The Bone Triangle Read online

  I stared at the finger bones for a long time. The index finger of the man’s right hand was missing. I realized with a chill this really was my derelict, the one I’d given a dollar to, the one who’d been missing a finger. I felt sure of it.

  The cop was slightly more interested after I told him I thought I knew who it was. He didn’t seem to think I was guilty of anything. He just wanted me to talk to the investigative team that was on the way.

  This was the first lead I’d had, so I was in a cooperative mood. My target had vanished in this area mysteriously. I could tell this wasn’t the first inexplicable pile of bones the cop had seen around here. With any luck, I’d find out where the rest of them were. Worst case, I could get a DNA match and give Karen Swanson the bad news. It wasn’t the way I’d hoped it would end, but at least it would give her some kind of closure. People with missing loved ones often were tortured for years, never knowing if their lost kid was out there somewhere, needing help. Just knowing what had happened for certain was a form of relief.

  I showed the picture to the cop. “Have you seen this young woman around here?” I asked him.

  For the first time, the cop’s eyes narrowed and he looked at me suspiciously. “What are you doing down here, anyway?”

  I hesitated a moment, not wanting to tell him about being hired to find the girl. Cops didn’t always appreciate amateur competition.

  “A friend,” I said. “She’s missing.”

  He nodded. “No. I haven’t seen her or anyone like her. Rich kids don’t come down here—not unless they are trying to score something illegal.”

  I thanked him and dropped the subject. Another squad car and an ambulance arrived. The cop shook his head when he saw the ambulance.

  “A bit late for CPR,” he said.

  I ignored him and watched the EMTs work. They put on gloves and masks before bagging the remains. They didn’t do more than glance at me. The paramedics asked the cop a few questions and filled out a form.

  Finally, another party showed up. I knew his car and his confident walk. It wasn’t a swagger, but it was close. It was Detective Jay McKesson. He ignored the bones, which were now safely bagged in a vinyl zip-up sack, and approached me.

  “Quentin Draith?” he asked. He didn’t sound glad to see me.

  “Detective,” I answered, nodding to him.

  “He’s the closest thing we have to a witness,” the cop said. “He’s all yours.”

  McKesson gave me a predatory smile. “You hear that, Draith? You’re my witness.”

  I showed him the picture. “I’m looking for her.”

  McKesson made an appreciative sound. “Not bad. I admire your taste in women.”

  “She’s missing from this area, about a week past.”

  “I know all about it,” he said.

  “Any leads?”

  He made a face, then gestured toward the sack of bones. The paramedics had just heaved it up into the back of the ambulance.

  “That’s the only kind of lead I’ve got.”

  I stared after the paramedics as they closed up shop. There hadn’t been much of an investigation. A tech with a camera went through the motions, snapping shots of the stained concrete from multiple angles now that the bones had been removed. I got the impression they’d all been through this before without learning much. They hadn’t even put up any yellow tape.

  The cop who’d picked me up approached McKesson as the investigation wound down. “Sir, I’d like to formally request to whoever might be in charge…” He broke off, frowning at me.

  “Go ahead, officer,” McKesson said. “There’s no point in trying to keep Draith here in the dark. He’ll be ass-deep in this soon enough, if he isn’t already.”

  “Yes, sir. Well, I’d like to ask that you move it out of this area. I mean, whatever it is that’s happening. We’ve had enough of it, sir.”

  McKesson looked annoyed. “You think I can control these events? Well, I can’t. I don’t think anyone can.”

  “Well, whoever’s in charge—”

  “Listen to me: no one is in charge here.”

  The cop twisted his lips as if he didn’t believe McKesson, but he nodded and climbed back into his cruiser. He turned off his flashers and left. The streets had been quiet before, but now that it was dark and there had been a crime scene, they were positively deserted.

  A few moments later, everyone was gone. I found myself standing with McKesson at my side. I wasn’t sure that I appreciated the company.

