Rebel (13 page)

Neither of them had any illusions about that.

FOUR DAYS. THAT WAS THE LONGEST ED
had ever gone without talking to Gaia. But even
that
seemed like nothing compared to the past two. Of course, the queasiness probably had something to with it. And the terrible certainty that the two days would stretch to three, then to four ... and that he might not ever talk to her again.

But he'd made a decision. He didn't care what happened to Gaia Moore. Not as long as she insisted on
acting like an imbecile.
He wouldn't apologize.

Funny how those kinds of decisions never seemed to stick.

He sat at his desk, staring at his computer. He couldn't bring himself to do anything else. Like turn
on
the computer. He thought about calling Heather, mostly to see Phoebe ... but she would probably be on her way out to have some fun somewhere, and that would just make him
more
depressed. Anyway, if Heather
or
Phoebe wanted to hang out with him, they would call him. And they hadn't. Seeing him at that diner had probably been enough Ed Fargo to last the Gannis sisters another few years or so--

Stop feeling so goddamned sorry for yourself.

He ground his teeth. All day he'd sat in this exact spot, staring at his distorted reflection in the grayish

cube of the blank screen, reliving the events of that night in Chinatown. He couldn't even remember how the fight with Gaia had started. One minute they were staring at a rack of grade F meat; the next, he was storming away from her.

Why? What the hell had she done to piss him off so much?

If anything,
he
should call to apologize. He was the one who had freaked out. He'd been so damn jumpy. For no reason at all, really. Now that he thought about it, he probably had imagined seeing that fat bearded guy in the window. And even if he hadn't, that guy wouldn't have tried anything on a crowded street.

And even if that fat guy
had
tried something--even if by some miracle that guy had suddenly attacked all three of them with a machete or a submachine gun ... then Gaia would have
kicked his ass.

Ed shook his head.

He was to blame. There was a way to end his suffering, though. Several, actually. Turn on the computer. Pick up the phone. Call. E-mail. Apologize. Bada-bing, bada-boom. Over.
Problem solved.

But he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Because deep down in his battered soul, a part of him still clung to his old pride--the pride he'd felt when he could walk, when he was known as "Shred," the baddest skater south of Fourteenth Street. It would be just too damn pitiful if he made the first move to reconcile

with Gaia. Yes. If she valued the friendship as much as he did,
she
would have to be the one to call. It was a test. And if she failed--

Bzzzzzt.

Ed jumped slightly. The apartment buzzer was ringing. He rolled his eyes and scooted out of his bedroom into the narrow hall that led to the entranceway. It was probably some guy from Federal Express, delivering a lame Christmas fruit basket from a cousin twice removed in Hackensack that Ed had met only once.

He pressed the intercom button. "Hello?"

There was a crackle of static. "Ed?"

His jaw dropped. That voice. It sounded like ...
her.

"Gaia?" he asked, pressing the button again.

"Yeah. Is it cool if I come up?"

"Uh ...sure."

His arm fell to his side. He glanced around the apartment. His heart immediately started thumping. Gaia Moore was coming up.
Here.

Maybe he should clean up a little bit. Maybe he should tear down all the Christmas streamers and bulbs and paper angels that were still strewn all over the place. Jeez. He never realized how lame they were. This place was like one giant advertisement for corporate holidays. Speaking of which, at least his parents were at work. That lowered the lameness factor considerably--

He scowled.

Why was he getting so worked up? Almost

everyone
had Christmas decorations, or Hanukkah decorations, or Kwanza decorations ... probably even Gaia's mysterious guardians. There was no point in trying to mask the fact that his parents weren't hip. Ed rubbed his palms on his jeans. He'd never tried to put on an act with Gaia before. He shouldn't start now....

The doorbell rang.

He took a deep breath. Then he rolled over and opened the door.

