Gun Games (11 page)

“I dunno. But it is the rule.”

“You know I came to Coffee Bean looking for you.”

“You did not.”

“I did so.” Gabe was offended. “I came on Tuesday and Thursday.”

Yasmine said, “I came on Monday and Wednesday.”

“Ooh, psych!” He took her hand and started running. “If you would have texted me, I would have met you. I mean I can’t exactly call you.”

“Why on earth would I assume that you’d want to meet me?”

“Why wouldn’t you assume it? I asked you to the concert.”

“I thought you were just being nice. You said it wasn’t a date.”

He stopped and grinned. “I lied.”

They arrived just as the lights were dimming . . . again. The first half of the concert was fine, but he was constantly aware of Yasmine’s presence, her hand in his, setting off motion below his waist. It wasn’t until Paul took the stage that Gabe was finally able to relax and lose himself in the music. When the concert was finally over and the lights came up, Gabe was calmer.

“He did a good job.”

“You approve?”

“I do.” He turned to her. “What’d you think?”

“I really enjoyed the piece. I think I like Saint-Saëns. He composes with a common theme or voice or whatever you call it. He’s not all over the place like some composers.”

“Good call.” Gabe eyed her face and was dying to kiss her, but he didn’t want to get aroused. It would be a big faux pas to greet Paul with a woody. “I gotta go show my face. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

He led her backstage where Paul was talking to a few of his classmates and a young woman named Anna Benton who Gabe knew well from previous piano competitions. Anna was eighteen with long blond hair, bright blue eyes, and legs that wouldn’t quit. As usual, she was blabbing a mile a minute to whoever was listening. Paul and Gabe exchanged a guy hug.

“Excellente!”

“Yeah, it worked out.”

“Did a great job.”

Paul nodded. “Not bad. Thanks for coming.”

“Anytime.” Yasmine was hiding behind his back. Gabe pushed her forward. “This is my friend, Yasmine.”

“Hi, there,” Paul said.

“You were terrific,” Yasmine whispered.

Anna butted in and gave Gabe a bear hug along with a kiss on the mouth. “Well, hello there, Whitman, have you been living in a cave?”

“It hasn’t been that long—”

“You weren’t at Atlanta, you weren’t at Paris, you weren’t at Brussels . . . were you at Chicago? No, you weren’t at Chicago either.”

“I had a few issues last year,” Gabe said. “I’m coming to Budapest.”

“For Liszt in Junior competition?”

“Yes, Liszt; no to Junior. I’m Adult now.”

“You’re fifteen? Fuck!” She glared at him. “When the fuck did you turn fifteen?”

“Like seven months ag—”

“Fuck!” Anna said. “Shit! You had to choose Budapest to turn fifteen? Fuck!”

“First you yell at me for not coming, and then when I say I’m coming—”

“Yeah, you’re going against me. Fuck!”

“Maybe I’ll choke.”

“Why would you choke? You never choke. You’re the antichoke. And now that you’re working with Nicholas Mark, you must be really good.”

“He is really good,” Paul told her.

“Well, that’s just terrific! Just terrific! Fuck!”

“I love you, too, Anna.” Again, Yasmine was ducking behind him. Gabe edged her out until she was standing by his side. “This is my friend, Yasmine.”

“Hi.” She gave Yasmine a once-over and returned her eyes to Gabe. “It’s not that I don’t love you, Gabriel. I do love you. But I hate you. Fuck!”

Paul said, “You have time for dinner, Whitman?”

Gabe looked at Yasmine who seemed terribly out of place. He knew the feeling. “Nah, I’ve got some shit I’ve gotta do for Nick.”

“Nick the prick.”

“Not as big a prick as you are,” Anna said to Gabe.

“Nick is fine except when he isn’t.” To Paul, Gabe said. “I’ll be on campus on Tuesday. Can you meet for lunch?”

“I think that would work.”

Gabe said, “I’ll text you.” He looked at Anna. “Bye, darling.”

“Just shut the fuck up!”

“I love you, too.”

They hugged, and Gabe led Yasmine into daylight. They walked a few minutes in silence. Then Yasmine said, “I think she didn’t like me.”

“Who?”

“Your friend Anna.”

“Anna always swears.”

“No, she was giving me the stink-eye.”

“No, she wasn’t. She was probably scoping you out. She’s a lesbian.”

“She’s a
lesbian
?”

“Yep.”

“How can that be? She’s beautiful!”

“Why can’t lesbians be beautiful?”

“I mean they can but . . . what a waste!”

“You’re sounding like the guys. I like Anna, but she’s a handful. I was never attracted to her even before I knew she was gay.”

But Yasmine’s mind was elsewhere. “If I were that beautiful, I’d . . .”

Gabe waited for her to continue.

