School Days by Robert B. Parker Read Free Book Online Page B

don’t know where the guns came from. They were just there, man, when we decided we needed them.”
    â€œWhy’d you need them?”
    â€œTo shoot up the fucking school, man. Whaddya think?”
    â€œWhose idea was that?” I said.
    â€œI told everybody this shit before,” Wendell said. “Ten times. The cops, the lawyers, the jerkoff fucking shrinks. My old lady. Ten times. We wanted to do it. We did it. Here we are. End of story.”
    I nodded. Fun.
    â€œWhat do you think of Jared?” I said.
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œJared,” I said. “What do you think of him.”
    â€œHe bailed on me, man. He put his little sissy tail between his legs and snuck out, left me to deal with the cops.”
    â€œAnd it wasn’t supposed to be that way?”
    â€œHell, no.”
    â€œHow was it supposed to be?” I said.
    â€œStand-up, man. Two stand-up guys in there giving the cops the finger when they finally came in.”
    â€œBut Jared got scared?”
    â€œLooks like it,” Wendell said.
    â€œThat why you rolled on him?” I said.
    â€œRolled?”
    â€œYou ratted him out to the cops.”
    â€œThe fuck wasn’t going to leave me with the bag.”
    â€œPlus, you got a deal,” I said.
    â€œThat is between us and the District Attorney,” Taglio said. “There’s no reason for you to discuss that, Wendell.”
    â€œWhatever,” Wendell said.
    â€œSo how do we know you didn’t just make it up that Jared was there?” I said.
    â€œÂ â€™Cause the fucker confessed, man. Would that be some kind of fucking clue.”
    â€œGood point,” I said. “Must be a drag after being close with a guy all this time, he bails on you the minute things get rough.”
    Wendell shrugged.
    â€œWe wasn’t so close.”
    â€œYou enter into a plot to kill seven people with a guy you weren’t close to.”
    â€œSure, it was like, you know, business partners,” Wendell said and laughed. “Wasn’t like we was gonna get married or something.”
    â€œBut you must have had reason to think you could trust him.”
    Wendell shrugged.
    â€œBut you couldn’t,” I said.
    Wendell shrugged again.
    â€œMake you mad?”
    â€œFuck him, man. I got it done without him.”
    â€œGot what done?” I said.
    â€œI took care of business,” he said.
    â€œYou shot those people without him?”
    Taglio put a hand on Wendell’s arm. Wendell looked at him. Taglio shook his head.
    â€œI’m not talking about that,” Wendell said.
    â€œYou know who shot whom?” I said.
    Wendell shook his head.
    â€œDid you shoot more or did Jared?”
    Wendell shook his head.
    â€œThere were fifteen people shot,” I said. “One of you must have shot more than the other unless both of you shot at least one of the same people.”
    Wendell shrugged.
    â€œMaybe you both shot them all,” I said.
    â€œFuck you,” Wendell said. “I ain’t talking to you no more.”
    â€œEverybody says that to me,” I said. “Sooner or later.”

15
    W ENDELL G RANT ’ S MOTHER ’ S name was Wilma. She ran a little health-food store near the center of town, with four tables outside, where you could sit and consume sassafras tea and bean sprouts on whole-grain bread. She was a pale woman with big, dark eyes and dark, straight, shoulder-length hair, which was beginning to show some gray. The day I went to see her, she was wearing an ankle-length gray dress with blue flowers, and leather sandals. There was no sign of makeup.
    It was three o’clock in the afternoon. The store was empty of customers, and Wilma Grant sat with me at one of thesmall tables on the sidewalk outside the store. She drank some tea. I didn’t.
    â€œHe just never . . .” she said.
    I nodded.
    â€œHe never was what I wanted him to be,” she said.
    Her