Sophia knew the name. “I was introduced to him my first week in town. When I tried to ask about some of the pieces in his collection, he got pretty angry with me.”
“Oh, Bruce was angry with everyone.” Mrs. Gladstone dabbed at each eye with a fingertip. “But I shouldn’t speak ill,” she said.
“Seems like he must have had a lot on his mind.”
“Bruce had his head in the clouds most of the time—in the dirt, really. I said he was an old friend, that’s not quite right. He was not a particularly nice man, if you ask me. But his wife was a dear, dear friend. She’s not well. I need to see her as soon as I can.”
Day Two
Uncrossed t’s : Illegal search and seizure : Fieldwork interrupted
Byron Ashdown clenched a small tactical flashlight in his teeth as he carried two giant sloshing gas cans to the back of the pickup. Lonnie followed with two shovels and a duffel bag slung across his shoulder. The sky was still dark and speckled with stars, Jupiter low against the western horizon, the galaxy core faded down to a single spray of white. As they continued loading their vehicle, dawn tipped the scales, and the stars disappeared.
Lonnie sat on a stump between the truck and their single-wide, and he began to lace his boots. “This isn’t a criticism,” he said. “I just wanted to say something, and you don’t have to do anything about it. But I want you to hear what I have to say.”
Byron plucked the flashlight from his teeth and pointed it straight at his brother. “Not now. We’re on a time frame.”
Lonnie covered his eyes, the light blasting around his fingers. “Money’s been tight and I know you’re trying to get everything to work out good for us—hey, everything just went purple. Would it be okay if you shined that somewhere else?”
“Now that I’ve got your attention, I need you to carry what I tell you to carry, put it where I tell you to put it, and sit where I tell you to sit. I don’t need a play-by-play or your analysis or any of your regular horseshit, Lonnie. Not today.”
Lonnie crisscrossed his hands in front of his face to protect his eyes from the flashlight. “It’s just, you know, going out there to dig up pots and stuff instead of taking the maps to the guy like he told us to. I mean, maybe we shouldn’t.”
“They bought the maps, not the stuff that’s on the maps. With your logic, I could buy a map of America, and the next thing . . . I’m president. Besides, what if the maps aren’t even legit? Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Then, I don’t know, if that happens, these people would be pretty mad.”
“Of course they will, but we ain’t in the business of real,” Byron said. After a moment, his expression changed and he exhaled. “But then again, what if they are real?”
“Now you’re confusing me.”
“What if they have real treasure in them, then maybe we don’t have to settle for the dog scraps here. I mean we know our way around the monument, Lonnie. He don’t know nothing about it. What if we just kept one of those maps for ourselves?”
“You know they’re not treasure maps. It’s not Pirates of the Caribbean. It’s just a list of ruins. Pots. Whatever. I read them. It’s not going to lead us to any gold, you know. We should just get rid of them. Then no one can say we took them.”
“Quit making it sound like you’re the only one who reads.”
“I just never seen you read anything, so I—”
“Can and does are not the same thing. I can kick your ass, but I do not. Restraint is how I exercise my freedom.”
“Is that another lesson you got from jail? Because maybe if we clean out the artifacts from these places first, they’re going to be pissed about it and come hunt us down.”
“We’ll be long gone by then, baby brother, living large in Mexico.”
“Yeah,” Lonnie said. “I remember.” He stood and glanced over his shoulder to the east. The Vermilion Cliffs sat low and black against the horizon, and a pale stripe along their flanks began to glow. The shadows around their home were softening. “Ain’t you gonna give me hell?”
“For what?” Byron said.
“I should have just left that geode right where it was.”
“It don’t make any difference now. None of it does. You got rid of the rock, right?”
Lonnie nodded. “We’re going out to the desert so you can—did that guy tell you to . . .”
“What the hell are you talking about? Do you think he told me to put a bullet in you?”
“I mean, maybe,” Lonnie said.
Byron dropped a duffel bag into the truck, then lowered his head and touched it to the tailgate.
“You know I was trying to help with the geode and everything. I just was gonna knock him out a little. It was heavier than I thought,” Lonnie said.
“Not going to talk about it.”
“I know it was a bad thing.”
“You can’t unspill a beer, Lonnie.”
“I know that. It’s physics. Energy just wants to spread out and—”
“Stop worrying about that. Yesterday we wanted some money, today we need it. There’s just what happens, then what you do next. Ain’t no good or evil. That’s all made up.”
Lonnie stood and looked around. He and his brother grew up in this trailer. He stayed on when Byron quit high school and ran off. He didn’t move when his mother died, or when his father disappeared one night. Drove off for groceries and didn’t come back. Never turned up. He stayed through it all, working jobs until Byron showed up a year ago, just out of prison, saying he needed a place to stay.
“It means something to me,” Lonnie said.
“That’s a mistake.” Byron climbed up the wood steps, went inside, and came out with the maps rolled up under his arm. He pulled the door shut and put the maps into the gun rack above the deer rifle. “If it don’t mean anything to you, nobody will try to take it away.”
Byron got in and started the truck. Lonnie buckled himself in. They crawled down the rutted drive and turned onto the dirt road that took them to the gravel county road that turned onto the state highway. As they continued into town, the sky grew brighter.
“You hungry?” Byron asked.
Lonnie nodded.
“What for?”
“Breakfast,” Lonnie said.
“I meant what kind of breakfast?”
“V8. Donut. Banana.”
“No protein?”
After a minute Lonnie said, “V8. Donut. Banana. Cheese stick.” Lonnie looked in the side mirror and saw the rolling blue, white, red. “Oh crap. Cops. What do we do? When I get nervous, I say things.”
“There is no we. I will do the talking.” They came to a stop, and the sheriff’s car pulled in behind them.
“I don’t mean to say anything, but I get a hook in me that doesn’t come out.”
“Then don’t start.”
“But what if I can’t?”
The cop walked up behind them, on the passenger’s side. His name tag said DALTON.
“Just don’t start.”
“But I already did.”
“Quiet.”