The Lethal Bones Read online

  The next room he passed looked like a classroom, with a woman standing at the front, facing a dozen adult students in desks. On the whiteboard behind her was written: Process to request a special dispensation to perform a contract on a Sunday. The teacher was saying something about accepting contracts on weekdays and Saturdays, but Ember walked too fast, and Ben didn't have time to linger to absorb all the information.

  The next room was an office, with a woman seated at a desk. Half of her face was burned; one of her eyes was dead and milky blue. When the woman looked up at them as they walked by, Ben stopped short and caught his breath. It was the most menacing stare he'd ever seen.

  “Hey, Fagan,” Ember said, smiling at the woman sitting at the desk. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest.

  “Afternoon, Ember. How are things?”

  She had a deep voice, and only half of her face moved when she spoke. It unnerved Ben, but he found he couldn't look away. The woman had a mesmerizing stare.

  Ember tilted her head from side to side. “I’d like to say it’s bad and not worse, but I think we’ve gone beyond worse and are on the verge of calling it a total shit-show. Other than that, fine.” She put a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “This is Ben.”

  Fagan tipped an imaginary cap, which unnerved Ben even more. “Hello, Ben. Welcome to the Boulder Post Office.”

  “Uh, hi.”

  “Had a rough week, have you?” Fagan asked.

  "Yeah. Yes. Yes, I have."

  Fagan nodded at Ember. “No matter what it’s all about, you’re in good hands with that one. Ember has been one of Boulder’s most reliable and loyal members for years now. She’ll right the ship.”

  “Oh, Fagan,” Ember said, “are you flirting with me?”

  The older woman grinned again, and a dab of saliva leaked out of the dead side of her mouth. “I have to drum up support for the chore board somehow.”

  Ember laughed. “Good luck with that. We need to get going. Salty’s expecting us.”

  “He’s in the gym,” Fagan said. Then, to Ben: “Nice to meet you.”

  “Yeah,” Ben said, then Ember tugged his hand to move him along the hall. About twenty feet down, Ben stopped and pointed back toward the office.

  “What?” she said.

  “That lady,” Ben whispered.

  “Fagan.”

  “Is she someone important?”

  She shook her head. “She’s one of the oldest tenured members, and some would say she runs things around here. But, she’s been gone a lot lately, for some reason. Don’t worry about her. Salty’s right over here.” She opened a door at the far end. Ben scurried along after her to find a large open room, filled with exercise equipment, with mats on the floors and mirrors on the walls. There were half a dozen men and women working out, but one stood out in particular. A shirtless black guy with a massive barrel chest and a mop of white hair on top of his head. Little freckles dotted his nose and cheeks. He had to be at least sixty, but he was as muscular as a bodybuilder.

  He was curling weights, grunting as his biceps flared. The man tilted his head as he let the weight bar fall to the ground. A massive whump sound as it hit. He waved Ben and Ember over.

  As he toweled off his neck and upper chest, he pointed at an empty weight bench in front of him. “Have a seat, Harvey.”

  “I go by Ben.”

  "I go by Salty. And she goes by Ember. Now that we're all acquainted let's have a little chat."

  “Wait,” Ben said, holding up a finger. “What is this place? What are you people doing here?”

  “You want the history lesson?”

  “Sure, I guess so.”

  Salty frowned for a few seconds and then shrugged. "Back in the 1960s, there was a group of different contract killers who came together to form a single group. A union, or a guild, or some kind of professional organization. It started in Denver because that was where our founder had settled. They formed because assassins were stepping on each other's toes, I suppose. Competing for contracts, taking each other out. One smart guy figured out a way to stop that by having everyone come together with a set of rules. This is how the DAC was born. Does that answer your question?"

  “What about the Branches?”

  “At first, they were geographical. Six of them. Then, they became more ideological, I guess. Boulder Branch doesn’t do women or children, and only takes on contracts for people who deserve to die. Westminster Branch specializes in contracts to make deaths look like an accident. Five Points Branch is known for being especially brutal.”

