Gun Games (15 page)

He pulled the sheet from the printer and gave it to Oliver.

“It’s coming back to me. Greg was a very good writer. But he never signed up to join the paper. I don’t know why.”

Marge said, “Were there conflicts with other students?”

“I don’t recall that.”

“Who’s the student editor of the paper?”

“We have a junior editor and a senior editor.”

Marge took out her notebook. “Could I have the names?”

“I can give you the names because you could find that out easily enough. But no one is going to give you permission to talk to these kids without their parents.”

“Point taken,” Marge said.

“Junior editor is Heddy Kramer; the senior editor is Kyle Kerkin.”

“Kyle Kerkin,” Marge said. “He’s a friend of Dylan Lashay, isn’t he?”

Hinton paused. “Why are you asking me irrelevant questions?”

“Lashay’s name keeps popping up when we talk about the suicides,” Oliver said.

Marge switched topics before Hinton could respond. “Heddy Kramer was a good friend of Myra Gelb. We know that from Myra’s brother, Eric.” She held up a finger. “You know, Myra was an excellent artist. And with one of her good friends editing the
Tattler
. . . Do you know if Myra ever did work on the paper as a staff artist?”

“She wasn’t on staff, but she did some freelance. Cartooning, I believe.”

Oliver said, “Maybe Myra met Gregory through the paper.”

Hinton shook his head. “I wouldn’t think so. Neither was a regular contributor.”

Oliver said. “Myra Gelb didn’t like Dylan Lashay much. She drew a few derogatory caricatures of him.”

Hinton glared at him. “You know, the police, like journalists, should be impartial when conducting an interview. It’s clear to me that you two have an agenda. I don’t know what your investigation has to do with Dylan Lashay and frankly, I don’t care. I think we’re done.”

“Exactly what Dr. Punsche said when he didn’t like our questions,” Oliver said.

Marge got up. “Thank you for your time and help.”

“I hope I didn’t help you at all,” Hinton said.

Oliver smiled. “Sometimes it’s what you don’t say that helps us more than what you do say.”

Chapter Sixteen

D
ecker said, “Myra Gelb’s gun came back as stolen.”

Oliver said, “Why am I not surprised.”

He and Marge were in the Loo’s office. She was standing, he was sitting across from Decker’s desk. It was three in the afternoon.

Marge said, “How long ago?”

“A year.”

“Who was it pilfered from?”

“Lisbeth and Ramon Holly.” Decker handed Oliver the address and phone number. “They live in the area. Give them a call and find out the details.”

“I’ll set something up.” He walked out of the office.

To Marge, Decker said, “So what’s going on?”

“We’ve got bits and pieces about the two kids but nothing that you can sink your teeth into. Plus, I don’t think the school likes us that much. Not nearly as much as they like Dylan Lashay.” She recapped the morning to the boss. “Myra and Greg did some freelance work on the paper, but we still don’t have anything to tie them together.”

“Is Heddy Kramer the Heddy from Myra’s contact list on her phone?” Decker asked.

“Yes. She’s also the junior editor.” Marge shrugged. “Maybe she was a contact point between the two kids. The journalism teacher doesn’t remember them knowing each other, but he wasn’t helpful, especially after we mentioned Dylan Lashay’s name.”

“Dylan the Mafia don.”

“His parents must have made the school an offer they couldn’t refuse.”

Decker smiled.

Marge said, “It’s possible that Myra and Greg met through the paper. Maybe they started talking about some unsavory things that were going on in the school. Neither one was an outcast, but they certainly weren’t in the popular crowd.” A pause. “Or maybe a suicide is just a suicide.”

“What intrigues me is that both guns were stolen. Gregory Hesse is puzzling enough. Why would Myra Gelb have a stolen gun?”

“Beats me,” Marge said. “I can interview Heddy Kramer if you want?”

Decker thought a moment. “Myra’s memorial service is tomorrow at eleven. Let’s wait until that’s over before you talk to Heddy or any of Myra’s other friends. The shock needs to wear off before they can talk coherently.”

“I’ll try to set something up for next week.”

Oliver came back. “No one’s home at the Hollys. I left a message.”

Marge said, “Myra’s funeral is tomorrow afternoon. I’m going to set up an interview with the friends early next week.”

