Faye Kellerman - Gun Games: A Decker Lazarus Novel

Gun Games

Faye Kellerman

For Jonathan

Contents

I t was bad news walking through the door.

They were coming his way: five of themthree guys, two girlsall of them looking older than him by a couple of years but probably still in high school. The guys had some muscle, but none of them was steroidal, meaning he could take any of them one-on-one. Collectively, he didnt stand a chance. Besides, Gabe wasnt spoiling for a fight. Last time that happened, he messed up his handtemporarily. Hed been lucky. Maybe hed be lucky again. If not, he had to be smart.

He pushed his glasses up on his nose and kept his eyes on the book until the group was on top of him. Even then, he didnt look up. Nothing was going to happen to him inside a Starbucks... staring at the page in front of him, his mind going a mile per sec.

Youre sitting in my seat, one of the guys said.

His dad had always emphasized that if he were about to be jumped, it was best to take on the leader. Because once the leader was gone, the others fell like dominoes. Gabe counted to five before he looked up. The guy who spoke was the biggest of the three.

Excuse me? Gabe said.

I said youre sitting in my seat. And as if to emphasize the point, he pulled back his jacket, giving Gabe a five-second peek at the gun stuck into his waistbandpositively one of the worst places to keep an unharnessed weapon. There were only two people in the world that Gabe would take crap from and he wasnt looking at either one of them. To acquiesce would be a mistake. On the other hand, to confront would also be a mistake. Luckily, the dude gave him an out.

Gabe held up an index finger. Do you mind? Slowly and carefully, he pulled back the guys jacket with his finger and stared at the gun. Beretta 92FS with some kind of a custom grip. A pause. Sweet. He let the jacket drop. You know the company just came out with an advanced modela 96A or something like that. Same thing as the 92 series except it has a higher magazine capacity.

Gabe stood up. Nose to nose, he was a couple of inches taller than the gunslinger, but the height differential wasnt something he was about to flaunt. He took a half step back, giving them both some personal space.

I like the plinkers... like the 87 Cheetah .22LR. First of all, its got great reliability. Second, its one of those ambidextrous pieces. Im right-handed, but I got a real strong left. You know how it is. You never know which hand its gonna be convenient to use.

They were locked in a staring contest, Gabes focus on the dude with the piece. As far as he was concerned, the other four didnt exist. Then, with a sudden, fluid motion, Gabe stepped aside and held out his hand, magnanimously offering the dude his seat. Be my guest.

A few seconds ticked by, each waiting for the other to blink.

Finally, the guy said to Gabe, Have a seat.

After you.

The two of them eyed each other, then they both sat down at the same time with the dude taking up the leather chair that Gabe had formerly occupied. He kept his eyes on the guys face, never letting up for a moment. Dude was around five ten, one eighty, broad chest, strong arms. Brown hair past his ears, blue eyes, strong chin. Under his leather jacket, he had on a gray T-shirt and wore black, tight-fitting jeans. He was a good-looking guy and probably had a posse of admirers.

Dude said, Whered you learn about guns?

Gabe shrugged. My dad.

What does he do?

My father? At this, Gabe broke into a slow grin. Uh... actually, hes a pimp. The expected pause. He owns whorehouses in Nevada.

The dude stared at him with newfound respect. Cool.

It sounds a lot cooler than it is, Gabe said. My dads a nasty guya real mean motherfucker. He also owns about a zillion guns and knows how to use every single one of them. I get along with him because I dont cross him. Plus, we dont live together anymore.

You live with your mom?

Nah, shes in India somewhere. She took off with her lover and dumped me into the care of complete strangers

Are you shittin me?

I wish I was shittin you. Gabe laughed. Last year was a total nightmare. He rubbed his hands together. But it worked out okay. I like where I am. My foster dad is a police lieutenant. Youd expect him to be the hard-ass, but compared to my own dad, the man is a saint. He looked at his watch. It was almost six in the evening and night was inches away. I gotta go. He stood up and so did Dude.

Whats your name? Dude asked.

Chris, Gabe lied. And you?

Dylan. They fist-bumped. What school do you go to?

Homeschooled, Gabe said. Almost done, thank God. Hey, nice to meet you, Dylan. Maybe Ill catch you on the shooting range.

He turned his back to the group and slowly swaggered away. It took all his energy not to glance back.

Once he was out the door, he ran like hell.

R ina was arranging roses when the boy came in, flushed and panting. She said, Are you all right?

Just out of shape. Gabe tried to steady his breathing. He attempted to give his temporary mother a smile, but it probably didnt come out too sincere. He could tell that Rina was scrutinizing him, her blue eyes concentrated on his face. She was wearing a pink sweater that matched the flowers. His mind was desperately trying to figure out small talk. Those are pretty. From the garden?

Trader Joes. The roses in the garden wont start blooming for another couple of months. She regarded her charge, his emerald eyes flitting behind his glasses. Something was off. Why were you running?

Trying to be healthy, Gabe told her. I really need to do something about improving my stamina.

Id say anyone who can practice for six hours a day has a great deal of stamina.

Tell that to my beating heart.

Sit down. Ill get you something to drink.

I can do it. Gabe disappeared into the kitchen. When he came back, he was holding a bottle of water. Rina was still giving him funny looks. To distract her, he picked up the paper from the dining room table. The front page showed a picture of a boy, the caption stating that fifteen-year-old Gregory Hesse had committed suicide by a single gunshot to the head. He had a round face and big round eyes and looked much younger than fifteen. Gabe started reading the article in earnest.

Sad, isnt it. Rina was looking over his shoulder. You think to yourself, what on earth could have been so bad that this poor kid was willing to end it all?

There were lots of reasons for despair. Last year he had gone through all of them. Sometimes life is hard.

Rina took the paper from him, spun him around, and gave him her serious eye-to-eye contact. You looked upset when you came in.

Im fine. He managed a smile. Really.

What happened? Did you hear from your dad or something?

No, were cool. When Rina gave him a skeptical look, he said, Honestly. I havent spoken to him since we came back from Paris. We texted a couple of times. He asked me how I was doing and I told him I was fine. Were on good terms. I think he likes me a lot better now that my mom is out of the picture.

He took a swig of water and averted his eyes.

Did I tell you my mom IMed about a week ago?

No... you didnt.

Must have slipped my mind.

Uh-huh

Really. It was no big deal. I almost didnt answer her because I didnt recognize the screen name she was using.

Is she okay?

Seems to be. A shrug. She asked me how I was. Behind his glasses, his eyes were gazing at a distant place. I told her I was fine and not to worry... that everything was cool. Then I signed off. He shrugged again. I didnt feel like making chitchat. Tell you the truth, Id rather she not contact me. Is that terrible?