Bad Bones Page 8

  “Gabe, are you OK?”

  A sense of déjà vu washed over him, hearing Stella’s voice, just like the day before when she’d had to scrape him off the street. He clicked back out of his trance and blinked up at her.

  “Yeah, I’m fine … just a bit…” he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and saw the concerned look on Father Simon’s face. “It was a shock, you know? The blood thing? That’s all.”

  “I’ll get you a glass of water, Gabe.”

  As Stella left the room, Father Simon stood up and went over to a cabinet. He got out a bottle of bourbon and a small shot glass, which he put on the table.

  “Purely medicinal.” He uncorked the bottle and poured a finger height and handed it to Gabe. “Water’s fine, if all you are is thirsty, but I have found that a shot of Kentucky straight not only greases the wheels and oils the engine, it calms the nerves a whole lot better. Knock it back, son.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” Father Simon put the bottle away, watching Gabe drink the small shot of bourbon down in one, screwing up his face as he did so. “An acquired taste, like most of the best things in life. Now, Gabriel –” the Father stood, his arms crossed, looking down at Gabe – “I think you already have an idea that this situation you find yourself in is serious, and from what I’ve seen, you are correct…”

  Stella came back in with a glass of water, which she gave to Gabe before sitting down. “Sorry, have I interrupted?”

  “Not a problem, I was just saying that this is serious, and if I am to help here, you –” he looked pointedly at Gabe – “have to tell me everything. Every little thing, son.”

  For the second time that day Gabe started with how he’d discovered the skeleton and finished outside Cecil LeBarron’s antique store, where he’d found the piece of paper in his hand. Like when he’d told Stella, laying the facts out in a logical order, crazy though they seemed, had a calming effect on him. Nothing made any more sense the second time round, but talking about it to another person, especially someone like this Father Simon, was good. Really good.

  “So, what d’you think, Father?”

  “I think young Gabe here has inadvertently jabbed a big stick into a wasps’ nest, Stella.” The Father got up and went to the bookshelves lining the wall behind him. “Tell me again what happened when you found the first piece of gold, would you? I don’t recall you saying if you were standing or sitting or what.”

  “I was…” Gabe thought for a second, recreating the scene in his head. “Yeah, I think I was kneeling down … that’s right, I was. And I remember now, I was really hoping that the bracelet was, you know, special … that finding it would make a difference… I wanted it to make things better, be a chance for a new start. At least be the start of a new start, right?”

  “If you’d been in a church, it might have been said that you were praying.” Father Simon found the book he was looking for, took it off the shelf and went back to his armchair. “And unfortunately, I have a feeling your prayers may have gotten an unwanted answer.”

  In the silence Gabe felt his scalp contract, and he shivered. “What d’you mean?”

  “As I was saying to you before: to be able to believe in God, you also have to believe in the devil.” He held out his right hand. “Dexter –” he then held out his left hand – “and sinister. Good and evil, light and dark … the Yin and the Yang, as Confucius would put it. And while my church, and its adherents, has always tried to walk a righteous path there have been those, more than a few, no point in denying it, who have chosen to go the opposite way.” Father Simon paused.

  “I believe you found the last resting place of one such person. A man once of the cloth, as I think the crucifix seems to suggest, buried in unconsecrated ground, along with some shall we say interesting earthly belongings … all of which are intact, except for the cross. One has to ask why? What could he, and it, have done to deserve such treatment?”

  “This all happened way back, right?”

  “It did, Gabe, way back.” Father Simon flicked through the book. “I suppose you could say it all began with the Spanish, and particularly Cortés, who was responsible for asking for Franciscan priests to be sent from Spain to convert the indigenous people to Christianity. The first to arrive, in 1524, were called The Twelve Apostles of Mexico. After Cortés had destroyed the Aztec empire he moved northwards – made the Baja some time around 1530, if my memory serves.

