Bad Bones (2 page)

It was a moment straight out of one of those CSI-type TV shows his dad loved to watch, and Gabe couldn’t stop himself from going closer. He bent down, reaching out and gently brushing some dried mud off the cheekbone, as you would if someone had dirt on their face, then he pulled his hand back like he’d been burned – if this was a crime scene, a murder, he’d better not touch
anything
. He’d watched enough of those shows himself to know that.

Gabe stood up, staring at the skull; it lay kind of sideways, poking out of the earth, an empty eye socket staring sightlessly off to his right. Now he looked more carefully, he thought he could make out the shape of a shoulder bone, and further down what had to be a ribcage, next to it possibly also part of a hand. His licked his lips nervously, telling himself there was no way finding the remains of a skeleton wasn’t weird.

There didn’t seem to be any flesh, only bone.

So this wasn’t a recent burial, more like what the cop shows called a cold case. No flesh: that made Gabe feel a lot less queasy. Then he saw a pale, yellowy glint in the moonlight. Something metallic? He knelt down and carefully scraped away a bit of earth with the tip of his finger, then some more until the curve of what could be a bracelet inset with small, light blue stones was revealed.

“Gold?” he whispered, a tight shiver crawling down his spine.

Rooted to the spot, the night air pressing in on him heavy as lead, it dawned on Gabe that the canyon, buzzing with all kinds of activity when he’d arrived, had fallen quiet.
As quiet as a grave,
said the unwanted commentator in his head.

Gabe stared into the gloom.

It was like the place was watching him, waiting to see what he did next. The silence hissed and throbbed in his ears. His chest felt like a steel belt had tightened around him, until he realized he was holding his breath. He sucked in air and shook his head.
Stupid
, he thought,
who’d be hiding out here?
And the moment that thought occurred he wished
it hadn’t. Any kind of crazy person
could
be here; this was LA, the place was full of them.

Gabe shivered again as the momentary hot sweat he’d broken out into cooled, his clammy T-shirt sticking to his back. He looked more carefully at what he’d found, wondering if it could really be gold. It did look kind of antique, which often meant more valuable, right? It was ethnic-looking too, and that could maybe make it worth
even
more. This was what he needed: a big, big piece of good luck!

Hands shaking slightly from excitement, he worked the earth out from around the bracelet, pushing away the thought that he was tampering with evidence as he teased it loose from a cluster of small wrist bones. Damn the law. If this could help fix things at home, even in just a small way, he had to do it.

In the palm of his hand the bracelet seemed quite small, but it weighed a lot more than he’d expected it would and looked beautiful in the moonlight. It sat there in the palm of his hand, this innocent thing he had just found, and it felt like he was watching someone else’s hand. There was something about it he couldn’t put into words, a feeling that this was more than just precious metal.

Kneeling there, in the chapel-like silence of the night, Gabe found himself closing his eyes and hoping more than he’d ever hoped in his life that this might be the start of things going right. A new beginning. That was what he wanted more than anything.

“Please…” he whispered, fingers gently closing round the bracelet. “
Please
be worth something, be special …
please
make a difference…”

As he spoke, Gabe felt a change in the cold metal in his hand. It was getting warmer, almost hot, like it was absorbing his body heat, and his hand tingled. He opened his eyes and looked down. The bracelet seemed to be glowing. Not simply reflecting light, but radiating it.

Gabe slowly opened his fist and frowned. As he looked at the bracelet the light faded until it was just glinting in the moonlight. He shrugged off his backpack and quickly tucked it in one of the side pockets. His mom always said he had an overactive imagination.

Picturing his mom reminded him of how late he was and he started to clamber back up to the path, then stopped.
Think straight,
he told himself. If this find was valuable and there was more stuff here to be dug
up, he should make sure no one else stumbled on his discovery. He bent down and began trying to cover up any evidence of what he’d found.

Five minutes later, Gabe had made as good a job as he could of hiding the bones from view, and got himself back up on to the pathway. He used his house key to make a mark he figured no one else would take any notice of on a nearby tree, so he’d know exactly where to come back to. He was about to pick up his bike when he thought he heard a whisper, although maybe it was more like a sigh. He whirled round, searching for who was there, fear knotting his stomach as he prepared to run for it. Then he saw the owl.

