The Pot Thief Who Studied Billy the Kid (16 page)

“That’s what I meant about me not being comfortable with what I do.”

I told her about the thugs who
carry guns and
work
with crews, construction equipment and large vans to carry away the loot.

“
Guns?
They would shoot a park ranger?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it
. But the primary reason they carry guns is to fend off other looters.
And here’s what’s real
ly sick. The thing they most lik
e to find is a
n infant
’s
grave.”

“Oh, ick. Why?
”

“Because
infants
were buried with cradle boards, blankets and amulets, all of which bring big bucks from collectors.”

“That is sick. I hope the amulets work and the people who dig up babies and ups.”

“A lot of people believe disturbing graves
puts an evil spell on you,” I said, “like
the curse of King Tut’
s t
omb
.”

“I saw that film. It was great
. Casper
Van Dien
is hot.
”

“I mean
t
the real curse.”

“There really was a curse on Tut’s tomb?”

“
Maybe.
Right after the tomb was opened
,
the gu
y
who financed the expedition,
Lord Carnarvon, died
.”

“People die all the time, Hubie.”

“From a mosquito bite?”

“He really died of a mosquito bite?”

“Yep.
And there was an inscription on Tut’s tomb saying that anyone who disturbed it would be visited by
‘
winged death
’ which could be a mosquito
.”

“Wow.”

“
And his dog
dropped dead the same night.
”

“The mosquito had a dog?”

“No,
Lord Carnarvon
had the dog.
Of course
his death and his dog’s death
could be coincidences
,
”
I said and pointed at her.

She took the cue and said, “There are no coincidences, Hubert.” Then she asked if I believe in curses.

“Sort of. I like to think that evil comes back on those who do it.”

“But you don’t think dig
ging up old pots will curse you?
”

“I think the potters want
me to find their work
. But lately I’ve been wondering whether my actions are somehow part of the ugly side of the antiquities trade.”

She was looking right into my eyes. “I love that you question your own ethics. That alone shows you’re not the sort to do anything wrong. You can’t compare
y
ourself wi
th those criminals.”

“I’m a criminal, too, Susannah.”

“Well, technically. But what you do can’t really be called looting. You don’t destroy sites. You’re careful
about
how you dig. You
revere what
you find. You don’t dig
on reservations. You don’t dig
in graves…”

We stared at each other. Then we broke out laughing
.

When we finally stopped, she said, “Hey, one little accident can be overlooked.” Then she grew serious again. “So what are you going to do?”

I took a deep breath.

My resolve was weak. Telling her would reinforce my decision to go back. I was satisfied with that decision ethically
,
But I was still struggling with it emoti
onally. I didn’t want to do it.

But I
had to.

“
I’m going back to the cliff dwelling to examine that hand. If it’s an ancient hand, I’m going to leave something to atone for disturbing the
site
and then le
t the body rest in peace
. If it’s the hand of a contemporary, I’m going to report it to the police.”

She smiled. “See, you are a good person. I knew you’d do the right thing. When will you go?”

”In a month or so.”

“You are such a procrastinator.”

“
No I’m not. I’m waiting a few more years before becoming a procrastinator.”

“Be serious. Why not go now?”

I pointed down to my cast.

“Oh,” she said.

“Koehler
said I should wear the cast for six weeks. It’s been
about
two already. That’s why I said a month.”

Her wheels were turning. “I think you should go now.”

“I can’t maneuver that rugged path with a cast.”

“I know that. I also know you don’t want to do it even without a cast. So why not go down the way you did the first time?”

“The Bronco was stolen, remember?”

“My dad and both brothers have pick-ups with winches. I can borrow one.”

“Thanks, but that won’t work. I can’t drive.”

“But I can.”

16

Which is why the next morning
found us on our way to
Willard
,
forty mile/sp>

But ev
en a crow would have trouble getting there directly
. It would need to rise above 10,000 feet to clear the Manzano Mountains.

There’
s no road over the
Manzanos
, so
you have to go around them on the north or the south.
We decided to go one way and return by the other.

A coin flip had us headed
south
t
o Belen in Sus
annah’s
1995 Ford Crown Victoria. It was
just past eleven
in the morning
and already in the nineties.
The Crown Vic’s electric windows died years ago and are permanently stuck in the open position. It’s not a problem because it rarely rains here
,
and no one is going to steal the thing. In fact, having the windows open is an asset since the air conditioning doesn’t work.

But a
dry wind coming at you at seventy miles an hour is
hardly
cooling. And it wasn’t helping the parchment
that was
on my face where my skin used to be.
It felt like
a
rebar could easily poke a hole in it.

We made Belen in thirty minutes
. Susannah insisted we stop
at
Harla May's Fat Boy Grill
. I was skeptical until I saw that the eatery is located in an abandoned movie theater. At that point I abandoned
skepticism in favor of defiance.

But Susannah is hard to resist, especially when she has the wheel.
I knew we were in trouble when I spotted their slogan,
“We relish your buns.”
I am not making this up.

Susannah ordered
a
Holley’
s Hawaiian burger with
pineapple and green chile
, a combination I couldn’t get my mind around.

And didn’t want to get my mouth around.

I went for the Flame Thrower, a burger with hot green chile from the village of Jarales just down the road
and
grown by the Padilla family.

The server must have taken us for tourists because she asked me if I liked hot food.

I smiled at
her
and said,
“Would I order something called a Flame Thrower if I didn’
t?
”

The burger lived up to its name.
My failure to finish it was not owing to its heat. It was because
i
ts full
pound of ground beef
didn’t fit my diet plan.

I put down the unfinished half of the burger and said,
“I think there’s a flaw in Martin’
s
two pot hunters scenario.”

S
usannah
had a mouthful of
Hawaiian burger
and signaled with her eyebrows for me to continue.

“I
can
buy two guys working as a team
.
I
can
even buy them getting into a fight that leads one of them to kill the other. What I don’t buy is the murderer hanging around to dig a
two
-
foot-
deep grave.”

I waited for her to ed ize=finish chewing, but I already knew from the expression on her face that she had a rebuttal.

“That’s what murderers do, Hubie. Disposing of the body is one of the major components of a murder mystery.”

“This is real life, Susannah.”

“I know, but murder mysteries have to be true to life or no one would read them.”

“Then how do you explain science fiction?”

“That’s also true to life.”

“Huh?”

“The science may be fiction
,
but the people aren’t.
Take
Star Wars
.
The love story
between Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia was just like true romance.”

“Except for the fact that the
y
were twins.”

“They weren’t twins in Star
Wars
. That happened later in one of the sequels.”

I opened my mouth
but closed it again when I realized no good could come from
pursuing
that
line
of reasoning
.