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  "Could I have this?" he said. "I'll pay."

  Muriel snorted. "Take it. I need to clear some of this junk out anyway."

  Beadles held the drawing in his hands trembling. He had seen the butte before! It was not a case of deja vu. He'd seen it in his dreams. He was certain.

  He felt a light touch on his arm and the scent of sandalwood. A lovely Indian girl slipped onto the stool next to him, regarding him with vast brown eyes, a purple bruise coloring one cheek.

  "Are you going out there? Are you searching for that butte?"

  ***

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  "Beadles Meets Summer"

  "I'm looking for that place too. That's why I'm here."

  Beadles looked around for a guy. A woman like this wouldn't be without a guy. He didn't see anyone. No ring. That bruise on her cheek. Her teeth were preternaturally bright.

  "I'm an anthropologist," he said. "I'm trying to locate the epicenter of a previously unknown tribe whom I call the Azuma."

  Summer stared into his soul. "I am searching for Shipapu. It is the spiritual fountainhead of our culture and possibly a gate to other dimensions."

  It figures, he thought. No girl this beautiful would be out here trying to pick me up unless she was stone crazy. Crazier than a bag of scorpions.

  His pulse accelerated and little Vaughan raised his head. It had been that way since he was twelve. He stuck out his hand. "Vaughan Beadles."

  She took it. "Summer Funderburk."

  "You Navajo?" Beadles said.

  Summer nodded. "I'm kinda on a spiritual quest. My mother's ill and the medicine man told me that if I found Shipapu and prayed for her, she would get better."

  "Well I certainly hope she gets better," Vaughan said. "What's wrong with her?"

  "She's an alcoholic." Summer looked him straight in the eye waiting for a reaction.

  "That's too bad. Have you tried to get her into treatment?"

  "We can't afford treatment. She's scraping by on social security. I mean what the hell. I might as well try it. It's non-traditional medicine, right?"

  Beadles had his doubts. He was a non-believer despite the weekly church trips to which his parents dragged him. He kept his non-belief private. He didn't consider himself an atheist either--just someone who believed in what he could verify with his own five senses. Betty had been the same way. Agnostic if you will.

  "Prayer is non-traditional medicine?"

  Summer smiled radiantly. "What the hell, right?"

  Beadles shrugged. "Couldn't hurt." He realized his behavior now was all geared toward getting her into bed.

  "Where you from, Summer?"

  "Little town called Hava, bout a hundred miles from here."

  He tilted the drawing her way. "Recognize this?"

  Frowning Summer took the drawing and held it in front of her face. "I know this is going to sound funny but I've seen this in my dreams. Must have a little Azuma blood in me, huh?"

  "Know anything about a ghost who only appears in the day?"

  A ripple of anxiety crossed Summer's face. "You heard that too, huh? I doubt it. I mean that show Ghost Hunters? It's been on the air what, five, six years? They haven't found a single ghost."

  "Maybe if they looked in the daytime," Beadles said.

  Summer punched him in the arm sending an electric jolt through him.

  She had to be crazy. And he was crazy for even entertaining the idea. Instead he found himself saying, "Can I buy you a drink?"

  Summer turned to the bartender. "An Absolut martini straight up with an olive."

  Muriel raised her eyebrows. "I think I still know how to make one," she said. Beadles had a glass of water.

  "What happened to your eye?" Beadles said.

  Summer didn't blink. "Boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend."

  "Did you go the police?"

  Summer's laugh sounded like silver coins falling into his hand. "The cops really aren't good at that sort of thing."

  "You running from something, Summer?"

  "You got it. I'm running away from my life. What about you?" She regarded him with unblinking intensity and he felt something inside give a little. A tidal wave of regret began to build in his gut and he stifled a sob, acutely aware that she was watching him like an eagle.

  "Yeah," he choked. And the whole sorry story tumbled out. Summer listened, occasionally touching his arm in sympathy.

  "Wow," she said when he had finished. "Just wow. That really sucks, Vaughan. I''m so sorry about your marriage."

  Beadles shrugged. "Don't be. The thing I'm sorry about is what it will do to Lars. I intend to be there for him. But I'm not going to have my son growing up thinking his father is a thief!"

  He fingered the medallion in his pocket. It felt hot through the fabric of his pants.