  “Now that you know the score,” he said, “maybe you can help me out with whatever it is you’ve pieced together?”

  I shook my head. “What do I know? I just got here. This is clearly your investigation. Why don’t you talk to me for a change? In return, when I do get something, I’ll bring it straight to you.”

  “No press? No blogging?”

  “I just want to find out what happened to the girl.”

  McKesson sighed. “I would take you in, or ditch you, but I know you’ll just keep digging, Draith. Okay, I’m going to cut you a break in exchange for future information. First of all, this area has always had a bad rep.”

  “I know all about that.”

  “Naturally. But over recent years, there have been a number of disappearances. About a year back, the first pile of bones appeared in that building over there.”

  I glanced in the direction he indicated. It looked like an abandoned industrial site. “What was it?”

  “Just a warehouse. They imported special goods for special people.”

  “Go on.”

  McKesson shrugged. “The disappearances have slowly grown in number and the area they encompass has expanded. Bones aren’t always left behind, but they often are. That’s about it.”

  I couldn’t help looking around myself in concern. Was there some kind of invisible monster stalking this region, eating people? The concept seemed bizarre, and I would never have taken it seriously if I hadn’t witnessed even stranger things in this town.

  “What about your watch?” I asked. “I noticed you didn’t beat the rest of the uniforms to the scene of the crime this time.”

  McKesson frowned at me. He hated talking about his wristwatch. It was an artifact, like my sunglasses. Its power was very different, however. It had the ability to indicate the location of a new rip in space. Strange things tended to come out of those rips, and McKesson often knew where they were going to come and could lie in wait for whatever stepped out. The watch was a secret, and he liked to keep it that way. I suspected it was because it was the key to his success. He was the best at investigating strange occurrences around Las Vegas, and he owed a lot of that to the wristwatch.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, glaring. “But I will say my normal instincts aren’t working in this case.”

  I snorted. “Nothing? No rips are involved here?”

  McKesson shrugged.

  “If you want information from me, you are going to have to open up a little.”

  “All right. I think there are rips, but they are of short duration. I get a twitch, then nothing. There’s never enough time to locate the rip or even get a good fix on it. I guess if I was hanging around in this neighborhood when one opened I could find it, but so far it hasn’t worked out that way.”

  I nodded thoughtfully. “So, maybe something is stepping through, grabbing people, and then vanishing again?”

  He threw up his hands. “Maybe. Can I drop you somewhere?”

  “Yeah, who has a domain in this area?”

  McKesson stared at me for a second. “No one.”

  “Ah, come on. The Lucky Seven is a couple of miles away. There must be someone who has laid claim to this part of town.”

  He shook his head. “Not really. It’s not prime real estate. The only one who might be involved would be the gutter man—Gutter Jim.”

  “The gutter man?”

  “Yeah. He rules the canals and sewers, so his domain goes all over.
I’ve never actually met him. He stays underground most of the time.”

  I grimaced. “The sewers, huh? Great. In that case, I could use a ride to the Lucky Seven.”

  “Going to see Rostok? Do you think he still likes you? You’ve caused him a lot of trouble.”

  “That’s my business.”

  Seeing that I was done providing information, McKesson did an about-face and walked off. “Okay, see you around,” he said, moving to his car.

  I followed him, frowning. “Hey, I thought you were going to give me a ride.”

  “Too busy,” he said, climbing into his car and starting it up quickly. “I’ve got my own problems, Draith. You’re not the center of the universe, you know.”

  I glared at his taillights and cursed for a while. Apparently, he’d offered me a ride only to find out where I was going next. I guess I hadn’t been useful enough to warrant a free trip downtown.

  I took the next cross street and headed toward the Strip on foot. On the way there, things got weird.

  Every bad neighborhood has individuals that make it bad. It’s not the streets themselves that are to blame for poor reputations. It’s the people who roam them—that’s what the populace is really afraid of.