It was perched, silent and still, on a branch near where the skeleton lay hidden. Hunched, eyes unblinking and head low, it stared back at him.
Accusingly
, Gabe thought, there was no other way to describe it.

“What?” he said, the question escaping, like a dog slipping its leash.

The owl didn’t move

“Got to get out of here…” Gabe whispered, looking away as he grabbed his bike, “…else I’m gonna drive myself nuts.”

He felt jittery all the way down the canyon until it finally began to level out and he could see the street that led back down to Ventura. He was about to get on his bike and start riding when the owl appeared out of nowhere. It flew over him, its huge wings outstretched, so quiet it was like someone had turned the sound right down. The bird dipped right in front of him, almost close enough to touch, then banked, turned and landed on a nearby tree. There it sat, still stooped, angry and forbidding, watching him.

Gabe had never heard of an owl attacking a person, but even so he couldn’t help being spooked. The bird was making him feel guilty about what he’d done. His mom always said that a guilty conscience didn’t need an accuser, as it’d do the job fine by itself. True enough, it seemed, but the bird was not helping. Gabe started riding, going as fast as he could and trying to ignore being so closely observed. Then he saw what he first took to be a couple of silver-grey dogs. They slunk out of the shadows and sat underneath the owl, staring right at him.

It took Gabe a split second to realize they weren’t dogs. They were coyotes. And coyotes, unlike owls,
did attack humans. He sped up, half expecting at any moment to see the animals come for him, but his last glance backwards as he made the tarmac showed neither the coyotes nor the owl had moved a centimetre.

Twenty minutes hard riding later, Gabe turned off on to his street. He’d be home in a couple of minutes. He’d got a story ready to tell his mom – that he’d been studying at his friend Anton’s, with his phone still on silent from school, and had lost track of time – which should work if he didn’t overdo it. And, as he’d been riding, he’d hatched a plan. He knew what to do with the bracelet he’d found. There was this place he’d seen, down towards Studio City, which sold antiques and had a sign in the window that said they did valuations. Which was exactly what he needed: a valuation.

What was this piece actually worth, if anything?

A cold breeze blew in out of somewhere, making him shiver, and on it he was sure he caught that noise again. The whisper that could be a sigh.

The owl.

Mouth instantly as dry as a packet of cheese crackers, Gabe braked and skidded to a halt, frowning as he searched the dusty orange night sky. Was his mind playing tricks on him? It must be. Had to be. And then he got that feeling, as if something was gently pressing at the back of his head, and knew he was being watched. He slowly turned and glanced over his shoulder.

The owl was right behind him.

Like a two-dimensional cardboard cut-out it was perched on a postbox that was leaning at a slightly drunken angle, away from the one next to it. The bird sat, silent and unmoving, the glint in its big round eyes the only thing that showed it was real.

The rational side of Gabe’s nature tried to calm him down – why was he so freaked by a damn
owl
? It was a bird, just a bird, probably not even the one he’d seen in the canyon, right?

Wrong. It had followed him. Gabe frantically searched the shadows for any evidence the coyotes were there as well. No sign. Not yet, at least.

Get a grip. Get a grip. Get a grip
… As the mantra in his head spun round and round, Gabe regained control, turned away from the owl and powered
down the street, the bike’s back wheel spinning to find traction.

At the gate to the side passage that led to the kitchen, he stopped to look back the way he’d come. There was nothing there. First opportunity tomorrow, straight after school, he was going to get to that place in Studio City, take whatever money he was offered for the damn bracelet and split. As he leant his bike up against the house, some way off he was sure he heard a faint hooting. Seconds later, the distant bay of a dog. Or a coyote.

He swallowed hard, telling himself not to be so stupid, but only just managed not to run for the welcoming light spilling out from the kitchen window.

Gabe woke early and in a cold sweat. He felt as if he hadn’t slept at all, even though his head was still full of dark, graphic dreams … unreal, yet at the same time sharp images, which went way beyond the worst horror movies he’d ever seen. Every time he closed his eyes he could see, clear as day, right in front of him, the whole gore fest playing out in an endless loop. It was like his own personal triple-X-rated movie.

