The Pot Thief Who Studied Billy the Kid (15 page)

“Maybe not so improbable
.
M
aybe they were a couple of pot hunters. They got in an argument about splitting the loot
,
and one
killed the other
.”

The more I thought about it, the more it made some sense. And the more uncomfortable I felt.
Not about whether the dead
guy was murdered
, but about myself.

I like to compare myself to Howard Carter who found King Tut or to the fictional Indiana Jones. I see treasure hunters as dashing romantic figures.

But th
ere is a seamy
side to my profession.
It’s estimated that illegally gathered artifacts in the United States constitute a billion dollar black market. The epicenter of that illicit industry is the Four Corners, the place where Arizona, Utah, Colorado and New Mexico meet.
Archaeologists estimate
there are
four hundred
thous
and abandoned settlements and
two million
grave
s
in that area
.

The diggers there are not romantic figures. They are often more like gangsters. They use backhoes. They damage more artifacts than the
y
sell. And they carry guns.

That’s a far cry’latino Li from me digging
with my hands under a de
sert moon and treating my finds with care and affection. But as the saying goes, if you lie d
o
wn with
dogs,
you
’ll get up with fleas. I was beginning to fear I might be part of the problem.

Martin held up the pot he’d brought. “You can
get
this one withou
t digging
in a grave.”

His uncle is a gifted potter.
This was one of his smaller pots,
about
six
inches high wit
h a circumference the size of
a
grapefruit
. The colors were sienna and
pomegranate
, and the d
esign was traditional to their p
ueblo.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have the money to buy it.”

“You want it on consignment?”

“Sure. How much does he want for it?”

“He’s hoping for a thousand.”

“
Okay.
Maybe it will attract
some
customers. I could use some.”

15

It took ere/fstifyme fifteen minutes to make what is normally a three minute walk from my shop, through the plaza and over to
Dos Hermanas
, primarily because I had to take two rest stops.

I leaned the crutches against our table at
Dos Hermanas
and said, “I’m sweating like a pig.”

“Pigs don’t sweat, Hubie. That’s why they have to wallow in mud to stay cool.”

“You
raise sheep and cattle, not
pigs
.
”

“
But I know about pigs.
I was an ag major for a while.”

“
Okay, I’m sweating like a
dog.”

“Dog’s don’t sweat – they pant.”

I threw up my hands. “Then I’m sweating like a human. But even
we
humans don’t sweat this much in the desert.
I thin
k it must be the crutches.”

Aft
er we ordered, I told her
how stunning Sharice looked in her sun dress.
She commented that most men don’t notice how a woman is dressed.

“It wasn’t so much the dress I noticed as what it revealed.”

“
So she
has a good figure
.
”

“Not in the traditional sense. She’s thin and sort of flat-chested with long limbs.”

“Gamine.”

“I don’t know what that means
,
” I said.

“I learned it in art history.
It’s
a waifish girl, thin but somehow appealing.” She pulled her cell phone from her purse
, punched a few keys
and showed me an oil painting
on the screen. “This is
Le Nu Gris
by
Pierre
Bonnard
.
His nudes are often described as gamine. Is this what Sharice looks like?”

“Even thinner,” I said. “And her skin is a lot darker.”

“I think I could have guessed the skin color part, Hubert, since you told me she’s black.”

“Sharice
also
had on clothes, sort of.”

“Skimpy dress, huh?”

“It had almost enough material to make a pillow case, but somehow it didn’t seem skimpy. It was like a good meeting, short enough to—“

She held up a palm. “I know, short enough to be interesting but long enough to cover the subject.
”
She shook her head. “
Saying things like that dates you, Hubie.”

I thought it wa
s funny, but maybe she’s right.

“She
was
angel
ic in that
white dress
with
a
stem of yucca blossoms
in her hand
.”

“She brought
you
a stem of yucca blossoms? That is so romantic. What happened next?”

The only thing Susannah likes better than a mystery is a romance.

“I wowed her with my
savoir faire
.”

“A side of you I don’t know?
Come on, Hubie – details.
”

“
For starters, I cleaned and pressed these Levis.”

“A ripped pair of old Levis you’ve worn every day for two weeks hardly qualifies as
savoir faire
.”

“You should have seen them with that razor-edged pleat I ironed in. And contrasting them with my favorite dress shirt was chic.”

“I’ve never understood what that means.”

“Me neither. But Sharice said the Levis looked
cool over
my cast. When I
removed the clay from the
truchas en terracotta
, she said, ‘
Makes beautiful bowls and cooks
’. So I figure a guy who can make old Levis
seem
chic, throw a beautiful bowl and serve a fancy meal must have
savoir faire
.”

“Sheesh. Did you tell her you’re a pot thief?”

“She already knew that. But we did talk about it. I think she liked the fact that I returned the sacred pots to the Ma, but she wondered how that fits in with keeping other pots I dig up.”

“I hope you didn’t drag out any of your Anthropological Theses.”

“Would a guy with
savoir faire
do that?”

“So she’s okay with what you do.”

I took
a sip of my margarita. For some reason, t
he ones
Dos Hermanas
makes on Monday
s
seem to be
the best.
“She’s fine with it. I’m not so sure I am.
I’ve been bouncing between happy and sad. I would fret about the dead guy. Then I’d think about my upcoming date with Sharice and be happy. It was fun being with Tristan
who has to drive me everywhere
. Then I got depressed
about all the criminal types who are also pot hunters
.”

“Hmm. Mood swings and a lot of sweating. Must be
men
opause,” she said, putting the stress on ‘men’.

“And you think my good meeting joke is bad?”

We both chuckled. The past
few days
had been out of character for me. I’m almost always happy
, especially when I’m with Susannah. Even ou
r
corny jokes make me laugh.

“Still worried ab
out the dead guy you desecrated?
”

I laughed
some more
. “Thanks for putting it so delicately.
Martin came by yesterday. Something he said got me to thinking about the black market in antiquities
,
and I began to
feel
dirty.”

“What was it he said?”

“He came up with a new theory about the body above the Rio Doloroso.”

She straightened in her chair, and her big eyes grew even larger.

“He said it’s possible a pair of pot hunters were there. They got into an argument over splitting the loot, and one of them killed his partner
.”

“That’s brilliant. You had a good point, Hubie, that a murderer wouldn’t carry his victim’s body
along a narrow dangerous path just to bury it in an old cliff dwelling
. B
ut Martin’s explanation blows your point right out of the water.”

“No it doesn’t. It explains howt eight out o a murderer could
bury
the guy there without having to
carry
him
down
there. But it does so by substituting one
wacky
story for another. Two guys in the middle of pillaging a cliff dwelling breaking into a fatal argument is just as unlikely as a murderer carrying his victim’s body
down
there.”

“No it isn’t. Most pot hunters are not as genteel as you.
I can see them getting into a fight.
”

S
o
now
I was back to
the evils of the antiquities trade and the
ethics
of my being involved in it
.