  “Dalton is the leader of Five Points?”

  Salty and Ember shared a look, then Salty shook his head. “Branches don’t really have leaders. Or, they aren’t supposed to have leaders. We have a single governing body for the whole Club with a president, vice president, historian, and a few others. They make up the Review Board for disciplinary infractions.” Salty slung his towel over his shoulder and dropped his bulky frame down to one knee to meet Ben eye to eye. “You’ve found yourself in a world of complication, son.”

  “That sounds about right,” Ben said.

  “Ember told me someone at Five Points has your wallet, and you’re worried about your family.”

  Ben nodded. “I have a brother who lives an hour north of here in Fort Collins. He’s just a kid. There’s no way he can take on Dalton and his men.”

  “It wouldn’t matter if your brother was a Green Beret or part of Seal Team 6. Dalton isn’t easy for anyone to take down.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  Salty sighed. “There is a way out, but you’re probably not going to want to hear it.”

  Ben looked Salty in the eye. “Try me.”

  “If you kill Dalton, then, as an outsider, there’s no blame that comes back on us, or you. There are laws in the Club that prevent retribution against family members when a dispute is handled this way.”

  “What?” Ben said. “This doesn’t make any sense. If this Dalton guy claims Ember killed one of his people, I can prove he didn’t. I saw it happen. Can’t I go to your justice board or whatever and tell them what I saw? I can testify.”

  Salty shook his head. "It doesn't work that way. Doing that won't keep the people you care about out of harm's way. Dalton has claimed a grievance against Ember, which means he's within his rights to kill both you and her, and possibly even your family if he can make a case it's to prevent future revenge attacks. But, if you take him out, then it all goes away. Above all, the DAC values keeping things quiet and out of the public eye."

  “This is insane,” Ben said as he checked Ember’s face for some hint of what she was thinking. This raven-haired woman had a habit of keeping a stoic face no matter what. “If a Green Beret can’t take him on, what makes you think I can?”

  “I’m working on that,” Ember said. “My burned friend out there, Fagan? She’s got spies who are looking into Dalton’s movements. We’ll find a way to get him somewhere vulnerable. A choke point to make it easier for you.”

  “It has to be you,” Salty said, drawing Ben’s eyes back to him. “Ember can’t be directly involved.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Ben thought maybe he did see Ember's eyes twitch for a second. Would she go against her mentor? Would she really expect him to go to the Dalton guy directly with no backup?

  Ben had to believe she would help him.

  Salty stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my workout before I lose my pump.”

  “Come on, Ben,” Ember said. “Let’s go talk about how to get you ready for what you need to do.”

  23

  The late summer rain came out of nowhere. The morning sky had clouded up in an instant and rain fell first in drips, then in sheets, all over the cemetery. The funniest thing was, Ben didn't take off his sunglasses. There still seemed to be sunshine in every direction, despite the pouring rain from above. Ben remembered storms like these during his summer in Rocky Mountain National Park. Out d
uring the day, cleaning privies, gear in tow. Right around noon every day, the sky would turn gray, and the clouds would form over the mountains, rain for an hour, and then move on east.

  He almost missed those times at Rocky Mountain, cleaning privies, drinking beers after work with his buddy Reese. Maybe things hadn’t been easy then, but they sure were simple. It was only because of everything that had happened near the end that he couldn’t count it as one of the pleasant times in his life.

  So many things had ended like that, after good beginnings. The camping trip with his family in Glacier. The fire brigade. Yellowstone. Rocky Mountain. And now, this trip to Denver.

  Ben didn't own a suit, so he felt underdressed for Lucas' funeral. He stood on the edges of the crowd. Marietta, in her black veil had shot him a venomous look when he'd opened the door of his truck a few minutes before. Probably best not to approach and risk upsetting her even further.