  "So that's why I'm here. Prove my thesis, write a best-selling book, become someone of whom my son can be proud, and regain my rightful place in society."

  Summer laughed. "You sound so professorial!"

  Beadles grinned. "That's how I think."

  "So," Summer said.

  "So what?"

  "So can I come with you?"

  The door to the Last Chance creaked open admitting two aliens in oversize hoodies. Ninja and Gregorio.

  ***

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  "Strange Brew"

  A chill descended on the room. Muriel looked as if she'd never seen a black man before. Maybe she hadn't.

  "Professor!" Ninja sang. "Are we there yet?"

  He and Gregorio took the two stools to Beadles' left bringing a wave of Acqua Di Gio that washed gently over Beadles and Summer like a Caribbean surf. Ninja wore a black leather hoodie the texture of silk and carried a backpack. Gregorio wore a black leather sports jacket over a gray hoodie. A pair of shadows in a dark room.

  The two old guys playing checkers packed up their game and left.

  Muriel shook herself like a wet dog, pasted a smile on her puss and walked down the bar.

  "What'll it be, fellas?"

  Ninja squinted at the tap beer handles. "I'll have a…what is that? A Cactus Jack Ale? Gimme that."

  "Dewars on the rocks," Gregorio growled.

  Vern Weatherill reentered the bar and sat at a table.

  Ninja leaned forward and leered at Summer. "Well lookie here! The professor got hisself a girlfriend! A fellow person - of - color like his own bad self, ain't that right, Gregorio?" He turned and nudged the big man with his elbow.

  "Dat right," Gregorio growled.

  Ninja turned back with a world-class shit-eating grin. "Dat right, Pocahantas! Professor tell you he was part Cherokee? Says so right on his job application to be a professor at Creighton University! Ain't that right, Prof?"

  Summer regarded Beadles with shock.

  "Don't believe them," he said.

  "Oh we gots proof, don't we Gregorio? I can download the document rightchere on my laptop!" He swung his backpack onto the bar. It was black and featured the Punisher logo. Ninja threw his arm around Beadles' shoulders.

  "Don't worry, Prof! We ain't here to jack you up! We're partners, remember?"

  Muriel brought the drinks. Ninja held up his frosted glass.

  "Drink up, Professor! We're gonna make history."

  Beadles dutifully raised his mug and clinked, first with Ninja then Gregorio. They drank.

  "So when are we going after the gold?" Gregorio rumbled.

  Ninja's elbow shot out like a skeet launcher thumping Gregorio in the chest hard enough to make him grunt.

  "What Gregorio means is," Ninja said, "when are we going to track down the remnants and ruminants of the Azuma Civilization? I'm talkin' history. We bout to make history."

  "Not tonight," Beadles said. "In the morning."

  "That's fine. Been a long day. Started out in St. Louis bout twenty hours ago." Ninja stood and stepped out to form a triangle with Beadles and Summer. "Hello you sweet thing. We ain't been properly introduced! Professor?"

>   "This is Ninja and that's Gregorio," Beadles said. "This is Summer."

  Summer's mouth made a perfect 'o.' "You know these people?"

  "Lordy, Lordy!" Ninja sang. "Know us? We're his sponsors! We the money behind the Great Scientific Expedition to Discover the Azuma. Ain't that right, Professor?"

  "Ninja provides tech support," Beadles said. "He helped me locate the likely site with satellite technology."

  "We far more than that," Ninja said. "Omma even buy you a decent motel room. We can't stay in that roach motel across the street. Whatever's out there has been out there for thousands of years. Ain't goin' nowhere. I say we all go back to Kayenta and check into the Hyatt. My treat."

  Summer shuddered. "There's no way I'm going back to Kayenta. That motel's fine with me."

  Beadles watched Weatherill in the mirror. The old man bristled when Ninja said roach motel. Muriel winked at Weatherill.

  "You go on if you want," Ninja said. "You'll miss the good part. Professor, you come with us. Got plenty of room in my donk."

  "Mr. Weatherill," Beadles said. "You got a vacancy for me?"

  "I sure do, son. If you boys are lookin' for roaches you're shit outta luck."

  Beadles smiled at Ninja. "Mr. Weatherill owns the motel across the street."