  The airport district had always had trouble with gangs. When I first spotted a group up ahead, milling on the street with lazy, insolent steps, I knew what I was facing. But I kept walking toward them. Turning around now would be a mistake. Like dogs, they could smell fear.

  As I walked closer and closer, I felt my heart accelerate in my chest. It wasn’t pounding yet, but it was getting there. They weren’t shouting any early challenges, which gave me false hope.

  I had a few moments to reflect upon the nature of gangs as I drew closer to them and they quieted, taking my measure. In America, groups of young toughs had a long and storied history. From West Manhattan to East Los Angeles, urban youth often felt the siren’s call to gather like small baboon troops and harass people on city streets. I supposed it was rather like organized hazing or bullying in schools. I recalled a quote from Davy Crockett concerning the Irish gangs of centuries past: “These men are worse than savages. They are too mean to swab Hell’s kitchen.” That name had stuck, christening the infamous Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood of New York City.

  When I was close enough to count them, I came up with seven sets of hunched shoulders. Were they armed? It was hard to tell. The odds were pretty good that they were. I decided not to reach for my gun as there was no sense in escalating things early. My chief worry was the five thousand dollars in the envelope under my shirt. I couldn’t afford to lose that.

  The streets were dark now, and passing cars were rare. Overhead, the streetlights hummed and moths tapped at the orange bulbs.

  I drew closer, reaching that zone of space in which people feel the urge to acknowledge one another. They had been talking in murmured conversations with occasional loud bursts of laughter. Now they fell silent. I felt their stares, and I returned them evenly.

  “Hey, cop,” one of them called out to me when I reached a range of perhaps thirty feet.

  I glanced at him in mild surprise. “I’m not a cop,” I said, almost laughing.

  “Bullshit,” said another, stepping out onto the sidewalk. He was blocking my path now. I’d have to step into the street to keep going. “We saw you get out of the cruiser. We saw you talking to them forever.”

  I walked closer, trying not to slow down. I felt a surge of anger. Sure, I technically owned a mansion, but no one wanted to buy mansions these days. I would probably have to let it go to the bank for taxes soon. After you subtracted what I owed, I probably had less wealth in the world than these punks, and I wasn’t in any mood to share whatever was left.

  “Look kids,” I said, “the cops hate me more than they do any of you. Trust me. Now, get out of the way.”

  The first one laughed. “He must think they can get back here quick enough. I doubt it, undercover man. I really do.”

  I decided to bluff and gamble. Call it a personality flaw. “Don’t you guys want to know why your friends are turning into little piles of bones?” I asked them.

  That changed their attitudes—unfortunately, it didn’t bring out the best in them. Cursing, three of them stepped close. They said very bad things about my mother, my sister, and my personal sexual history.

  “Give us what you got, and you can go,” the leader said from about three feet away. His hands were curled into fists at his side. He was the biggest of them, and the others called him “Cartoon.” His dark brown arms were wrapped by tattoos of green eagles and his eyes were like two drops of black oil.

  I shook my head. “Don’t have much, and I’m not handing over what I have.”

  Cartoon grinned, clearly happy to hear my decision. He waved forward two of his friends.

  The first man drew back a fist. I stepped close, grabbed his wrist and elbow, and pulled him forward until he was off-balance. These boys were game, but they weren’t trained fighters. I sent him over my hip onto his face.

  No one had a weapon in hand, so I didn’t draw mine. If I pulled a gun now, they would do the same and things could escalate. I’d been in a lot of fights; most of them I couldn’t even remember. I figured these guys might even learn to respect me before this was over.

  The second one took his shot. He kicked at my knees. I kicked back, and something popped. He went down cursing.

  The third guy was Cartoon himself. He was the scary one. He had a look of confidence the others didn’t possess. He also was ruder than the rest, moving in on me before it was really his turn. I hadn’t recovered from my kick when I saw his fist coming at me out of the dark. I twisted my head but took it on the point of my chin. My jaw popped painfully, and I staggered back. He came in behind that first roundhouse swing, firing powerful blows toward my midsection.