  “But it took another two hundred years, give or take, for the Spanish to settle here, in what they called Alta California; it was sometime in the mid to late 1700s that they set up the first missions.”

  “You think that’s when this person I found died and was buried?”

  “I have a feeling this man did not die a natural death, Gabe. And if I was able to get his remains into a lab there’s an outside chance I might have a better idea how he did meet his end.”

  “I wonder who he was.”

  “That I don’t know, yet –” Father Simon tapped the book on his lap – “but I’m not just a forensic scientist, I am also something of a forensic historian. Someone like this person may well have left a trail, and if he has, I will find it.

  “I’m no expert, but after what you told me about your dreams, the gold pieces could well be Aztec… That does look very much like a ritual knife. But it’s the cross that really interests me. If you look carefully at the picture, there’s a ring at the top so it can be hung from a chain, yes?”

  Gabe swiped to the picture he’d taken of the cross and nodded.

  “The way you took the shot, you can see there’s also a hole at the bottom. This cross could be, and most probably was, worn hung upside down…”

  “Oh my…” Gabe’s eyes widened as an image flashed in his head.

  “Son?” Father Simon looked at Gabe, all the colour drained from his face. “Are you OK?”

  “In my dream, just before I woke up … I remember now, the guy with the knife was wearing a cross, and I thought there was something odd about it…” Gabe sat back on the sofa.

  “What was it?” asked the Father. “What did you see?”

  “I’m sure it was hanging upside down,” Gabe said. “Why would he do that to it?”

  “I believe because he worshipped false gods, including the Fallen Angel.”

  Gabe sat forward again and rubbed his face. He was hungry, he was confused and more than a bit freaked out. “Sorry, but in my house we’ve never really done church and stuff,” he shrugged. “Not my parents’ thing, I guess … so this all sounds, you know, kind of way out there? I mean, I’ve kicked around some loopy ideas since this all started and just told myself to grow up and shut it with all the Halloween nonsense. Ghosties and ghouls, right? But you’re telling me all this good and evil and worshipping fallen angels, this is for real? Who is this guy? Some kind of, I don’t know, evil living dead reincarnation?”

  Father Simon pursed his lips, stony-faced, and didn’t say anything.

  “Father?” Stella sounded scared, which spooked Gabe.

  “Look –” Father Simon took a deep breath – “there have been a lot of claimants to the title of The One True Church. I believe it is mine, a belief which I am truly convinced has saved my eternal soul, but over the centuries many hundreds of thousands of people, probably millions, have died because their own beliefs differed from others. Not because they were wrong, just different, one religion’s adherent being another’s infidel. At another time, in another place, that could have happened to me.

  “But the truth is that you can’t destroy beliefs that have deep roots; the harder you try the more they cling on. They might appear to fade away, but they will continue as obscure sects and cults. Religious belief is a powerful thing – a weapon or a comfort, depending on whose hands it is in – and the more I think about this heretic man, with his ancient gold and perverted crucifix, the more I think there were things he knew, things he did, that no man should. That’s why they, whoever they were, kill
ed him.”

  “And he’s back?” Gabe looked out into the garden. “You think I brought him back?”

  “I’d like nothing more than to be proved wrong, but I think it’s possible. The antique store? That was no burglary gone wrong, and if I thought for one minute that it would be any use taking this note down to the station house – getting them to check the blood it’s written in against the store owner’s for a match – I’d run it straight down there right now.”

  “But you’re, like, an ex-cop –” Gabe looked surprised – “why wouldn’t they listen to you?”

  “Because I’m an ex-cop, they’d listen, but I very much doubt they would take what I had to say seriously. Not until it was too late.”

  “Too late for what, Father?” There was that nervous edge to Stella’s voice again.

  “You think I’m gonna die, don’t you?” Gabe couldn’t believe what he’d just heard himself say, but he knew it was true. That was what the priest believed.

  “I think anyone who has any of the gold in their possession is in grave danger, is what I think, Gabe.”