How could she explain it to him? She loved her culture. She truly, truly, truly loved being Persian. But sometimes, it was hard to be a minority, really a minority within a minority because most of the Jewish kids she knew were white. She knew what their parents said about the Persians: that they were clannish, that they were aloof, that they were always cheap, that they were cheaters, that they were untrustworthy. It was all a stereotype. Besides if you had to run away from your country with just the clothes on your back, you might be a little cautious also. Her father was a wonderful, honest man. Her mom wasn’t aloof, but she was shy. It was terribly hard having to justify who you are in your mind. Sometimes, it would be nice to just fit. “Nothing. Never mind.”

Gabe kissed her gently on the mouth. “You know what’s really sexy?”

“What?”

He grinned. “When a girl shows up
on time
.” He grabbed her hand and started running to the bus stop. They made it right as the bus was pulling up. Yasmine started toward the back like the first time, but Gabe pulled her arm.

“Go in here. Take the window seat.”

“Okay—”

“Put your head down.”

“What?”

“Just do it. Don’t talk.” He swung around until most of his body was blocking hers. Two stops later, a group of four gangbangers came up from the back, pushing and shoving each other. When they got to the exit doors, one of them spied Yasmine and his eyes went wide.

Gabe took out his crucifix and spoke to the cholo in Spanish—not that he was fluent, but he could make himself understood. The guy answered back, his voice somber. A moment later, the bangers were gone. Gabe turned around, slumped in his seat, and blew out air. “I keep forgetting what area we’re in.”

Yasmine said, “What was that all about?”

“It was about someone as pretty as you being dog meat to these guys.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I told him I was a priest and that your brother was just shot. That you and I were going to the hospital to deliver him last rites. He sends his sympathies.”

Yasmine stared at him. “He believed that you were a priest?”

“Apparently.” Gabe kissed his crucifix and tucked it back into his shirt. “It was my grandmother’s who gave it to my father who gave it to my mother who gave it to me.”

“When did you learn to speak Spanish?”

“I’ve been taking lessons from the lieutenant. I don’t speak like a native, but I suppose that made me more convincing.”

“I can’t believe they believed that you were a priest.”

“It’s all attitude, Yasmine. Anytime I’m in a tight spot, I channel my dad and usually I do just fine.”

“Isn’t there anything you can’t do?”

“I can’t draw a straight line and I can’t speak Farsi.” He threw his arm around her shoulders. “Nothing I can do about the first one, but maybe you can help with the second.”

“Why do you want to learn Farsi?”

“So when you talk to Ariella or your parents, I can eavesdrop.” He smiled, then said, “Seriously, I like languages.”

“I’ll teach you Farsi. What do I get in return?”

Gabe wanted to grin, but kept himself in check. “I’m sure . . . if I give it some thought . . . I can teach you a thing or two.”

“Like piano?” She shook her head. “Forget it. It’s a lost cause.”

Man, she was naive, didn’t even recognize a come-on. But she sure could kiss. He said, “Maybe not piano, but like the cliché goes, I bet we could make some beautiful music together.”

She blushed and turned her head to look out the window. He’d grown up with fast-tracked girls. This one was definitely a throwback to another age. “If I flirt with you, don’t get all nervous. I like you, but I know how to behave, okay?”

She nodded. A slow smile spread across her mouth. “Don’t behave
too
good.”

Gabe grinned and threw his arm around her delicate shoulders. “Your words are music to my ears.”

Chapter Eleven

A
n uneventful weekend gave way to a hellish week, as if everyone saved their felonious activities for working hours. By four-thirty Tuesday afternoon, Decker was finally ready for a lunch break when Marge came into the office, a black purse slouched over her shoulder, keys in hand. She said, “Off to see Kevin Stanger.”

“Who?”

“The bullied boy who transferred out of Bell and Wakefield. Why I’m bothering is another question. First of all, the tox came back on Gregory Hesse. None of the regular drugs were in his system. He did have a .05 BAL, which for a kid his size is probably a few beers.”

“Maybe he was steeling himself to do the deed.”

“Could be,” Marge said. “But the fact remains that he shot himself and he wasn’t doped up to the point where he didn’t know what he was doing.”

“We all agree it was suicide. The question is why?”

“A question we may never answer because it seems that Wendy Hesse had a change of heart. She hasn’t called back since my visit last Thursday. Has she called you?”

Decker shook his head no. “Maybe we shouldn’t bother with Kevin Stanger.”

“The kid agreed to talk to us, Pete. The police would look like idiots if I said never mind.”

“I’m not too busy right now. Want company?”

“You sure? I know you’re busy.”

Decker picked up his jacket. “I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve been here since six and have yet to see daylight.”

“You’d better hurry. The sun is going down fast.”

“Yeah, even an inanimate star knows when to call it quits.”

