The Heart Heist (11 page)

And reading was a funny thing in itself, Gary thought, as he climbed the stairs to his room. It was...like stealing. Yes, that's what it was. You could pick up a book, read it, and come away with something that no one could take away from you. But teaching, well, that seemed to be the opposite of stealing, from what Gary could figure out. And the opposite of stealing was something with which he had very little experience.

~~~

The summer school teacher was going to be late. From his position slightly off the arcade walkway, Matt checked his watch and silently ticked his tongue. Kerrin wasn't going to like that. Matt didn't like it much, either, because every minute he sat there in his wheelchair he had to find something to look at other than the kids who were leaning against the lockers, sitting cross-legged on the concrete, or simply chatting and waiting for the teacher to come.

Matt had a pact of mutual consent with the other kids. They didn't look at him and he didn't look at them. Although, frequently, Matt did take peeks at the girls. Today Cheryl Bloch once again didn't know he was alive. She was dressed in another set of cut-offs, a pair even shorter than the other, on the verge of riding up her ass.

Guess she meant to make a play for the summer school teacher. Matt felt dismayed. Considering Cheryl's tits, his sister didn't stand a chance with the guy -- unless, of course, he was a truly discerning character, one who could see that Kerrin was about a hundred times more interesting than Cheryl Bloch, tits and all.

At eight-thirty sharp, the teacher came striding up the arcade. He was wearing a brown and gold herringbone sport jacket and a darker brown silk tie. He moved with the assurance and pace of someone who knew how to take charge. He spared a brief, observational gander at the kids lined up along the walk as he passed them to open the classroom door. He didn't smile, but he didn't look particularly sour, either. He just looked...all business.

It was while his key was in the lock, just as he was turning the knob that he happened to glance in Matt's direction. Matt tensed, expecting any number of unwanted reactions: surprise, pity, fear. He got nothing but the same cool, dispassionate observation. Kid in wheelchair: noted.

The guy opened the door and everybody filed into the room, their conversations muting as they gave surreptitious glances toward the new teacher. Matt waited until everyone had gone through the door before wheeling himself through. He gave a shove and rolled across the width of the room. He executed a neat turn and landed in the spot he always used, in the far right hand corner of the room. Everyone knew to leave him that spot.

The teacher stood at the head of the class, his hands on his hips in a gesture of mild impatience, watching as everyone found seats. He didn't say a word and yet the conversation dwindled to nothing. Within less than a minute, the twenty-five students were in their seats, facing front and utterly silent. There was a hard, almost brutal quality to his stance that made it difficult to ignore his unspoken command. At the same time, Matt couldn't shake the impression that somewhere under that hard exterior was a silent wellspring of...amusement.

Matt's gaze dropped to the notebook in his lap. Hot
damn
! This guy was going to be perfect for Kerrin. He was exactly what she needed.

"The name's Gary Sullivan," the teacher said, his voice low and rasping. It was the same voice Matt had heard on the telephone that time he'd answered it for Kerrin.

Someone raised his hand. "Uh, Mr. Sullivan, could you please spell that on the board?"

Sullivan hesitated, his graceful body poised. "Sure," he then said, turning to grab a piece of chalk.

That small hesitation accomplished much. For that split-second of time the whole room collectively held their breath, knowing he was considering the possible clown value of the question. And everyone immediately understood that he would show no mercy to a clown.

Sullivan wrote his name on the board in a scrawl most unlike the neat blackboard writing Kerrin used. "Fine," he stated, brushing his hands. "We have a number of business matters to take care of this morning. First of all, roll call." He pronounced this as though it were something nasty.

But Matt didn't have much time to ponder this oddity. There were too many other things to observe about Gary Sullivan. For example, when he went down the list of names on his roster, he paused at each one. For a second or two he looked up and gazed at each responder. 'I'll know you again' was written in his features. But when he got to Matt's name he didn't look up.

"Horton. Any relation to Kerrin Horton?" He kept his gaze down at the roll sheet.

Matt straightened in his chair and wished it wouldn't give too much away to clear his throat. "Brother," he managed to get out, only a little gruffly.

