The Lethal Bones

by Nick Thacker

  Thomas nodded. “Autonomy and freedom. That’s the main perk our researchers enjoy. Closely following that is the knowledge that their work will help solve a lot of the world’s problems.”

  “Okay, but I don’t really understand what any of that has to do with me.”

  "Mr. Bennett, you wrote a paper this spring about a viral mutation in female pigs living in warm-climate regions. I have to say, it was fascinating reading."

  “How did you… you read my paper?”

  “It’s on CSU’s intranet. We have people who are always on the lookout for fresh ideas and focus on disrupting existing models of thinking. Based on your work, I have to say, you are the kind of talent that comes along once in a generation.”

  Zach eyed the door, suddenly feeling warm. He could feel droplets of sweat gathering on his forehead. Helmut stood near it, hands crossed over his waist, eyes blankly fixed on the windows.

  “Uh… thank you,” Zach said.

  “You’re very welcome. I appreciate your allowing our little intrusion here so we could meet in person. I’ve tried to call you a few times.”

  "I don't answer my phone, usually. As I said, I'm pretty busy."

  Thomas turned his palms toward the ceiling. “No matter at all. Don’t you find face-to-face to be the best way to get business done, anyway?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Zach said as he slipped the business card into the front pocket of his lab coat. “What do you want with me?”

  “Well, obviously, Zachary, we’re here to offer you a job.”

  34

  Dalton tried the back door to the restaurant and found it unlocked. A bit surprising, since no one was supposed to know about this meeting. But maybe The Chef had a good reason to make sure Dalton had easy access to the back of the building. Most of their meetings had to be conducted like this, in secret. If anyone saw them together in public, their plans would quickly unravel, and they’d have much bigger problems on their hands. Besides that, The Chef prized secrecy above all other virtues.

  The rumor grapevine around the Club was swift and relentless. Secrets unleashed could never be contained. But Dalton had so few opportunities to meet one-on-one with The Chef, he had to take them when he could.

  Dalton stepped through the back door of the restaurant, into the kitchen. A sushi place in the Highlands Ranch neighborhood, far from Dalton's Branch. Exactly how The Chef liked it. Dalton knew all too well that there were always eyes around, eyes of people hoping to get an inside edge or an advantage over him or to simply steal contracts. The Chef liked to talk about the old days, how everyone played nice. There was respect, honor. Assassins cared about the industry as much as they cared for their own advancement. Not like it was now, with the infighting and betrayals.

  Ironic, Dalton thought, since we're planning quite a significant betrayal of our own.

  Dalton navigated through the maze of men and women working in the kitchen. Most ignored him, but a guy working a ladle through a giant vat of white rice gave him the odd eye. The stink of raw fish polluted Dalton’s nose, but he had to ignore it.

  Sushi, he thought, involuntarily wrinkling his nose. Gross.

  He was a meat and potatoes guy and didn't see the point in wrestling with a pair of chopsticks just to give the appearance of culture. Just pick up the damned piece of food and eat it.

  Dalton pushed past the kitchen workers until he saw The Chef sitting in an office the size of a closet, off to the side of all the stainless steel implements in the kitchen. The Chef was at a little desk, typing on an adding machine.

  “What’s that relic?” Dalton asked as he leaned against the door frame.

  “It’s how we still do business.” The Chef waved toward the door. “Come in and close it behind you.”

  “Isn’t there an app for that?” Dalton asked.

  The Chef ignored him.

  Dalton squeezed into the tiny office and shut the door. A tightening came to his chest when the claustrophobia of the tiny space occurred to him. There was only one chair, so he leaned against the wall. The Chef continued to ignore him, clacking on the adding machine. The repetitive ka-churg sound grated his nerves.

  “Don’t people in your branch notice you’re gone all the time?”

  The Chef shrugged. “Most of them are concerned with themselves. I show up from time to time to find out what’s going on and say my hellos. That’s good enough.”