He was looking at a boy, younger than himself, who had jet black hair and olive skin. The boy was stripped to the waist and being held down, splayed out on a block of grey stone. There were six people, faces patterned with blue, red and green paint, dressed in vivid-coloured costumes, arms, necks, ears, hands all decorated with gold, their skin glistening with sweat. Two were holding the boy’s arms, two his legs and one had a rope around his neck. The sixth man’s face was hidden by a gold mask shaped like a skull and he was
wearing an elaborate headdress with gold snakes entwined in feathers. Standing with his arms raised above the boy, in both hands the masked man held a gold knife inset with some kind of light blue stone, which gleamed in the setting sun.

The knife’s arc-shaped blade slashed down into the boy’s narrow, heaving chest and Gabe could hear his high-pitched scream and the crunch of shattered bone. The skull-faced figure roared as he pulled out the knife, a fountain of blood pulsing from the jagged wound, then plunged his hand into the boy’s chest. The boy was still screaming when his heart was ripped out and he collapsed like a rag doll. The skull-faced priest turned towards the sun, hands held high and blood running in thick rivulets down his arms. The boy’s blood was everywhere, so much it seemed impossible it could have all come from that one small body.

As the sun finally dipped below the horizon, an owl flew across the purple sky and landed beside the boy’s head…

Gabe forced his eyes open and stared at the ceiling of his room, then the whole scenario, so close he could have almost reached out and touched it, blanked. The disturbingly real visions might have evaporated like mist, but they left behind a smell like someone had just lit a joint. And a malevolent sense of being watched.

Gabe sat bolt upright. He was sure he was going to find that the owl had somehow managed to get into his room during the night and was there at the end of the bed, glowering at him.

It wasn’t.

In the silence his gaze wandered here and there across the untidy landscape of his room until it fell on the backpack in the corner, over by the dresser. In one of its zipped-up pockets was the object he’d found the night before. A gold bracelet, inset with light blue stone. Like the jewellery the people had been wearing in his dream. Similar, anyway. Weirdly similar.

Gabe remembered holding the bracelet in his hand, the heat of it. How it had made him feel, the way it seemed to want him to hold it tight. The thought made him shiver and he looked away.

The last thing he’d done before crashing out was to go online and try to get some information about what he’d found. The kind of stuff it would be useful to know when you’re going to sell something. He’d been tired and not especially focused on what he was doing, but he had seen a couple of pieces that looked like the one he’d dug up. Aztec relics. But the
Aztecs were from Central America, so what would one of them be doing buried in a canyon in LA?

Whatever. Gabe rubbed his eyes and yawned. The only thing he could say, with any kind of certainty, was that what he’d found definitely looked like gold. It felt heavy enough to be gold. And, if he was lucky, that was what it would turn out to be. If he was lucky.

Not that he felt in any way lucky this morning. He felt beat up, dog tired and even less like going to school than he did most mornings. But what had to be done had to be done.

Gabe peeled off the damp sheet, got up, yawned so hard he thought his jaw was going to break, and then realized he had one of those low-grade headaches that cling like dirt to a bathtub. Today was going to be a trial, no doubt about that.

“You look bad. Worse than cat puke, man.”

“Thanks…” Gabe squinted at Anton and frowned. For breakfast he’d had a slice of toast and half a cup of cold black coffee with an Ibuprofen chaser. He did not feel up to the witty banter and repartee that
was his best friend’s default mode quite yet.

Anton made a pantomime act of sniffing at Gabe. “But you appear to have showered and do not
smell
like cat puke, which is good. What’s the deal, bro? You got the plague or something? Or worse – maybe you are in love. You’re not in
luurve
, are you? Because if you are, whoever she is, she is going to run a
mile
when she sees you. That relationship will be
over
, man…”

“Cut it out, Ant, will you?” Gabe took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I’m fine, just had the worst night’s sleep is all. Bad dreams like you would not believe. So cut me some slack, OK?”

It was Anton’s turn to frown. “Why’d you even bother coming in today, bro? You
surely
coulda swung a day off.”

“I know this is gonna sound weird to you, Ant, but my house these days is
so
not a fun place that being here –” Gabe nodded down the street at the gates of Morrison High – “is my preferred option.”

Anton made an ‘I-am-puzzled-and-frankly-shocked’ face.

“Said you were gonna think it was weird, Ant, but if I wasn’t here and I wasn’t at my house, what
would I do? I got no money, and nowhere to go
with no money.
May as well be here, man, get the grades and learn my way out.”

“You are
such
a poster boy for edja-kay-shun, Gabe.”

“Like I care if I am.”

