Catch Me (Detective D.D. Warren, #6)(72)

“Are you playing a game now?” Jesse asked, venturing closer.

“Yep. Helmet Hippo was just online. He’s my nemesis, you know. Has one thousand and five hundred points more than me. But I’m improving my game all the time, so I’m thinking in the next month, I’ll close that gap. Pass the f*cker.”

Jesse gaped for a second, caught off guard by the swear word. Then he closed his mouth, forced himself to appear relaxed again. Barry was sixteen. Sixteen-year-old boys could use those kinds of words. Jesse could use those kinds of words. He glanced around. As long as his mother never heard him.

“Are you playing baseball?” Jesse asked, standing behind Barry’s shoulder, peering at the monitor.

“Yep, seventh inning, at bat, two outs. Got Slimey Slug on my team.”

“Sorry,” Jesse said.

“Exactly. Not going well. Will take a miracle to get up to bat again.”

“Oh.” Jesse was disappointed. He wanted to learn to hit the curveball.

Barry seemed to understand. “Want to play? Come on, grab a chair. We’ll log on your bear and I’ll show you some things to do.”

Jesse scrambled to find an empty chair. He pulled it up close to Barry, shoulder to shoulder so they could both see the monitor. Then he carefully placed Zombie Bear next to Pink Poodle on the tabletop. He thought they looked good together.

Jesse glanced at his watch, realized it had been well over fifteen minutes. “I’ll be right back,” he said. Before Barry could respond, he bolted to his mother’s section, where he found her hunched over a giant book, brow furrowed as she flipped pages. Jesse exclaimed in a rush, “Sorry I’m late working with the librarian to find a new series to read can I have fifteen more minutes please?”

“What?” his mother stared up at him.

“Librarian. Helping me. Gonna find a new series to read.”

“Okay. But not too much longer. Get the first book of the series, bring it here, please.”

“’Kay.”

Jesse breathed deep, glanced at his watch again, and bolted back downstairs, where Barry had already logged off Pink Poodle and was clearly waiting for him.

“Just needed to check in,” Jesse said without thinking.

“Check in?”

Jesse’s cheeks turned pink. “My mom,” he mumbled. “She’s doing research.”

“Okay,” Barry said, like it was no big deal. He asked Jesse his password, logged in Zombie Bear, then they were off and running. Barry used the keyboard first, showing Jesse what to do. Then Jesse would use the arrow keys and try to replicate. Sometimes, the moves were too fast. Then Barry would place his hand over Jesse’s and show him which arrow—right, left, up, or down—to hit faster. Like left, left, left, down, right.

When Jesse made a hit, Barry cheered, his voice low so others wouldn’t shush them. When he missed, Barry would mutter stuff like “Fucker,” “Shit,” “Shit on a stick,” in an even lower voice, and Jesse would giggle because he’d never heard “Shit on a stick” before and the more he thought about it, the funnier it sounded.

Then Barry’s pocket started to chime. “Jesus H. Christ,” the boy said, and Jesse’s eyes rounded into saucers.

Barry fumbled with his pocket, pulled out a phone. “Gotta go,” the older boy said.

“Oh,” Jesse said. Then, before he could help himself. “The curveball, we didn’t get to the curveball.”

“Yeah, right.” Barry was already logging off, grabbing Pink Poodle, stuffing the dog in the pocket of his oversized ski jacket. “Well, you know, come back tomorrow. We’ll do it then.”

Jesse bit his lower lip. He wanted to come back tomorrow, but it had been hard enough to come today. And given how long it had been since he’d checked in with his mom, she was probably mad at him, and then he definitely wouldn’t be allowed back in the library tomorrow. “I got…something…” Jesse mumbled. “After school.”

Barry was already standing, pushing the chair. “Next day then.”

“But…but…”

“Look, kid, I gotta go.”

Jesse couldn’t think of what to say. Just stared up at the older boy.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Barry said at last. “Follow me, ’kay? I gotta grab a smoke. Right outside, I can light up, then I’ll show you how to log in on my phone and we’ll hit a curveball. But then I gotta go, ’kay?”

The older boy was already moving. Jesse scrambled to catch up.

Outside the air had turned frosty. Jesse could see ice particles dancing in the glow of the streetlights and feel tiny pinpricks of cold sting against his cheeks. Barry loped down the front steps, moving quickly. The teenager was tall, lanky. Walked, talked like a cool kid. Jesse bet at school, all the other students liked Barry, wanted to be like him. And here he was, with Jesse.

The boy stopped at the bottom of the library stairs, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one up.

He caught Jesse staring up at him. “Never smoke,” the older kid instructed. “These f*ckers will kill you.”

Jesse nodded.

Barry held out his phone. “I’ll show you what to do.”

Barry got Jesse logged on. They found a baseball game in progress, and Jesse waited his turn to come up to bat. Barry kept moving, so Jesse jogged along beside him. He was focused on the phone, the world of AthleteAnimalz, not paying attention.