Kathy Reichs - Bones Are Forever

I landed bum first, my wind knocked somewhere into tomorrow. For a moment I could focus only on taking in oxygen.

I was struggling to breathe when I heard gravel crunch, then a loud hoot. I looked over my shoulder.

Five yards downslope, the Kentucky Fried kid was straddling a clunky red Schwinn that looked like it had rolled off the line sometime in the fifties. His yellow skateboard jutted from a metal basket attached to the bike’s rear fender.

“Hoo-hooh!” Laughing, the kid pointed a skinny finger my way. “You look like my grandma when she fell in with the pigs.”

“And you look like you should have left the training wheels on.”

The kid was tall, maybe up to my chin. Under the oversize tracksuit, his body was scarecrow-thin. I guessed his weight, soaking wet, at maybe sixty pounds, his age at approximately twelve.

“Yeah? How old you think I am?”

My lungs remained too much in spasm to answer.

As I got to my feet, the kid moved closer. He had dark eyes set too far apart and dark hair curling from beneath the tuque. A scar on his upper lip suggested a surgically repaired cleft palate.

“Man, you look like shit.”

The kid had a point. My chin was raw. My hair was wet. My clothes were soaked and covered with mud.

“Smell like shit, too.”

“Won’t your kindergarten be coming up short on the head count?” Childish. But the little twerp provoked it.

“If you’re looking for the old folk’s home, could be my grandma could help.”

“Could be your grandma could coach you on manners.”

“Wouldn’t matter. You’d still be older than dirt.”

I started jogging up Hamilton. The kid pedaled along at my side.

“I saw you this morning on Fiftieth.”

“Brilliant. But I’m out of lollipops.”

“You was following Ms. Snook.”

Nellie Snook. I noted the surname.

“Whatcha doing down here in Old Town?”

“Looking for a friend.”

“How come you’re covered in pig slop?”

“I fell.”

“Probably Alzheimer’s.”

“And you’ll probably need a jock strap in ten or twelve years.”

“Just about the time you’ll be peeing your diaper.”

Slowing to a walk, I glanced over at the kid. His expression was cocky but held no hint of malice.

“My friend’s name is Annaliese Ruben.”

“Why you looking for her?”

“I have something to deliver.”

“Give it to me. I’ll get it to her.”

“You’ll get it straight to a fence.”

“Can’t fault a man for trying.” The kid grinned broadly, revealing gapped and crooked teeth.

“So you know Nellie Snook?”

“Never said that.”

“Do you know Annaliese Ruben?”

“She an old crone like you?”

“What’s your name?”

“Binny.”

“Binny what?”

“Binny Mind-Your-Own-Business.”

I was sure Binny would peel off when I turned onto Franklin. He didn’t. We’d gone a half block when a thought struck me.

“Hey, shrimp.”

“Yeah, Granny.”

“You know a guy named Horace Tyne?”

“Everyone knows Horace.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s a environmentaler.”

“Environmentalist?”

A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face.

“Lots of people are going green. Why’s Horace so special?”

“Everyone talks a big game. Horace does stuff.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning he tries to save the caribou and shit like that.”

“How’s he going to save the caribou?”

“By creating a preserve. No one can fuck with the herds if they’re on a preserve.”

“Does Grandma approve of your foul language?”

“Does anyone approve of your wrinkly old face?”

“Why aren’t you in school?”

“I’ve got chicken pox.”

Again I thought the kid would take off. Again I was wrong.

Walking along, I rewound my conversation with Nellie. Her question had implied a link between Ruben and Tyne. This kid knew Tyne.

“That KFC open when you were there this morning, shrimp?”

“No. Granny.”

“They open now?”

“Doubt it.”

“You old enough to eat pancakes?”

“You buying?”

“Can we talk about Horace Tyne?”

“Fire up your hearing aid.”

BINNY AND I WERE APPROACHING FORTY-THIRD STREET WHEN the sound of an engine caused us to glance over our shoulders.

Ryan was at the wheel of a white Toyota Camry. He’d come up from behind and was crawling the curb.

I stopped. Binny hesitated, looked to me, then dropped one sneaker to the sidewalk to brace himself.

Ryan drew up beside us. Through the windshield, I saw him shift into park. Not so gently.

I crossed to the Camry. Binny watched, one foot flexed on a pedal.

Smiling, I leaned down and tapped the passenger-side window. Instead of lowering the glass, Ryan yanked his door handle, launched himself out, and circled the trunk.

“Boy, am I glad to see you,” I said. Still smiling.

“What the shit, Brennan?” Ryan’s expression was a wild mix of anger and relief.

“I’m freezing my ass off.” The smile wavered but held.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Binny’s elbows winged up, and his fingers tightened on the handlebar grips. Knowing the kid was about to bolt, I tried diffusing the tension with humor. “Detecting.” Eyebrow wiggle.

“You think this is funny?”

I spread my arms to show the state of my person. “A little.”

“Are you for real?”

“You didn’t get my calls?”

“I got your calls! My finger is raw from hitting redial!”

“Easy, muchacho.” I’d never seen Ryan so worked up.

“Why didn’t you answer?”

“My phone took on a wee bit of water.” Again I spread my arms.

For the first time, Ryan noticed my condition. Normally, he’d have gone all Don Rickles on my après–koi pond appearance. Instead, he thundered on. “This is amateur hour, Brennan.”

Amateur? That did it. The smile crumbled. “Are you accusing me of being unprofessional?”

“Sloppy. Inconsiderate. Stupid. Irresponsible. Shall I continue?”

“I may have found Ruben.”

Ryan was in full tirade and not hearing a word. “We didn’t come here for a Boy Scout Jamboree. Scar and his pals play hard, and they play for keeps.”

“Take a lap, Ryan.”

“Did you just tell me to take a lap?”

“Ease back on the drama.”

“Every cop in Yellowknife is looking for you. That drama enough?”

With that, Binny fired up the block, skinny legs pumping like mad. At the corner, he cut a right and disappeared from view.

“Now, that was unprofessional.” I met Ryan’s glare with my own.

“Get in the car.” Ryan stepped around me and wrenched open the passenger-side door.

“That kid might have useful information.”

“Get in.”

I didn’t move.

“Get in the goddamn car.”

I threw myself into the passenger seat, slammed the door, buckled up, and chest-crossed my arms.

Ryan slid behind the wheel, drew in and released a ten-mile breath. His jaw clenched, unclenched, then he keyed a number into his mobile. “I have her.” He waited out a response. “You’ve got that right. We’re heading for the Explorer.”

After repocketing the phone, Ryan secured his belt, started the engine, and joined the traffic on Fiftieth.

“Don’t forget to cancel the choppers and dogs.” Keeping my eyes straight ahead, my mouth hooked down at the corners.

Icy silence.

Fine. I was mad, too. But also humiliated. Rainwater had obviously talked to Ollie following his conversation with Chalker. Ollie had phoned Ryan. My cheeks burned at the thought of how many others had been put on alert.