad. Angie's father swore too much around the boys. It was rubbing off on Will. They should be here, with him, not down in L.A. Damn if he hadn't missed his kids. Jordan pulled Ryan onto his lap and squeezed him.

Ryan squirmed, and Jordan tickled him. "Dad, stop!"

Jordan kissed his head and let him down.

Ryan jumped back into his seat, straightened his shirt, and then crossed his arms. "Dad, you can't be doing that. I'm too big."

Jordan laughed. "You're not too big until you're bigger than me."

Ryan looked up at his dad, his eyes wide at the thought. "When do you think I'll be bigger than you?"

Jordan looked at his six-year-old son and rubbed his head. "Hopefully not for a couple more years."

"The way they're growing out of their clothes, feels more like tomorrow," Angie said.

Jordan turned back and put his arm around his wife. "I wish you'd come back up here, baby."

"Jordan, I told you," Angie said, dropping her voice. "You've got to do something about that job. Will and Ry need a father. At least in L.A., they've got my dad. He plays ball with them, helps them with their homework."

"Angie, don't talk like that. I don't ignore my kids. I'm just trying to make a name for myself as a cop. It's long hours."

Angie nodded, her arms crossed in the stance that told him this was not a point she would negotiate.

"I agree. I work too much. But, I promise I'll spend more time with the family."

"You could start by cutting out the damn card games."

Thursday night cards with the boys was practically his church. It was the only time he got to talk about cases and the stresses of the job. He needed that.

Angie clucked her tongue at him. "You talk about wanting us back, but you aren't even willing to make the smallest sacrifice."

Jordan sighed, his eyes on the game but his mind on everything but. "Of course I want you back. If you want me to quit the card game, I'll quit it. Hell, I'll quit the force if that's what you want."

She laid her hand on his thigh. "I don't want that."

Jordan met her gaze. "Well, I would."

Angie smiled. "Come on, baby, let's enjoy the weekend."

He wondered if that was possible. Forcing his thoughts from meandering to the job, he wrapped his arm around Ryan and leaned over him to touch Will's shoulder. "What do you think, Will?"

"I think that guy is a gangster."

Jordan nodded, focusing on the player with the braids. "Probably."

"Why does he need to be a gangster, Dad?" Ryan asked. "Doesn't he make enough money playing basketball?"

Will scoffed. "Millions of dollars."

Ryan turned to his brother in awe. "Really?"

"Yep. All of them make that much," Will added.

"Is that true, Dad?"

Jordan nodded. "Probably."

"Then, how come he's a gangster?"

"I don't think he's really a gangster, Ry. I just think he likes to dress and act that way."

"There's a kid like that in school," Will said. "Got the braids and everything. Thinks he's so fucking tough."

Jordan grabbed Will's arm. "Watch your tongue."

Will shrugged him off. "He does."

Jordan tossed a look at Angie.

"Some kid's been giving him a hard time at school," she explained.

"What do you mean, a hard time?" he pressed, thinking of his own childhood.

"Just regular kid stuff, Jordan," Angie said.

"You talked to the teacher?"

She nodded. "It's just the class bully."

"Sounds like more than just a bully to me."

Angie shook her head. "He's at the best school in the area."

Jordan looked at his wife. "No school's one hundred percent these days."

Angie stared straight ahead. "This one is."

Jordan remembered being in the fifth grade. That was about the time his second oldest brother was killed.

"What's going on at school, Will?"

Will swung his right hand out and down like the cult figures in recent movies. "He's all over my shit."

Steaming, Jordan stood this time and took Will by the arm. "Let's go."

Will tried to shake his father off, but Jordan just gripped tighter, dragging the boy toward the aisle.

"You and I are going to talk."

"I have to go to the bathroom," Ryan called after them.

"Take Ry, too," Angie said, pushing their younger son after them.

Jordan grabbed Ryan's hand with his free one and led both boys toward the lobby.

People milled through the halls, stopping for food and beers or heading into the bathrooms. Jordan remembered Lakers games as a kid. No one would leave in the middle of a play for food, or anything else.

Looking down the hall, he spotted the sign for the men's rest room and walked to it, still holding on to both boys.

"You want me to go with you?" he asked Ryan.

Ryan shook his head and went into the bathroom.

"We'll be right here, Ry," Jordan said, wondering if he shouldn't go in there with Ryan. There was no way for Ryan to come out except past him. He'd be fine. Jordan took Will's arm and pulled him to the side.

Will shook him off and stared at the people passing.

"You listen here, Will. I won't have you talking like some punk."

"All the kids talk like that," Will refuted without looking at his father.

Jordan shook him, forcing Will's gaze to meet his own. "Do I talk like that?"

Will shook his head.

"That's right. Does your mom?"

"No."

"Then you won't, either."

"It's different, Dad. You don't understand." Will started to walk away.

Jordan took two steps and grabbed his son, spinning him around. Wasn't Will too young for this? He'd only been living in L.A. for a month, but already it felt like he'd been away for a year. "How's it different? Because they're doing it, means you gotta? You gonna follow the other kids, do what they do?"

Will shrugged.

"One kid decides to smoke, you gonna smoke, too?"

Will rolled his eyes. "No."

"Some kid decides to steal something, you gonna steal something?"

