Page 13 of Making His Bones

Gray

I bumped into her in the kitchen.

I hadn’t seen her at all the day before, due to leaving early for the range, and I didn’t have her cell number. You wouldn’t believe how many idiots there were suddenly wanting to learn archery due to the incarceration of the famous Kneecap. It was so bad I asked Ford for help, and got a guy named Sock Monkey. He already knew how to run cash registers, so I tasked him with that while I became real proficient at reading the poster on the wall.

“Assume the stance! Draw string hand toward face! No throwing knives!”

Of course, everyone wanted to know what Kneecap had done wrong to have such a fuss made about him. Slushy had not returned from Illinois, or he would’ve told us more. Fuck, journalists in Pure and Easy would have told us more if they knew anything.

But the bottom line was, I didn’t want to get Elektra in trouble.

The night before, I’d left a note on her pillow. How is your head? Don’t go out if you feel dizzy or nauseous.

So when I slammed into her after hitting the on button on the coffeemaker, I grabbed her shoulders and examined the side of her head.

“I’m okay,” she said with irritation, brushing me away and proceeding to stare at the coffeemaker.

Well, at least it had stopped bleeding, even though it had formed a big contusion of vibrant burgundy and purple. “Elektra, we haven’t had a chance to talk. You were asleep when I got in last night.”

“That’s okay. You have a new job.”

“No, I got an assistant. Listen. Are you trying to track down the killer of your daughter?”

She twirled, her eyes flashing. Her cheeks kind of puffed out, like she was gargling.

I held up both hands. “No, listen, listen. Of course I asked around, and someone told me she didn’t die of a car crash or illness, she was discovered in a suitcase in a swamp. It’s all right, we don’t need to discuss it. But if you’re poking around Seeker trying to run this guy down, I’d suggest you not do so yourself. Believe it or not in today’s day and age, men still consider women inferior, and I mean in strength as well as intellect. It’s true—about the strength part. Any feeble guy like Tobiah can pretty much overpower the strongest woman.”

“Oh, that’s easy for you to say!” she spat. “When you’re so good-looking, everything comes to you on a silver platter!”

“But that’s what I’m trying to say! God or whoever granted men all the chess pieces when it comes to women. They have a complete leg up on women, a head start, a handicap. Besides,” I said, in a lighter tone, “is there anything more important on this planet than being really, absurdly handsome?”

She didn’t laugh. “I don’t know how much this person told you about my daughter, but you’re right, I don’t want to discuss it!” She glared at the coffee pot.

“But you’ll need help,” I said slowly, as though it was my sentence speed that caused her confusion. I poked myself in the chest. “Look what you have right here. A biker. A future member of an outlaw MC.”

She pouted. I really liked that look on her. “I don’t need any damned help.”

“So you admit you are looking for this motherfucker.”

She spun to face me. “When is this motherfucking coffee going to be done?”

“Listen, Elektra. If you’re looking for him, that means you’re already thinking about him. What more harm can it do to enlist my assistance?”

“You don’t have any free time.”

“Yes, I do. The range hours are pretty short.” I didn’t admit that I’d googled her daughter, like any regular person would have done. Some people in the club even remembered the murder. Unless they were bullshitting or exaggerating, I already knew quite a bit about poor Delilah, but I wanted to hear it from Elektra’s mouth. I wanted her to want me. “Listen, here, coffee’s ready. Cup’s right above your head. Do you take milk or sugar?” I didn’t, but I’d purchased some in case she did.

“Milk,” she said petulantly. Man, it was a good thing she worked in a lab. She was so childish sometimes, she would make a terrible detective, throwing things at the suspects.

We got our coffees with a minimum of grumbling. I led her out back by the fire pit. We were on the shady side of the house in July, but already it was so warm I was glad for that. I got her to sit safely in a chair, then I started in, confidentially, with forearms on my knees. Sunlight blaring on the red rocks above us gave her skin a beautiful amber glow.

“Listen,” I said, “I obviously have some skeletons in my closet. My Dad worked for Tony Tormenta—I know, real name, believe it or not—and that’s how I met Knoxie a million years ago. Tony did business with the Bare Bones, but his basic gig was as a flesh peddler, bringing women up from Mexico to sell in Utah. The club eventually made his head into a dartboard after he mauled some of our Bone Lickers, but that’s beside the point. My dad was killed allegedly while four-wheeling in the desert in Mexico. I know, sounds absurd, and of course no one believed it, but what were we supposed to do? That’s when I moved to LA, when I was fifteen. I had some success as a model, but it seemed like more porn people wanted me to show myself so I, ah . . . “

Elektra nodded. “You showed yourself.”

“Yeah.” I looked for her response. She did have that dark-eyed shade of concern that any mother—other than my own—would have. My own mother was sort of a slut, what the club would call a “sweetbutt” or “fender fluff” for Tormenta. “So I want you to know, if you’re looking into this porn ring for an answer about your daughter, that I have lots of experience in that area too.”

“Lots?”