The Juvie Three (15 page)

Gecko is astonished.
That's
what this is about? Dating a rich guy's daughter? Not the fact that he's one of three juvenile fugitives at large in New York?

“Or I could call this fellow Healy, and you'll be back in Atchison before your next bowel movement, excuse my French. Sure you don't want a pear? They're fresh.”

He doesn't know!

The relief that they are not caught floods over Gecko. The big scandal is that August Fitzner's daughter is going out with a halfway-house kid. Nobody looks closely enough to notice that the halfway house itself is kaput, its leader gone, its occupants unsupervised and on the loose.

The relief gives way to a feeling of loss. In the months since Gecko awoke after his accident in the Infiniti, two good things have happened to him—Douglas Healy and Roxanne Fitzner. He's all but destroyed the first. And now he's being forced to give up the second.

He doesn't delude himself. Roxanne may not be his one true love for all time. He's only known her for a few weeks. But his life is not so filled with high points that she doesn't already feature in most of them.

And now that's gone.

“How am I going to tell her?” he manages.

“Smart kid like you, you'll think of something. Just so the father's name never comes up. Or mine. End it nicely, but end it.”

He stands and offers his hand, and Gecko shakes it. It's sticky with pear juice.

Gecko isn't sure how long he stays in the conference room after Delancey departs. By the time he gets back to history, the signing is over, and the teacher is unrolling a fresh Declaration of Independence for the next class.

She spies him in the doorway. He must look like the world has just ended. It has.

“Gecko, is everything okay?”

He flees.
Okay?
You have to go back a lot of years before that word is an accurate description of Gecko Fosse. The idea that he actually looked forward to the signing in history fills him with burning shame. How could he be so stupid as to believe that anything
normal
applies to him? Like a dumb class mini-party. Or having a girlfriend.

Briefly, he weighs the idea of dating Roxanne secretly behind her father's back. But the risk—not only for him, but for Arjay and Terence as well. There's too much at stake.

Fifth period is Gecko's lunch. His original plan was to visit the hospital. Now he doesn't want to go. If he doesn't see her, he won't have to break up with her. Then again, not seeing her is the same as being broken up anyway, right?

Since going out with Roxanne, he's been skipping lunch and grabbing snacks between classes—bananas, candy bars, whatever the cafeteria can't screw up. Today, for the first time in weeks, he selects a full lunch. It's his official acknowledgment that the relationship is really over—a paper plate of mac and cheese that looks like grubs smothered in motor oil. Not very appetizing, but still more appealing than the task Deputy Chief Delancey has set for him.

As he scans the big room for a seat, his eyes fall on a curious sight. One minute Diego is carrying his tray to a vacant table. The next he's vanished—now you see him, now you don't. Upon closer inspection, Gecko spots his lab partner on the floor amid the wreckage of his lunch, at the feet of the Goliath who tripped him.

It's been going on all semester, but to Gecko, who has just been pushed around by the second-ranking cop in town, the injustice is suddenly unbearable. Eyes shooting sparks, he storms over, hefts his plate of mac and cheese and pushes it in Goliath's face.

“Hey!”

The big kid shakes off the mess, staring in rage and disbelief. By the time Gecko hauls Diego to his feet, a whole pride of Goliaths has materialized behind the original, ready to do battle.

Gecko doesn't care. Ever since fate rescued him from the Atchison laundry room, he's been ahead of the game by one beating, so this will be nothing more than a leveling of his account. No way can these lunkheads dish out anything approaching what the welcoming committee in juvie is capable of.

He stands there, waiting for the punches to start flying, when he notices someone at his side. Terence wears his signature bored expression, but his body language says battle-ready, his posture ramrod straight and defiant.

“Got a problem?” he asks Goliath in a bland tone.

“I got no problem!” is the outraged reply. “Your
dead friend
is the one who's going to have a problem!” He swings at Gecko with a clenched fist, but his posse pulls him back, and the blow whizzes harmlessly in front of its target.

Goliath tears himself free. “What are you doing?”

