The Book of Bones- a Bones Bonebrake Adventure

by David Wood

  Manny clucked his tongue. “Should have bought a Ford.”

  “I’ll debate you on that all day long. It’s ten years old, and I’ve never had a problem. Until now,” he added.

  “Consuela’s thirty years old, and she’s been nothing but problems, but she still runs. Come on. We’ll get your truck.”

  Consuela was a battered Ford pickup whose brown paint blended seamlessly into the landscape. Manny kept up a steady stream of chatter about the menu at the Blue Corn Grill where Mari worked. He recommended the cheese quesadilla, primarily because he had his doubts about the meat served up at the town’s only diner.

  “You ever see a roof rat? Grande! Everybody’s got them. My place has got them. The motor court’s got them. But Blue Corn? No roof rats. Think about that. Where do they go?”

  “Into the burritos?” Bones guessed.

  “Bingo.”

  Bones vowed to stick to beer and chips until he got back onto the road.

  Half an hour later, after towing Bones’ truck back to the shop and giving it a quick inspection, Manny delivered the news Bones had feared.

  “You dropped your tranny, bro.”

  Under a different set of circumstances, he would have turned that phrase into a perverse joke, but when it meant he had to pony up the cash for a new transmission, humor was in short supply. There went most of what he’d planned on spending in Vegas.

  “How soon can you have it ready?”

  Manny considered the question. “I can get the parts day after tomorrow. I can have the work done the next day, assuming my nephew’s sober enough to help me.”

  Bones resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was, after all, the smallest of small towns. “Looks like I’ll be hanging around town for a few days. Any suggestions on how to kill time?”

  Manny shrugged. “I think the motor inn has HBO.”

  Bones gathered his belongings, thanked Manny for his help, and headed off down the road toward the motor inn. The heat rising up from the asphalt shimmered, giving the town a slightly out of focus quality. One hour ago he’d been on his way to Sin City to reconnect with an old flame. Now he was facing three days of zero kicks on Route 66. Sometimes life sucked.

  Chapter 2

  The Blue Corn Grill smelled of burger grease, roasted chile, and stale beer. The afternoon sun shone through the dusty windows, casting dull beams on the warped wooden floor, stained by the spills of decades of tipsy clients. Three men in work uniforms sat around a table, loudly debating the relative merits of the Dallas Cowboys and Denver Broncos. When Bones walked in, they all gave him a quick glance. He raised his chin by way of greeting. The men returned the gesture, looking like baby ducks waiting to be fed, and then went back to their conversation. Mariachi music blared from an old jukebox. Bones smiled. Swap out the mariachi for some Metallica and he’d be right at home.

  Marisol stood with her back to the bar, filling a pitcher with beer. Bones propped his elbows on the bar and waited for her to turn around.

  “Oh my God, you scared me,” she said when her eyes fell on him. “What are you doing, stalker?”

  “I didn’t want to interrupt you when you’re hard at work.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ve got three customers. Four if I count you.”

  “Why wouldn’t you count me? I’m awesome, and I’m a good tipper.”

  She laughed at that. “We’ll see. Did you get checked into the motor lodge all right?”

  “Sure did. Surprisingly, they had a ton of rooms available. I guess it isn’t tourist season.”

  “It hasn’t been tourist season for as long as this town has been here. Hold on a minute.”

  Bones waited while she carried the pitcher of beer over to the table where the football fans were still arguing. Embroiled in a heated Tony Romo versus Peyton Manning dispute, they hardly noticed her.

  “So,” she said, wiping her hands on her jeans, “what will you have?”

  “How are the chicken fingers?” Bones asked, scanning the chalkboard behind the bar where the menu was written in a delicate, feminine hand.

  “Frozen. Same as the burger patties. The hot dogs are awful. The locals usually go for the burrito or the huevos rancheros.”

  Remembering what Manny had said about the burritos, Bones decided on the latter. “Huevos rancheros sounds good. Eggs over easy, if you don’t mind.”

  Mari nodded. “Red or green?”

  “What?”