  Still, Ben felt he had a right to be here. Lucas was one of his oldest friends. It was impossible not to dwell on the fact that he was dead because of Ben. That, if Ben had never come to Denver, Lucas would be working somewhere near the mountains now, framing or pouring concrete or whatever else he did with his construction crew.

  Ben couldn't stop himself from feeling the guilt, so he didn't try. He let it consume him. But, he still felt that he had not only the right but the obligation to be here. He deserved to feel this way.

  Two dozen people stood around a hole in the ground as the casket sank into it. A priest stood at one end, reading from the bible, trying to hold it close so it wouldn’t get wet. A young boy stood near the priest, holding an umbrella above his head.

  For several minutes, Ben could only think about how he hadn’t even known Lucas was a catholic. Had he been before, back when they’d known each other? Or was that a result of knowing Marietta, a conversion to please her traditional family? That seemed like the sort of thing Lucas would have done to win the hand of the woman he loved.

  Either way, Ben had no idea. How well did he know his friend?

  When the priest finished speaking, a silence fell over everyone present. Only the sounds of weeping, mixed in with the rain. The clouds broke, and the rain lessened but didn't stop.

  Then, Ben saw Dalton, standing near a tree two hundred yards from the funeral.

  24

  Dalton watched the rain begin from his spot across the cemetery. Funerals had never bothered him. Cemeteries had never bothered him. Never one of those teenagers who liked to hang out by the grave markers to drink, he still liked to visit places such as this. To see the tombstones and wonder about the bones below.

  Not funerals, though. Too many people. A walk among the graves was meant to be a solitary and contemplative venture. Not full of weeping women and stone-faced men.

  His first funeral had been his uncle Jerry, the man Dalton had only known until his death when Dalton had been eight. He remembered how Jerry had tried to teach him how to play the harmonica. Jerry also had a colostomy bag, which repulsed young Dalton. And, at the funeral, the casket had been closed, but Dalton had been so intensely curious. He’d wanted to pull up that lid and see Uncle Jerry’s blank eyes. To touch his skin, to see if it felt cold. He assumed it would feel cold. There was nothing moving inside the body any longer to generate heat.

  By now, at the funeral for Lucas Gòdia, Dalton had long since learned how to control those urges. He had no intention of trying to open this casket, or even to get close to it. This wasn’t his loss to grieve, and he still had professional reasons to be here.

  He'd intended to come here today to kill Harvey Bennett. He'd wanted to pull him aside, to question him about his motives and intentions, to ask him why he'd partnered with Ember. But after the warehouse incident, he'd sworn to kill him. He'd wanted to do it slowly, to make Ember watch, but his real battle was with Ember.

  So he decided to put his plan into motion, but that meant getting rid of these loose ends. He could still make Ember pay — slowly — but Harvey needed to die now. Unfortunately, he could see that wasn't going to be possible today. Too many civilians. And now that Ben had seen him, Dalton couldn't easily get Bennett alone.

  Plus, Ember was waiting for Ben in a car, three hundred yards away. Not to mention that the DAC Vice President was at this funeral for some reason, disguised as a mourning family member. It was possible she was here to ascertain the likelihood of any of this getting out to the public. The Club generally frowned upon the killing of civilians unless there was special permission granted. Usually due to a grievance. Dalton had claimed a grievance against Ember and Bennett, but he didn’t know if it would be approved and his request granted. The government of the Club often moved as slow as molasses.

  For now they did, anyway. Once Dalton took over, that was one rule he intended to change. No paperwork required to kill anyone, member or civilian. If there was a profit to be had, why stand in the way of progress with regulations and endless discussion?

  The Club had become too bloated, too bureaucratic, too political. Even over the last few years, things had changed drastically. In some ways, all the bloat would make it easier for Dalton to subvert the entire organization. With so many heads and hands in the cookie jar, no one would see him coming.

  As Dalton stood, the rain slicking off his leather jacket, he met Bennett’s eyes. With a wink, he turned and walked away. He hadn’t intended for Bennett to get a look at him, but Dalton didn’t see the harm. Harvey Bennett couldn’t stop what was coming. No one could.

