Bone Deep by Randy Wayne White

Author:Randy Wayne White [White, Randy Wayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780399158131
Amazon: 0399158138
Barnesnoble: 0399158138
Goodreads: 18079534
Publisher: Putnam Adult
Published: 2014-03-04T06:00:00+00:00

SEVENTEEN

Older motorcycles at idle make a respiratory rumble, a sleeping dragon rhythm, almost stalling, then snorting when the carburetor revives itself with a gulp of air.

I knew our car was being robbed before I exited the trees.

I carried a stainless .32 caliber Seecamp—a miniature pistol, four inches long, but loaded with Hornady hollow-points, 60 grain. I slid the weapon into my front pocket and parted the bushes. One man, his butt in the air, was leaning into the backseat, where I had placed an envelope containing photos of the mastodon tusk. Not the magnified shots of the petroglyph, just wide-angle shots that showed forty pounds of black ivory.

The photos were bait—give the blood feud collector a reason to negotiate for the owl stones but not reason enough to murder me in my sleep.

The robber wore jeans, boots, a tattered black shirt, and a motorcycle helmet. But I couldn’t see his arms until he stood, his back to me, an envelope in his bare right hand and an oversize glove on his left hand. I suspected who it was but knew for certain when he removed the helmet and turned to open the envelope in better light.

The Harley gangbanger wasn’t as disfigured as I’d imagined. Asphalt had taken his left ear and scraped flesh from his skull, but surgeons had done a good job. They had pulled the skin together into a hairless sheen that showed only on his cheek and as a bald patch above the left temple. Scars that warranted a second look but not the instant horror, say, of third-degree burns.

Facial scarring, however, is not a reliable index of brain damage. Psychological scars are phantoms. An angry, legless man had recently proved it. Around the biker’s neck was a tubular scarf—an emergency mask—which suggested his ego had yet to accept his injuries. I watched for a while before making a move.

The biker had lost teeth, too. With incisors of white resin, he snared the glove off to reveal two stainless hooks that were spring-operated pincers. He extended his arm, the pincers opened. The inside edge of one hook was sharp and he used it to slice the envelope. Then he closed the pincers by retracting his arm.

A shoulder harness, which I should have noticed, became visible beneath the shirt. The pincers were adjoined to his wrist by a quick-release socket of stainless steel. Like a rechargeable drill, maybe other tools could be attached.

I watched him go through the photos, biting his tongue as he concentrated. A bland, bony face, curly hair, and sharp, mean eyes. Not an athlete, but not much body fat either. A loser since birth, I decided, who had to do something to make a living.

I also decided, What the hell.

Walking toward the car, I spoke. “Can I help you?” It is a question commonly asked by robbery victims. Otherwise, the noise of the motorcycle would have cloaked my approach.

Or maybe not. The Harley gangbanger didn’t lift his eyes from the photos when he said, “I was beginning to think you was just one more scared civilian.

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