Bad Bones (7 page)

Sometimes a bad thing happens, and then a good thing happens right afterwards, like a reward, or karma. Something like that. Gabe’s thinking circuits were kind of blown from being bounced around. But he did know that while it was Bad to be trashed by some old dude with a real shitty attitude, it was Good being found by Stella, who had a car and hadn’t minded driving him and his bike home.

Gabe thought he’d get away with Stella simply dropping him off and going on her way. No such luck. She was coming in and making sure he was all right, no argument. So it was also Good that no one was there when they walked in. Empty house, because it was parents’ evening at Remy’s school. Result.

“Thanks for, you know, everything, but I totally am fine.” Gabe put real effort into his smile.

“Maybe you are –” Stella hung her camera bag
off the back of a chair – “but you have cuts and I have a girl-scout badge in first aid.” She looked round the kitchen. “So, where’s the emergency kit?”

“In the bathroom, I guess.” Gabe nodded at the open door. “Turn left, at the end of the hallway.”

“I’ll be right back…”

Gabe sat down, watching Stella walk out the kitchen. One minute he’s in the middle of a complete nightmare scenario, being floored by a sucker punch from some dude with glowing eyes, the next there’s Stella, in an old silver Toyota Corolla. He was wondering just exactly how his life could get any weirder when Stella came back holding a blue box with a red cross on the lid in one hand and a small glass bottle in the other.

“Your mother has Rescue Remedy –” Stella held up the little bottle, like she’d won a prize – “and a lot of other good stuff— Now stay where you are.”

Gabe, halfway to his feet, sat back down. Let her nurse him back to health, if that was what she wanted to do. Why argue with that?

A quarter of an hour later Stella had completed her clean-up-repair-and-restore job, ten minutes after that Gabe had showered, changed and put a
wash on so there’d be no awkward questions about bloodstains, however minor, from his mom. The cuts and scratches he’d have to deal with. A cup of green tea was waiting for him on the table when he walked back into the kitchen, Stella sitting opposite it. He pulled out a chair, picked up the cup and had a sip.

“Thanks…”

“My pleasure, Gabriel.”

Gabe concentrated on the cup in front of him, feeling like he was in court and under oath; he looked up to find Stella still looking straight at him. “What?”

“What happened out there, in the street?”

Gabe shrugged.

“Well, you didn’t get knocked over by any hit-and-run driver, did you? So, was it Benny? I told you—”

“It wasn’t Benny.”

Gabe looked back at the cup, almost wishing it had been, or that he’d had the smarts to lie and say it was. How could he tell Stella the truth without appearing to be a complete nutjob? And of course, for all he knew, he could well be a complete nutjob,
considering what had happened.

“Well, if it wasn’t Benny, who was it?”

Just because someone asked you a question – that someone being a quite forceful, really very good-looking girl – and kind of deserved an explanation, just because of all that, didn’t mean you
had
to answer if you didn’t want to. And Gabe really didn’t want to. There was no law. And when your back was up against the wall, you could either wave the white flag, or push. Gabe was in no mood to surrender.

“Look, I don’t know who it was, OK?” Not a lie, as he didn’t. “But what were you doing there anyway… You know, right place, right time? Were you like
following
me? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, I’m glad you found me and, you know, gave me a ride and everything…” Gabe began to lose steam. “But … but, like,
if
you were following me, that would be kind of weird – a bit of a pattern. Twice in a couple of days, there you are? Why do you care so much about what I do, or don’t do, with that fruit loop Benny?
And
you also had my cell number, right? How’d you get that, is your dad in the CIA or the NSA or something?”

“OK… OK…”

It was Stella’s turn to look away and for a moment Gabe thought, the way she was blinking her eyes, maybe he’d gone too far, been too hard on her. He
really
hoped she didn’t start to cry.

