Levon looked confused at first. Then realization seemed to dawn on him. “The Streaked Wall Bench? They were trying to break in—”
“To steal bodies, yes, that’s what Dust Bunny thinks.”
I unlashed Lazarus from the tree. Levon could barely stand waiting for me, he was so antsy to get back up top. “Come on, come on, come on,” he kept saying nervously.
I jogged to keep up. “You think they were trying to steal Kenyon Stout’s body so you have nothing as evidence?”
“That’s what I’m thinking. But don’t forget—we don’t know it’s Kenyon Stout yet.”
“Oh, they know, all right,” said Dingo. “Dust Bunny just got word from his lab, too. It’s definitely Kenyon Stout.”
“Oh, Lord,” muttered Levon as we jogged up the path.
I knew what he was thinking. That Deloy would be especially fragile once he heard news that his boyfriend not only had been prostituted and murdered, but tossed into a mine on top of a dozen other bodies of unwanted Cornucopia men. Once we scaled the lip of the hill, I searched around for Deloy. I couldn’t see him at first, so I followed Levon and Dingo over to the knot of men around Dust Bunny. This consisted of only Assassins of Youth men, since it was Assassins business. The other clubs respected that, and backed off.
Levon was asking Dust Bunny, “They just now tried to break in? Or tried last night?”
“Just now. Maybe they assumed because it’s a Sunday no one would be there.”
Gideon told Levon, “Our man shot at them when they were nearly to the top of the fence. He thinks he nailed one of them, but all three got away. If you’re wondering about video, we’re already on it. Our man’s getting it to us right now.”
Levon nodded. “There are so many suspects it’d be nice to ID one of them.”
Dust Bunny snorted. “Basically everyone inside Cornucopia’s a suspect.”
“Or outside,” said Sledgehammer. “Ladell Pratt still has half of Avalanche in his back pocket. Could be the Chief of Police, Director of Public Works, Community Development Director—anyone. And they were all masked.”
“That asshole who owns the news stand,” added Dingo.
“Or the motherfucker who runs the sanitary plant,” said Yosemite Sam.
“The jackoff who owns the hardware store.” I added my own suspect. I knew I wasn’t supposed to listen in to club business, but this involved Deloy, my de facto son. I think everyone understood that.
Dingo’s phone chimed. When he took it from its holster, he frowned at it and began wandering away.
“The assmuncher who owns the movie theater,” added Gideon. “I hate that douche.”
“I’ve always suspected that twatwaffle who runs the insurance company,” said Dust Bunny. He suspected everyone of everything. “He’s got photos of two different women on his desk.”
Yosemite Sam said, “I saw the guy who owns Lupe’s Tacos buying two bouquets of flowers.”
Sledgehammer scoffed. “A Mexican? Why would a Mexican be a fundy? They’re Catholics.”
Yosemite Sam shrugged. “Maybe he likes the fringe benefits?”
Now Levon’s phone chimed. He glanced at it with disinterest first, but did a classic double take, and looked again with alarm. I was about to wander around and look for Deloy when Dingo called over to Levon,
“Look at your phone.”
Levon’s face was screwed up. I couldn’t tell if it was with distaste, shock, or fear. Or all three. He kept tapping his phone with his thumb. “Instagram?” he said. “I don’t even fucking have Instagram. Isn’t that for kids? I’ve been checking YouTube.” The tapping turned to bashing as he became frustrated.
“Here,” said Dingo, handing him his own phone. “Check mine.”
“What is this?” Dust Bunny looked around Levon’s arm as he watched a video. I couldn’t tell what it was from the tiny screen.
Dingo told the men, “We should have expected that Ladell Pratt wasn’t going to sit still for having his hoverboard explode and his pants catch on fire. I’m sorry, Levon, if I drove Pratt to do this.”
“I don’t blame you,” said Levon remotely, not taking his eyes from the phone. “I would’ve blown up his hoverboard too if I knew how.”
Behind him, Dust Bunny seemed to be cringing. “Oh, man! That’s harsh, Levon. Sorry about that.”
Other men crowded to watch the video, but apparently Levon had had enough of it. He thrust the phone back at Dingo, shoving it into his chest before breaking free of the cluster of men. “Deloy!” he yelled.
“I’ll find him,” I said, at last having a chance to be helpful.
“I’ll help you,” said Dingo.
We walked toward Maximus and the video cameras. The band was taking a break from pretending to sing. They all stood around smoking cigarettes and probably joints. Deloy wasn’t in sight.
“What was the video?” I asked Dingo.
“I guess you’ll find out anyway. Do you Instagram?”
“No. Deloy does. Levon’s right—it’s for kids.”
“Let’s just say we’ve been waiting for this. Pratt’s been threatening Levon with it for a while.”
“Let me see.”
“No.”