Treasure of the Anasazi Page 8

  “Who do we follow?” asked Rudy.

  “We’ll stick with the bad boys. Let’s see where they go.”

  I heard a vehicle start up with loud exhaust, as if it had a faulty muffler. A pickup pulled out onto the street followed by the loud sound.

  “This looks promising,” I said. “The guys fit the description and the pickup is loud. I wish Emitt was here to hear it.”

  We pulled out onto the roadway behind them, keeping our distance. They were definitely not in any hurry, barely going the speed limit. We stayed behind as they drove west on Camino del Rio, heading toward Mancos.

  “Are we going to follow them out of town?”

  “That’s the only way I know how to find out where they’re going.”

  “Easy. I was just asking?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. But if they’re the ones that shot Emitt we need to know where they are going and what they are up to.”

  “Forget it. But we don’t even know if they are staying around here at all. They may be headed home, wherever that is.”

  “That’s true. If they go past Mancos, we’ll turn back. Okay?”

  We continued to tail them. It appeared they were going past Mancos.

  “We may as well turn back,” I said as Rudy began to slow down and pull over to the side of the highway.

  “Wait a second. They’re pulling into the café.”

  “That’s odd. They can’t be hungry again. Let’s pull in and see what they’re up to.”

  “Hey, maybe I’ll get to eat after all,” said Rudy.

  Both men went inside. We followed them and grabbed an empty table on the opposite side of the café. Another man came in, looked around and joined them.

  “That guy looks familiar too,” I commented.

  “He should,” said Rudy. “His picture’s in the paper all the time. He’s a local realtor. His names Roy Dawson.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. This is just getting stranger all the time. First a nobody, now a local businessman. Something doesn’t smell right.”

  Their meeting was short. All three got up and headed for the door. The big guy looked directly at us and paused, then said something to the other two before walking over to our table.

  “It looks like he’s coming over,” warned Rudy.

  “I’m not worried. I’ve got you with me,” I joked.

  “Thanks.”

  “You two were at the Mexican place in Durango. You were staring at us there. Are you following us?”

  “Who? Us? I had no idea. Must be a coincidence. We stopped by for the pie. They have really good pie here. Isn’t that right, Marlene?” I asked loud enough for her to hear.

  “That’s right, Jack.”

  “Then you’re a local?” asked the big fella.

  “Yeah, Jack Trader,” I extended my hand, which he took, “and this is Rudy. And your name is…”

  “I’m Smith and that’s Jones.”

  “Really? Well, nice to meet you, Mr. Smith. I see you’re with another one of our locals.”

  Smith ignored the last comment.

  “So, where are you boys from?” I asked.

  “Out of town.”

  “That covers a lot of territory. What brings you out to these parts?”

  Smith leaned on our table, I supposed in an effort to intimidate us. He brought his face close to mine, looking directly into my eyes. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” said Smith, his voice getting slightly louder. As he leaned over, his jacket hung forward, revealing a pistol in a shoulder holster.

  “Easy, just trying to make conversation.”

  “I’ll tell you what, …Jack. You mind your own business and I’ll mind mine, okay?”

  “Sure, friend. No problem.”

  Smith walked back to the door where the others were waiting. I waved and smiled as all three looked back to our table.

  “You boys enjoy your stay. Good to see you too, Mr. Dawson.”

  Dawson appeared to be noticeably bothered that we had recognized him. Hurriedly he pushed his way past the other two to get outside.

  “Did you learn anything from all that?” asked Rudy. “Or were you too distracted worrying about your health?”

  “There is definitely something not right about those guys.”

  “You still think they’re the ones who shot Emitt?”

  “Nothing has happened to change my mind. They fit the description Sarah gave me perfectly. We just don’t have any proof. We’ll just have to wait for them to slip up.”

  “Are we going to follow them again?”

  “Let’s not push our luck. I got the impression they’ll be around for a while, so I think if we keep an eye on Dawson, Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones won’t be far away. For now let’s have some pie.”

  “Hallelujah.”

  Chapter Nine

  We decided to pay Roy Dawson a visit at his office. According to the address listed in the phone book, it was located in the downtown area, just off Main Street. I asked Rudy to pull over and park about half a block away. From the street, it appeared to be a one-man operation. A desk was positioned in front of a large plate glass window facing the sidewalk. The large ads in the newspaper were all hype. This didn’t appear to be the office of a successful realtor. As we walked up to the office door he looked up, and I saw the same expression I had seen at the café. It was the same look of a kid being caught doing something they shouldn’t. As far as I could remember, we had never actually met before. I didn’t know why I was affecting him that way. I didn’t consider myself the intimidating type. Perhaps he just didn’t like me for some other reason or maybe it wasn’t me at all, maybe it was Rudy? Then there was another possibility for his behavior, he could be feeling guilty because of his association with the likes of Smith and Jones.

  Before going through the door I asked Rudy, “Have you ever had any dealings with Dawson?”

  “Never.”