“I suppose I should, you know…” Stella got her phone out of the camera bag, on the table next to her; she flicked the screen a couple of times and turned it to face Gabe. On it was a head and shoulders picture of a guy, maybe in his early twenties, slightly wavy brown hair, gold earring, one of those haven’t-shaved-for-a-week beards. He was smiling and seemed to be about as happy as you could get without looking like you were putting it on. “I had a brother, Ed.”

“Had?”

“He died.”

“Oh … geez, I’m sorry.”

“He was such a sweetheart and
such
a jerk, all wrapped up in the same person. If there was a choice to make,
any
at all, he would always find a way to make it the wrong one. He couldn’t help it, it was like a personality disorder. He wasn’t stupid, but he did
the
most stupid things and then wondered
why shit happened to him. He never could figure out why our parents gave up on him and wouldn’t carry on cutting him slack, like they always used to…”

Stella turned the phone so she could look at the picture and Gabe saw there was a tear running down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.

“He wasn’t bad, Gabe, not really. He just wouldn’t listen, to anyone. And you know what? The first time I saw you, you reminded me of him in a lot of ways and for whatever reason that worried me, even though I didn’t even know you…”

Gabe watched Stella draw herself back together, not knowing what to say. Had he just been insulted, or complimented? Hard to tell. Maybe he should stick to the facts and steer away from the emotional.

“How’d he die?”

“How did he die?” Stella sniffed. “Can I have a tissue or something?”

Gabe leapt up and got a roll of kitchen paper.

Stella smiled a little. “I’m not going to turn the taps on, just a sheet would have done.”

“Better safe than sorry, right?”

“I suppose.” Stella tore a sheet off the roll, but didn’t use it. “He… Ed … he was, um, just always in the wrong place, always hanging out with the wrong crowd. And he could never say ‘no’. Short and long? He died of a drug overdose. He was only twenty-two…”

Now Stella did use the kitchen paper, burying her face in it, and Gabe had no idea what he should say or do. Reach across and comfort her? Go round the table?

“And you know who he was hanging round with?” Stella looked up, angry. There were no tears now, and she didn’t wait for an answer. “Benny. Benny ‘the fruit loop’, right? He was working for him, running errands, doing this and that. How
dangerous
could that be, he always said?
He
knew what he was doing, he said. Just like you, Gabriel. Just like you.

“I got myself transferred to Morrison because I knew that was where the creep hung around. I wanted to see what I could find out, and what I found was you, acting just like Ed…”

Now Gabe didn’t have a clue what to say. Sure, he felt like an idiot because he knew, in his heart of
hearts, that having
any
thing to do with Benny was stupid, even if the money had been easy to earn. But at the same time he was having difficulty seeing where the rest of the parallels were. Some kind of response was beginning to formulate itself, along the lines of ‘What makes you think
I
don’t listen?’ when the side door to the kitchen opened and Remy skipped in.

“Hey, Gabey, you had a fight or something?” Remy stopped in her tracks and transferred her laser-guided attention to Stella. “Oh, hi, are you Gabe’s girlfriend?”

At which point Gabe’s parents walked in.

Right at that moment every pair of eyes in the room was focused on him, as if his answer to Remy’s question would undoubtedly be the solution to world hunger.

“Well, I’m a girl, and I
am
his friend –” Stella turned to look at Remy – “so, yeah, I suppose you could say that. My name’s Stella, I just started in the same grade as Gabriel at Morrison. What’s your name?”

“Remy.”

“Nice to meet you, Remy.” Stella pushed her chair back and stood up, shouldering her camera bag; she smiled at Gabe’s parents, glanced back at Gabe and then at her watch. “I’m sorry, but I have to go…”

This girl,
Gabe thought, watching her negotiate her way out of the kitchen,
is one smooth operator.

“Come by tomorrow, Gabriel!” Stella waved, then disappeared out of the kitchen.

“She’s nice,
Gabriel
.” Remy went over to the fridge. “And she
likes
you, she really
likes
you…”

“What happened to you, Gabe?”

His mom came round the table, a concerned look on her face. His dad stayed at the door, watching him.

