Gem, Himself, Alone, page 8
Gem closed his eyes, drifting back in time.
He was sitting in a wheelchair in the hospital, locked inside himself. Ever since the home, he’d been there. Locked inside, under a foot-thick layer of ice he could barely see and hear through. They said it made him better, but that just meant it was easier to handle him. With help, he could walk, but he could hardly crawl on his own without assistance.
People walked by him like he wasn’t even there. They didn’t even look at him. He knew it was time to get out. Gem had been trapped for too long. It was the first time that he had been left unguarded, unattended.
Riker returned to the room, waking Gem from his reverie. “We’re going to hold you until we’ve had a chance to verify your alibi.”
“So you can put me in a cell again?” Gem sneered. He would call his lawyer this time. He wasn’t going to put up with more abuse.
“We’ve got a bunch of the Rippers in custody.” Riker offered. “I’ll personally see to it that you are jailed with them.”
Gem was surprised and suspicious. “You’d do that?”
“Maybe now you’ll believe me when I tell you that last time I did give instructions for you to be put in a cell by yourself.”
Gem considered it. He had seen Riker talking to the cop. The cop said Gem was supposed to get special treatment. Was it possible that one or both of the cops had intentionally done the opposite of what they were told? Or even that it was a mistake? Riker had made a show of being concerned the next day, even offering to take Gem to a doctor. Maybe that had been for real, not just show.
Riker took Gem to the cell block personally, as promised, and saw that he was put in a cell with others from the gang. He took the cuffs off of Gem’s wrists and put his hand briefly on Gem’s shoulder.
“I want you behind bars,” he said, “but I’m not out to see you hurt or killed.”
“Well then, maybe I won’t have to kill you,” Gem murmured, without turning his head to gauge the effect of his words or even if Riker had heard him.
He wasn’t really talking to Riker, just voicing a thought out loud.
Riker was shaken.
He’d had threats made on his life before. Criminals had yelled and screamed threats at him. He’d heard it all. But Gem’s matter-of-fact statement gave him a chill.
He knew that Gem was a cold-blooded murderer. A perp didn’t set up alibis like Gem did after committing a crime in a fit of rage. The crimes that Gem committed were carefully planned and thought out. If Gem had plans to kill Riker, he was as good as dead if he didn’t watch his back. Something about Gem allowed him to commit crimes no one else would dare to and to get away with it.
Riker knew he had to find out Gem’s secret. And find it out soon.
In the jail cell, Thrasher gave Gem a friendly slap on the back. “I gotta say, Gem, I dunno how you do it, but you know your stuff.”
Gem glanced around at the other boys and their surroundings. “I don’t talk in the pen,” he advised. “Too many listeners.”
Thrasher nodded at his wisdom. “Too true, man. No honor anymore. Guy’ll roll on you in a second, for a year off his sentence. Not to mention cops and wires. Good policy to have.”
Gem was glad Thrasher was so philosophical about it. A lot of guys would have been offended. But Thrasher knew how it was, and he didn’t push for an explanation of how Gem had done the job.
As always, Gem’s alibi checked out. They couldn’t connect the hookers involved on either end with Gem’s old shop. But that didn’t mean there was no connection.
Along with the cute black hooker Gem had defended, the bartender and bouncer also verified his alibi.
Riker thought back on the amount of money stolen from the bank and wondered if Gem’s clever alibis were nothing more mystical than several large bribes. A little bit of cash greasing the right wheels, and he could get people to say whatever he wanted them to.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A TIRED-LOOKING woman with gray streaks in her ponytail answered the door and looked questioningly at Riker.
“I’m looking for anyone who used to know Dee and Katie Johnson, who used to live in this building,” Riker told her, the same as he had told every other occupant of the building who had answered their door. Few of them had lived there for more than a year.
The tired woman wrinkled her brow.
“Katie and Dee,” she repeated thoughtfully, reversing the order that Riker had put them in. Riker nodded hopefully.
“Were they a mother and daughter?” she said tentatively.
“Yes, exactly. Could I ask you a few questions about them?”
She motioned him in. “It was an awfully long time ago. I don’t see how I could be of any help.”
“I don’t know, but anything might help.”
She herded Riker into a beat-up old recliner covered with years of filth. Riker sat down gingerly, breathing shallowly to reduce the smell of the place. He had seen evidence of rats in the outer hallway.
“I’m Peggy,” she introduced herself.
“Riker.” He tried to ignore the filth and the stench and concentrate on the conversation. “Dee was the daughter, and she had a boy named Gem, who would have been about three or four when they lived here.”
Peggy nodded. “Yes, that’s right… I used to babysit him occasionally when Kate went out. He was a strange kid.”
“Oh?”
“He’s the type you look at and think: he’s going to be trouble, one day.”
“Why? What kind of trouble?”