  We entered through the front door of his office. Dawson actually looked scared, his mouth gaping open and his face pale. I’m sure he would have run out the back door, if he’d had enough warning.

  Timidly he asked, “Can I help you fellas?” He tried to look busy sorting through papers on his desk. His hands were visibly trembling.

  “My name is Jack Trader and this…”

  “I know who you are. What do you want?”

  “Well, Mr. Dawson, we were curious about something. What can you tell me about those fellas you were with at the Mancos café?” I asked.

  I saw his Adam’s apple bob down as he swallowed hard. “And what business is it of yours?” he said defensively, as his voice raised an octave.

  “We’re concerned citizens, and we have it on good authority that they may not be the kind of people we want hanging around our town. But you already know that, don’t you?”

  “I’m not going to tell you anything. You’re not cops, so you don’t have any authority.”

  “We’re just here for a friendly conversation and the sooner we get some answers, the sooner we’ll be out of here. Now, what can you tell us about them and what do they want around here?”

  We stood on either side of Dawson as he slumped back in his chair.

  “They’re not going to like that you’re asking about them.”

  “Maybe we should keep it between us then,” I replied.

  “They’re going to want to know.”

  “Haven’t you heard the expression ‘What they don’t know can’t hurt you’?”

  He looked around nervously, squirming in his chair, which creaked every time he moved.

  “If they ever found out I talked with you…”

  “Yeah, we got that. Now, what do they want here?”

  “What do you think? I’m a realtor. They’re looking for land,” Dawson spouted sarcastically. He appeared to be getting over his earlier lack of nerves.

  “Excuse me?” asked Rudy.

  I could tell from his change of expression that he im
mediately regretted the tone of his remark. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. But if they ever found out I talked to you…”

  “Don’t worry, we won’t tell. All we want to know is what these guys are doing at Mesa Verde and why they’re interested in real estate.”

  He must have been more scared of Smith and Jones than of us. He sat up straight in his chair.

  “I’d like you to leave now. They are my clients, and it’s none of your business what they’re doing here. Now, if you don’t mind…our business is done,” said Dawson, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping the perspiration from his forehead, pretending to go back to his papers.

  Rudy and I exchanged smiles. “We’ll be talking to you again,” I commented.

  We left, shutting the door behind us. I glanced over my shoulder noticing that Dawson was already reaching for the phone.

  “Seemed like he was wound a little tight, wasn’t he?” I asked.

  “Just a bit.”

  We walked back to the car and waited. It wasn’t five minutes before Dawson came out, locking the office door. He pulled away in a late model gray Chevrolet sedan, taking the highway west out of town toward Mancos. Just before entering the city limits, he pulled into a small motel, the Cozy Inn, along the north side of the highway. It was one of those low-cost places that offer a weekly or monthly rate to people on extended stays, construction workers or salesmen for instance. From the highway it looked clean and neat with an apparently recent coat of paint. There was only one vehicle, a pickup, parked in front of one of the rooms west of the detached office. Dawson pulled up beside it and parked.

  We pulled off onto the shoulder of the highway and stopped as Dawson was getting out of his car. We saw him knock on one of the room doors. The door opened and Jones stepped outside, looking all around. He spotted us sitting across the highway. He went back inside and soon both he and Smith came out. Dawson and Smith looked as Jones pointed at us. Smith began to walk toward us.

  “I think this is our cue to leave,” I said.

  “Hold on, let’s see what he’s going to do,” said Rudy. “I’m going to pull over.”

  “Okay, tough guy, but it’s not going to be pretty,” I said. Rudy just grinned.

  We pulled up into the gravel parking area, meeting Smith halfway. He came up to Rudy’s side of the car.

  “I thought you weren’t following us?” he asked.

  “We aren’t. We’re following him,” said Rudy, pointing at Dawson.

  Smith leaned on the car with both hands, bending down slightly so he could see both of us clearly. On my suggestion, Rudy had put the top up.

  “You’re being kind of a smart ass aren’t you?”

  “He’s not really that smart,” I said smiling. “Sorry, Rudy, I couldn’t resist.”

  “Ha, ha.”

  “Let’s cut the bull,” I said. “I’m going to tell you exactly what we’re up to. The park ranger who was shot a few weeks ago is a friend of ours. An eyewitness has put two fellas that fit your descriptions at the scene. We’re going to keep watching you and Dawson until you slip up and we figure out what you’re up to.”

  “An eyewitness, huh? That’s interesting. I’d think we would be talking to the cops if that was the case and you are not cops.”

  “You’re right about that, we’re not cops and that’s the part that should worry you. We don’t play by the same rules. So, we’re going to keep an eye on you, and if we find out that you are the ones, we’ll make sure you pay for it.”

  “If you’re going to make a threat, you’d better be ready to follow through with it,” warned Smith.

  “That won’t be a problem,” said Rudy.

  “You’re starting to make me mad, buddy. Accidents happen all the time.”

  “Like out at the park?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that,” answered Smith.

  “Then you don’t have anything to worry about, do you?” asked Rudy.