  “I forgot you’re not from around here,” she said. “Everything comes with chile on it. Do you want red or green?”

  “Can I have both?”

  “Christmas tree it is. What to drink?”

  “Tell me you have Dos Equis with a lime. After the day I’ve had, I need one. Maybe more than one.”

  “Dos Equis I have. No limes.”

  “Good enough.” Bones accepted the ice cold bottle, chose a table close to the bar, and took a seat. He rocked back, stretching his long legs out, and gazed out the window. There wasn’t much to see outside, but Mari was the only thing worth looking at in here, and he wasn’t the kind to stare. He thought about his friends, Willis and Matt, arriving in Vegas tomorrow without him. Twenty-four hours from now, they’d be living it up, surrounded by bright lights and beautiful women, while Bones would be here, surrounded by juniper. Not much of a tradeoff.

  A few minutes later, Mari slid a plate onto the table. Bones’ mouth watered at the sight of the heaping pile of pinto beans, cheese, and green chile over two blue corn tortillas and topped with three eggs and served with a side of fried potatoes. You couldn’t get this at a Vegas buffet. He was just digging in when she sat another, identical dish on his table along with a steaming cup of coffee.

  “I know I’m a big dude, but I can’t eat that much. At least, not if I want to keep my girlish figure.”

  “It’s for Manny.” She giggled and playfully punched him on the shoulder. “He comes in at the same time every day and orders the same thing. I like to have it ready for him.” She glanced up. “See? Here he is.”

  Manny bounded into the restaurant, greeted the customers with a wave and a loud “Ola!” and then took at seat across from Bones. “You saved me a seat.” Without further word, he dug into his meal.

  The two men ate in companionable silence. When they’d both cleared their plates, they enjoyed their drinks and made small talk. Manny was an army veteran and had a few tales to tell. Every one of them involved women and alcohol, not necessarily in that order. Bones was beginning to feel right at home when a new customer entered.

  He was a tall, sturdily-built Anglo of about an age with Bones. He wore his sandy-blond hair cut short, and his beard and mustache were neatly trimmed. Despite the heat, he was dressed in khaki pants and a long-sleeved blue Oxford cloth shirt. As he passed the table where the football talk had finally subsided, he greeted the three patrons in an overly loud voice.

  “Wish I could join you for a drink,” he said, “but I’ve got this book to finish.” He held up a laptop case and grinned. He turned and headed for the bar, the men at the table rolling their eyes and shaking their head as he walked away.

  “That’s Matthew.” Manny looked like he’d sucked a lemon.

  “What’s his deal? He’s friendly to the other guys in here, but he blows you off?”

  Manny cackled. “That’s because I think he’s full of mierda de toro, and he knows it.”

  “That means ‘bullcrap,' right?”

  “A little less delicate, but you got the general idea.” Manny took a sip of coffee.

  “So, what’s his story?” Bones asked as he watched Matthew open his laptop, turn it on, slip on a pair of reading glasses, and then look around to see if anyone was watching. “He’s a writer, I take it.”

  “Not really. He’s a schoolteacher in the next town over but wants everyone to think he’s a big-time writer. Claims he’s working on ‘something huge’.” Manny waggled his fingers as he said the last. “He’s published a few books, but I thi
nk only his mom has read them.”

  Bones chuckled. “This seems like a weird place to work on a book.”

  “For him, it’s more about the image than it is about actually succeeding. He’s here for two reasons: to get attention, and to keep an eye on Mari.”

  Bones shifted in his seat. “Is that her boyfriend?”

  Manny nodded. “I don’t know what she sees in him. She’s a good girl, and smart, too. She went to college for a couple of years but came back when her Abuela got cancer. After the old lady died, the life just went out of Mari. She took a job here and hasn’t left since.”

  A cacophony of conflicting thoughts ran through Bones’ mind. Odds were, Matthew was the one who had given Mari that shiner. Bones’ inclination was to drag the guy out back and introduce him to Bones’ fist. But he didn’t know for sure that Matthew was the culprit, and if Bones landed himself in jail, he’d definitely miss out on Vegas.