Gaia stood before him. She didn't come in. She looked more beautiful than ever. But he didn't know why; she was still wearing those baggy cargo pants, some nondescript gray sweatshirt, and that overcoat-and-hat combo that looked like it had been swiped off a homeless person. Maybe it was her hair. It looked more sultry somehow--hanging in tousled curls across her face. And her cheeks were flushed from the cold, almost as if she were blushing.

"Hey, Ed. Sorry to bother you."

"I ..." He didn't even know what he wanted to say.

"Look, I don't have a lot of time," Gaia said quickly. She stared down at her sneakers. "Mary's waiting downstairs. I just wanted to tell you that I'm really sorry about the way I acted the other night. It was stupid."

Ed just stared at her. He couldn't believe this. He

didn't have a clue as to how to respond. For once Gaia Moore was doing exactly what he'd prayed she would do. It was almost frightening.

She looked up at him. "You were right, too, by the way."

"What do you mean?"

"There was a guy following us. Mary's old drug dealer."

"What?"
Ed gasped. "How do you--"

"Look, I can't go into it right now, okay?" she interrupted. She glanced back toward the elevator and flashed him a quick, enigmatic smile. "Just ... things are a little weird right now. But I just want you to know that I'm sorry. I swear I've learned my lesson this time. Okay?"

He nodded vigorously. "Well, yeah. I mean, I'm sorry, too--"

"I gotta go. See ya." She turned back down the hall.

Ed blinked. But before he could even open his mouth, he heard the elevator bell ring, then the doors open and shut.

He laughed. Well. It looked like everything was back to normal. He was friends with her again, and she was involved in something bad again. Yup. It was just another ordinary day for her. Appear out of nowhere, make Ed experience a dozen emotions in the space of about thirty seconds, and vanish.
Classic Gaia.

"OH, NO," MARY CROAKED THE MOMENT
she and Gaia turned onto MacDougal Street. She pointed a shaky finger at the park.

Gaia peered through the tree branches, following Mary's outstretched arm-- straight to the spot where she had left Skizz on the ground.

Her mind suddenly went blank. She knew why. She should have been scared.

Cops were there.

Part of the path had been roped off with yellow police tape. Two policemen in dark blue jackets were standing on the other side of it, talking to two guys in long trench coats--detectives, maybe. One of them had a camera.

"He must have died," Mary whispered, shivering in the cold. "He must have--"

"Shhh," Gaia whispered gently. She knew she should probably turn and run--but instead she felt only a powerful curiosity. The presence of cops was actually a
good
thing. Now there was a quick way to find out if Skizz had died there last night. She knew police procedure when a body was found in the park. Her face darkened. Oh, yes. She knew it all too well. When "the Gentleman" had murdered Cassie Greenman there a couple of months ago (and tried to make Gaia his next victim), the police had outlined

Cassie's body in chalk on the ground, leaving a grim memory of the crime for all to see. So if Gaia had really killed Skizz, there ought to be one of those outlines as well.

"Wait here," Gaia instructed Mary. "I'm gonna go check it out--"

"Are you crazy?" Mary hissed. "Gaia, they could be looking for you."

She shrugged. "Then there's no point in postponing the inevitable, right? I might as well get it over with. Just hang out here. If you see me getting arrested or something, take off." She turned and hurried across the street without waiting for Mary to reply.

Hopefully Mary would follow her advice. Gaia figured she would. After all, Mary had something working in her favor that Gaia didn't.
Fear.

Gaia's eyes narrowed as she entered the park. The glare of the winter sunshine made it difficult to see, but from what she could tell ... no, there definitely wasn't any sort of chalk drawing on the ground. A good sign. Of course, Skizz could have died at the hospital--

"Can I help you, miss?" one of the cops asked as she approached.

She smiled at him innocently. "I was just wondering what was going on."

"Nothing," the other cop replied shortly. "Just move along."

"Did ... uh, did somebody die?" she asked, staring

down at the marked-off area. Several large, rust-colored stains glistened on the pavement.