  “Who said I was worried? Besides, you have the wrong guys.”

  “Then, how about telling us what your business is here?” I asked.

  “Now we’re getting into that area I warned you about.”

  “Sounds an awful lot like you’re hiding something, and if you are, we’re going to find out what it is.”

  “Good luck with that and remember what I said about accidents.” He opened his jacket so we could see his revolver.

  He stepped back from the car.

  Rudy eased the car away, turned around in the parking lot and pulled back onto the highway headed back to Durango.

  “What do you think?” asked Rudy.

  “I think they’re guilty as hell. If not for shooting Emitt, for something else.”

  “Do you want me to keep an eye on them?” asked Rudy.

  “There’s no way of knowing when or if they’ll go back to the park. The only way we would know would be if you or I sat on them 24/7. We’ve both got better things to do.”

  “So what do you want to do now?” asked Rudy.

  “I have an idea that might help. Turn around and go back to the motel office.”

  He flipped a U on the highway and headed back to the motel. As we pulled up to the office, Rudy asked “What are you up to?”

  “Maybe we can get some helpful information from the clerk.”

  Smith, Jones and Dawson were still standing outside the room. All three watched as I went inside. The bell over the door jingled. The young clerk behind the counter was reading a comic book, his chair leaning back against the wall. He glanced over the top of his comic.

  “Help ya?”

  “Yeah. I’d like to know about the guys standing right over there.”

  I pointed in their direction with a nod of my head. With a sigh he let his chair set back down to the floor, slowly stood up and looked in their direction.

  “Those men?” he asked.

  “There’s no one else out there, is there? What can you tell me about them?”

  “I don’t know nothin’. I mind my own business. If you don’t want a room, why don’t you just get out of here?” He sat down and leaned back against the wall.

  “You’re too young to have that much attitude. Just believe me when I say that those are some bad men.”

  “They haven’t caused any trouble around here.”

  “Maybe you just don’t know it yet. How long have they been here?”

  “I ain’t gonna tell you nothin’, so you might as well take off.”

  “Do you know Detective Larsen with the Sheriff’s department?”

  “No. Why?”

  “He’s a good friend of mine. If I asked him to come out here, do you think it would be easier for you to talk then?”

  He paused. “They’ve been here about three weeks. That’s all I know.”

  “See, that wasn’t so hard. And when are they checking out?”

  He stood up and flipped open the register.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. You’ve been very helpful. You can go back to reading your comic now.”

  Smith, Jones and Dawson continued to watch as I returned to the car.

  “Did you find anything out?” asked Rudy.

  “Just what we needed to know. They’re checking out tomorrow. If they’re going back to the park, it’ll probably be tonight.”

  “Maybe they’re changing motels,” suggested Rudy, “since we found out where they were staying.”

  “I don’t think so. They were already scheduled to leave.”

  * * *

  “I don’t like it,” said Dawson. “I’ve got a good reputation around here, and I don’t want anything to ruin it.”

  “Quit your whining. We both know your reputations not all that great anyway. You just keep your mouth shut, do your part and everything will be fine,” said Jones.

  “I don’t like those guys poking around. If you hadn’t shot that Ranger …,” started Dawson.

  “We never said we had anything to do
with that Ranger being shot, so don’t ever mention it again. We only did what we had to do. And keep this in mind, whatever we did, you are an accessory,” said Smith.

  “I wasn’t even with you.”

  “Who do you think they’d believe? It’s our word against yours.”

  “Okay. Okay. I take it you haven’t found what you’re looking for yet?” asked Dawson.

  “I know we’re getting close. We have to be. As long as the information from Benny is any good,” said Jones.

  “What exactly are you looking for?” asked Dawson.

  “It’s none of your business. Just find us a piece of property along the east side of the park. Have you had any leads?”

  “I may have found one. There’s an old man that has some property out that way. I don’t know how cooperative he’s going to be though.”

  “That means you haven’t talked to him yet?”

  “I just found out about it. He doesn’t have a phone, so I’m going out there tomorrow.”

  “If it’s what we asked for, we need to get on that property right away, one way or the other. If you can get him to voluntarily give us access, it’ll be a lot less messy.”

  Chapter Ten

  Rudy drove us back to my cabin. We’d have a few hours to kill before meeting up with Sam at the park tonight. Once there, it would be anyone’s guess if or when Smith and Jones would show up. As we pulled into the drive, we saw an unmarked cop car parked in front of the cabin. Even unmarked it was obvious. When we got closer I recognized Joe Larsen sitting on the front steps and he didn’t look happy. Even though Joe is a good friend of mine, having a cop come to your home on what appeared to be official business can still give a person a touch of anxiety. Two reasons immediately came to mind for him being here. One, I’m in trouble or two, there’s been an accident. Neither was good.

  “This doesn’t look like a friendly visit,” I said. Rudy just shrugged.

  We slowly climbed out of the car.

  “Hello, Joe. What’s going on? Business or pleasure?” I asked.

  “Have you been playing detective again?”