Carved In Bone
Table Of Contents
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
Carved in Bone
A Henry Rios Novel
Michael Nava
Carved in Bone
A Henry Rios Novel
First Edition 2019
Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-7336091-0-4
Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-7336091-1-1
Ebook ISBN-13: 978-1-7336091-2-8
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Published by Persigo Press
584 Castro Street, #203
San Francisco, California, 94114
For my husband, George
“In your cheek
One day, appeared the true shape of your bone,
No longer padded.”
—Thom Gunn, Lament
“There’s a dance pavilion in the rain
All shuttered down… ”
—Johnny Mercer, Early Autumn
“There is a secret tie between the wound and the weapon.”
—Carl Jung
My special thanks to my friend, Matt Coles, who gave me the plot to this book forty years ago. Better late than never, Matt.
1.
1.
Eden Plain, Illinois, June 1971
Marco caught his breath and grunted, “Is that all you got?”
Bill lunged at the other boy, pile driving him onto the bed beneath a poster of a shirtless Jim Morrison in leather pants. Flailing wildly as Bill scrambled to pin him, Marco’s hand smacked the wall and grabbed at the poster, ripping off a bit of Morrison’s leg.
“Shit!”
Bill released him. Marco showed him the crinkled paper.
“Dude! I can’t believe you did that.”
The poster was Bill’s pride and joy but his father, when he had first seen it, had looked at it for a long time, and then at Bill. He said nothing but a hardness in his eyes demanded an explanation. Bill mumbled, “He’s a rock and roll singer, Dad.” His father replied, “You sure you want to keep that up there, son? People might get the wrong idea.” Bill burned with shame but repeated, “He’s just a singer.” His father frowned and left. They hadn’t spoken of it since but whenever Mr. Ryan entered his bedroom, the first thing he did was to pointedly glance at the poster, letting Bill know his explanation had not been convincing.
“It’s your fault, squirt,” Marco was saying. “You fight dirty.”
“Don’t call me squirt.”