“I, you know, kind of skidded on some gravel, Mom –” the first thing that came into his head – “hit the brake and the back wheel went out from under me. No biggie. Really, I’m fine.”

“Were you in traffic? Did you have your helmet on?” His mom peered at the right-hand side of his face. “Did your friend, did Stella clean you up?”

Gabe nodded, catching his dad watching.

“She seems very nice. How long have you…?”

“Mom!” Gabe could feel himself blushing. “Like she said, we’re just friends, OK?”

Remy grinned. “She
likes
you, she really
likes
you…”

The ragging had continued right through dinner, which was leftovers his mom had cunningly disguised as a tasty kind of stir-fry/chow mein hybrid. After eating, Gabe bailed, saying he had schoolwork, and if he did it now then he wouldn’t have to do anything on it over the weekend. When his dad still had his job, this was when he might have opened up his wallet and given him a twenty for when he went out. Not tonight.

He did have some work to do, but not for school. He needed to see if he could find out more about the pieces he’d dug up. He had pictures of everything, taken with his phone and downloaded to his laptop, and he was going to have to scout around on the Net, get creative with the questions he asked. That’s what they were always being told at school, that the quality of the answers you got depended entirely on the quality of the questions you asked. G.I.G.O. His English teacher had that pinned up on the wall: Garbage In Garbage Out. It kind of made sense.

He had just started his search, pulling up a site about the Aztecs, when there was a tap on his bedroom door and his dad came straight in. He closed the door behind him and leant back against it.
This was obviously going to be Part II of the non-conversation they’d had in the kitchen yesterday. Which he could do without. So he waited, not saying anything.

Gabe’s dad rubbed the bristle on his chin. “I know what you think.”

“You do? About what?”

“Me.”

Gabe shrugged, wondering where this was going.

“And I get why you think like that. It’s not good to see your old man laid off and laid low, I understand that. Happened to your Grandad Mikey, back in the 80s, when we used to live in Detroit. Everything went to hell in a hand basket for Big Mike and he wasn’t so big any more. We ended up coming out here, which I hated at the time, and hated him for making us do it. Leave all our friends, everything we knew…”

“Are you trying to break it to me that
we’re
gonna have to move?”

“No, no I am not, Gabe, I’m
trying
to explain that shit happens to people and those people have to deal with it in their own way.” Gabe’s dad looked away from him for a second. “You might think you
have the picture all worked out, but my advice? Don’t judge until you’ve been there…”

Gabe interrupted his dad again. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, stop being such a hard-ass, Gabe. I know this is tough on you – it’s tough on everyone – but don’t make it any tougher by not talking. You know, or you should know, that you can talk to me about anything. We will get through this, trust me.”

Gabe stared at the screensaver image in front of him. Trust. Yeah, you should be able to trust your own dad. He
wanted
to trust his dad, to talk to him. But, Gabe glanced at him, still leaning against the door, not now, not tonight. He was too tired, too wired and he just wanted to be left alone. He had work to do. And he had earned a lot of money today, unlike…

“Son?”

“Yeah, sorry…” Gabe nodded at his dad. “I get it, Dad, I do. Everything you said. I just, you know, have to get some stuff done?”

“Sure.” His dad stepped over and lightly punched Gabe’s arm. “Make some time over the weekend. I’ll get some beers in, right?”

“Right,” Gabe smiled.

He sat staring at the closed door for a long time, feeling bad about the way he’d treated his dad, wanting to go after him to apologize. Tell him they would talk, soon, that now was just so not the right time. Frustrated, Gabe hit the top of his desk with his fist, jolting the mouse and bringing up the site about the Aztecs. Back to work.

Before he went to bed, the other thing he was going to do was get one of his mom’s Ambiens. He knew where she kept them. He’d only take a half of one of the sleeping pills, as he really needed to punch out and he did not want to dream. Not tonight. As he started to read what was on the screen he tried to ignore the voice that said ‘sleep the sleep of the dead…’