  Manny seemed to read his thoughts. “There’s not much anyone can do for her until she’s ready to stand up for herself,” he said. “Believe me, we keep trying. Nobody’s giving up on her.”

  Bones nodded. Up at the bar, Mari and Matthew were engaged in a heated discussion. Matthew jerked his head to the side and glared at Bones, who responded with a wink.

  “Oh no, Boss, why did you do that?” Manny whispered. “Now he’s going to come over here, and homie wears way too much cologne.”

  Manny was correct on both accounts. Back ramrod-straight, chest puffed out, and elbows slightly cocked, Matthew stalked over to their table, a sickly-sweet cloud of musk preceding his arrival by almost a full second.

  “You got a problem, mister?” Matthew asked.

  “I got a whole list of them,” Bones said. “Starting with an asshat who’s interrupting me while I’m trying to enjoy my beer. Think you can help me with that?” He grinned at Matthew, who was clearly sizing him up.

  Finally, the man’s lips drew back in a mirthless smile. “You’re a funny guy. I’ll have to write you into a book sometime.” He stood there for a full three seconds before returning to his seat at the bar.

  “You hurt his feelings,” Manny said in a low voice. “He wanted you to ask him about his book. You know, treat him like a bestselling author, like that Harry Potter guy.”

  Bones didn’t bother to correct Manny. He gulped down the last of his beer and held up the empty bottle to signal Mari that he’d like another.

  “So, what does he write about?”

  “He wrote some weird science fiction stuff, but now he says he’s doing some serious investigative work, and that when he’s finished, everybody will be blown away by what he’s discovered.” Manny smirked.

  “Any idea what he’s working on?”

  “Rumor has it,” Manny said, leaning forward, “he’s been asking questions about aliens.”

  Chapter 3

  Bones slowed from a jog to a walk as the rocky hills came into view. The orange ball of the late afternoon sun hung low on the western horizon. Colored the same dirty, reddish-brown as the rest of the landscape, the hills cast long shadows across the cactus-dotted landscape. It would have made a nice painting if he was into that sort of thing.

  Having nothing better to do, Bones had gone for a run with this dark spot on the horizon as his target. The hills had looked taller from a distance, and he had hoped maybe they would offer some decent climbing, but up close they weren’t all that impressive. It was only the flat lie of the surrounding land that lent this place the illusion of height.

  When he reached the base of the closest hill, he stopped and took a swig of water. Tepid as it was, it was still refreshing in this dry climate. He probably should have brought more than a liter, but he hadn’t planned on running this far. Not for the first time he wondered how the hell he was going to kill time out here in this empty patch of dirt.

  He took a moment to walk along the base of the hills, examining them with casual disinterest. Though none of them were more than eighty feet tall, the edges were steep. Wind and perhaps a little bit of rain had scoured their surfaces clean, leaving bare stone with only the occasional clump of weeds stubbornly clinging to its surface like patches of beard missed during a hurried shave.

  He soon came upon a heap of tumbled down rock. A quick inspection told him that changes in temperature had caused the rocky hills above to crack and large portions to shear off. Here the face was almost perpendicular in spots.

  “Looks like a good place for a free climb.” He took another swallow of water, capped the bottle, and stowed it in the shade under some loose rocks. He would want the rest of it for his trek back to town.

  He took a minute to choose his way up. What he was about to do was foolish, he knew. Free climbing was dangerous and to do it without a partner even more so. But, Bones was reckless even at the best of times. Boredom tended to turn it up a notch or three.

  When he was finally satisfied that he had selected a route that was sufficiently challenging but unlikely to kill him, he began his ascent. It felt good to work muscles that had gone largely unused since he’d begun his cross-country drive. He wasn’t one for sitting around for very long, and his body seemed to be chastising him for a couple of sedentary days. Twinges of pain danced across his back and shoulders as he made his way upward. Higher and higher he climbed, his fingers and the toes of his shoes picking out every crack and crevice. Spiderlike, he clambered up the first fifty feet before he hit a dead end. That was all right; it only added to the challenge.