"Somebody was assaulted," the first cop said. His voice hardened. "Now, please move along. This is a crime scene."

Gaia nodded, then turned away. So Skizz might still be alive. Assault wasn't murder. She glanced surreptitiously back at MacDougal Street. Mary was still standing on the corner, staring at her. Gaia had started walking back toward the park exit when she heard a couple of footsteps behind her.

"Excuse me? Miss?"

The guy with the trench coat and camera was catching up with her. Now that he was closer, she could see that he didn't look like a typical cop. Hardly. He looked more like he belonged at some kind of pretentious gallery opening in SoHo. He was wearing a four-button suit under his coat, and he had a goatee. His black hair was slicked back with gunk.

"Yeah?" she asked.

He leaned close to her and gently took her elbow, steering her farther away from the crime scene. "My name's Jared Smith," he murmured. "I'm a reporter for
The Daily News.
Is it all right if I ask you a couple of questions?"

Gaia hesitated. She glanced back at Mary. Even from this distance Gaia could tell that Mary was getting more anxious by the second. She kept bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. But this guy

might know something about what happened--something that the cops weren't willing to share.

"I guess so," she mumbled. "What do you want to know?"

"Do you hang out here a lot? In the park, I mean?"

She took a step back, trying not to gag.
His cologne reeked.
"Um, sometimes," she answered. "Why?"

"Have you ever been offered drugs here?" he asked. He pulled a little notebook out of his trench coat pocket.

"No." Gaia scowled. "What's this about, anyway?"

"The cops think the assault might have been the result of a turf war in the drug trade," he said. He fished for a pencil, then gave her a quick, disdainful once-over. "I was just wondering if you knew anything about that."

Whoever this Jared Smith was, he sure as hell didn't have any manners. Just because she wasn't dressed as if she'd walked straight out of an Armani ad, he automatically assumed that she was a junkie. But at least she knew now that she wasn't a suspect. She supposed it made sense. Who would ever suspect a junkie of kicking a big fat drug dealer's ass?

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

He shrugged, jotting something down in his notebook.

"Is the victim alive?"

"Barely," he answered. "But he'll make it. He's at St. Vincent's. Apparently the cops have been looking for him. He's being arraigned today on three counts of

possession with intent to sell, resisting arrest, and assault with a deadly. As soon as he's able, he's gonna be moved to the infirmary at Rikers Island. Why do you want to know? Was he your supplier?"

Gaia ignored the question. She resisted the temptation to punch him in the face. This smug bastard needed some major work on his
people skills.
Not that she was one to talk, of course. But she was glad to end this little interview. Skizz had survived-- and it looked like he'd be getting locked away for a very long time. Mary's worries were over. And so were Gaia's. She felt like a tremendous weight had suddenly been lifted from her shoulders. She
wasn't
a killer. She might be a lot of other things ... but she still wasn't that. She whirled and strode away from him.

"Hey!" he called after her. "I'm asking you a question!"

"He wasn't my supplier," she answered, without even bothering to look over her shoulder. She picked up her pace in case he tried to follow her.

"Can I get your name? In case I want to quote ..."

The sound of his annoying voice was lost in her footsteps as she darted back across MacDougal Street to Mary.

"What's going on?" Mary whispered, peering behind Gaia at the park. "What did that guy want? Is he a detective--"

"There's nothing to worry about," Gaia interrupted gently. She grabbed Mary's arm and whisked her around the corner toward Sixth Avenue. "That guy

was just some sleazebag reporter. But he told me that Skizz is on his way to jail. The cops think a rival dealer did it."

Mary blinked several times. She looked at Gaia, then stared down at her feet as they walked side by side. "Are you
serious?"

"Yeah. He's wanted for, like, eight felonies or something."

"But ... what if he tells the cops who kicked his ass?" Mary asked. She shook her head. "I mean, he can describe the way you look, you know?"