Page 44 of Race With The Devil

“Jesus, what a fucktard,” I said. “That guy is sick on so many levels. I don’t care what a brilliant chemist he is. He’s purposefully trying to kill people and animals and has to be stopped by whatever means possible.”

Bare Boners nodded soberly at me, “by any means possible” being their motto.

Tanner backed me up. “Yeah. Any guy who tosses his new bride’s wedding gear into the trash then uses her dog as a bait critter, well, I couldn’t agree more. He needs to be buried.”

Duji said, “But we need a body first. Remember that old rule, Ford? ‘Body first, retribution second.’”

Ford grinned. “Man, that was a long time ago, in the Riker days. Hey, speaking of old, wasn’t Santiago Slayer supposed to be here?”

“Yeah,” said Tanner, giving me some healthy, skeptical side-eye. Not being familiar with Santiago Slayer like the rest were, we had no idea how reliable he was. “He said he’d be here at the bud and breakfast at eleven.”

Everyone glanced at their watches. Eleven-fourteen.

“Are you going to that Christopher Guest retrospective?” Duji asked Faux Pas, to make small talk.

“That’s Tuesday, isn’t it? That’s our thirtieth wedding anniversary. I promised Sapphire I’d get some Shiraz and we could spin some Charlie Parker. Then we may go for a midnight swim.”

“Way too cold for that,” sniffed Gollywow.

“Perhaps,” conceded Faux Pas. “I wish I had a fireplace.”

A new car crunched the gravel out front. I reminded Tanner, “Slayer really seemed to think we might find Lavinia in the Grand Canyon, on that bench Tutti mentioned.”

Ford overheard me. “He’s rarely wrong. I know he comes across like a nancy boy with his pants around his ankles, but Slayer really sells it. I don’t know what we’re going to fucking do when he retires from the biz.”

“He’ll never retire,” proclaimed Knoxie. “Being a sicario is his life blood.”

The front desk gal was at the door to announce someone, but Santiago Slayer busted on past her, shoving her aside like he was Donald Trump at a NATO summit.

“I have made it!” he announced, waving an imaginary hat of some sort. I have to admit, it warmed my heart to see the handsome sicario again. Not that there was much chance of danger or mayhem trying to seduce a park ranger. “You must say something to those pendejo cops around here. I am only late because one of them on a motorcycle stopped me for going too slow!”

Everyone guffawed. Knoxie explained to me, “Slayer is notorious for going too slow in his Fiat. He never wants to draw attention to himself by getting a Fast Riding Award.”

“But,” I said, “now a cop saw you coming up to this bud and breakfast.”

“It is okay,” said Slayer, taking a seat and waving a limp hand at me. “I promised him I would get him the autograph of William Levy, and he did not write me a ticket.”

“Who’s William Levy?” I asked, puzzled.

Slayer shrugged. “No one big. Just a telenovela actor from Cuba. And now to business! I must report my success at discovering exactly where Lavinia Dock and Tutti Morgan were at four-oh-five in the afternoon of Monday the nineteenth. According to my luscious new friend Ranger Vera, that is when they entered the park at the South Entrance station.”

Ford asked the question on everyone’s minds. “How can we be sure it was them?”

Slayer produced a CDROM in a case from inside his wide-lapeled polyester jacket. “From this! Vera was kind enough to give me a copy of the evidence after I assured her Lavinia was my half-sister and a Navajo native. Vera gets very sappy over the possible murder of natives, as she studied the culture in college at William and Mary.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ford said dismissively, capturing the CDROM when Slayer whisked it across the table. Someone had written on the case in blue Sharpie MORGAN. “Tell me what the camera showed.”

Slayer pointed at the ceiling. “The camera showed plainly Morgan’s face as he leaned out the window of his red ’13 Ferrari Italia, license plate BTK3762, to pay his entry fee. That is easy enough to verify with the DMV. True, from that angle it was difficult to see who was in the passenger seat. So, Ranger Vera proceeded down Desert View Drive to Grandview Point, the place Tutti Morgan wanted to visit with Lavinia in that cornball text he sent her.”

“Speaking of cornball,” said Gollywow, “wouldn’t it be more believable if you were Lavinia’s father and not her half-brother?”

Slayer drew himself up proudly, looking down his nose at Gollywow. It was as though he clutched a silk shawl about his precious shoulders. “I am ageless, and half-brothers can be any age.” Again, rapidly exchanging his mood and personality, he instructed Ford, “Go to the eighteen-fifty-one point on the tape. You will see what I mean about Grandview Point.”

Slayer turned pleasantly toward me. “I saw your Instagram profile. Extremely sexy. You have half as many followers as me, which is through the roof! I could retweet you and give you vast exposure.”

“She has enough exposure,” said Tanner, reaching a protective “mom arm” across the table.

“No, I don’t,” I said, going to Slayer’s Instagram account on my phone. The last thing he’d posted was a selfie on a very long selfie stick of him standing next to a short, wide woman wearing a ranger’s uniform. Slayer was a contrast in style next to her, bending toward her ingratiatingly in his polyester shirt with airplane collar and undone buttons, gold chains displayed. Oddly, it looked like the sun was rising across the impressive canyon behind them, and their hair did look kind of mussed. The caption read, “Nothing beats coffee with a ranger at the Grand Canyon” and it had two point something million likes!