  I managed to save the situation by grabbing his wrist, stepping behind his left ankle with my left foot, and pushing at his shoulder. It was an easy throw, and he went down in a spiral around me. Unfortunately, he caught hold of my shirt with both his hands, and I stumbled and went to my knees.

  The first guy was back up by now and kicked me. Besides hurting like a bastard, his action finally dislodged my prized possession. The brown envelope fell out onto the concrete and spilled open. Hundred dollar bills fluttered over the sidewalk.

  The gang whooped and surged forward, grabbing for the cash like a pack of kids when the piñata finally bursts open. A sane man in my situation would have climbed to his feet and run off. Unfortunately, I was pissed off and desperate.

  “Give that back, or I’ll turn you all to piles of slimed bones!” I shouted.

  Of all the things I could have said under the circumstances, this was possibly the only thing that had the power to gain their attention.

  “You’re a cop!” shouted Cartoon. “The cops don’t know about the Beast! They don’t know where the bones come from—or where they go.”

  “Let’s take the cash and run,” said a shapely young woman with incredibly long fingernails, tugging at his sleeve.

  Cartoon shook his head. He straightened and shoved the small handful of money he’d managed to gather into my face. “I can take your money later, cop. Right now, I want to see you bleed.”

  I took the money and stuffed it away. “You and me, then,” I said, agreeing to his terms.

  The rest of them squinted at us like we were crazy. I could read the look: my money had upped the ante. Originally, they’d been bullying a man on the street. They’d had nothing to lose. But now they had real cash in their hands and they wanted to keep it. They wanted to escape in case I really was a cop and had called for support somehow.

  They abandoned Cartoon after a few shouted attempts to persuade him it was time to flee. I thought about running after a few and beating the money out of them, but I knew I couldn’t do it with the big man chasing me.

  Cartoon put up his fists and set his feet. He knew how to stand, and
I could tell his punches were going to hurt. He was the only one among them who knew how to fight.

  “Let’s make this a man’s fight,” he said. “I paid for it. No kicking. No girl-stuff. Just fists and balls.”

  I thought I knew what he meant, so I nodded. We began trading blows. I tried jabs first and so did he. I ducked a few heavy fists and began to worry. He was younger, stronger, and almost as fast. The only thing I had on him was experience and whatever training I’d received in my hazy past. I still couldn’t remember much about my life before the last six months.

  I took a few shots to the chest and one to the right ear that left my head singing. In return, I closed one of his eyes for him. We were both breathing hard as we took a break and circled.

  “You really aren’t a cop, are you?” he asked. “No cop would fight fair like this. He’d call in a hundred friends. Cops are just the biggest gang, you know that?”

  I smiled, showing him a few blood-lined teeth. “I told you they hate me.”

  I realized I had gained his respect. But I hadn’t taken the fight out of him. This young man liked a good fight, and he meant to have one. He meant to beat me down until my face was on the pavement or his was. I figured he might win. Regretfully, I decided to even the odds.

  We came together again, both swinging hard. I stepped close and ducked low. I used the power of one of the artifacts I wore—just a small thing. The wedding ring Jenna had given me long ago was still around my little finger, turned around so the diamond didn’t show. It was an object and it had a neat power: it gave someone a small amount of localized luck. It didn’t have much range, but its reach was great enough to help out in a fistfight. I urged Cartoon’s foot to slip. At the same time, I grabbed his other leg behind the knee and heaved. He went over on his back. On the way down, he landed badly, smacking his head on the curb.

  I stood over him, ready to rain down blows, but I hesitated. He glared up at me, rubbing the back of his head.

  “You cheated somehow,” he complained. His expression was honestly reproachful. “There’s no way I should be down like this.”