Page 5 of Making His Bones

Gray

I was confused. I had the feeling I should be overwhelmed by the day’s activities, but I didn’t know why.

Kneecap hadn’t been a particular favorite of mine. I’d been around Pure and Easy long enough to know being arrested was part and parcel of being in an MC. Baron Funkhauser was back from doing Buck Rogers time in Tucson, and Tim Woodstock was back too, having punched a pizza delivery guy for bringing him incorrect toppings. Not sure what Funkhauser did. Something a little more serious that had to do with RICO. I knew that was a federal beef.

But this DNA scientist sure was hellafine, so I locked the front door to the archery range. About a hundred rubberneckers made a mob scene beyond the yellow tape. They probably all wanted to see where the famous Kneecap had been arrested. Let them wait. I needed to get back up to speed, as I hadn’t done archery since I’d been an extra in one of those swords-n-sandals movies. I’d shot a few arrows more recently hosting a reality show. And then, of course, they were stick bows, not compounds.

“Okay, assume the stance,” I said, reading off a poster on the wall near the shooting line. “Load and nock the arrow.” I’d given her five pink arrows that looked to fit her draw length. “Now, don’t draw right away because we didn’t weigh the bow, the draw weight could be anywhere between twenty and fifty pounds on that model, and I don’t want anyone tearing their rotator—“

But damned if she didn’t draw without paying me no mind. Elektra pulled her arm back, rested her string hand against her face for a brief second, and released. Thwack. It wasn’t a bull’s eye, but it hit in the next ring out.

“Good,” I said, trying to hide my surprise. “Could you tell the draw weight? I haven’t found Kneecap’s scale thingy, and—“

Thwack. Another arrow, then another.

“How does it feel?” I yelled, louder.

She hadn’t for one split second taken her eye off the target. The third arrow was in the X ring.

She nocked another one. “Feels about maybe thirty, thirty-five pounds, unless I’ve gotten much weaker in the past few years from only using my arm to mouse and enter data.”

Elektra finally looked at me and smiled. It was a revelation. She had an exotic, Hispanic look with long, thick black hair curling around her shoulders. Her salmon polo shirt didn’t disguise her amazing rack. The arching, high cheekbones made her seem smart, which I guess she was, to have uncovered DNA evidence about Kneecap all the way from something he’d done in Illinois.

Still smiling, she said, “Clear,” and went to pull her arrows from the target.

By that time, I figured fuck it, why not, and I grabbed a bow too, after estimating its poundage at about sixty-five. That would be easy for me, since I regularly pressed a hundred and seventy-five pounds. In fact, I was surprised how quickly it all came back to me. In no time we’d easily shot off ten rounds of five arrows apiece and were none the worse for it. You hardly get out of breath doing indoor archery, but we were laughing and panting the last time we walked back from the targets.

“I forgot how much fun that is,” I said.

“Me too. There’s no indoor range in Seeker, or at least there wasn’t ten years ago, but Delilah and I used to go to the outdoor club and shoot the 3D targets.” She had the look of a well-fucked woman, smug and self-assured, but when she mentioned this Delilah, her smile evaporated a little.

“Who’s Delilah?” I asked, cheerful as always. That was my brand. The cheerful, sunny guy who never brought anyone down.

“My daughter,” she muttered, and continued walking past the bow rack and into the lobby.

What the fuck? I hung up my bow because I wanted to continue to practice, if I was going to run this joint. I slung the arrows into the cup and followed Elektra.

Hands behind her back, she stared at a wall display of bow parts. She had placed the pink bow on the glass countertop, so I hung it back up and asked casually,

“Is Delilah still in Seeker?”

She didn’t answer for a long time. She finally took a deep, ragged breath in and breathed out. “No.”

She sounded so pained I almost didn’t want to ask the next logical question. “Where is she?”

This time she didn’t breathe at all. “She’s nowhere. She’s dead.”

Oh. Fuck fuckity fuck. Dead.

I went to stand next to her at the display. She bit her lip but continued looking at the rack of cams and quivers. “I’m so sorry,” I said lamely. She said nothing, and I knew I couldn’t keep asking about the daughter. In my business you learned quickly when not to press someone for information. Changing the subject was an art form. Trying to lighten things up, I said, “I came out here from LA a few months ago. I needed a break. I’ve been friends with Knoxie since the short pants days. You might’ve seen him out front, yelling at Kneecap. He hates Kneecap because he fucked Knoxie’s ex-old lady.” I chuckled, hoping to cheer up Elektra.

She did seem grateful that I’d changed the subject. She finally turned to face me. “Yes, maybe you can explain to me how such a dumpy, unattractive fellow seems to be such a ladies’ man.”

I shrugged. “Love the club, love the man,” I said, paraphrasing the homily. “Someone prospected him. Who knew he had such a shady past?”

Elektra didn’t fall for my fishing line. “So, what did you need a break from in LA? Tanning too much?”

I felt myself blush. “Hey. This used to be a fake tan, when I was in LA. Nowadays it’s a real tan. Nothing but the pure and easy air of Arizona.”