  “I don’t know how you find the time.”

  “What happened with the little brother?” The Chef asked, abruptly changing the subject to the topic du jour.

  “Rennie is dead. Total cluster. He went after Zach Bennett alone, trying to keep it quiet. But someone else got there first.”

  “Another Branch? Is there someone else trying to make a play for Bennett?”

  Dalton shook his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t know much, but I don’t think these guys are Club members. The ones who killed Rennie, I mean.”

  The Chef sat back and stretched. “What about Bennett’s mother?”

  “She’s hard to find. Dropped off the map a few years after her husband died. We think she’s changed her name. It might take us another day or two, but I don’t know how much longer it’s going to matter.”

  “You could make another run at Zachary Bennett. Or, you could focus on Harvey Bennett.” The Chef’s odd gaze pierced Dalton and sent a pulse of fear into his chest. “If you think you’re up to the task, that is. I heard about what happened at Mile High.”

  Dalton didn’t take the bait. He kept his calm gaze. “Bennett is crafty. Craftier than his doofy lumberjack exterior suggests.”

  “There’s a good reason why Ember is trying to recruit him. She’s a lot smarter than you are, you know.”

  Dalton lowered his eyes. While The Chef's tone was even and calm, there was no mistaking the disappointment in the words. Dalton hated standing there, taking a lecture, but he didn't have much of a choice. He needed The Chef, at least for now.

  “I won’t fail again,” Dalton said.

  “Good. Because we can’t launch our endgame against the Club until Bennett is dead. No outsiders. No one to tell the tale.”

  “And Ember?”

  “She’s not as important as Bennett. When we take over the Club, she won’t matter. If you can keep her out of the way for a few days, that should be good enough.”

  “I’d still like to kill her,” Dalton said.

  “I’m sure you do. And maybe you’ll get your chance,” The Chef said before pivoting in the chair and resuming the typing on the noisy adding machine. Dalton was about to leave when The Chef paused and took a breath. “If we can get Ember and Bennett in the same place at the same time, you can take them both out. Clean and simple, no mess. That’s how it has to be.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “I know how,” The Chef said. “Ember will go to the Post Office in Boulder tomorrow morning. She always does to debrief after an event like what happened at the stadium. We hit her there.”

  Dalton’s eyes widened. “At the Post Office? We can’t do that.”

  The Chef flicked a wrist at the door for Dalton to leave. “Like I always say. This Club isn’t like it used to be. It’s time to start breaking the rules.”

  Dalton waited to see if there was more, but The Chef was still ka-chunking away at the machine.

  “Now, leave,” The Chef said. “I have to get payroll done tonight, but I’ll call you in the morning with the details.”

  35

  Ben opened the door to the motel room as Ember stood there, the morning sun reflecting off her mirrored sunglasses. Her lips were pursed, her arms crossed over her waist, a purse loosely hanging from one wrist.

  If the situation was different — that is, if there weren’t trained professional assassins out to kill him and his family, Ben might have been attracted to her. Instead, he couldn’t help but look past Ember and into the space beyond, glancing each direction to make sure they were alone.

  Not t
aking that chance again.

  “Is my brother okay?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. For now. Dalton sent Rennie after him. Kill or capture, I don’t know. But on the way, Rennie met an unfortunate end. Couple of guys who were also there.”

  “Who are they?”

  “No idea. It’s not anyone I recognized. For all I know they’re friends of Zach’s, but it didn’t really seem that way. The point is, your brother is fine. I waited long enough to see what’s up, and while I couldn’t hear anything, I think they were there to meet with him, not kill him.”

  “You think?” Ben asked.

  “I’m sure of it. Sorry. And I had a contact drive up to check on him this morning, and he’s no worse for wear. Whatever it was, the meeting didn’t seem to rattle him. I don’t have any reason to think he’s currently in any danger.”

  Ben let out a breath. “Thank you.”