  Ninja held out his palms fingers up. "Excuse me Mr. Weatherill! I did not mean to besmirch the reputation of your fine establishment. It's just that Gregorio and me have become accustomed to a certain level of luxury, you know what I'm sayin'?"

  "Apology accepted. Might even find a couple rooms for you boys if you're interested."

  "Well let me and Gregorio think on that. Maybe later we'll take a look."

  Beadles figured that Ninja had planted a transmitter in his Jeep while he'd been sleeping. Stupid! Now they were here and he had to deal with it. There was no reason to involve Summer. But he liked her. He felt a mutual attraction. Maybe it was just little Vaughan rearing his ugly head.

  Ninja resumed his stool and removed a paper-thin laptop from his backpack. He opened it on the bar. "Zis here a wi-fi hot spot?" he asked Muriel.

  "'Fraid not, hon."

  "Tha's okay. I got what I need rightchere." He poked and stroked. A map came up. He turned the softly glowing panel toward Beadles.

  "This here Gap," he said, using a soda straw to point at a brick-shaped cluster on an aerial photograph. He moved the straw. "And this here the center of whatever it is we're lookin' for. Sixty-two miles but ain't no roads. May need that old Jeep of yours. Me and Gregorio bought some shit at REI. We ready. Figure in and out in one day. We transport the, ah, artifacts straight back to Keyanta and divvy it up there. Howzat sound?"

  Beadles just looked at him.

  "What?"

  "I'm sorry," Beadles said, "but if you haven't worked an archaeological dig you'd just be in the way."

  Ninja's smile fell like a man from a scaffold. "Well I'm sorry but we're comin'."

  "Have either of you ever worked in the desert before?" Beadles said.

  "Do two tours in Afghanistan count?" Gregorio said staring into his Scotch.

  It went without saying that Ninja, and even moreso Gregorio presented a physical challenge. Beadles' black belt meant little. He was a holy terror faced with lawyers and accountants. He might be able to take out Ninja but no way could he stop a bulldozer like Gregorio. Not without a gun. He regretted not bringing one.

  Stupid! What was he going to do with a gun? Get in a shootout at the Last Chance Saloon? There was no way he could keep them from accompanying him, not without giving them the slip. And what was to stop them from murdering him in the desert once they found the gold?

  If there was any gold.

  The whole thing seemed ridiculous. His life tottered like a house of cards. A great weariness crept up on him. Whatever made him think he could be a star of academe, much less media? He produced nothing, he provided no valuable service. His one conceit was an obscure anthropological footnote. So he discovered a new tribe, so what? Whoop de do! It wouldn't save any children from the pox or provide shelter for the homeless or clean water for slum dwellers in Sao Paulo and Ghana.

  A deep sense of useless and futility came over him. Squabbling with two gang bangers in a bar over "buried treasure." Like one of those cheap tabloid magazines that touted the Lost Dutchman, classifieds filled with metal detectors. Pathetic. Magical thinking. And two sharp inner city operators had bought in. Bought in so heavily they couldn't let go.

  It was funny. Beadles was thinking of giving up but Ninja and Gregorio wouldn't let him.

  Ninja touched him on the shoulder. "Get your stuff, Prof. You're coming with us."

  "No I'm not."

  Ninja smirked at Gregorio. Gregorio got up and loomed over Beadles. The front door opened. In walked a tall man in a cowboy hat.

  ***

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  "The Unwelcome Patron"

  Summer turned white and touched Beadles' wrist. "That's him," she half whispered, half-croaked. "That's Vince."

  Vince paused inside the entryway, stuck his thumbs in his belt and looked around. He wore a belt buckle the size of a dinner plate, tooled snakeskin boots and a black nylon windbreaker which hung loosely from his frame. His gaze swept by the three men unimpressed.

  "Where's my car, you bitch?!" he declared striding up to Summer. "Honey," he said to Muriel. "Give me a shot of Jack and a draft back."

  Ninja fronted him. "Who the fuck are you?"

  Vince looked bored as he placed his palm against Ninja's chest and shoved the smaller man to the floor. Gregorio got off his stool. Vince stepped out.

  "You better think twice before you make your next move, Holmes."

  Gregorio stopped, glaring. "Best you splain yourself."