Looking up, the man searched Matt's face briefly but thoroughly. There was speculation in his eyes and also, though Matt couldn't figure why, a healthy dose of irritation. Then he looked down, made a note in his book and went on.

Sullivan's brand of education was unique, to say the least. No holds barred frank. First thing he did was write on the board the units they were supposed to cover over the next eight weeks:
Hygiene
Diet
Dentistry
Communicable Diseases
Sex

Then he looked in his book, as though checking there for what to write next. He turned back to the board and put a hyphen after the title of each unit. Following the hyphens he wrote:
Hygiene - BORING
Diet - BORING
Dentistry - BORING
Communicable Diseases - BORING

Then he drew a line before the last unit and wrote:
Sex - FASCINATING, BUT VERY EMBARRASSING

There was a giggle around the room and Matt stifled a grin. Frank all right.

"As you can see we got a problem here," Sullivan announced, pointing back to the board. "Six and a half weeks of boredom and only one and a half weeks of fascination, tempered by the discomfort of what will be, believe me, some excruciating embarrassment.

"Now, frankly, I don't care to be bored, and I doubt that you do, either. So this is what we're gonna do." He paused and seemed to do a quick head count. "There's twenty-five of you and four units. So that'll make four groups of about six each. Each group gets a unit. Each group has to study the unit, learn it, and then teach it to the class."

A statement like this would have resulted in a moan of lazy reluctance in front of any other teacher. No one said a word. No one even coughed.

"Naturally, given that the topics are inherently dry and uninteresting," Sullivan went on, "part of your grade will be the entertainment value you give to your group's presentation."

Again, there wasn't the predictable moan. In fact, most everybody kind of perked up.

"Now this unit," and here Sullivan slapped the part of the board where he'd written 'Sex.' "I'm going to handle myself." His underlying amusement sprang free as his teeth flashed in a broad grin. "Naturally."

His grin gave Matt a twinge of unease in the plans he'd made involving his sister with the guy. Perhaps he was a bit too advanced for her in the physical department. Matt didn't think Kerrin had a whole lot of experience that way... Come to think of it, probably none. But maybe if the guy were kind, and patient...

"Starting tomorrow," Sullivan went on, unconsciously belying Matt's hopes in the direction of his patience. He straightened from his position leaning against the edge of the teacher's desk at the front of the room. "For the rest of today's session we're going to the library where you can start on your research. And, oh yes, your groups."

A part of Matt relaxed. Sullivan was going to assign who was to be in which group. Matt wasn't going to have to suffer the indignity of going begging. Sullivan went back to his roll call list and began calling out names of who would be in which group. He didn't do it in alphabetical order and he didn't do it by the order in which people had sat in the classroom. Nor, Matt was quite sure, was it arbitrary. No, Sullivan picked the groups so that they split up the cliques in the class, so that friends weren't working together, nor all the beautiful people in one group and all the nerds in another.

He'd read everybody's number to a tee. He'd also put Cheryl Bloch, along with a bunch of four-eyed types, in Matt's group.

"All right, everybody up. We're going down the street to the library." In the resulting chaos, the teacher's eyes met Matt's. "Hold up," Sullivan told Matt as everyone else shuffled from the room. "You and I have to have a little chat."

Gary waited, leaning his hips against the front of his desk as the kid rolled his wheelchair warily up the outside aisle. He was a good-looking kid, square-cut features, light red hair, his eyes pure gold with some definite intelligence in there. Just like his sister -- too much intelligence. Hell, who'd have thought that brother who'd already made so much trouble for him by getting him into this teacher role was going to pose even more trouble by being a damn student in his class.

"Yeah?" Matt Horton asked, cocking his head. The room had gotten quiet and the sound of the class retreating down the arcade was already fading. They were safely alone.

Gary crossed his arms over his chest. These kids were like cons. He'd realized that the moment he'd stood up in front of the class. From there on it had been easy. All he had to do was act like a screw. Well, perhaps a more sympathetic, benevolent type of screw than those Gary had encountered in his day, but the principle was the same.

And like a screw, he could read these cons at a glance, distinguishing the shy, scared ones from the bullies, and the ones with a spark of brains from the no gos. Keeping that in mind, he figured how to play this with Kerrin's little brother.