“You know, the kind of kid who kills neighborhood cats, and you know he’s going to grow up to be a bad one.”
“He killed cats?”
“He was too young to do that yet. I just figured he was the type.”
“Oh, I see.” Of course, he had no clue what she was talking about without more information. “What was he like?”
“Quiet, sometimes. He would sit in the corner, sucking his finger and watching everything, taking it all in. Or he’d be wild, screaming if you got close to him and racing around destroying everything. You never knew how he was going to behave.”
“I’ve had others say he was unpredictable.”
“Well, if he was in one of his quiet moods, you could pretty much count on him staying that way for a while. You didn’t have to supervise him if he was like that. But if he was wild, you practically had to tie him down to keep him from destroying the house.”
“Did you think he was emotionally disturbed?”
“Well, I didn’t think he was normal…” She cocked her head at him and raised her eyebrows.
“Did you ever think he was abused?”
“They were right next door. Sometimes he would scream and yell like he was being murdered. I didn’t like to get involved, but sometimes, I called the cops to check up on things.”
“Did they ever find anything suspicious?”
“You tell me. They never talked to me about it. Sometimes he had bruises, but he hurt himself too. You never knew whether someone else hurt him or whether he did it himself.”
“Did you see him hurt himself?”
“Yeah, I did.” She nodded. “Hitting his head, scratching his face, things like that.”
“How did he act around Dee and Kate? What did you think of them?”
“He was scared of them. That was obvious. Dee, I could understand. She scared me at the best of times. Kate seemed okay. A little distant, but I never saw anything to indicate she was mean to him.”
“Tell me about Dee.”
“It was so long ago… must be ten years… she was in and out of the psych ward all the time. You couldn’t carry on a normal conversation with her. She’d say bizarre things, hallucinate, she didn’t make sense. I shudder to think of her in the same house as a child, let alone raising one.”
“I gather Katie did most of the raising.”
“Don’t you believe it. If Dee was home, it was her responsibility. Kate would even leave her alone with Gem.”
Riker shook his head at the thought. “It’s a wonder he’s as normal as he is, and not walking around with a tinfoil hat to block alien transmissions.”
“Is he really okay? I sometimes wondered if he’d even survive childhood.”
“He’s had a pretty rough life. I think his upbringing left some scars… Tell me—what did he do when he got in trouble? Was he pretty good at avoiding punishments?”
“No. He’d try to say he wasn’t the one who made the mess, or whatever, but he still got in trouble.”
“He must have learned that later. Did they leave him with you a lot?”
“No, not much. But sometimes if I knew he was left alone over there, I would go over and get him.”
“How often did that happen?”
“A couple of times a week I’d go over and get him. I’m sure they left him alone more than that.”
“He fended for himself at that age?”
“If they didn’t tie him to the bed.” At Riker’s expression, she hurried on. “Not four-point restraints. One end of a rope tied to his wrist and the other end to the bedpost. He could roam around the room.”
“I see. Did he talk much at that age?”
“Mostly gibberish. Not a lot of recognizable words.”
“I see. Anything else? Anything you particularly remember?”
“No, nothing else.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Do you know of any friends they had who might still be around? Or someone who kept in touch with them?”
Peggy thought about it. “No, I don’t think so. People just don’t stay long around here.”
They were all out of jail, and Thrasher was drinking at his apartment with some of the other Rippers when he joined them. “Hey, Thrasher.”
“Gem. Here’s the man of the hour! How’s the Angelletti investigation going?”
He shrugged. “They aren’t getting anywhere,” he said with a smile. “And they ain’t gonna.”
“They don’t think it was you?”
“Right now they’re investigating the poor girl who found him. I’ve got an alibi.”
“I don’t know how you do it, Gem. You’re like a genius with alibis. What’s the secret?”
“It’s my secret,” he said flatly.
Thrasher gazed at him. “Aw, come on. You can’t give your pals some tips on alibis?”
“Don’t get caught without a good one.”
There were laughs from the Rippers.
“Yeah, but how do you arrange ones the cops can’t bust?”
“Make it the truth.”
Thrasher shook his head. “Drink up, on me. Maybe some booze will loosen your tongue.”
He accepted the free drinks without argument. Even if he’d wanted to refuse—and he didn’t—it wasn’t smart to refuse a drink from a guy like Thrasher. Thrasher might act laid back and friendly, but he knew enough about people to know that Thrasher’s sociability hid an intense, powerful inner personality. He knew all about people who were sweet and caring on the outside. There was his Gram, for one.
Her soft, sweet exterior masked an iron core few knew was there.
He could remember waiting for someone to pick him up from school. For the first little while, he just stood in front of the building, waiting. It was a long time before he realized that no one was coming. At first, he cried. He was only five or six. He still cried at that age. After a few minutes of tears, he realized it wasn’t helping him. He could cry in front of the school all night; it wouldn’t make his Gram come pick him up.
