Читать книгу Komatke Gold - Benjamin Vance - Страница 16

Not long after arriving at the print shop I realized it was one very sophisticated outfit. It had digital IR imaging equipment, computer assisted enhancement imaging, and you name it. What they didn’t have access to they could get through associations with big names like NASA, National Geodesic Survey and Defense Mapping Agency. I was impressed! Preston and I went into the manager’s sparse office and Preston had a semi-private talk with the manager ... in Hopi. Since I couldn’t understand any of it, I asked him what went on.

He apologized for the lack of etiquette, explaining the owner didn’t completely trust a couple of the white guys who worked there. That was okay with me, but the whole hush-hush thing was beginning to creep me out. Preston told me we needed to get the map out of the box before the BOA closed and meet with the manager of the print shop at 8:00 p.m. At that point, I was really apprehensive.

After I expressed my reservations, he said no one else should be around when the manager copied the map. As I found out later, Preston made a wise recommendation. I asked him what time I should pick him up after getting the map. He said we would have plenty of time for supper between bank closing time and 8:00. I easily got the message that time and checked my wallet for supper money after I dropped him off.

After all the cloak and dagger, I had to carry the map with me just to feel safe about it. So, I ate dinner with Preston and a beautiful Native American lady named Myra. There was no talk of the map from Preston or me. Myra made it obvious she wanted to see me later and I calculated the possible time between dinner and the meeting at 8:00. No way, with Uncle there though. Preston told Myra he was introducing me to a possible client who may need my mercenary services in the future. One could see Myra wondering who in hell on the Res could use my services … except her of course … I hoped. Anyway, supper was over about 7:30 and I kissed Myra in her car and asked her to meet me at the apartment about 9:00. She wanted me back at 8:30. That always gave me a glow.

They don’t exactly roll up the sidewalks, but Parker is typical of most small towns. The bars stay open late and the regulars keep to themselves mostly. The police have to look for something to do, so one better not speed when there are only a few cars on the streets. I had a feeling I was being watched anyway so it wasn’t the most comfortable of times, even with a conversationalist like Preston beside me.

We had to drive only about three quarters of a mile from the coffee shop to the copy shop. The red and blue lights appeared in my mirror about two blocks from the get-go. I was pissed before I pulled to the curb. Preston said, “Let me handle Lew Lew’s white boy.”

The guy hadn’t exited his cruiser so how the hell did Preston know? I could see the cop’s overheads come on to let us know he was calling in our description, and it was Lew Lew’s friend sure enough. He took his time. My passenger and I were dead quiet. He finally condescended to walk up to my car and I rolled the window down a few inches as he strolled toward us.

Preston broke the silence. “Roll your window down all the way,” he ordered. His sudden command prompted a quick handle turning on the jeep and the window came down. The handsome young man started his usual police jibe while taking a peek inside. His eyes widened, and in a little boy voice stammered, “Well … I didn’t see you in here, Uncle. How are you tonight?”

“I’m just fine Officer Waite. How are you?” The sun-tanned face took on a pale glistening look. Preston continued without a response, “We are just driving and will be going to my place to get another cup of coffee. We were just talking about how white people live and work on the reservation.”

Officer Waite choked out, “Oh … I see. I noticed he didn’t fully stop when he left that last pullout. Even though there wasn’t a stop sign ... .”

“I know!” interrupted Preston. “We will watch it from now on.” Preston stared dead in the officers eyes, his words were measured and extremely Indian accented. I suppressed an autonomic shudder. The officer bid Preston a goodnight without as much as a glance at me. Preston was quiet for a spell, but finally said, “What a nice young feller, even if he is courtin’ Lew Lew.” My respect for him skyrocketed, but my apprehension couldn’t be denied.

When we arrived at the print shop there was one light on, but no car around. It was 8:00 p.m. on the dot by my Post Exchange watch. Preston opened his door and I followed his lead. He knocked and I heard a shuffle, and then light. We greeted the manager whose name I finally found out was Stephan, not Stephen … go figure. He took us back to a very large layout table and I tenderly spread the map out a bit. He asked, almost reverently, if he could take the map. He put on blue nitrile gloves and carefully took the map from me. He started slowly spreading the map. In the quiet of the shop we could all hear the tiny popping sounds of the old leather splitting.

Without the slightest Native American accent, he apologized, “I have no compound here that will soften the leather sufficiently. Since time is of the essence, I think it’ll be all right. We’ll be able to digitally correct any tears or cracks in the leather that separate letters or symbols. Preston looked at me questioningly; I looked at the manager in the same way and said, “Okay, go ahead. Do what you have to.” Stephan slowly put pressure on the rolled map and gingerly pinned it to a piece of thick paper which was itself connected to the layout table in some way I couldn’t determine. He then rolled over a digital camera and lights and lenses of all descriptions that were attached to tracks above the table.

He took a few exposures under different lighting angles and spectra. Then he said, “That’s it!” He took the pins from the leather and it slowly rolled up as if alive. I said, “What if you need some more exposures?”

He said simply, “I won’t.”

Preston offered, “Stephan knows his work. He was with the Company”.

“It’s called the Corporation, Taha,” said Stephan, without noticeable emotion or concern.

Preston corrected himself, “Oh yeah, I get that stuff mixed up sometimes.”

No one else said a word while Stephan took his place at his computer desk. He pulled up the deep ultra violet and infra-red exposures first to see if there were any symbols hidden. There weren’t, but a few needed enhancement, and enhance he did. I almost pissed myself with delight, or coffee, when I saw the old map begin to take shape like it was penned yesterday. He expertly brought all the overlays together digitally and within twenty minutes had it completed to his satisfaction. He made a hard copy for me and copied it to a digital RAM travel file, which I hung around my neck like a necklace. I thanked him profusely and started to leave, but Preston wanted to have another word with Stephan privately.

I waited in the fragrant desert air for about five minutes before Preston came out and commented on what a beautiful night it was. He handed me another travel file and said everything in the copy shop computer had been erased. So, I had the map, the paper hard copy and two RAM travel files. The plan then was to put the map in the safety deposit box the next morning, first thing.

On the way to Preston’s bungalow he said I should cut the map in half and give half to Myra. I smelled a rat and stopped the car to tell him so. He explained timidly that cutting the map in half amounted to destroying a possibly ancient document, but would do two other things: it would keep the entire map out of Lew Lew’s paws and possibly anyone else who wanted to check its authenticity, and it would create a smoke screen with regard to the map’s purpose while we found out what it was really about; before Lew Lew did. Even though it initially sounded cliché, I told him I’d think about it. He seemed confident I’d understand, so I dropped the subject and dropped him at his place declining coffee in the face of his knowing grin and sped with due diligence to my apartment where there was someone soft and warm and smiling waiting.

When I finally got my apartment key to work and set my eyes on her, her eyes were red and swollen. My heart sank. It was her son that time. Raymond had been sniping at her for seeing me. Like many teenagers he was trying to find fault with the person who loved him most. Maybe it’s a form of vulnerability denial. You know what they say … “You’re never so vulnerable as when you’re in love.” And no one loves like a mother.

I think that’s why so many kids are spoiled rotten. Mothers and fathers give them too much, and the kids think they want more. In Raymond’s opinion he wasn’t getting enough attention, and since he was entering puberty he thought he was the man of the house. He needed to be shown he wasn’t. Of course, when there isn’t a father figure around it can really confuse a kid. I’d understood his plight from the start, especially since his mother and I were sleeping together, but I hadn’t been ready to take on Myra’s kids … until that moment.