Kathy Reichs - Bones Are Forever

“Starting with her pimp.”

Scar shrugged again. Same shoulder.

“Starting with a warrant for his cell phone records.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I can do that.” Ollie augured a finger into the printout.

Blowing out a sigh, Scar dropped into his chair and glanced at the photo. “OK. Yeah. Maybe it’s the fat kid used to hang around some.”

“Amazing how the mind works.”

“So I forgot. I been busy.”

“Altar-boy duties.”

“That’s it.”

“Or maybe you’ve been working the bus depots. Looking for young stuff, you know what I mean?”

This time the shoulder hitch seemed less cocksure.

“Maybe we should talk to your workforce. Check a few IDs. See how many candles these girls will be blowing out on their next cakes.”

“This is harassment.”

“How old was Ruben when you turned her out?”

Scar’s mouth curled up in a smarmy half-smirk. “It wasn’t like that.”

“What was it like?”

“I tried to help her.”

“Right. You were her mentor.”

Scar wagged his head slowly. “You’re so fucking dumb, you don’t have a clue.”

“You her baby daddy?”

“Ruben didn’t have no baby.”

“Yes. She did.”

“News to me.”

“You help her kill it?”

“You’re fucking nuts.”

The more I watched, the more repulsive I found the little weasel.

“Where is she?”

“I haven’t seen the bitch in three years.”

“That so?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“She moved on.”

“With who?”

“Tom fucking Cruise. How should I know?”

“That make you angry? Ruben taking off like that?”

“It’s a free country.”

“Did Ruben mule for you, Scar? That it? She leave you with a gap in your distribution system?”

“The dumb cunt didn’t have the brains to pick her own nose.”

“Or was it the lost revenue? One less whore paying for the right to do back-alley blow jobs?”

“The kid was a whale. Not worth piss.”

“Did you cap her? Use the hit to send a message?”

“You really are. You’re fucking crazy.”

Sensing fault lines in the tough-guy bravado, Ollie offered silence.

“Look, I hope nothing’s happened to the kid. Honest. I wish I could help.”

Ollie leaned back and folded his arms. “Tell me what you know about her.”

Scar looked as though the request confused him.

“Is Ruben Francophone? Anglophone? Aboriginal?”

“She spoke English.”

“Where’s she from?”

When Scar wagged his head, I could see moisture glistening on his upper lip.

“Who’d she hang with?”

“I heard she lived with a chick named Foxy.”

“If Ruben left Edmonton, where would she go?”

Scar raised his hands and eyes to the ceiling.

“How would she travel?”

“Jesus, man. I’m telling you. I don’t know. I never get involved in the girls’ personal lives.”

That did it. My anger boiled over. “This runt-ass bastard hooks kids on drugs, makes them whore to feed their addictions, bullies them, exploits them financially, but he’s not involved in their personal lives?”

Ryan clasped the upturned palm I’d thrust toward the screen. For a moment our eyes locked. He looked away first. I disengaged and dropped my arm to my side.

It went on like that, Ollie asking questions, Scar insisting he knew nothing, me fighting the urge to reach through the monitor and throttle the little turd.

At seven, Ollie gave Scar the old saw about not leaving town. Abruptly, he rose and left the room.

Scar flung curses at Ollie’s retreating back. Before the monitor went dark, he shouted one last zinger at the door.

“You’re so fucking clueless, you might as well be working right between your cheeks.”

* * *

We spoke little during the drive to the airport, the check-in process, and the brief wait at the gate. By some fluke, our flight boarded on time. Thanks to a malicious god, I drew the seat next to Ollie.

We were buckling our belts and powering down our mobiles when the pilot’s voice came over the speakers. I knew right away that he did not have good news.

Mechanical problem. Thirty-minute delay.

“Holy Mother of God. Do these airlines ever take off on time?”

Feeling a response would be pointless, I offered none.

“If it’s not the weather, it’s something wrong with the plane, or the crew’s gone missing, or some other damn thing.”

Making no attempt at subtlety, I opened my Ian Rankin novel and began to read. Sergeant Sensitive did not take the hint.

“Scar’s a real piece of work, isn’t he?”

My eyes remained glued to my book.

“We think he’s trying to expand, run product north into the territories.”

I turned a page. Damn, I was going to miss Rebus.

“The bastard’s smarter than he looks. Keeps a layer between himself and the street. Impossible to pin shit to him.”

Nope.

Ollie gave up talking to my right ear. Several minutes passed while he flipped through the flyer on safety instructions and the on-board magazine. Then, sighing theatrically, he returned both to their pouch.

“I think Scar knows more than he’s saying about Ruben.”

That got my attention. Closing my book, I turned sideways. “Why?”

“Remember how the creep got his name?”

“He burned a girl.”

“Story goes, he tracked her all the way to Saskatoon. Wanted to send out a warning.”

“To?”

“Anyone thinking of quitting his employ.”

“Ruben left Edmonton three years ago. Why wait so long?”

“Montreal’s big. And far away. Ruben changed her name and laid low, so she was able to fly under Scar’s radar. Now she’s back on his turf. And there’s one other detail I haven’t shared.”

I waited.

“Scar’s from Yellowknife.”

“How do you know that?”

“We’ve been trying to nail the bastard for years. We know.”

“You think he might go after Ruben?”

“Word is Scar’s trying to move in on the action up there. To do that, he needs to show he plays hardball.”

A cold hollowness filled my gut. I leaned into the seat back and closed my eyes. Why such apprehension? Fear for Ruben’s safety? In all likelihood, the woman had killed her own babies. Abandoned their bodies without a backward glance.

Or had she? Had it been Ruben’s choice? Had someone else done it or forced her hand? It could not have been Scar in Montreal. Then who? Was that person helping her now?

Nothing made sense.

Forex and Scar both said Ruben wasn’t very smart. Yet she’d gotten herself to Quebec and lived incognito for three years. She’d concealed her pregnancies, delivered and murdered at least four infants. She’d eluded the Project KARE task force. She’d eluded and continued to elude both the RCMP and the QPP.

How? A complex support network? A single partner? Street smarts? Blind luck?

I turned to Ollie. “Scar said you were clueless. What did he mean by that?”

“Braggadocio.”

“Good word.”

“I downloaded an app that pops you a new one every day.”

“They ever send ‘clueless’?” I hooked quote marks. I wasn’t amused.

“It’s just trash talk. The last thing Scar wants is me shining a light up his ass.”

“He used the word twice.”

“Maybe I’ll send him a link for the app.”

Our flight finally took off at ten-fifteen. We never learned the nature of the plane’s mysterious ailment.

All I remember about the Yellowknife airport is a stuffed polar bear presiding over the baggage claim area. And a whole lot of empty. Outside the terminal, a mix of rain and snow was blowing diagonally. And it was colder than crap.