Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [117]
He stopped talking.
“It gets a little blurry at this point. I think Dylan shot me, but I was so pumped up, I didn’t feel it. Somehow I got behind him . . . Dylan . . . I’m taller than him . . . and I put a gun to his head. I must have taken his gun away.” He looked at Marge. “I wound up with the Luger in my left and the .22 in my right hand, which I kept on Dylan’s head.”
“You’re left-handed?”
“No, right-handed but almost ambidextrous. Oh, now I remember. I wanted the 9 mm in my left because it had more ammo and I was holding the group off with a single weapon. I kept pointing it at them, one by one, telling everyone not to move.”
Decker had swiped Gabe’s hands, residue on his left. Now was the time to test his truth gene. She said, “Did you discharge any of the weapons, Gabe?”
“The Luger. One of the dudes made a move into his pocket. I fired a shot or two to scare him off . . . near his arm. I mighta grazed it. I remember thinking, just nobody move so I can organize my brain.” He was breathing hard. “That’s all I wanted. For them to keep still with their hands visible while I thought of an escape. Lord knows that I didn’t want to shoot anyone, but they had to know I was serious.”
Marge said, “How many times did you fire the gun?”
“I really don’t remember, Sergeant. I’ll say twice, but I’m not sure.”
“Okay. So . . . you have the .22 to Dylan’s head.”
“Yeah . . .” Gabe had his eyes open, but mentally he was replaying the scene. “I have the .22 on Dylan and I’m like . . . threatening the others with the second gun. And I’m thinking how to get out of this. And then I remember Yasmine.” He looked at Marge. “I told her to run away but she’s . . . like frozen. She just won’t budge.”
“Fear does that.”
“Fear does do that.” He smiled. “And maybe she didn’t want to leave me. ’Cause when I needed her help, she sure as hell moved.”
“How did she help you?”
“All this time I’m thinking about the bus. It pulls up at around seven and I figured if we could just make it on the bus . . .”
He paused.
“Looking back, I suppose we coulda just left or called 911. I had the guns. Maybe they wouldn’t have chased us. But I didn’t know. I made like split-second decisions.”
“I understand.”
“I figured we just needed to be at a public place. So I asked Yasmine for the time. The bus was coming in fifteen minutes and I figured I had to stall them until it came.”
“Okay. So it was about a quarter to seven?”
“Around that time. I told Yasmine to just dump out their shit all over the place . . . the purses, the backpacks, the wallets . . . I wanted something to keep them busy so they wouldn’t be tempted to follow us.”
“And Yasmine did what you told her to do?”
Gabe snapped his fingers. “Like that. The girl just moved. She was incredible.”
Marge nodded.
“Finally I see the bus pulling up and we’re about a half block away. At that point, I just grab Yasmine and we take off. We barely make it aboard. And then that’s when I called Peter . . . the lieutenant.” His blood pressure suddenly spiked.
Marge pressed the nurses call button.
Gabe was trembling. “I’m okay . . . really. I just think how . . . lucky we were and I become unglued.”
Rina walked into the room and saw Gabe shaking. “I’m going to get a nurse.”
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Gabe insisted. “Just stay here, okay?”
Marge turned off the tape recorder and stood up. “I think I have what I need for now. Sit down, Rina.”
Rina sat and took Gabe’s hand. As soon as he felt her touch, his heartbeat slowed. “Tell the nurse it was a mistake. Please? I don’t want to be sedated. I hate feeling out of control.”
“I’ll tell them.” Marge packed up. “I’m sure I’ll have some more questions, but for now this was very good. Thank you, Gabriel.”
“No problem.”
“Heal up quickly.”
“Sure.” He turned to Rina. “Did you get my glasses?”
Rina pulled them out of her purse. Gabe took out his contacts and wrapped them in a tissue and gave them to her. He slipped his glasses on. “Wow. Better already. Do you think I can call Yasmine now?”
“You can try.”
He punched in the hospital’s outside