"I don't mean like that."

"You're talking like you do. You've got to talk like the other kids. Pretty soon you'll be smoking like they do, drinking if they do, stealing things. I'll tell you what happens to the kids that follow other kids, Will. They end up in jail or dead 'cause they can't think for themselves. Is that what you want?"

"No one's going to kill me. And I'm not going to go to jail because I haven't done anything bad. Dad, you're a cop. You aren't supposed to understand."

Jordan felt his fear harden into anger. He grabbed his son's arm and pulled him close. "I'll tell you something, Will, and then maybe you'll understand. You know your Mema?"

"Grandma Grays?"

He nodded.

"What about her?"

"She had six children. Six, you hear me?"

Will nodded, looking confused.

"I had four older brothers," Jordan continued.

"What happened?"

"I'm getting there. When I was in fifth grade—just about your age, my brother was shot in the head. You know why?"

Will's eyes widened as he shook his head.

"Tyler was in the tenth grade, running with the rough kids. Almost all the kids were rough in Compton, where I grew up. But Tyler had been running with the worst of them, the ones who settled their disagreements with guns." Jordan remembered the gun problems were just starting then—in the 60s. He could only imagine how much worse it was now. "And they disagreed a lot," he continued, "over girls, over drugs, over turf.

"Tyler had started a fight and ended up with a bullet to the head. He was killed because he followed the other kids. He did what he thought was cool. He smoked and stole things and carried a gun. And he got shot in the head."

Will stood perfectly still.

"And six months later, another brother was killed. He was shot, too." Jordan remembered it like it was yesterday. Another bullet, this one to the heart. That had been enough for Jordan's parents to finally get out of L.A. County. Damn if he was going to let something like that happen to his kids.

Will blinked twice, his eyes suddenly glassy. "How come you didn't tell me?"

"Because I didn't want you to know about the bad things that happened to kids. I wanted you to grow up different from how I did. You understand?"

Will nodded, and Jordan pulled him close. "You don't go following those other kids around. They egg you on, call you a sissy or whatever, you ignore them, you hear me?" He could feel Will nod against his shoulder. "I won't let anything happen to you, Will."

"I miss you, Dad."

Jordan tightened his arms around Will, squeezing his eyes closed. "I miss you, too, Will. Man, I miss you so much it hurts."

Will pulled away and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I don't like living in L.A. I want to come back to school here. I like it better."

Jordan ran his hands over Will's cheeks. "I know. We'll get you back up here, I promise."

"Why are you and Mom fighting?"

Jordan sighed, wishing he had an easy answer for that one. All he wanted was to have Angie, Will, and Ryan back home. Ryan. Jordan stood up and looked around. "Where's your brother?"

"Probably still in the bathroom. He takes forever," Will said.

Jordan took Will's hand and entered the bathroom. "Ryan?" he called, looking down the row of stalls.

No one answered.

"Ryan?" he repeated, a little louder.

"Ryan!" Will yelled.

The ache of fear gripped Jordan's stomach in a tight fist. "Ryan!" he called again, looking under stalls for a pair of short legs.

The doors opened one by one, and Jordan watched for Ryan to appear. Jordan started to push the unoccupied doors open, checking for his son. "Check the open ones, Will."

"I don't see him, Dad," Will said, his voice shaking.

"Keep looking." Jordan checked all the stalls twice and spun around the room. How could he have missed Ryan? The boys knew better than to walk away from him. He'd told them about the dangers. Jesus Christ, where had he gone?

"Where's Ryan, Dad?" Will's eyes were wide with fear. It was exactly how Jordan felt.

"I don't know, Will. We're going to find him. Come on." Holding tightly to Will's fist, Jordan ran out of the bathroom and looked down the corridor in both directions. "Ryan!" he called.

"Ryan!" Will called, too.

Jordan started to run to his left, searching over the heads for Ryan. Jordan couldn't even remember what his own son was wearing. What was wrong with him? "What's he wearing, Will?"

"He's got jeans on and my old gray Bulls sweatshirt—the one with the red bull on it."

"Okay, good. Keep your eyes open for the red bull."

"Is that him?" Will pointed through the crowd, and Jordan's heart shifted in his chest. Please let it be Ryan, he thought.

They chased through the crowd, and Jordan saw a little boy in a gray sweatshirt and jeans. "Ryan!" he screamed.

The little boy looked back, and his face was like a blow to the gut.

"That's not him."

Jordan shook his head. "Come on, Ryan. Where the hell are you?"

Will started to cry, and Jordan picked him up. "Come on. Be strong, Will. We're going to find him. It's going to be okay." But dread weighed on his shoulders like wet cement. Someone had taken his child. Someone had stolen Ryan because he wasn't paying close enough attention. He'd told Angie that the boys would be better off with their father. But he'd been wrong. He'd lost Ryan.

Jordan hugged Will to him and swung around, looking back in the other direction. He spotted a security guard and raced toward him. Flashing his badge, Jordan said, "I'm an inspector with the San Francisco Police Department. I'm looking for my son. His name's Ryan Gray. He's six, dressed in a gray Chicago Bulls sweatshirt and jeans." He spoke in the calmest voice possible, knowing from experience that a hysterical parent did nothing to assist in the search of a missing child.