He nodded down at him. "You lift weights?"

Just as he'd planned, the kid got thrown off guard. Some of the bristly defensiveness went out of him. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Gary nodded again. "Thought so. Can't tell really, without your shirt off, but you look like you're doing a good job at it, keeping your balance."

"I don't have a coach, but I've read some books." The kid flushed lightly. He was Kerrin's brother and Gary had seen Kerrin's library. If there were any family resemblance, it was a cinch the kid would read books. Now Matt ran his eye with shy speculation down Gary's front. "I guess you've been lifting weights a long time, yourself."

Gary shifted his position against the desk. In prison there wasn't much else of a constructive nature to do. "Yeah, but not for the past several days," he told Matt. "Unfortunately, I didn't see a gym in town."

"There isn't," Matt confirmed. "But listen, anytime you want you can come over and use my set. It's in our garage."

The kid's offer signalled the end of hostilities, an end Gary had been consciously orchestrating. But it did something more, touching a nerve deep inside him, a nerve that Gary normally kept crusted over with a protective coating of cynicism.

"Well, thanks." Gary frowned at the jarring of that nerve. "That's awful nice of you. And it brings up a point I think you and I ought to discuss."

Matt looked up expectantly.

Gary chose his words with care. "The way I see it, you and I have ourselves a mutual problem here. I mean, your sister."

Matt raised an eyebrow. "My sister? A problem?"

Gary hooded his eyes. The hint of humor in the kid's tone said he knew his sister was damn near always a problem. "This is the way I see it," Gary went on. "She's your sister, you're my student, and she's my boss." He paused. "Gives the lady way too much...influence, if you catch my drift."

By the way Matt was grinning, Gary was pretty sure he did, indeed, catch his drift. "Meaning she can check up on you, through me -- and me, through you."

"We're seeing eye to eye."

"So." Matt looked completely cooperative. "What do you suggest?"

Gary laced his fingers across his middle. "What I suggest is a coordinated...stonewalling, if you will. If she were to ask me about your progress in the class I would give her a stock response, like 'Oh, fine. Just fine.' If she asked you about me, you'd say the same thing."

Matt was grinning again, evidently pleased. "You got a deal." He wheeled backward a few feet, ready to leave.

"One more thing." Gary stopped him. "What do you know about Elaine -- " He glanced back at the roll sheet on top of the desk. "Elaine Gerard?"

"Elaine?" Matt looked mildly baffled. "I don't know much about her. She lives a few miles outside of town with her dad, and a bunch of brothers and sisters. Why?"

Gary shook his head. "It's not important." And please God, it wouldn't be and he was wrong. But it was hard to be wrong about something so close to home, hard not to recognize a part of oneself.

She'd let her lanky black hair fall to cover her face, as though she didn't want to be seen. Every time Gary had looked over at her he'd got a better impression of a whipped puppy. There were no discernible bruises or cuts but that didn't mean she wasn't hurting. In fact, as though she'd known what Gary was up to, the girl had lowered her face under her fall of hair, making it harder for him to see. It was a gesture that looked far too well practiced.

So, she lived outside of town with her father and a bunch of brothers and sisters. Gary might have to knuckle under and pay a teacherly call on the family. Just one more item on his list of things to do.

CHAPTER SEVEN

"Umm, so how's everything going?" The parole officer's voice sounded wary over the phone, as though he expected Kerrin to light into him.

Which she well should. Marty had been the one to insist on regular phone calls. But here it was more than a week after Gary had hit town and this was the first time Marty'd managed to return any of Kerrin's numerous messages.

"It's going fine," Kerrin replied huffily. "I suppose." She was sitting in her school office with the door wide open. Hot desert air slammed into the room that way but she didn't care. She wasn't letting her new teacher get away this time.

Ever since school had started Gary had been avoiding her. She'd yet to get a single scrap of information from him about how the class was going; not a one. And if she tried asking her brother, who spent all morning sitting inside that exact classroom, the answer was always the same. A big, broad smile and a drawled, "Oh it's going fine, sis. Just fine."