Page 55 of Cold, Cold Bones
Piccitelli’s frown held.
“Do you know how Mr. Boldonado found you?” I asked.
“He hangs with a guy named Bobby Karl Smith, or used to.”
Slidell looked at him hard, probably wondering the same thing I was. Could Piccitelli be lying to get rid of us, or were these people real?
“Who’s Bobby Karl Smith?”
“A real piece of work.”
“Meaning?” Slidell snapped.
“Mean as a snake.”
“Smith also attended your little play school?”
“More than once. The guy’s hard-core. Enrolls in camps all over the country.”
“What’s Smith look like?”
“A snake.”
“We could have this little chat at the station.”
For a very long moment the two scowled at each other. Piccitelli broke first.
“Smith’s got a scar running his jaw.”
“Tall? Short?”
“Tall enough.”
“That it?”
“The guy lost his eye to an IED.”
“Does he wear a glass eye? A patch?” I asked.
“Nope. Lets it all hang out.”
“Smith a vet?” Slidell asked.
“Yeah. A bitter one.”
“When’s the last time you saw Boldonado?”
“I don’t keep a calendar.”
“Smith?”
“Same answer.”
Slidell glared. Piccitelli glared back. So did the AK.
“Do you know how we can find Mr. Smith?” I asked.
Lifting one hand from the AK, Piccitelli gestured toward the two-lane at our backs. “Keep on keeping on,” he said. “When you come to aY, split right. About a quarter mile more, you’ll see a dirt road cutting downhill on the left.”