“Try to talk to the Hollys sooner than that,” Decker said. “If you can’t get them on Friday, do it over the weekend.”

Marge turned to Oliver. “I’m okay this weekend. What about you?”

Oliver said, “You know my number, sweetheart. Call me anytime.”

A
t 6:30 in the morning, Gabe sat at the bus stop, head in hand, cursing the hour and the singing birds whose current cacophony was giving him a headache. He knew that the upcoming audition was important to his future, but his mind was elsewhere, and his focus was scattered. If he was going to get up this early, at least he should be spending time with Yasmine. They saw each other on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday mornings (they had up the count by one more day) and it pissed him off that he had to miss seeing her even though he knew that Nick had worked hard to set this thing up. He continued to mope over the situation, in his own world, so he vaguely noticed a figure walking by. He didn’t even hear the voice until she was right on top of him.

“Chris?”

Gabe looked up.

The girl was truly gorgeous: long blond hair and silky blue eyes, tall and leggy. Her boobs were big and perfect, probably from surgery even though she was young. Surgery or not, it didn’t matter. She was the perfect ten.

His thoughts had been concentrated on Yasmine, so it took him a while to realize that she was addressing him. He started to say that she had made a mistake, but then it clicked who she was.

“Do you remember me?” She flashed a blinding white smile.

“ ’Course,” he said. “You were one of the girls with Dylan.”

She sat down next to him on the bench. “Dylan’s an asshole.”

That was definitely true. Gabe said, “If he’s an asshole, why do you hang with him?”

She cocked her head to the side. “He has some . . . hidden attributes.”

Flirtatious little wench. Gabe laughed. “Good for Dylan.”

“I’m sorry if he was a jerk to you,” she said.

“He was irrelevant to me.”

“He was impressed with you. I could tell.”

Gabe shrugged it off.

“You sure know a lot about guns.”

“My dad collects guns.” On the sly. The man still technically had a record. Not that any law had ever stopped any felon from owning guns. “Frankly, I’d rather he collect cars or guitars—something less lethal.”

“Is your father really a pimp?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, that’s pretty . . . weird.”

“I ain’t gonna lie. It is weird when I think about it. So I don’t think about it.” He turned to her. “What are you doing out so early?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“You go first.”

She opened her purse and showed him a baggy filled with vegetative matter.

“Ah . . . stuff any good?”

She regarded his face. “We could find out together. I live six blocks from here.”

Gabe let out a small laugh. “You have very liberal parents.”

“I have workaholic parents who have left for the day.”

“Ah . . .” He studied her face and it all came back to him. He knew the type backward and forward. In New York, there was always a party every Friday and Saturday night if you were in the right crowd. And being that he was Chris Donatti’s son, he was always in the right crowd. Even though he was a year younger because he had skipped a grade, the guys accepted him. He was labeled as the smart, talented one who knew how to keep his mouth shut when shit went down. And because he was tall and good-looking enough, the older girls also accepted him, too.

It was same old, same old. You go up to a room, take a couple of hits, and within ten minutes the girl was going down on you. But that wasn’t what he wanted now. Well, not the going down part. He would have loved a blow job, but not from this weirdo stranger, as stunning as she was. He could hear his father’s voice calling him an idiot. And maybe he was an idiot. Because it scared him sometimes, that he was so obsessed with a skinny little virgin with small boobs and a very big personality. He couldn’t shake Yasmine from his mind. He kept picturing her naked, which proved to be embarrassing because when he did it, he always got aroused.

Just thinking about her for a couple of seconds and he was already semierect. The blonde was looking at his groin. She took the discernible shape in his pants as a sign of interest. “I take it that’s a go?”

“I can’t.” Gabe threw up his hands. “I’m meeting my bandmates. We have an audition at a studio for a major record company at eight in the morning, and they’ll kill me if I’m late.”

“It’s only six-fifty.”

“It takes a while to go by bus.”

“You don’t have a car?” she asked.

“I don’t have a license,” he said. “I’m fifteen.”

She was taken aback. “Really?”

“Really.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t lie about that.”

She looked him up and down. “Why aren’t you in school?”

“I think I told you . . . or maybe I told Dylan. I’m homeschooled. It’s great because it gives me lots of flexibility to play with my band. And being that I don’t drive and I have to take the bus everywhere, it gives me time to do things.”