“Let it go, man,” one of the cronies advises.

“Let it go? Did you see what he did?”

Goliath's buddies are reluctant to explain themselves in front of Gecko and Terence, but amid the whispered conversation are words like “juvie,” “gangbangers,” and “You want to get shot walking home?”

Gecko never could have imagined that the stigma of Social Services and Ms. Vaughn might actually come in handy one day.

Terence plucks a crumpled napkin off the table and offers it to Goliath. “You got noodles in your hair.”

Goliath's anger evaporates. He just wants to get out of there. He melts in with his friends, and the group beats a hasty retreat out of the cafeteria.

Diego lets out a tremulous breath. “Thanks.”

Gecko can only manage a weak nod, none too steady himself after their near miss. “Terence and me, we're not—you know—we're not what those guys think.”

“I know,” Diego agrees. “You're a real friend.”

“Cut me out of the lovefest,” Terence says irritably. “Hey, if I let a bunch of jocks tune up my dog, how's that make me look? Got to protect my cred.”

Gecko bites back an annoyed
I'm not your dog.
“Yeah, I wouldn't want to ruin your rep by getting killed,” he mumbles. “But thanks anyway.”

Besides, the true meaning of this incident has nothing to do with Terence or even Diego. Gecko's lunch—his one excuse for staying away from Yorkville Medical Center—is currently dripping out of a football player's helmet-hair.

Fate is sending him a message: find Roxanne and do what has to be done.

The familiar walk to the hospital seems endless and arduously uphill. Normally, he's so anxious to get there that his feet barely touch the pavement. Today there's little to look forward to.

At the seventh floor he heads straight for room 704, hoping for a long visit. Dr. Radnor is with John Doe, so Gecko hangs back at the door. Doctor and patient are huddled over a laptop computer.

“Get a grip.” Gecko feels a light kiss on the back of his neck, and Roxanne is at his side.

“What are they doing?” he asks her.

“Watching old news coverage of 9/11. Dr. Radnor's hoping it'll trigger memories of people in his life at that time.”

Karen, a nursing assistant, comes up behind them. “Roxanne, take Gecko to the laundry and bring back a load of linens. We're running short.”

Gecko nearly swallows his lungs. That has always been one of their prime make-out spots. Funny how laundry has become a symbol for the full range of human experience. Misery and dread in Atchison; bliss in the basement of Yorkville Medical Center. And now, amid the roar of industrial-strength washers, with the smell of bleach strong in the air, he has to push away the one person in his life who makes him happy.

Roxanne is setting up a time for them to meet at a movie theater on Saturday, when Gecko suddenly says, “I can't.”

“Oh, okay. How about Sunday?”

“No, I mean I can't. Ever.”

“What?” She's shocked. “Why not?”

Unable to look her in the eye, he focuses on a spot on the wall over her left shoulder. “Look, Roxanne. I can't do this anymore.”

“Go to
movies
?” Then she clues in. “You're
dumping
me?”

He doesn't trust his own voice.

She's upset, but mostly she's just bewildered. “What happened? Is it because of the boat? Because my dad has money?”

Gecko hardens his heart, trying to recapture his old not thinking. It doesn't work. She isn't Reuben, and this is no penny-ante heist. He's hurting her for no reason—at least none that he can give her, which might as well be the same thing.

“Fine.” She's speaking to herself as much as Gecko, her agitation spiraling. “This is no big deal! I'm glad it happened!”

“Rox, get a gr—” He stops himself just before it slips out.

“You bastard!” She wheels around and slams a box of powdered detergent into his chest, sending up a cloud of white dust. “Those words
meant
something to me, even if you were just getting your jollies! You can break up with me, but you've forfeited the right to those words from now on!”

She's making no sense, but he nods feebly, because he feels
that
bad. “I really didn't mean it like—”

It's not enough for Roxanne. “Don't talk to me! Don't even look at me! Get out of my hospital!”