  “But he doesn’t have the gold in his possession, Father. It’s in his locker at school, remember?”

  “Quod meum est mei, noli prohibere… What is mine is mine, do not withhold.” Father Simon pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Remember? Monday, you need to get everything you took from that skeleton and bring it here to me.”

  “What’ll you do with it? Why won’t you be in just as much trouble as me and Cecil LeBarron?”

  “Because I have faith that I can stop this.”

  “But what am I supposed to do till Monday?”

  “I’ll give you something…”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Gabe sat in the Toyota, numb. A small gold crucifix, hidden by his T-shirt, hung round his neck on a fine gold chain. Father Simon had made him promise not to take it off. So much for not being converted. Truth to tell, religion ‘not being his parents’ thing’ was underplaying it more than slightly; if his parents saw it they’d think he’d gone nuts. His opinion, right now? He’d give anything a try.

  He and Stella didn’t talk much on the way back to her house. Was there anything to say that wouldn’t make them feel worse? Not really. But Stella, it seemed, had used the journey as thinking time. Pulling up on her driveway she turned to Gabe.

  “I have an idea – why don’t we meet up later, kind of like six thirty, seven o’clock?”

  “Sure…” Gabe was caught off guard, but not so much that he couldn’t help but slap a grin on his face at the offer. “Where?”

  “That pizza place, you know, the one on the corner of Woodman?”

  “Yeah, OK, it’s a deal,” said Gabe thinking, but is it a date? “See ya there.”

  The whole bike ride home his head was a mess. Way too many things to think about. All he really wanted to do was play out what it would be like, meeting up with Stella later on, which as ideas went was a pretty good one in his opinion. But other thoughts kept pushing forward and getting in the way. Like the fact that he was wearing a freaking crucifix to protect himself against some risen-from–the-dead, Devil-worshipping Spanish guy. Because that really was going to work.

  Trying not to get totalled by some lame-brain driver on his cell phone, who thought wing mirrors were for decoration, at the same time as dealing with conflicting trains of thought kept Gabe fully occupied. So much so that it took him a moment to realize that someone on a scooter was riding right next to him, keeping pace. He glanced over, wondering why whoever it was didn’t just accelerate past him, and saw it was Anton on his black Vespa.

  “Pull over, man…” Anton shouted, pointing at the kerb.

  Gabe had no choice but do as his friend asked. He didn’t want to stop and talk. He wanted to get home and get ready to go and meet Stella. But he knew he’d already stepped way beyond the mark with Anton, kept him at a distance when he should’ve let him in on what was happening. Pushed him away, and frozen him out.

  He checked over his shoulder, braked and eased into the next parking space that came along. Anton pulled in behind him, killed the Vespa and took off his open-face helmet, rubbing his head.

  “Man, you are one hard dude to track down lately.”

  “Yeah, I know… Sorry, Ant.” Gabe was uncomfortably aware of what was hanging round his neck; he hoped Anton didn’t notice the cross, or his antsyness. “What’s up?”

  “Kinda what I wanted to ask you, bro.” Anton put his helmet over one of the Vespa’s wing mirrors. “I know something’s up, and I figure, if I want you to be honest with me, I gotta be honest with you, right?”

  “OK…” Gabe half smiled, wondering where this was all going.

  “So, it’s like this…” Anton looked away, cracking his knuckles. “I didn’t exactly follow you the other day, not like as in I was trying to spy on you, right? But when I came out of school late and saw you going off with some beardy, long-haired guy…”

  “You followed me?”

  Anton shrugged. “Hey, you looked like, I don’t know, like you could be in trouble, like you might need someone with your back. So, yeah, I followed you. Saw you with that oxygen thief Benny Gueterro, getting in his van…”

  “Aw, geez.”