  “But Ben — If we don’t stop Dalton, though, Zach could be a target again. Not to mention that you still are.”

  “Okay, I understand.”

  There was a pause. Ben almost sensed what was coming.

  “You know, you could call him.”

  Ben cleared his throat. "Yeah, I… I guess I could." After another pause, he asked, "You know the other day when you told me about what happened to your brother?"

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah?”

  “Did you find the ones that killed him? The gang bangers in the car?”

  She swished her lips back and forth a few times. Almost ten seconds passed before she opened her mouth to speak again. “I’ll continue to keep an eye on Zach. I don’t know who those guys that met him at CSU were, but I have my suspicions. I’ll look into it, and you have my word: I’ll make sure nothing happens to him.”

  “Sure. I appreciate that.”

  Something in Ember’s face changed as her lips parted and her eyebrows raised.

  He’d never been great at reading women, or men for that matter, so he felt his own eyes falling into a frown. “What’s that look for?” Ben asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s just — it might be nothing. But, I think I know who might be playing us.”

  “You mean, besides Dalton?”

  “Yeah, like who’s working with him. I think I know who’s passing along information to Dalton, and the reason he knew about our attempt to get him at Mile High.”

  “What exactly does that mean?”

  Ember shook her head. “Nothing yet. Nothing you need to worry about. I need a bit more information to confirm it. What matters now is that we stay on target and find a way to take out Dalton before he can do anything else to put his plan into motion.”

  “Okay, so what’s our next move?”

  "Let's get to the Post Office in Boulder. I want to talk to Salty again. We need a better strategy to go against Dalton, since none of what we've tried so far seems to be working. He's always out in front, and someone's been selling us out. Salty will know what to do."

  Ben grabbed his motel key from the dresser next to the door. “Lead the way.”

  36

  They pulled into the parking lot of the building that housed the Boulder Post Office. Ben stared directly ahead as Ember parked, then she turned off the car. Ben didn’t look over, even when Ember patted him on the knees before exiting the vehicle. So many thoughts raced around inside his head, Ben didn’t know how to catch them all. Like little bits of burnt leaves floating through the air, touching dried wood and sparking new fires as they fluttered.

  She stood in front of the car, waving Ben forward. For a moment, he ignored her. He was tired. After days of complications, he wanted to rest. He wanted simplicity. He even dared to think he wanted the solace of the vast stretches of the Midwest states, the predictability, and consistency of diner pies and indignant truckers.

  But he kept seeing the venom in Marietta's eyes; the way she had blamed Ben for Lucas' death. And, he'd had no basis for arguing with her. Ben could have ignored Lucas' plea to come to Denver, to meet Ember. He could have stayed on the road, working odd jobs and traveling from town to town, remaining anonymous. If he had stayed away, Lucas would still be alive, and Marietta would still have a husband.

  But Ben had chosen this. All of this.

  Deep down, he knew he'd wanted more; he'd needed a change. He hadn't been entirely sure this was that change, but he knew it was better than the empty nothingness that described his life before.

  Also, though, he saw the woman’s face, the one from the stadium. The way she had rubbed her neck after becoming free of the collar. How she had gone from panic to shock to panic, and then to relief as he’d figured out how to remove the collar safely. He had done that. He had saved that woman’s life — and he hadn’t needed to. It may have been safer for him to simply break out of the box and chase down Dalton.

  But he hadn’t done that. He hadn’t chosen that particular fork in the road.

  Julie was alive because of him. What would she be feeling today, knowing she had been two seconds away from death? She now had a second chance.

  And then, in the same instant, he had a realization.

  Is this my second chance?

  He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then let out the sigh and pulled the handle. Ben stepped out of the car, but when Ember turned to head toward the building, he held up a hand. "Wait."

  She looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Make it quick. Salty is expecting us. I want to get in there before Fagan sees us if she's here."

