Free California Bones by Greg van Eekhout Page A

with the ball or stopping to tie his shoe. When Daniel finally had enough, he charged Moth with fists windmilling in a suicide bid for vengeance. Moth easily absorbed Daniel’s blows and sent him sprawling on his ass. But he was impressed by Daniel’s recklessness and declared that he was switching teams to Daniel’s side. He’d been on Daniel’s side ever since. They’d had a lot of good times, Daniel and Cassandra and Moth and Jo and Punch, graduating from junior-varsity store break-ins and home burglaries to warehouses and secure storage facilities and jobs that could properly be called heists.
    But at the end of those years, things were different. Daniel and Cassandra were no longer a couple, Jo was out of the business, Moth was changed on a cellular level, and Punch was dead.
    “Moth, I shouldn’t have to keep saying this: It’s just not healthy to be selling your own kidneys.”
    Moth sat back down and took a massive bite out of his chili burger. “I know, but my ‘Hey, there’s a finger in my soup’ scam is played out. And a man’s gotta earn a living.”
    “Not this way. I have a job for us.”
    Moth chewed. “What is it?”
    “Let’s get out of here, and we can talk about it.”
    Moth made a paper napkin translucent by wiping orange grease off his lips. “First I finish my deal, and then we can talk about it.”
    “Who’re you selling to, anyway?”
    He hunkered down, as if by doing so he could make his broad, six-foot-six frame less noticeable. “Sawtelle Boys.”
    “Are you fucking crazy?” Daniel whispered. “Because the Sawtelle Boys are.”
    “Aw, they’re not so bad, once you get to know them.”
    “I am never going to get to know them.” The Sawtelles were leeches. They acquired bones and organs and corpses of magic users and leeched whatever osteomantic residues they could recover for resale. Daniel really, really didn’t like these guys. “Moth, listen. The job. It’s the Ossuary. It’ll pay way better than whatever the Sawtelles are paying for your kidney. Let’s just go. I’ll take you to Original Tommy’s, I’ll lay out the details, we’ll—”
    Moth jiggled the ice in his soft drink cup and slurped on his straw. “I’m receptive. But I have to finish this little deal first. Because I said I would. So, how about I meet you at Original Tommy’s in an hour, and you can give me the whole pitch. I gotta go now.”
    Daniel wanted to scream.
    “Fine,” he spat. “Fine. Sell your stupid kidney if you have to, but I’m coming with you.”
    They had a good, long stare-down. Moth’s stare was definitely more frightening than Daniel’s, but Daniel wasn’t going to let Moth deal with the Sawtelle Boys without backup. In the end, Moth said nothing. He picked up his cooler and headed out the door, and Daniel followed.
    They walked several blocks beneath the 405 flumeway without talking, the sounds of rushing water and boat engines mixing into a white-noise roar over their heads.
    The Sawtelles had sent five guys. They slouched around a support column in their red bandanas and voluminous khakis. Dirt crunched beneath Moth’s and Daniel’s shoes as they approached.
    “Who’s the gristle?” one of them said, tilting his chin at Daniel. He was short and pudgy, and his sleeveless T-shirt revealed little muscle. Nothing about him suggested leadership qualities. But since he’d spoken first, Daniel decided to watch him closest.
    “Just a friend,” Moth said, clearly annoyed at Daniel. “Is it a problem? ’Cause you got four other guys with you, so.”
    Short-Pudgy grinned jade teeth and laughed as if something funny had just occurred. “I don’t care, everyone needs backup, and we’re all carrying.” There were a lot of hands in pockets. “You got the meat?”
    Moth set his cooler on the ground and popped it open. Short-Pudgy took a couple of steps forward and leaned over. Sealed in a plastic sandwich bag and packed in ice was a bloody purplish shiny thing, shaped