Her eyes were on his face. She said, “We could walk back to my house and I could drive you to your audition.”

“You don’t have school?”

“This is what I think of school.” She pointed her middle finger up in the air. “Besides, I already got accepted to college.”

“Where?”

“Reed . . . or should I say weed.” She grinned. “C’mon, Chris. It’ll relax you.”

She wasn’t a girl who’d take no easily. His brain was reeling on how to get out of this without pissing her off. “I’m a little amped about this audition. It’s just not the right time.”

She leaned in closer and began to massage his neck. Her touch was cold. “You sure you wouldn’t like a little good-luck toke? It’ll probably relax you.”

“Maybe, but I’m . . .” He tried to look sincere. To truly get her off his back, he probably should kiss her or something, but it didn’t seem right. “You really are gorgeous. I’m probably a huge moron right now, but I know myself when I get like this. Another time, okay?”

“Your loss.”

“Believe me, I know.”

She took her hand from his neck. “What do you play?”

He could have said keyboards, but he didn’t feel like telling her anything about himself. Since he wasn’t carrying a guitar or a bass, he said, “Drums.”

Again, that smile. “I like a guy who can carry a steady beat.”

“You know what they say. Drummers do it with a bang.” Thank God the bus was in sight. “Hey, I don’t even know your name.”

“Cameron.”

Gabe made a show of pulling out his phone and entering her name in his contact list. “And your number?”

She gave it to him. When she asked for his number, he mixed up the digits. That way if he ever ran into her again, he could claim that she typed them in wrong if she actually tried to call him.

“Do you have a last name?” she asked.

“Donatti.” He spelled it for her. If she googled the name, she’d get references to his dad and see that he was telling the truth. She’d probably figure that he was Donatti junior. Gabe didn’t ask for her last name, and she didn’t offer it up.

The bus pulled to the curb. “Good talking to you, Cameron,” he said. “Another time?”

Cameron tilted her head, but her eyes had turned stormy. “You can always dream, little boy.”

“I suppose I deserved that.” He stood up.

Her eyes went up and down his body. “I might be forgiving . . . it all depends. Ball’s in your court, Chris.” A pause. “I’m assuming you’re good with balls?”

He forced out a laugh and pointed to her purse. “Think of me when you try it out.” He climbed the two steps up to the driver and gave him the money.

He was thrilled when the bus pulled away.

Immediately, he erased her name from his contact list and sat back on the bench seat, feeling his heartbeat slow until it was back to normal. A few minutes later, his phone sprang to life.

r u there?

His smile was immediate.
on the bus to sc.

gd luck on the audition. i know u’ll do g8.

thx. i’m pretty confident. gd luck on ur bio test.

thx. i’m not as confident as u r, but who is?

Gabe laughed.
r u saying i’m arrogant?

i’m saying that ur 2 perfect 2 ever worry.

If she only knew! He texted:
if i’m perfect, it’s cuz i hang with the goddess of perfection.

ur the best.
:)

Gabe wrote:
i really missed u this morning, Yasmine.

missed u soooo much.
A pause.
i dreamed . . . dreamt about u last nite.

i hope it was a good one.

we were kissing.

then it was a very good one.

it was so real, gabe. i could taste ur mouth. i didn’t ever want it 2 end.

Seven in the morning and her words were making him hornier than a springbok. Embarrassed, he crossed his legs and texted her:
what u do 2 me, little girl. it’s obscene.

lol.
Another pause.
seriously, i miss u so much, gabriel. i’m so pathetic.

not as pathetic as i am. i think about u all the time. being away from u sucks.

yeah, it really does. i can’t w8 4 sat. how long will the deckers b away?

they leave 4 shul between 9 and 10. they’ll probably b gone for 4 hours so hopefully we’ll have lots of time 2gether and alone.

Yey! i can’t w8!!!!

He wrote:
maybe we can act out ur dream.

She wrote:
only if we can do it over and over and over.

Gabe felt faint.
omg, ur
killing
me.

looks like u’ll need some mouth 2 mouth resuscitation.
:)

ur waaaaay 2 sexy 4 ur own gd. i can’t w8 for sat. come at 10:30 2 b safe.

i’ll b there at 10:30 . . . on time.