Page 19 of It Takes a Thief

I pulled back, but held onto Galileo’s hands.

“First of all,” said Moss Empire. “It’s not a gay day, Gal. That would be the sort of day your brother is having over by Lake Havasu. And it’s not May.”

Was Galileo blushing? He looked about to say “pshaw.” “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. That’s just a homily, a cozy, homey saying. People used to think something was gay if it was happy.”

“Well, not no more,” said Moss.

“I’m Madison Illuminati. Wife of Ford Illuminati. The Bare Bones?”

Galileo still smiled and held my hands, but his eyes were vacant.

“Well, one of our brothers, Turk, left and founded the Bent Zealots. You know them, right?”

Galileo brightened. “Oh, yes! Of course! According to Ogden, the Zealots saved his life and he’s never coming back here. He sends money every month or so, enough to buy peanut butter at the grocery store in Chinle.”

I frowned, my nurse’s attitude kicking in. “That’s all he sends you? Peanut butter money?”

“Oh, he sends more than that,” said Galileo cheerfully. “But there isn’t anything better to purchase at the store. If it can’t be deep fried in oil, they won’t carry it. I’m not getting diabetes like everyone else here.”

“He has a vegetable garden across from his hogan,” said Moss proudly. “He gives me stuff sometimes.”

“Good for you!” I praised him as though he were a little boy.

“And to what do I owe this honor?” Where had he learned to speak so formally? For a guy who probably went days without talking to anyone other than maybe a ranger, he sure was eloquent.

I explained to him my quest. And before long, I was a sheep herder too, walking alongside Galileo and his horse. For he’d invited me back to his hogan for lunch. Moss Empire would have to be happy with a few pumpkins and gourds.

CHAPTER EIGHT

FORD

“I have news of your Noodlum.”

I frowned at my computer screen. Santiago Slayer seemed to be looking at me through a round porthole. Was he in a boat? “What’d you get?”

He seemed to scoff, but because his face was puffy, he could only purse his lips. The guy was known to be flamboyant—seemed to somehow uncover juicy details of marks while at parties or out to dinner with models—but I’d never known him to be on a boat.

“The guy has a record as long as my cock.”

Oh, please. I had just eaten lunch. “What’d he do time for?”

“Various nefarious doings. Your usual B and E, assault with a deadly weapon, and rape, but by far the most intriguing malfeasance is—”

“Wait. Rape?” I thought of his strange interest in my old lady. He obviously knew she worked at the hospital. What else did he know? And why? “Are you on a boat?”

“Let us take a break,” he told someone, his face puffed like a parrot fish.

Holy fuck! What sort of lascivious conduct was he involved in now? Was he on some kind of spanking bench, such as I’d found one time in Lytton’s house? His face vanished from the porthole, the camera jiggled around, and finally came to rest on a flat surface. Slayer’s head and bare torso appeared.

His smile was so dazzling, he must have had his teeth capped. He liked to be known as “The Kindly Sicario.” Sometimes it was hard to believe he offed people for a living. “Oh, he molested some poor girl in Nashville in 2010. She had not done a rape kit, but her Fitbit told the sordid story of where she was, how far she had walked compared to his sleazy tale. I am getting my weekly Ayurvedic massage. I have needed to reopen my chakras since a particularly messy job in Phoenix last week.” He looked chagrined, as though the “messy job” had actually upset him. He always breezed through his stressful work as though he were captain of the Love Boat.

A slight, black-haired woman moved in the background, blowing out candles lit under glass flasks of colorful oil. A golden Buddha was placed next to a potted palm. “Is that the only sex crime?”

“The only one he was busted for, yes. But I stake my sterling reputation on the incident I feel is the most influential in his tawdry career.”

“Yeah?”

“Dueling.”