  Ninja got up and stood slightly behind Gregorio.

  "I don't got to explain shit," Vince said. "It's none of your fucking business. But since I'm feeling in a charitable mood, this here bitch used to be my girlfriend until she slipped me a mickey and stole my brand new Camaro Z-1. I want it back. What's so hard to understand about that?"

  "I sold it, Vince," Summer said unconsciously leaning toward Beadles.

  Vince grinned and looked around. "Now why ain't I surprised? I knew you were gonna say that."

  Beadles watched Weatherill quietly take out his cell phone and move to an end booth. Muriel stood by the cash register, hands beneath the bar.

  "How much you get for it?"

  "Less than you paid for it."

  Ninja said, "Why don't you take your sorry hillbilly ass outta here while you can still walk? You think we're playin'?"

  Vince looked from Ninja to Summer with mock surprise. "What the fuck, girl. You bangin' the whole bunch? I mean, what's your interest in this woman? You gonna turn her out I might be able to give you some advice."

  Gregorio stepped up like a weigh-in face-off. "We turnin' you out."

  Vince lowered his head and butted Gregorio savagely on the bridge of the nose. The big man stumbled back. Ninja tried to kick Vince in the nuts but Vince turned a thigh, scooped Ninja's kick up into the air landing the hacker on his ass. Gregorio picked up a bar stool and brought it around like a billy club. Vince ducked under it and took Gregorio to the ground. There was a furious scramble. Vince ended up on top and rained down blows. Ninja grabbed the bar stool and brought it down with both hands on Vince's head. The hard wood seat bounced with a bonk. Vince looked dazed.

  Beadles didn't know whether to run or join in. He looked at Muriel. "Call the cops."

  "I called the sheriff," Vern Weatherill said, "but might be awhile. Muriel, where's that scatter gun?"

  Muriel reached beneath the bar and brought out a Remington twelve gauge with a pistol grip. The sound of a her ratcheting a shell into the chamber caused the combatants to freeze.

  "Get up and get back!" she barked. "Christ almighty, you don't go causin' a ruckus in my establishment!"

  Rubbing the back of his head Vince got off the battered Gr
egorio and stood. Gregorio got up and returned to the bar where he laid an elbow on Ninja's backpack. Beadles had a split-second adumbration of the inevitable. Gregorio pulled out a .357 magnum with a nine inch barrel but he wasn't fast enough. A .45 appeared in Vince's hands and barked deafening everyone. Gregorio's head snapped back as brain and blood splattered against the mirror. It ran down the mirror in driblets. The automatic swung on the white-faced Muriel who had forgotten the shotgun on the bar.

  "Back off the gun," Vince shouted to hear himself over the tinnitus. Beadles knew what he said from watching his lips. Her mouth a lipless slash, Muriel backed into the bottles causing them to clink. Vince strode up, grabbed the shotgun by the barrel and tucked it under his arm. He shoved the .45 into the windbreaker's pocket and ratcheted the pump-action, ejecting a shell and bringing another into the chamber. He grinned.

  "You all saw it. Nigger tried to draw down on me. It was self defense." He turned to Summer. "Let's go sweety pie. You and me got lots to talk about."

  Beadles stood causing Vince to stare at him with exagerrated wonder. "What? What are you gonna do about it tough guy?"

  "Self-defense is one thing," Beadles said. "Kidnapping's something else."

  Vince bit his lip. He pulled the auto from his pocket and held a gun in each hand. "You got a point." Vince quickly glanced around.

  An icicle piercing his chest Beadles realized Vince was figuring the odds of killing everyone in the bar.

  Weatherill was gone.

  "What happened to the motel guy?" Vince said.

  The door banged open admitting a big gun followed by a man hunkered down in a sheepskin coat with a badge wearing a white cowboy hat.

  "Drop the weapons! Get down on the floor!"

  Beadles watched Vince weigh his odds and in the split second Vince took his eyes off the patrons Beadles scooped up his bar stool and swung it like a Louisville Slugger into Vince's head. Vince staggered. The sheriff ran forward and clubbed him behind the ear with the barrel of his automatic. Vince sank to his knees and dropped the guns.

  The sheriff got behind him and kicked Vince between the shoulder blades so he went down face first on the hardwood floor.