Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [131]
Rina said, “That would be fantastic.”
“If I’m still alive,” Gabe said.
“Stop talking like that,” Nick said. “I’m really sorry for what happened, but let’s not forget the bigger picture. You’re alive, your hands seemed unscathed, and you’ve still been blessed with enormous talent.”
“Lucky me.”
Nick patted his head. “I’ll see you before you go to Nevada. Take care of yourself, Romeo.”
As Nick left the hospital room, Gabe said, “Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” He looked at Rina. “How much can I pay you to do a Kevorkian?”
She kissed his forehead. It was hot and sweaty. He probably had a fever. “You look a little beat. Why don’t you try to sleep?”
“You know when my dad’s coming down?”
“No, sorry, I don’t know. I’ll call if you want.”
“Nah.” His eyes burned. “Don’t bother. He’ll come when he comes.” He exhaled, and then winced. He squeezed her hand. “A nap doesn’t sound so bad. Will you wait here while I sleep?”
“Of course.”
“You’re the nicest person on earth.”
“Ask my kids about me when they were growing up. I’m sure you’d get a different perspective. But thank you for the compliment.” She kissed his forehead again. “Take a little rest, okay.”
His eyes were already closed when he nodded to her. Alone in his head, there were so many things to think about. It was nice that drugs didn’t give him the option of staying awake.
Chapter Thirty-seven
According to the docket, the arraignments, originally scheduled at around six, were now slated to take place around eight. Marge sat in the commissary at an isolated corner table, eating a Greek salad with little enthusiasm. Twenty minutes later, Nurit Luke joined her, coffee cup in hand. Nurit was five eleven, as thin as a stork. She had on her signature color—hot pink—this time from a jacket worn over black pants. Her accessories were big and chunky. She had flaming red hair, dark eyes, and she wore fire engine red lipstick.
“Where’d you get that?” Nurit was referring to Marge’s salad.
“I think they still have a couple left, but I’m done with this if you want it.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.” Marge handed the plastic container to the lawyer. “Help yourself. I’m going to get some coffee. You want a refill?”
“Thanks. That would be great.”
When Marge returned, Nurit was spearing the last bits of wilted lettuce. “I haven’t eaten all day.”
“Would you like me to get you something else?”
“No, this is perfect.” She took the cup of coffee. “Thanks for the offer.”
Marge sat and sipped. The brew tasted burnt.
Nurit said, “Want to go over all the charges so we’re on the same page?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“The three seventeen-year-olds . . . Hold on.” Nurit began rooting around her briefcase. “JJ Little, Darla Holbein, and Nate Asaroff . . . you know we could have tried them as adults.”
“They should all do jail time, but we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“I get it. I’m just saying . . .” Nurit looked at her notes. “I just spoke to Jack Leandro. They’ve been released personal recognizance to their parents. The girl, Darla Holbein, is getting off with three thousand hours of community service in her church in Africa and an additional thousand hours in the United States after attending rehab in exchange for testimony against Cameron Cole. Darla can testify that it was Cameron’s idea to initiate the kidnapping. After she’s done her service, her records will be sealed and she’s free.”
Marge nodded.
“For the other two minor boys, I’m pushing for some jail time in a juvenile facility and then three years of probation.”
“How much time?”
“Sixty days. They have to finish high school anyway.”
“Is Bell and Wakefield offering them a diploma?”
“That’s part of the deal: that the three kids will be allowed to receive diplomas as soon as they pass their finals in exchange for a gag order. None of them are allowed to talk about anything. The school just wants them out with minimum disruption.”
“And the lawyers have agreed to jail time?”
“Not to the sixty days, no. I’m willing to halve the sentence.