  “C’mon, man … a problem shared, right?” Anton pulled the scooter back on to its stand and walked towards Gabe. “I can help, with Benny, anyway. You probably don’t need any when it comes to that Stella chick…”

  “What?”

  “Look, soon as I saw you with her, bro, I went –” Anton held his hands up – “Scout’s honour, man, you know I’m no sleezoid peep-show weirdo. I just want you to tell me what the hell you’re doing in spitting distance of that Benny guy, I mean, how bad can it be? We’re the Two Musketeers, right, Gabe? Always have been, since forever.”

  Gabe stared at Anton and realized this was the same situation he’d been in with his dad, and he was feeling the same way; help was being offered, no strings attached, and all he was able to do was turn it down. With his dad he just hadn’t had the right words to say what he wanted to say; with Ant, he didn’t want to get his friend involved in the freak show his life was becoming. As he searched for a way out, any way out, his phone started to vibrate and ring in his pocket.

  “You want to get that?” Anton looked away.

  “No.” Gabe waited and let the call go to voicemail. “You are gonna have to trust me, Ant. Trust me when I say you can’t help. You really can’t, not right now. And I will tell you what the hell is going on as soon as I can, I promise…”

  Anton walked back to the Vespa, put on his helmet and sat astride the scooter. He pressed the electric starter, revved the engine, then pushed the Vespa forward, off its stand, and rode away without a word.

  Gabe watched him disappear into traffic as he got out his phone. Whoever had called had left a voicemail and he automatically pressed playback and listened to the robo-voice telling him he had one new message. Then Benny started talking and didn’t stop. “You think I’m blind, maybe, Gabriel? Like what are you doing, hanging round with Eddy’s kid sister? What? I got eyes around the place, Gabriel. If it’s going on, I know about it, so don’t try and pull the wool with me, OK? Eddy Grainger, right? Kid sister’s Estelle or something… Stella. If I was playing nice, OK? If I was, I’d say I’d prefer it if you did not hang round with the broad. But I ain’t doing nice today, so back off, Gabriel, capiche? Do not go there, right? Or else.”

  Gabe was having a tough enough time adjusting to the way his life was playing without Benny turning all mafia don on him. Was he being threatened, with the ‘or else’ again? He wanted to ring Benny back and ask him what his problem was with Stella, but he thought better of it.

  Stella must have been very careless for Benny, not the sharpest knife in the drawer by a long stretch, to have found out she was doing whatever she was doing. Gabe had no idea what that might be, but he had no doubts she should cease and desist right away. He rang Stella,
but the call went straight to voicemail and he mumbled something inane, about how she should call him back as soon as she got the message, and cut off.

  As if his life wasn’t complicated enough, as if he wasn’t paranoid enough, he now had to worry about Stella, and whether meeting up with her in a couple of hours time was going to be cool. He found it difficult – strike that, he found it impossible to believe that Benny had a network of informants all over the Valley reporting back to him. He was a low-level dirtbag with muscle for brains, so he’d either found out by accident or, for some reason, he’d been having Stella watched. 24/7? Would he do that? Unlikely. But was it worth the risk, thinking that he wouldn’t?

  Gabe pushed his bike down the sidewalk. His life was unravelling. It had become a never-ending parade of unanswered and often unanswerable questions and worrying about them was screwing with his head. The irony hit him that worry, specifically about how he was going to try and help fix his family’s situation, was kind of what had got him into this mess in the first place.

  As he walked he texted Stella: Benny watching u – careful yr not followed tonite. Gabe wondered how come, if Benny really was such a moron, he’d managed to stay out of jail for so long. And what did it say about him, the almost-straight-A student who worked for the guy? Who, out of the two of them, was the biggest loser?

  A light breeze blew in, bringing with it the kind of comforting smell of a garden trash fire. Following on, underneath those top notes, came something heavier and more earthy. For a second it didn’t mean anything to Gabe, then, as if he was sampling a perfume, trying to work out its different components, he took a deeper breath and it clicked.