Kathy Reichs - Bones Are Forever

Both faces stayed pointed at their beers.

“See that gentleman over there? He’s a cop. An overachiever. Gets off on busting people. You know, just in case they might have done something wrong. Believes in preventive policing.”

Raisin Eyes swiveled on his stool, sending a tidal wave of body odor rolling my way. I waggled the printout. He made a show of studying the image.

“Word on the street is she might have worked out of here,” I said.

“Doing what, selling Popsicles? Chick looks like a fucking ice-cream truck.” Raisin Eyes laughed at his own joke. “What do you think, Harp?”

Harp sniggered. “Eskimo Pie all the way.”

“Do either of you recognize her?”

“I don’t recognize Popsicles. I suck ’em.” Oily grin. “How about you? You got a stick up your cheeks so’s I can get a good hold?”

Raisin Eyes never knew what hit him. Shooting past me, Ryan arm-wrapped the guy’s throat and hyper-rotated his elbow up and back in one lightning move. The more Raisin Eyes twisted, the more Ryan tightened the armlock.

Harp bolted for the door. Toffer started in our direction.

“Let’s not make any bad decisions here,” Ollie warned.

Toffer held position, fingers curled into fists at his sides. A few patrons headed for the exit. Others watched, pretending not to. Ollie joined us but did not intervene.

“You’re breaking my arm.” Raisin Eyes’s face was the color of claret.

“Apologize to the lady.”

“She’s the one—”

Ryan increased the pressure.

“Sonofabitch. Whatever.”

“I’m running out of patience.” Ryan’s tone was dangerous.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.”

Ryan released his hold. Raisin Eyes flopped forward, left hand rubbing circles on his right shoulder.

“Name?” Ryan demanded.

“Who the fuck’s ask—”

“I am.” Forged steel.

“Shelby Hoch.”

“That’s a good start, Shelby.”

Ryan gestured for me to hold up the printout. I did. Ollie continued to watch in silence.

“Let’s start over,” Ryan said. “You know this lady?”

“I seen her around.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

“Where?”

Hoch hooked a thumb at the red-bustier waitress.

“Leaving a motel with shit-for-brains.”

WE TURNED AS ONE.

The waitress was staring at us from among the tables, face white, lips geranium-red. Like many large animals, she could move fast when frightened. Slamming down her tray, she bolted for a door to the right of the bar.

Ollie, Ryan, and I shot after her.

The door opened onto an alley. When I came through it, the woman was doubled over and gasping from her short sprint, and bad cop/good cop roles had already been chosen. Ollie held one plump arm. Ryan had a reassuring palm on her back.

Rain was falling in earnest now, drumming the Dumpsters and the cases of empty beer bottles stacked beside them. A soggy plastic bag was moving with the wind against the back of the building, puffing up then flattening against the wet brick.

We waited for the woman to catch her breath. In the salmon glow of a streetlight, her flesh looked pale and soft with fast-food fat. Black underwear bunched out from the waistband of her overstuffed jeans.

Finally, the woman straightened. Still breathing hard, she dug Marlboros from a back pocket, shook the pack, and pulled a cigarette free with her lips.

Ryan withdrew his hand. “You all right?”

Slipping matches from the cellophane, the woman cupped her fingers, lit up, and drew smoke into her lungs, all the while keeping her eyes down.

“Why the rabbit act, sunshine?” Bad-cop Ollie. “You got something to hide? Something we should know about?”

The woman exhaled, creating a silvery cone beneath each nostril.

“I’m talking to you.”

The cigarette tip flared again, bathing the clown face in a soft orange glow.

“You got a hearing disorder?”

The woman exhaled as before, then, eyes still averted, tossed the match.

“That’s it.” Ollie yanked cuffs from his belt.

Good cop raised a “hold it” palm toward bad cop.

“What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Phoenix.” Barely audible.

“May I ask your first name?”

“Phoenix Miller. Everyone just knows me by Phoenix.”

“One of my favorite towns.”

“Yeah. I heard Arizona’s pretty.”

“I’m Detective Ryan. My gruff friend here is Sergeant Hasty.”

Phoenix flicked her Marlboro with a ragged thumbnail. The ash dropped and dissolved in the oil-iridescent puddle at our feet.

“We’d like to ask you a couple of questions, Phoenix.”

“About what?”

“A gentleman at the bar says he saw Annaliese Ruben with you last night.”

“Shelby Hoch ain’t no gentleman. He’s a foulmouthed slug.”

“Thanks for the insightful character analysis.” Ollie, Prince of Sarcasm. “Annaliese Ruben?”

“Why do you want her?”

“I’m her dentist, and I’m worried she’s not flossing her teeth.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Hoch says he saw the two of you at a motel. What hot-sheet palace would that be, sweetheart?”

Phoenix studied the Marlboro as if it might provide guidance. It trembled in her fingers.

“Your girlfriend still there?”

“How would I know?”

“Birds of a feather.”

“I’m out of the life.”

“Right.” Ollie snorted. “You quit rolling down your panties for twenty bucks and some flake.”

The lipsticked mouth opened, but nothing came out. In the surreal light, it looked like a round dark hole.

“We’re not interested in your personal life,” Ryan said. “We want to find Ruben.”

“She in trouble?” For the first time, Phoenix allowed her eyes to make contact with those of another.

“We want to help her.” Ryan held her gaze as he sidestepped the question.

“She’s just a dumb kid.”

“Selling poontang out of Motel Sleaze.” Ollie.

“I’m telling you. It’s not like that.”

“What’s it like?”

“I clean. They comp me a room.” As she spoke, Phoenix kept looking to Ryan for reassurance.

“You live at the motel?”

She nodded.

“Which one?”

“The Paradise Resort.”

“Hundred and Eleventh Street?” Ollie asked.

“You won’t mess me up, will you? I need that room.” Phoenix’s eyes bounced from Ryan to Ollie and back. “It’s a good gig.”

“Is Ruben still there?” Ryan asked.

“Better not be. I told her she could only stay one night.”

“Because of the dog?” The question was out before I knew it was forming. Was I obsessed?

The mascara-laden eyes shifted to me. “Mr. Kalasnik don’t allow no pets. He’s the owner. Who are you?”

“How did Ruben find you?” Ryan asked.

“Everyone’s hip that I work at the Cowboy.”

“Why you?”

“The kid don’t have a whole lot of options.”

“Is there anyone else Annaliese might contact?” Ryan asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Does she have family in Edmonton?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s not from here.”

“From where?” Ollie.

“I don’t know.”

“When did she first come to Edmonton?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m hearing that a lot.”

“We didn’t talk about her past.”

“But you were going to turn her life around.”

“I never said that.”

“You and Foxy make quite a tag team.” Bad cop was doing his best to provoke, hoping for an outburst that might be revealing. “Saint Susan and Saint Phoenix.”