B
y his stature alone, Kevin Stanger didn’t look like the type of kid that could be easily bullied. He was around five ten, one fifty, with a fair amount of muscle across his back. His face told a different story. It was round and weak chinned with cheeks spangled with acne. He wore braces. His hair was unruly, and his brown eyes were hooded under thick brows. Even before hello, his expression exhibited a defeatist attitude.

The boy led them into the living room and seated them on the sofa. Then he glanced out the glass picture window and sat down, his leg shaking a mile a minute. He said, “We have to make it quick. My mom’ll be home at six.”

Marge’s watch read ten after five. She said, “You told me your mom was okay with this.”

“Well, kinda. She didn’t say no.” Kevin wore a sweatshirt and a pair of pajama pants. His face was flushed. “I wasn’t feeling well so I decided to skip my last two classes. I mean, I told one of the school’s VPs, Mrs. Holloway. She said I could go home if it was okay with my mom. So I pretended to call my mom and then told Mrs. Holloway it was okay with mom. I mean, I don’t know that it’s not okay with my mom because I didn’t call her. ’Cause I wanted to talk to you guys and I didn’t want to ask. Sometimes it’s easier to leave parents out of it.”

Decker nodded and said, “What can you tell me about Greg?”

“He was a good guy.”

“Nobody seemed to have had a problem with him,” Marge said.

“Yeah, I thought Greg held his own.” He scratched his head. “Maybe not. If he was going through hard times, I wish he told me. He never said anything.”

“Could you talk about what you went through?” Decker asked.

“It’s hard to talk about.”

“Do the best you can,” Marge told him.

“I thought I could ride it out, but after a year of it, I had enough. My mom wanted to go to the administration, but I put my foot down. We still live in the area.”

“What’d they do to you?”

“It’s not the physical stuff.” Kevin looked up. “I mean they knock you around and everything, but that wasn’t the bad part. It was the constant harassment.”

“Joey Reinhart called it crowding.” Decker took out his notepad.

“Yeah, they’d crowd you in school—the girls were worse than the guys because the girls would do things and when you’d, like, respond, they laughed at you, you know.”

Marge took out a notebook. “If it’s not too much for you, could you go into detail?”

“Well, they’d like grope you and try to get you . . . you know, aroused and then if you did react, they’d laugh and call you names . . .” He buried his red face in his hands. “Even so, I thought I could handle that. It’s when they started crowding you out of school, it became a little scary. No one was around to help, you know?”

“What’d they do?”

“They’d surround you . . . like a pack of wolves. The last straw was when one of them pulled a gun on me and stuck it into my balls. I . . .” Kevin bit his lip. “I pissed in my pants. I knew after that I was never going back.”

“Who was the kid?” Decker asked.

“I don’t even remember.”

“Yes, you do.”

Kevin said, “I remember which dudes crowded me, but I don’t remember who stuck the gun in my crotch. I blocked it out.”

“Who was in the group?” Decker said.

“Like names?”

“Like names.”

“You know if you started to question them, I’d deny it.”

Decker said, “I suppose if I were gung-ho enough, I could go into the school and start pulling out guys and start questioning them, because what you’ve described is aggravated assault. But I’m not going to do that because the incident happened months ago and you’re not going to be reliable. But I do want some names for my files. So give me names.”

Kevin said, “It’s like a whole stratified thing with the don at the top doing orders and his capos, like, carrying them out.”

“Kevin,” Decker said. “Who was there when the gun was pulled?”

Kevin looked at the ceiling. “I remember Kyle Kerkin was there.”

“Who else?” Marge said. “Give us some names.”

“Stance O’Brien, Nate Asaroff, JJ Little, Jarrod Lovelace—that’s the core group of capos. The don is a guy named Dylan Lashay. But he wasn’t there that day.”

“The don?” Marge said. “Capos. Do these boys fashion themselves after the Mafia?”

“Yeah.” Kevin nodded. “The B and W Mafia.”

“Great,” Decker said. “Tell me about Dylan Lashay, the leader.”

“I think he got in early decision to Yale.”

“Well, that’s just super,” Decker said.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Kevin said. “He’s got all the stats, you know. The high SAT, all the extracurriculars. He’s captain of model UN, captain of the football team, he directs all the school plays, he’s got all the girls; and if life isn’t fair enough, he’s really rich. His stepdad is, like, head of an oil company. He’s got everything that every kid wants, so he has to find different ways to get his kicks.”

“Does the school know about him and his posse?”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Dylan’s the poster boy for B and W.”

“So why do you think the group singled you out?” Marge asked him.

“I dunno. I mean, I tried to keep a low profile . . . we all did—Greg and Joey and Mikey and Brandon and Josh and Beezel. But I was the one with the target on my butt.” He appeared thoughtful. “Greg tutored some of the guys. I think that bought him a pass.”

