Page 107 of The Bone Code
“At headquarters. I want to dot all the i’s. Follow protocol.”
Though anxious to see what France had saved, I couldn’t disagree.
We both got in and buckled our belts.
Vislosky indicated a white paper bag on the center console. “Doughnuts.”
“Aren’t you the early bird,” I said, looking over the assortment.
Vislosky said nothing
“They’re all plain glazed,” I said.
“I prefer plain glazed.”
I took a doughnut and washed it down with the tepid remains of my coffee.
“I like your ride.” I did. It was a Ford Mustang GT. Red. “What year is it?”
“A 2019.”
“Do you get good mileage?”
Vislosky did a one-shoulder shrug.
A few miles of silence, then I took another stab at conversation. “Did you ever play basketball?”
“You asking because I’m black?”
“I’m asking because you’re tall.” Jesus. What was her problem?
Nothing.
One more try. “Fun fact,” I said. “I don’t know a single black person named Vislosky.”
“You know a single white person named Vislosky?”
Fine. No small talk. Suited me.
I went for more pastry, then spent the next fifty miles working through the MMM menu and lurking in the site’s chat room. I’d chosen the usernamebigbirdie.
No surprise that nothing helpful popped up. It had been half a decade since Harmony had connected with her Canadian friend. If, in fact, the friend existed. And if Harmony and the Canadian girl actually were the Charleston vics, neither had visited MMM in a very long time.
I was searching for similar sites when the didgeridoo shattered the silence.
“What the fuck?” Vislosky burst out.
I clicked on.
“When do you arrive?” Anne asked without preamble.
“I’m on my way now.”
A beat, then, “You’re in a car. Are you driving? From Montreal?”
“Nashville.”
“Tell me you’re not banging Toby Keith.”