This was a day that had to be got through. A series of time slots and modules – social studies/world history; math/algebra II; science/chemistry; economics; etc, etc, etc – all ticked off one after the other, at the end of which the prize was you got to go home with a bunch more work to do.

Gabe kept his head down and managed to make it from registration to release with his presence hardly being noticed. It wasn’t a lot to be proud of, but there were times when a low profile was going to be the high point of the day.

He was out now, free to head over to the antique store and get himself that valuation. Wheeling his bike down the sidewalk, thankful his headache had finally gone, he sensed someone come up behind him. He turned, expecting to see Anton’s crooked
grin, and his heart sank.

“Benny, right? He wants a word. Like, now?”

Sean McRay, aka Scotty, Benny Gueterro’s right-hand bozo, wasn’t really asking, but the last thing Gabe felt like doing was having ‘a word’ with Benny.

“I have—”

“He’s round the corner. In his … office.”

Scotty, looking like Big Foot’s second cousin with his long hair and beard, didn’t quite put quote marks with his fingers round the word ‘office’, but the slight pause was enough. Because the office was a five-or-six-year-old long wheelbase Chevrolet Savana cargo van, which had an actual desk and swivel-and-tilt chair, along with a small filing cabinet, bolted to the carpeted floor in the back. Anyone else wanting a seat had to make do with foam-rubber cubes.

It was Benny’s big idea. He’d seen all the TV shows where the cops raided places, and as he liked to point out: ‘If you don’t got a place, they can’t raid it, right?’ Scotty, and Nate Kansky, Benny’s other right-hand bozo, both thought the big idea was not so big, but knew it was not for them to comment. Or point out that he did have a place, it was just
on wheels. Right now the van was a pale grey colour, but it was resprayed on a regular basis, and also had its plates switched, part of Benny’s plan to further confuse any law enforcement officers who might be paying him some unwanted attention.

Benny, himself an ex-student of Morrison High, had left before they could throw him out for his many rule infringements, not to mention sundry criminal acts. A large part of the market he catered to went to his old alma mater, but he liked to keep his distance from the place, so ‘round the corner’ turned out to be a couple or more blocks away. As they approached the van, the side door slid open and Scotty nodded for Gabe to go in.

“My bike…”

“I’ll be here.” Scotty put a meaty paw on the saddle. “It’ll be here.”

“You been avoiding me, Gabriel, my friend?”

For some reason Benny was just about the only person, apart from his long-dead grandma, who ever called Gabe by his full name.

“No, why would I do that?”

“I have no idea.” Benny tilted back in his chair. “I make you an offer, I hear nothing.”

Gabe shifted nervously on the red, nylon-covered foam cube. At any moment it felt like he was going to slide off. He leant back against the side of the van to steady himself. It was stuffy and smelled of cigarettes, dope, beer, sweat and some kind of cloying deodorant that had failed to do its job.

“I’ll explain it one more time, OK?” Benny picked up a cigarette pack, opened it, shut it again and carefully put it back down on the desk. “Trying to give the damn things up… Anyway, it’s like this: you need money and
I
need a little extra help around the place. A few errands running, that kind of thing. Simple. I tell you what to do, you do it and I pay you. Cash money. Like I said, simple.” Benny picked up the cigarette pack again and began opening and closing the flip top. “So?”

“But—”

“But!” Benny leant forward, slamming the cigarettes on the desk. “What in hell’s name is ‘But’?”

“But why me, Benny? I don’t get it. How’d you even know about me, know who I am?”

“Well, I do know who you are, Gabriel. And ‘why you’ is because
you
are not the kind of person anyone’s gonna think works for
me
.” Benny jabbed a finger at his chest, then sat back. “It’s called misdirection, Gabriel, kinda like what magicians and suchlike do.”

Gabe didn’t know what to say. Misdirection? What was Benny talking about?

“It’s like when people kind of
expect
to see one thing, that’s what they look for and
that’s
what they see,” Benny went on. “People – and here when I say ‘people’ I mean cops, right? – well,
they
will take one look at you and think, ‘nice, clean-cut type’. They will not straight-off-the-top think, ‘here’s a person works for Benny Gueterro’. They won’t. And that’s what I want.”

“What if I get caught?”

“Doing what?”

“Running dope.”

“Who said you were gonna be running any dope? I said ‘errands’…”