Page 163 of Pride High 3: Yellow

“I don’t think he really did,” Omar said quickly.

“Who is that exactly?” the detective asked, notepad at the ready.

“A friend of mine,” he answered. “He’s a good kid.”

“What’s his name?”

Omar clamped his mouth shut.

“Make sure Ricky isn’t in the video,”Diego said from the television.“Edit him out. We’re done here.”

The camera dipped, revealing Omar’s shoes.“Is this a joke?”he heard himself ask.“Did you really do it?”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?”Diego spat in return. The screen went dark as he covered the lens.“Now turn that thing off and get in the damn car!”

The footage stopped there, replaced by the basketball team again as they practiced shooting hoops.

“You see?” Detective Truman asked, beaming at them both. “As I suspected, the footage exonerates your grandson. All I need is a copy and I’ll be on my way.”

“Okay,” Omar replied glumly. This is what Diego had wanted anyway. Sort of.

“Oh. And it would help if you gave me Ricky’s last name.”

That wasnotpart of the plan. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to push Ricky toward another suicide attempt. “It’s something weird,” Omar said, deciding that a half-truth was acceptable. “It sounds like Kawasaki or whatever.”

“Maybe your school will know,” Detective Truman said, not seeming concerned. “Or the victims. Now about that copy…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Omar grumbled. He did it the old fashioned way, by hooking his camera up to the VCR. Which is what he should have done in the first place. He just loved any excuse to use the video editing board at work. The detective made him play back the freshly made copy, wanting to confirm that all of the footage was there. Then he left in high spirits.

Omar shut the door after him. And locked it. When he turned around, Mamani was standing not far away while watching him.

“Well?” she asked.

“Diego asked me to record the video and give it to the cops. I only did it so Anthony’s dad wouldn’t get in trouble.” He explained as best as he could. By the end of his story, he was sitting at the kitchen table with Mamani, who was stirring honey into a cup of tea.

“That boy was always trouble,” she said, “but I liked him anyway.”

“Yeah,” Omar said hoarsely. “Me too.” Then he swallowed. “Do we have to tell Mom and Dad?”

“Is this truly the end of it?” she asked.

“The police got what they wanted,” he said. But he didn’t think it would be the end. Not when Diego found out that he’d let the cops see the footage of Ricky. Which sucked, but what could he do? At the moment, he remained silent while Mamani thought about it.

“You were trying to help,” she concluded. “I don’t see any need to report that to them, anymore than if you had been kind to your sister. Which I would like to see more of.”

“You will,” he promised. “I’ll be the best brother she’s ever had.”

“You’re the only one she has,” Mamani replied, “which is why it is so important. Now then… Don’t you need to be somewhere?”

“Crap!” Omar said, leaping to his feet. “I’ll see you later.” He kissed her on the cheek and ran for the door, wishing he had time to warn Ricky, because Detective Truman was no fool. As soon as Omar was off work, he would swing by Ricky’s place and make sure he was prepared for the coming storm.

— — —

Ricky set his backpack on the bed and checked the contents one final time, making sure he had everything he needed. As far as his parents were concerned, he was going to spend the night at Omar’s house. In reality, he was going to meet Diego at Candle Cave for a final night together before his boyfriend skipped town. All of which sounded so romantic that he could barely stand it. Ricky bit his bottom lip, zipped up his backpack, and went downstairs. He set the backpack in the entryway and was heading to the kitchen for a drink when someone rang the doorbell, so he circled back. Opening the door revealed a balding man who wore dress clothes that still managed to feel like a uniform.

“Hi there!” the man said in friendly tones while flashing a badge. “I’m Detective Truman. Are your parents home?”

Ricky’s mouth went so dry that he barely managed to answer. “Yes.”