After he had settled down, he knew why she hadn’t come. He’d cried on the way to school. Gram had told him that if he kept crying, she would leave him at school all night. So she had. He could try walking home. He wasn’t sure he knew the way or could walk that far. But he didn’t want to stay at the school all night, so he tried.
Other kids in the neighborhood were outside by themselves, so no one noticed one more who looked like he knew where he was going. As it got dark, he felt tears welling up in his eyes, and a lump in his throat made him want to start crying again. He didn’t recognize anything around him anymore.
A woman stopped him as it started to get very dark. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“How far is home? You’re too young to be out here walking by yourself.”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know your address?”
“No.”
“Come with me.”
He resisted. “I’m not supposed to.”
“I suppose not. Well, just walk with me to that phone, and we’ll call a policeman.”
He hesitated but trailed along behind her to the pay phone half a block away. They said at school that it was okay to talk to cops. And he had always been treated kindly by them.
The woman stayed with him until the police car pulled up. The cop who got out of the car shone his flashlight on Gem’s face.
“How old are you?”
“Six.”
“What’s your name?”
“Gem.”
“Jim what?”
“Johnson.”
“Where do you live?”
“I don’t know.”
“Close to here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you’d better come with me. I’ll take you to Child Services until they can track down your folks.”
He climbed into the squad car and let them take him to the Children’s Home. He’d stayed at the Home before.
In the morning, Gram came to pick him up. She talked to the matron while looking at him. “I had to take his mama to the hospital again. I told the school. Someone was supposed to take him home and keep an eye on him. I don’t know what happened.”
He stood there, waiting for her to take him back to school. He could see the steel in her eyes. She’d shown him who was boss. He knew that if he disobeyed, she’d do it again.
“Come on,” she told him, holding out a hand impatiently.
He took it reluctantly. Her hand was bony and dry, and she held on to him too tightly, crushing his fingers.
She pulled him out to the car, hauling on his arm.
Thrasher watched Gem covertly. The boy was gone, lost in his own world again.
Bethany would say he was in his quiet mood. Thrasher had talked to her again. Bethany wasn’t owned by the Rippers anymore, so Thrasher couldn’t give her orders, he could just request favors. She said she hadn’t found out anything significant. Gem had frequent nightmares.
She suggested that his personalities or moods were becoming more distinct. Sometimes she could tell the instant he walked into the room which personality was dominant. Thrasher was starting to be able to distinguish between them too, given some time. Not instinctively like Bethany could, but it was getting easier.
Riker found out almost by accident that Dee, Gem’s mom, had siblings. There was nothing on Gem’s Social Services record to indicate that he had aunts or uncles, but Riker had requested anything he could get on Dee and Katie, and there it was.
Dee had sibling twins who had died in infancy. There was also a brother who had committed suicide as a teenager. And another brother who had been put into foster care. Riker wondered whether he could be located.
Gem walked along the dim street, deep in thought. He was a little bit drunk and a little more stoned. He was feeling anxious, inexplicably worried that someone was going to find out about his past, about his secrets. He was so anxious about it that he’d had to take something to anesthetize himself.
A burly man stepped out of the alley in front of Gem and looked him over. Gem’s stomach lurched.
“A little late to be out by yourself, isn’t it?” the man slurred.
Gem swore and tried to step around him.
“Nice you’re here, though, because I was hoping for some company tonight.”
Gem tried to push past him. Most adults saw his gang colors and left him alone. But the big biker was probably in a gang of his own and didn’t care squat about trouble with a juvie and his gang. He might even be carrying. Gem wasn’t planning on sticking around to find out. The biker grabbed him as he tried to get by.
“Where do you think you’re going? I said I wanted company.”
“Lemme alone,” Gem growled. “Find someone else.”
“I don’t think so. I like you. So come with me.”
Gem struggled to free himself from the man’s grip. He couldn’t even reach his blade. Should’ve been carrying a gun.
Gem started kicking and struggling desperately, blind with panic and anger.
No rules.
Hit or kick whatever he could reach.
Bite and scratch.
Yell, swear and scream.
Kick up a commotion that no one could ignore.
Gem was consumed by blood-red fury. He was not going to submit to this man. Not again. Not here, not now. He refused to be shamed again. He was done with that scene once and for all.
Gem was aware of the people pouring out of the bar behind him. Hands pulled the fighters apart. He fought the hands, all the hands, fighting for his life.
Two-to-one, three-to-one, he was frantic and didn’t know what the odds were anymore, only that he had to hurt them, to escape from them.
He fought until he was face down on the pavement, a couple of them kneeling on his back, arms, and legs, and someone with his boot planted firmly against Gem’s face and neck, pinning him so solidly to the ground that he could no longer struggle.
He was defeated. Totally helpless. They could tie him up, beat him, and starve him until he was too weak and broken-down to raise a hand against them.
Again.
