Page 62 of Making His Bones

Something dawned on me. “That could’ve been what just happened with Narcissa. It didn’t seem like regular run of the mill being lagered up.”

“That could be. Sleep driving is common on Ambien, more so with women than men. Okay, these soda bottles could be useful. Something in here has to be. I’ll FedEx everything tomorrow morning to my Illinois lab.”

“Okay.” I handed Elektra her lid. “You keep that bag safe on your lap.”

But when we drove up the shimmering moonlit drive to the house we shared, a gangly figure loomed in the driveway, waving his arms. Of course it was the ghostly white visage of Galileo, looking as though he’d never herded a sheep in his life—maybe cats.

“What is it, bro?” I asked, dismounting.

“Bro, bro,” he said breathlessly, fluttering his hands. “I finished drying the last labradoodle around six-thirty, right? Had a couple of brewskis at The Bum Steer. Made plans with Tuzigoot to attend a Bob Marley festival, but that’s beside the point.”

I was getting a creeping, horrible feeling, and I wished Galileo would get to the point. “Yes, yes.”

“Slushy stopped on in. He told us about a Banksy exhibit he’s going to tomorrow in Flag. Why would you want to see exhibits that just keep disappearing or getting shredded?”

“Galileo, bro,” said Elektra. “Get to the point.”

Galileo touched his skull with his fingertips as though hypnotizing himself. “Right, right. Focus, focus! So then, it was about eleven by the time I got back to my apartment. I was pretty bombed on three Bud Lights, so for a few minutes I didn’t notice him missing.”

“Who?” asked Elektra.

“Why, Tiago of course! He’s been sleeping on my couch.”

“Wait,” I said. “How’d you know he was ‘missing’? Maybe he was out partying with, I don’t know, August or Sock Monkey?”

Elektra said, “There were a couple of Santiago Slayer’s Navajo kids working at A Joint System when we picked up our weed.”

“Yes, yes,” said Galileo, “I know Tiago’s been toking a little of the Chronicles of Narnia lately. How can I stop him? But that wouldn’t suddenly turn him into a hooligan, incapable of making it home by eleven!”

“Of course you texted him,” said Elektra.

“Texted and called! Nothing! It went straight to voicemail.”

I frowned. “That’s concerning. So you went by A Joint System.”

Galileo nodded. “I went by A Joint System. It was completely locked up. Even August was gone. The nail salon was closed!”

He uttered that last part as though it were the final straw. Tiago sometimes earned extra green by helping the nail salon ladies, a skill he’d learned somehow on the streets of Mexico.

“What do we do next?” asked Elektra, her voice strained. “I don’t know anyone else who Tiago would hang out with.”

Galileo wrung his hands. “Me neither. Except when I meet them, I’m going to say, ‘in what manner would you like to die today, motherfucker?’ I am capable of anything when riled." Galileo had a profound spiritual connection to these homeless kids.

I said, “What about Slayer’s kids, the ones he found in the bushes at the distillery? The ones working at A Joint System? Where do they live?”

Galileo thought. “I believe they might be staying up at Leaves of Grass in the house with Tobiah.”

“Have you called him?”

“No. It’s eleven-thirty. Way past his bedtime.”

“Okay. You call Tobiah and I’ll call Slayer.”

“Santiago went back to Mexico City with the rest of the kids,” said Elektra, but my phone was already ringing.

And ringing. And ringing. Finally I got voicemail. “Saludos, aficionados. You have reached the ab-fab Santiago Slayer in all his glory. Unfortunately, I am off doing something important like signing contracts or making the world safer.” Beep.

The same thing happened when Galileo called Tobiah, and then we were out of ideas. It was time to go inside, crack some more beers, and ponder the situation. We all sat around the gas fire pit out back, staring at the flames with empty eyes, barely gulping our beers.

Galileo said, “This is like the time my mother gave our television set and Hibachi away and vanished.”

“She went to a cult in Oregon, right?” I asked.

He nodded. “Right. She gave them every last stick of furniture. I mean, what are they going to do with an electric carving knife?”

Elektra asked, “Is she still there?”

“No. The cult disbanded when it came out they were poisoning the salad bar in the nearest town, trying to throw the election by killing all the opposition.”

“Maybe that’s why they needed the carving knife,” I said.

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