Bad to the Bones(11)

Knox was overly interested in this granola. “Really? What else can you remember about these shipments?”

“Well, let’s see. My mind’s kind of muddy on a lot of issues, maybe due to the yogurt drinks.” But I always tried to please, so I strove to recall. “Well, just that it’s coming from Riker’s Island, which is strange. Isn’t that a prison in New York? It’s going to be coming up Highway 17 tomorrow, coming through the Agua Fria Monument area at five o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Good,” said Knox. “This is good to know. Can you call anyone up there in Disneyland to find out what sort of truck the granola is coming in?”

“Oh, I already know. I hear everything the Master says. Except when I’m working in my shop. Besides, no one up there has a phone. I don’t.”

Knox grinned. “Yeah, about that shop. I’d like to know more. You probably know Maddy’s brother, Speed. He’s the chief wrench for The Bare Bones.”

“I knew her brother, Bobby. We were in the same class.”

“That’s him, I think. Big explosion of blond curly hair?” Knox made a gesture as though squeezing a grapefruit on top of his head.

It made me laugh. “Yes, that’s him. He’s a mechanic now, too? Well. I’d like to see them again.”

“I’ll take you over to Maddy’s this morning, as soon as we have breakfast. What sort of truck is the granola coming in?”

“A Safeway truck. We do a lot of our ordering from Safeway. You know, things we can’t manufacture or grow ourselves, like shampoo or kiwis.”

“And granola, eh? Good, good. Let’s go down to the grill and grab breakfast.”

But someone was knocking on Knox’s door. It was the thin-haired guy I’d seen coming out of the Hip Quiver. He walked in rubbing his hands professionally, saying,

“Hey, hot stuff. I got a tip from a little bird that you were transporting, ah, shall we say, a precious cargo?” He held out his hand for me to shake. He was slick, all right, but in a good way. He was the sort of guy who would wear a suit even when he wasn’t seeing any clients all day long. His yellow tie was just loud and busy enough to make him stand out from the crowd, as though he couldn’t tolerate being normal or usual. “Slushy McGill at your service, my lovely.”

I had been taught to be polite. “Nice meeting you.”

Knox said, “We were just going downstairs to grab a bite, Slushy. Want to join us?”

Slushy thumped his chest with his fist. “Indeed I would, although I’d better not order that Bobo’s Special again. That lunch kept repeating itself like a sinful past life.” Shaping his arm into a crescent, he ushered me out Knox’s door. Since I didn’t remember entering the apartment in the first place, and I didn’t get to leave the ashram often, even the dirty Victorian stairwell was fascinating to me.

“So I heard you’ve been living up in Fruit Land?”

“Fruit Land? We have fruit trees up there at Bihari, yes.”

“Excuse me, Bihari. I’m very interested in what goes on up there.”

“Oh? You’re interested in becoming a disciple?”

“Something like that, yes…”





CHAPTER FOUR




KNOXIE


The waif Knoxie had saved from certain death was a banging hot babe.

Sitting across from her at the greasy Bum Steer table, Knoxie found himself drifting off into fantasyland while she spoke with Slushy. He knew Slushy was trying to draw her out, get her to talk, and he was actually grateful for that. They’d need all the ammo in their clip to fight this f*cking ashram or whatever the loony place was called. Know thy enemy was a truism from his SEAL days, and it completely applied now. He was glad that the oily, slick club lawyer had come knocking, even if it meant Knoxie didn’t get to be alone with the delicious devotee.

At the same time, Knoxie felt guilty. He felt they were using the poor ignorant trusting waif. She didn’t seem to have a clue that Slushy was pumping her for intel. She seemed to think he genuinely wanted to learn about their inner spiritual life or what have you. Slushy could talk the good talk, and while he was pumping Asanga for the lowdown on kundalini and primal screams, Knoxie stepped away from his pancakes to make a call to Ford Illuminati, President of The Bare Bones MC.

Ford was at a construction site—Knoxie could tell by all the backup alarms and yelling. Ford had to yell to be heard, too, over the din. “Knoxie? Yeah, what went down over on by Slide Rock? I’ve been talking to some of those burnouts Lytton and Wild Man brought back. Man, oh Manischewitz, did you rope up every clown in the car on that one. There’s a dude who seriously thinks he’s George Costanza. You know, from Seinfeld. Like he couldn’t have been Jerry? He had to be George? He keeps telling us not to double-dip.”

Knoxie had to chuckle. “That must’ve been one of the ones who came from the Bronx. Anyway, the girl refugee told me when and where to expect the shipment of granola.” One of the sterno bums had told Lytton that “granola” was actually the term for their “knockout drops,” and The Bare Bones wanted to cut off their source—whatever “knockout drops” were. They wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on, find anything to use as leverage against the kooks. Knoxie passed on the intel to Ford, then added, “Another thing. She knows Maddy. They went to high school together. She was in Speed’s class.”