  He backtracked a few feet, mentally plotted a new route, and moved to his left until he could resume his ascent. He was almost at the top when things got ugly.

  At that moment, one toehold and one handhold chose to give way simultaneously. He cursed as he felt himself slipping down the hill. He held on tight with one hand, his fingers digging into the split rock. His shoulder wrenched and hot pain burned along the length of his arm. If he had torn his rotator cuff, he was going to be pissed.

  “Look on the bright side,” he grumbled. “At least no one’s around to see you dangling here like a...”

  The roar of an engine and the crunch of tires on rocky ground made a liar of him. He steadied himself, finding new hand and footholds, and looked back to see who was coming. A battered Jeep drew a dusty line across the parched earth as it approached. Figuring he didn’t have any friends in this neck of the woods, and knowing this was public land, and therefore he couldn’t be trespassing on anyone’s private property, he turned and resumed his climb.

  The rumble of the Jeep grew louder, bringing with it the twang of country music. Bones closed his eyes and winced.

  “Don’t be a redneck. Please don’t be a redneck.”

  Down below, the Jeep scraped to a halt, the music dying as the engine choked into silence. A door slammed shut.

  “What are you doing up there?” The voice was male and slightly high-pitched, with a light touch of accent on the o’s that was typical of so many New Mexicans.

  “Performance art,” Bones called down without looking. “I accept tips. Just put them under a rock so they don’t blow away.”

  “You need to come down from there.” The speaker sounded uncertain.

  “It’s cool. I’ve done this before. Now, why don’t you leave me alone before you make me fall?” Bones was about ten feet short of the summit. Here, the rock face angled outward a few degrees, making for a challenging finish.

  “I’m a sheriff’s deputy, and I’m telling you to come down from there right now.”

  Bones finally looked down. The man was a thickset Latino dressed in blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a checked shirt. His left hand rested on an automatic pistol holstered on his hip.

  “If you really are a deputy, that means you’re not a Fed and this is BLM land.”

  The deputy grunted a mirthless laugh. “That will probably hold up in court,” he admitted. “Of course, you might sit in jail for a long time before you come to trial. We’re really slow with paperwork.” />
  Bones took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m climbing a freaking hill on public land. Why do you care?”

  “It’s for your own safety.”

  “In that case, it’s probably better if I climb these last few feet to the top instead of coming all the way back down. I’ll chill out up here, and you can send a chopper to pick me up.”

  The deputy ignored that. “I could just shoot you, but you don’t want that, do you? I’ve already called the sheriff,” he added.

  That sealed it. It was all a big pile of crap, but Bones didn’t need the hassle. Who the hell knew what small town justice looked like around here? “All right. I’m coming down.”

  He took his sweet time, not because he feared falling, but because he wanted to make the deputy, if that’s really what the guy was, wait as long as possible. When he finally reached the ground, he took a moment to brush himself off and wipe his bloody fingertips on the sandy ground before turning around.

  At about five-eight, the deputy stood nearly a foot shorter than Bones, and he took an involuntary step backward as the big Cherokee approached him.

  “How did you get here?” the deputy asked.

  “Aliens dropped me off in their spaceship.”

  He flinched at that, probably not accustomed to being spoken to in this way. He squeezed the grip of his pistol and then released it. “You got a car around here or motorcycle or something?”

  Bones shook his head.

  The deputy waited, but he got no more of a response. Bones had plenty of time to kill until his truck was ready, and spending it making this idiot miserable was at least better entertainment than staring at the walls of his motel room. Let the man stew in his own juices for a while. He could do this all day.

  “Tell you what,” the deputy finally said. “Leave now and we’ll forget this ever happened. I’ll tell the sheriff you cooperated. Like I said, it’s just about safety.”

  Bones looked up at the sky, pretending to consider the deputy’s words. Finally, he nodded once. “Whatever, dude.” He retrieved his water bottle, took a drink, mostly to make the deputy wait a little longer, and headed back toward town.