The Judge picked up a leather briefcase from the
copilot’s seat and returned to the rear storage bay. “I am afraid you might
find the authentication papers a bit technical, especially in light of the fact
that you are not familiar with the actual area in question.”
Barry laughed out loud. “I’ve been fishing the Tropic
Reservoir since I was a boy, and I’ve taken many a horse ride from Bryce
National Park to Tropic, so I have a pretty darn good idea where we’re talking
about, Judge.”
“Yes, I’m sure, but you have never been to my ranch,”
replied the Judge. “And without a Geologic Survey map to refer to, the
geographical coordinates are meaningless.”
Barry thumbed through several sheets of paper which
listed the specifics of where the shipment had been
obtained. As the Judge had warned, the location legals meant little without a
map. The prehistoric artifacts had been excavated from a pueblo, pithouse,
granary, and rock shelter, all of which were located in the Navajo Sandstone
formation. Barry knew enough about local geology to know that it was a pretty
safe bet that anything of a prehistoric nature in Southern Utah was going to be
found in the Navajo Sandstone layer. The formation
extended for a hundred square miles, and included the Paria Plateau and the
town of Tropic, sixty miles to the north. The dirt from both areas would be the
same, so there was no way to definitively trace the original location of this
shipment. Navajo Sandstone was Navajo Sandstone, no matter where it was
sampled; it had no particular signature or fingerprint that could indicate a
specific spot on the map. The Judge’s provenance papers painted a very
believable scenario, one with which Barry could not argue.
“I notice that you name is on each report. That means you personally
dug up these relics, right,” asked the obviously frustrated
Sheriff.
The Judge gave a mock bow. “That is indeed correct. I
excavated each of these treasures. They are like my children. And this plane
load of Anasazi riches represents several year’s worth of digging on my part.”
“And the gun permit?” asked Barry as he passed the authentication
papers back to the Judge.
“Why do I get the distinct impression that you do not
trust me, Sheriff?”
“Probably because I don’t,” answered Barry without
missing a beat.
The Judge visibly winced as he showed the Sheriff his
Federal Firearms Permit. “Ever since my early years on the bench, I have
carried a pistol of one kind or the other. We judges get our fair share of
death threats, as you might well imagine, and I have always taken my personal
protection very seriously. One can never be too careful, especially out here in
the wilds of the Southwest.”
The permit was perfectly legitimate; Barry could not
poke any holes in the Judge’s story. Unless he found
something of an illegal nature pretty soon, he was going to have to let the
Judge fly the coop.
Barry began a laborious search of
the jet which lasted for almost an hour. But after going through every inch of
the plane, he had nothing to show for the effort – no drugs, no weapons, and no
undocumented Indian artifacts.
The Judge knew the Sheriff had lost his momentum and
confidence. “I trust that you have satisfied your curiosity, Sheriff, now that
you have turned the entire contents of my plane upside down? May I say that this has certainly been an eye-opening experience for me – and one which
I will undoubtedly share with the Governor of your fair state in the very near
future. However, as I stated to you when you first arrived on the scene, I have
a pressing business engagement in southern Arizona, and now I really must
insist that you allow me to leave.”
Barry looked down at his dusty boots in resignation. He
had played all of his cards. As much as he hated to admit it, he was beaten. And
the thing that really got to him the most was the fact that he knew the Judge
was lying. From the first second he had laid eyes on the man, he was sure he
was facing bullshitting
evil. And when he discovered the artifacts just like
Sheriff Pratt had predicted, he figured he was definitely getting close to
busting the pothunting and murder case wide open. He had the big fish nailed
dead to rights.
But an hour later, he was standing there with his
hands in his pockets, feeling like a fool, knowing the Judge was going to make
his life a living hell with the state Attorney General. “We appreciate you cooperation with all of this, Judge. And I am deeply
sorry for any inconvenience I might have caused you.”
The Judge smiled condescendingly. “Save it for someone
who cares, Sheriff. You have treated me like a common criminal. And you have
conducted yourself in a thoroughly unprofessional manner. Now that your
suspicions have proved completely unfounded, please do not assume that I will
forgive or forget your inexcusable behavior. Rest assured that you have not
heard the last of me. Now, if you will remove your fat ass from my airplane, I
can get on with my business.”
Barry cringed at the Judge’s harsh words and wished he
had never followed Jason Pratt’s orders. “Well, like I said,
I’m sorry for the trouble. I was just trying to do my job.”
“Just get out of my sight, Sheriff,” growled the
Judge.
Barry hopped down from the cargo bay. “You have
yourself a good day now. You hear?”
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