  Later today, they would kidnap Zachary Bennett from Colorado State University. Then, the scales would tip in Dalton’s favor. All he need was a little more patience.

  25

  Ben returned to the car. When he opened the door, he started to say something to Ember, but she held up a finger, her eyes glued to her phone. Her fingers stabbed at the keyboard, in the middle of a text conversation.

  “One second. I’m working on good news.”

  “Dalton is here,” Ben said.

  “I’m not surprised. He probably wanted to kill you, but he wouldn’t do it here. The Vice President of the DAC came to the funeral.”

  He slid into the driver's seat and shut the door. "What? Why?"

  “Because we take our anonymity very seriously, Ben. A civilian was murdered. This is going to sound terribly calloused because he was a friend of yours, but this could bring attention to the Club, which we do not want. Ever.”

  “You’re right. That does sound calloused.”

  "And I'm sorry about that. I know how much he meant to you, but no one else in the Club does. You can't expect them to. Right now, a lot of things are in flux. There's a lot of chaos among the Branches. Dalton is going to try to use this to his advantage to get rid of his enemies before the dust settles, and so we have to expect it'll get worse before it gets better. And so, people are paying attention to what's happening here. Trust me; it's a good thing our VP was here, keeping an eye on the situation. It might have saved your life today."

  “Would you have intervened if he’d tried something?

  She shook her head. "Once I saw the VP, I knew it wouldn't be necessary. Dalton is ballsy, but he's not crazy. He knows better than to make a move counter to the Club in public. He's working on something, but it's not that rash. He’ll have a plan that involves sneaking around in the shadows, like the rat he is.”

  “Okay. So, what’s this good news?”

  She pointed to the cemetery exit. “Drive. We’ve got a bit of a commute to get there, but it’ll make a lot more sense if I show you.”

  Ben let her navigate him out of the cemetery and then she made him head toward Lafayette, another suburb north of Denver. She said little except to occasionally look up and point something out when he came to a stop sign or a stoplight. Most of the time, she was on her phone. Ben didn't mind — the funeral was still processing in his mind, the words of the priest and the tears of the mourners. He didn't know how to categorize it all. He didn't know wher
e to put it all to make it make sense. He'd not cried during the funeral, but that wasn't abnormal. He wasn't much of a crier — he just felt the emotion in different ways. For him, stunned silence and general confusion was his emotional response to trauma.

  Near a strip mall, she held up a hand. “This one. The jewelry store over there.”

  As he put on his blinker to turn, he said, “Going to tell me what this is all about?”

  “Let’s make sure my friend has what we need. Then, I’ll tell you the good news.”

  He pulled in and parked in front of Rothman’s Jewelry, a small spot between a Mexican restaurant and a sporting goods store in the strip mall. Ben killed the engine and paused, hands on the keys. “I don’t want any of this.”

  “I know. I didn’t want any of it for you, either. It’s shitty timing.”

  “That’s one way to put it.”

  She leaned over and put a hand on his knee and gave it a squeeze. “Keep your head up. It’s going to get better soon, I promise. Dalton isn’t invincible, despite the legend around him. Yesterday, we blew the hell out of his weapons depot. He’s hurting right now. Wounded animals are dangerous, but they also leave a trail. We’re going to get him. We have to get him.”

  He nodded. “Do I need to wait here?”

  “No, this isn’t a Club spot. Just a friend. You can come with. In fact, I want you to see something inside here.”

  So, Ben and Ember left the car and entered the jewelers, a store populated with glass cases filled with glittering gems and stones. A large man with a voluminous beard stepped out from behind a curtain in the back. He was as round as he was tall, with a hefty grin across his face.

  “Ember!” the man said, spreading his meaty arms wide. “Did you bring me a fresh victim today?”

  Ember hooked a thumb at Ben. “Nope, just a friend. We were hoping we could take a look at your private stock. It’s a matter of urgency.”