  Ben cocked his head. “The woman with the burn scars?”

  “Yeah. I’m pretty sure she’s the one who sold us out to Dalton. I think she’s The Chef, the mentor Dalton reports to. It was her 'spy’ in Five Points who told us about Dalton being at the stadium yesterday.”

  “Wow. That’s… crazy.”

  Ember tapped her foot. “Yeah, I have no idea what’s going on in this messed-up world right now. Anyway, what did you want to tell me?”

  “I want you to know that… I don’t blame you for any of this. You know, how we got here.”

  She took a few seconds to consider, then nodded. “I’m sorry about your friend. I’ll keep an eye on his wife and make sure she stays safe. Zach, too.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Okay, no more touchy-feely stuff. We need to get inside right now.”

  Ben pointed for her to lead the way, and she did. He followed her around to the back of the building, and she used the hidden keypad to access the building. Inside, there seemed to be less activity than the other day. But it was quite early in the morning. Maybe assassins liked to sleep in. That made sense. They probably worked a lot of late hours.

  Up the stairs to the third floor, she knocked on the door to an unmarked office. Ben leaned against the wall outside of it to catch his breath. Ember never seemed to run out of energy.

  “Enter,” said the muffled voice from beyond the door.

  She opened it, and they stepped inside to see Salty sitting behind his desk, a tired expression on his face. Ben couldn't quite tell what it was, but he immediately knew something was off. He didn't know the man well, but it didn't take a psychologist to see that Salty was struggling with something. Whatever it was, it was scrawled all over his face. Apprehension? Anxiety?

  “We need guidance,” Ember said as she had a seat. “We’ve met some roadblocks, and I think there are people working against us. I don’t know who to trust.”

  “I know,” Salty said through a deep sigh. “And I’m sorry.”

  Her head tilted. “Sorry about what?”

  Ben now noted the open bathroom door to his left. A shadow inside it moved. Then, Dalton emerged from the bathroom, holding up a shotgun, pointed directly at Ember. He kept it pointed at her head as he shifted foot over foot and settled next to Salty.

  The old man pulled his own gun, leveling it at Ben.

  “This,” Salty said. “I’m sorry about this.”

  37

  Ben sat perfectly still as
Dalton shifted around to Salty’s side of the chair. Both of them kept their guns aimed. Four people in the little room, all of them with eyes locked on each other, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for one of them to screw up.

  “You’re The Chef,” Ember said through gritted teeth. “All this time, you were working both sides of the conflict. You’ve been lying to me for, what, three years now? I always wondered why I could never reach you in the evenings.”

  Salty shook his head, frowning. “It’s time for a change in the Club. You have to believe me when I say it’s not personal. What’s happening now is inevitable. And, this change been a long time coming.”

  “How many people are going to die so you can have your change?”

  “I tried to keep you out of this, Ember. Didn’t I tell you multiple times to stay out of it? You inserted yourself into this when you didn’t have to. You did it. I don’t want to be here, pointing a gun at you. This isn’t how I saw this going, but you’ve forced my hand.”

  “And now you’ve illegally brought guns inside a Post Office, and you’re going to murder a civilian and a Club member inside a no-kill zone. Not to mention belonging to two Branches, which I’m pretty sure is also against the rules.”

  Ben tried to conceal how much his hands were shaking, but he couldn’t hide the beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. His mind raced, but none of the ideas popping up seemed like a good way to escape. The room was too small. The gun and the shotgun pointed at him and Ember were only a few feet away. If he stood and tried to run, either Dalton or Salty could blast him before he could get two feet toward the door. So, he swallowed his fear and waited. A cue from Ember, or a break in their attention. There had to be something he could do.

  “You want to talk about the rules?” Dalton asked. “That’s why it’s come to this. It’s time for a change. Everyone knows it. We’re the only ones brave enough to do anything about it.”

  Ember snorted a laugh. “Oh, so this is about your courage, is that right?”