And he goes, not even bothering to point out that she doesn't own Yorkville Medical Center. It's entirely possible that Daddy bought it for her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Terence slouches against one of the huge concrete supports of the elevated FDR Drive, just in from the East River. His hands are jammed in his pockets against the deepening cold of approaching winter. If Healy was still running things, the group leader would have gotten them winter coats. But there's no point in woulda, shoulda, coulda. Anyway, if tonight goes well, it won't be long before Terence can afford the warmest coat in New York. Mink, even.

He betrays no discomfort, though, or even the excitement that everything he's worked for is about to come through. It's all about attitude when dealing with a guy like DeAndre. Show any weakness and you're doomed.

DeAndre ambles onto the scene, fashionably late by half an hour. He's accompanied by four of his crew. Terence recognizes a couple of faces from school. Nobody's smiling, but that's part of the game. Terence isn't either.

“So what's the story?” Terence opens. “Are we doing business, or what?”

The razor-cut dollar sign stands out in stark contrast in the harsh glare of the streetlight.

“Don't know what you're talking about, yo,” DeAndre drawls. “I don't do business with anybody but my crew.”

“Yeah, right,” Terence says sarcastically. “I saw that when you jacked
my
iPods! Or maybe that doesn't count because I got stiffed on my own plan!”

DeAndre scowls. “You got a point, make it.”

“I put money in your pocket. I could put a lot more. I've earned a place with your crew.”

There's some discontented mumbling from the group, which DeAndre quells with a single look. To Terence he says, “You think this is some rich-boy fraternity where you learn the secret handshake and you're in?”

Terence permits himself a ghost of a smile. If DeAndre has allowed the conversation to get to this stage, he's already decided to let Terence in. The only question is what he wants in return.

“All right, no handshake. What's the cover charge?”

DeAndre nods approvingly. “Didn't I tell you he was sharp?”

The five lead Terence a few blocks north to where a group of homeless people huddle around a trash-can fire. On the river side of the roadway is a tiny park, barely a city block, with a children's playground and a fountain.

At first glance, the place is deserted. But on closer examination, Terence can see a lone bag lady snoozing on a bench. Her grocery cart stands guard beside her, filled with soda cans and other random junk.

“Meet Pauline,” DeAndre announces. “She's bugging so bad, even the homeless keep their distance.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Terence interrupts impatiently. “Life's cruel. So what?”

“So that's your initiation. Take the old girl, tune her up a little, load her in the cart, and dump her in the fountain.”

Terence grins appreciatively. “No problem. You want me to take her to City Hall and marry her before I put her in the drink?”

“Pay attention, yo,” DeAndre reproves. “She wears a ring on her left hand—says it's her high school ring from back in the day. Bring it to me after—proof the job is done.”

Terence's smirk disappears abruptly as he realizes DeAndre is serious. “What are you talking about, man? She's just a crazy old bag. Why would you want anybody to mess with her?”

The razor-cut boy's expression hardens. “Not so gangster now, huh? Think you've got a place in this crew if you're afraid to get your hands dirty?”

“I do what needs to be done,” Terence insists angrily. “Get me on a score, and you've never seen anybody hold his end up better. But this is for nothing! There's no green in it. Risk without reward, man—that's not business.”

“My business is to look out for my crew,” DeAndre snarls. “Can we trust you? Maybe, maybe not. But we trust you better if we've got something on you. And we'll know you're no cop.”

“You've already got something on me,” Terence reasons. “I took that iPod from you—receiving stolen goods, B felony. You don't need this.”

DeAndre is adamant. “I didn't come looking for you. You came looking for me.”

A sick feeling comes over Terence, and he struggles to maintain his bravado. From the moment he was old enough to realize that his father was a jerk with a mean streak, he's understood that the solution is to get with a solid crew. When you're down with the right people, you've got it all—respect, protection, money. Nobody messes with you, and when you want something, you call on your dogs to make it happen.

His mind revisits his very first day at Alma K. Walker—DeAndre, fencing cell phones in the can.

I thought DeAndre was that guy for me in New York.