“Did he tutor Dylan?”

“Dylan was pretty smart. I wouldn’t think he’d need much tutoring. Anyway, this is all beside the point.”

“Why’s that?” Marge asked.

“Because that’s not why I called you guys back.” A pause. “Is it okay that I called you, you guys?”

“It’s fine, Kevin,” Marge said. “What do you want to tell us?”

“Greg kept in touch . . . he’d call me every couple of weeks to find out how I was doing. Anyway, about two months ago, he called me up, like, all excited.”

Marge said, “About what?”

Kevin leaned forward. “This is the deal. Last year, Greg and I were in Journalism with Mr. Hinton. He was kind of a boring teacher, but he’s also administrative head of the school paper. Mr. Hinton was really hot on investigative journalism. He told us a great detail about the Nixon years and Woodward and Bernstein and a guy named Sore Throat and . . . Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“We do,” Marge said. “It’s Deep Throat.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Anyway, Mr. Hinton bored me to tears, but that whole thing got Greg very excited. I thought he was gonna work on the paper. But when I asked him about it at the beginning of the year, he said he wasn’t interested. Then I transferred out because tenth grade was becoming a repeat of ninth grade, only worse. So I was real surprised when Greg called me up and said that he had some news that was going to turn B and W on top of its head.”

“Go on,” Decker encouraged him.

“So I asked him what the news was, and Greg said he couldn’t tell me. And then he said not to tell anyone, not even Joey Reinhart who is his best friend. And the only reason he told me is because I’m not in the school anymore.”

Marge and Decker waited for Kevin to continue. After a few moments of silence, the boy got to the point. He said, “The next time I talked to Greg, I asked about the
big story
again. And he said he still couldn’t talk about it. But he definitely sounded less excited than the first time, like things weren’t going so well. And I asked him if he was okay, and he said he was great. But something was off. So I tried to press him, but he kept insisting that he was great, only he was working hard and a lot more tired than usual.”

He stopped talking.

“That’s it.”

“He never told you any more?” Marge asked.

“Nope. I don’t know anything more than what I just told you. But I thought I’d tell you because you never know what’s important. So . . . that’s it.”

Decker said, “He didn’t give you
any
idea as to what he was working on?”

“Nope. I’d tell you if I knew.”

Marge said, “Do you know if he was working on the story with anyone else?”

“It never got that far.” The boy looked at his watch. “My mom’s gonna be home soon. I’d appreciate it if you, like . . .”

Decker stood. Both he and Marge gave Kevin their cards. “If you think of anything else, feel free to call.”

“I will.” Kevin stood up and opened the door. “It’s not so hard to understand . . . what Greg did. There were times back in B and W when I thought about doing the exact same thing. All I can say is I’m happy that I didn’t have a gun close by.”

T
hey decided to meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays at six in the morning since Gabe had to wake up early anyway to catch the bus to SC.

Monday for him was torture. They texted each other about a billion times.

Tuesday turned out to be just as torturous but in a different way. They met for coffee and they talked, which was nice and all that, but they couldn’t be physical except maybe hold hands under the table and give each other’s leg a quick squeeze. So the space between them, although inches in reality, felt like miles. After she left for school, Gabe felt frustrated and aroused and had to sit on the damn bus for an hour plus with all the other L.A. castoffs.

His lessons went well. Nick commented on it . . . that he was playing with more passion. He also told Gabe that it was time for him to start playing gigs.

I arranged for someone to come hear you. You’ve got to start soon. You’re not that young anymore.

A has-been by fifteen.

Who’s the guy?

A very well-known agent. He deals with all the summer chamber music festivals. That’s as good a start as any to get your feet wet. He’ll be here on Thursday. I want you at the university by eight in the morning, well fed and well rested. Got it?

Got it.

He came home at six in the afternoon, hungry and pissed. There was nothing in the fridge. Rina came into the kitchen and saw him foraging in the cupboards.

“There’s not a whole lot to eat,” she told him.

“I can see that.”

Rina said, “I’m meeting Peter at the deli. Want to come?”

“I’m tired,” Gabe told her.

“I’ll bring you something home.”

“I’m tired but I’m hungry.” Gabe thought a moment. “Can I drive?”

“If you’re not too tired, yes.”

“Can we take the Porsche?”

“No.”

Gabe made a face. “Okay. I’ll come. I’m starved.”

“Let’s go.” She picked up her purse and extracted the keys. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Like ten in the morning.”

“The last time the lieutenant ate was at six in the morning,” Rina told him. “Dealing with two hungry males is not my idea of a good time.”

“I’ll try to behave myself.”

“I hold no great hope for either of you.” She tossed him the keys. “But . . . at least you’re both good-looking.”