Page 55 of Cold, Cold Bones

Piccitelli’s frown held.

“Do you know how Mr. Boldonado found you?” I asked.

“He hangs with a guy named Bobby Karl Smith, or used to.”

Slidell looked at him hard, probably wondering the same thing I was. Could Piccitelli be lying to get rid of us, or were these people real?

“Who’s Bobby Karl Smith?”

“A real piece of work.”

“Meaning?” Slidell snapped.

“Mean as a snake.”

“Smith also attended your little play school?”

“More than once. The guy’s hard-core. Enrolls in camps all over the country.”

“What’s Smith look like?”

“A snake.”

“We could have this little chat at the station.”

For a very long moment the two scowled at each other. Piccitelli broke first.

“Smith’s got a scar running his jaw.”

“Tall? Short?”

“Tall enough.”

“That it?”

“The guy lost his eye to an IED.”

“Does he wear a glass eye? A patch?” I asked.

“Nope. Lets it all hang out.”

“Smith a vet?” Slidell asked.

“Yeah. A bitter one.”

“When’s the last time you saw Boldonado?”

“I don’t keep a calendar.”

“Smith?”

“Same answer.”

Slidell glared. Piccitelli glared back. So did the AK.

“Do you know how we can find Mr. Smith?” I asked.

Lifting one hand from the AK, Piccitelli gestured toward the two-lane at our backs. “Keep on keeping on,” he said. “When you come to aY, split right. About a quarter mile more, you’ll see a dirt road cutting downhill on the left.”