Page 34 of Evil Bones
We exchanged our usual effusive greetings.
“Doc.”
“Detective.”
“Another scorcher.”
“It will be.”
“Park Road Park?”
“That’s where Joye said Bear disappeared.”
Skinny’s jaw muscles bunched, and his fingers tightened on the wheel. I wondered the source of such agitation. Made no comment on that, either.
Traffic ground to a halt two blocks back from the light at Woodlawn Road.
“What the hell.”
“It’s morning rush hour,” I said, unnecessarily.
“They can rush this up my sweet cheeks.” Skinny flipped a bird to no one in particular.
I didn’t bother to reply.
Minutes dragged by.
Five.
Ten.
Skinny drummed a staccato beat on the wheel.
Sliding my phone from my shoulder bag, I skimmed my email. Two items had landed in my inbox since last I’d checked. That day’sNew York Timescrossword puzzle and a politician’s plea for money.
I saved the former, deleted the latter.
“You submit all those goo-gaws from this latest mutt?”
“Sent to the crime lab and waiting in the queue.”
“Don’t guess an animal hit will get high priority.”
“Don’t guess it will.”
I was pondering a four-letter word forpouchwhen Skinny surprised me with another stab at conversation.
“You still seeing Monsieur le stud?” Pronounced “miss-your.”
“His name is Ryan.” Skinny knew that. In fact, despite all odds, the two men had become friends. Of a sort. “And yes, I am.”
“How’s that work, him being from the North Pole and all?”
“He lives in Montreal.”
“Yeah, like I said.”
“We take turns flying back and forth.”
