Page 51 of A Long Con

Tyler said, “Lately, their immigration channels have become narrowed down. They sort of get funneled through here if they want to avoid all the southern Arizona checkpoints. Usually their smuggler has abandoned them. It’s like a giant cemetery out here. The government appreciates us cleaning up for the tourists.”

“I started this group in 2009,” said Carlos. “I’m an American, and my brother and cousins died trying to cross the Sonoran Desert. They were headed for Route 70, the interstate that can take them all the way to Denver or St. Louis. Their coyote left them, and no one would help me find them. Immigration wouldn’t. The consulate wouldn’t.”

“Cops wouldn’t,” added Tyler.

“The Navajo people welcomed us,” said Carlos.

“What’s ch’iidii?” I asked. “That guy was yelling that.”

Everyone looked to Levi for an explanation. He was a somber guy in his twenties, and I could see shades of Anson and Ogden in him. He said, “It’s the essence of all evils of someone’s existence, released when the soul departs to the afterlife. They usually come at night, so Harry freaked out since it’s almost sundown. Anyone handling the body can be cursed by ch’iidii.”

Carlos explained, “If someone dies inside one of their hogans, the shelter absorbs the evil spirits, so they walk away from their own homes.” He chuckled. “They jump out of hospital rooms when someone dies. It scares them most to bury bodies, but someone has to do it.”

“Speaking of,” said Levi, “we’d better go bury that body.”

“Yeah,” said Tyler, holding up his phone. “I got a positive ID on the guy. Honduran.”

As some of the men began walking back into the desert, Levi asked us, “Who are you? Going into Canyon de Chelly? A big storm’s coming tonight.”

“I know,” I said. “We’re actually heading up to Many Farms. I just took this side route to see if I could see any canyons. Guess not.”

Tyler said, “You’ve got to go a bit farther to see the sandstone sculptures. What’s up in Many Farms?”

“Actually,” I admitted, taking point on this one, “we’re looking for an associate of ours.”

“A biker guy?” asked Levi.

“Basically. All we know is he’s staying with a woman named Myra Mains.” Levi Chasinghawk had a distinct look of knowledge about this, so I asked, “You know her?”

“My Remains?” asked Tyler.

“Myra Mains,” asserted Levi. “I know her. A very humble woman with three children.”

It stunned me into silence that Myra would have three children. What the hell was a sleazebag like Ira Hogshead doing at her house? Maybe he was buying more rugs.

Royal took point. “That’s her. You know which house is hers?”

Levi narrowed his eyes. “As long as you’re not putting a hit out on her.”

“Not at all. A friend of ours, actually, is staying at her house.”

Levi’s eyes were slits now. “That Pighead guy?”

“Right!” I cried. “Hogshead, that’s him.”

“He’s your friend?”

Royal and I looked at each other. We both said tentatively, “Yeah?”

“I make da deal,” said Levi. “You get rid of that guy, take him home, whatever, and I’ll tell you where her house is.”

Tyler added, “After you help us bury Manuel Rivera.”

Royal and I shrugged at each other, and before long we were following a few gravediggers to a body.

“Why don’t you like Pighead?” Royal asked.

Levi said, “Because he’s a bilagáana,” Levi spat.