Dark Reservations Read Free

don’t take care of your dogs.”
    â€œFuck you, man.”
    Books was fast. Othmann almost missed it. He heard a slap, and then Eddie’s head snapped forward.
    â€œEddie,” Othmann said. “Look at me, Eddie. A little birdie told me you got caught diddling a kid.”
    â€œI never done nothing like that. I got a woman. I don’t touch kids. If anyone told you that, they’re just trying to mess up our business arrangement.”
    â€œThat’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about, our business arrangement.”
    Eddie squinted. “I thought you were happy with the carving.”
    â€œOh, I’m very happy with it. And I have it on good authority it’s authentic.”
    The carving was a chunk of stone with a thousand-year-old petroglyph of a spiral-beaked bird that Eddie had chiseled from a cliff at Chaco Canyon. It now sat below them as part of Othmann’s very private and very illegal collection in an environmentally controlled vault. And in that same vault was the recorder that was, at that very moment, capturing Eddie Begay’s every word.
    Othmann continued. “Why don’t you tell us what the police are accusing you of, Eddie?”
    â€œThis is bullshit. I’m not telling you any—”
    Books drove a knee to the back of his head. Eddie did a face plant on the tarp. He didn’t move.
    They waited.
    â€œI hope you didn’t kill him.”
    Books shrugged.
    Eddie let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan and struggled back to his knees. His eye patch had shifted, granting Othmann an unwanted view of a black sunken hole. Was that what Xajiinai was? Black and bottomless? Not like his father’s portrait at all. Maybe Eddie was the portal to communicate with the dead, to communicate with good ol’ Pops.
    â€œWhat did they say you did?” Othmann asked.
    Eddie took several deep breaths. His good eye seemed unable to focus. “They said … they said I touched my sister’s boy. But I didn’t.”
    Othmann walked around to the front of his desk, careful not to block the camera’s view. “And what did you tell the FBI about me?”
    â€œHow did you know it was the FBI?”
    â€œEddie, it’s time to be honest. I need to know I can trust you. Now, what did you tell them about me?”
    â€œNothing. Why would I talk about you? They were asking about my nephew.”
    â€œDid you tell them about the carving?”
    â€œNo.” Eddie’s voice was high.
    â€œWhat do you think, David? Did he talk?”
    â€œHe talked. A man that can’t take care of his dog isn’t loyal to anyone.”
    â€œAre you loyal, Eddie?”
    â€œYes—”
    Another knee to the back of his head.
    They waited.
    Books wrinkled his nose. “I think he shit himself.”
    A minute passed.
    Eddie regained consciousness. He groaned. Blood dripped from his nose onto the plastic.
    â€œOh man.” Eddie pulled at the seat of his pants.
    â€œStay on the tarp,” Othmann said.
    The broken man sat back on his knees, swaying. A silver and turquoise squash-blossom necklace, which Eddie usually wore beneath his shirt, now hung exposed on his chest. It had been handed down through his family, originally belonging to his great-grandfather, who had been the chief of his clan before the Long Walk. Its craftsmanship was some of the best work Othmann had ever seen. But no matter how tough things had gotten for Eddie, he had never parted with his great-grandfather’s legacy.
    â€œEddie, Eddie. Why are you doing this to yourself? It’s a simple question. I already know the answer, but I want to hear you say it.”
    â€œOkay … but don’t let him knee me anymore. I’m seeing double.”
    â€œDavid, don’t knee him anymore.”
    â€œOkay, boss.”
    Eddie stared as Books unbuckled his belt. Books pulled it from his waistband and grasped both ends