The Pot Thief Who Studied Einstein (13 page)

I had a new car, a new dog, and a new girlfriend. The world was a perfect place.

Of course the dog was a misshapen mutt, the car was – let’s be honest here – stolen, and Izuanita being my girlfriend was more wish than fact.

When I pulled up in front of my shop, Geronimo jumped into the back seat and hunkered down as low as he could against the floor, obviously hoping the ride was not over and his time in the Caddy not at an end.

Izuanita, unfortunately, did not share his hesitancy to abandon ship. When I opened the door, she stepped out and said, “Why did you name him Geronimo?”

“Because Geronimo was a fearless warrior.”

She laughed and hugged me with those long luscious arms. “I love your sense of humor,” she said.

Then she thanked me for the ride and the food and walked away. I guess I could have asked her to stay or yelled for her to come back.

But I didn’t. I just stood there watching her disappear around the corner. There was something about her self-assurance that brooked no resistance when she decided to leave. I got the feeling she would come and go as she pleased, and I didn’t mind. In fact, I liked it. It was who she was. If a female Quetzalcoatl deigns to fly into your life, you don’t try to cage her.

You do hope you’ll see it again.

Just before she reached the corner, a handsome young fellow came around it in my direction and nodded to Izuanita as they passed. Then he walked up to me and said, “I assert with surety that you are Mr. Hubert Schuze.”

You know who it was.

“You must be Chris,” I replied.

“This makes a large indention in me. How did this knowledge coalesce?”

I smiled at him as I remembered how Susannah had managed to translate by asking questions. “I think maybe the word you want is ‘impression’ rather than ‘indention’,” I said.

After Susannah cajoled me into meeting with Chris, I had given some thought to the approach I would take. I decided that since I had no relationship with him to worry about, I would point out his unidiomatic language right from the start and try to correct him. If he responded positively to that, then the problem would eventually be solved. If he was offended, then he could choose not to meet with me again. I didn’t know which one I hoped for.

“‘Indention’ and ‘impression’ are coextensive, are they not?”

“They are not.”

“Forgive the refutation, but the dictionary pleads that ‘impression’ is ‘a mark produced on a surface by pressure’, and ‘indention’ is offered as ‘the condition of being indented’ or ‘a dent’.”

“Perhaps. But an indention is always physical. They only way I could make an indention on you would be to hit you with a hammer.”

He smiled at that.

“But an impression,” I continued, “can be either physical or mental. So I impressed you by recognizing you. I didn’t indent you.”

“This is animating. Perhaps please you can convalesce my English?”

It was going to be a long afternoon.

“The problem,” I told her, “is that he learned English from a dictionary. That and his eidetic memory.”

“What’s an eidetic memory?”

“A photographic memory.”

“Why not just say so? Or did Chris arouse your male competitiveness, and you’re trying to prove you know as many weird words as he does?”

“You know I’m not competitive, and anyway, I’d lose that one. He uses words I’ve never heard. I told you he saw Izuanita on the sidewalk? Well, he described her as a modigliani woman. I looked it up in my dictionary but couldn’t find it.”

Susannah started laughing.

“Of course,” I said, slapping myself on the forehead, “it’s Italian. I should have picked up on that from the sound of it.”

“It’s Italian all right, but it’s not a word. It’s a name. He was an artist, Hubie. I can’t believe you never heard of him.”

“Did he paint anything famous?”

“He painted a lot of women.”

“Well that narrows it down. Any famous paintings of women like
Mona Lisa
or
Whistler’s Mother
?”

“There’s no painting called Whistler’s Mother. It’s called
Arrangement in Grey and Black
.”

“I’m glad we cleared that up. What about Modigliani?”

“There’s no single painting he’s known by. You didn’t by any chance rip Izuanita’s bodice did you, because Modigliani painted a lot of nudes.”

“I resisted the temptation.”

“There’s another thing he’s famous for. His women often had distorted faces like the way you described Izuanita to me.”

I was shocked. “I did not say her face is
distorted
,” I replied rather more forcefully than I meant to. “It’s just not perfectly symmetrical, and that only adds to the exotic—“

“Yeah, I know, she looks like an Aztecan Goddess.”

“She looked even better in the Cadillac.”

“Where did you take her?”

“The Hurricane.”

She plopped her margarita onto the table. “That must have impressed her.”

“It was her idea.”

“Did she order a Disaster Burrito?”

“She said she could eat as much as I could, so we ordered one and split it fifty-fifty. She ate her half, but I actually won because she gave part of hers to Geronimo and I ate my half all by myself.”

“This from a man who’s not competitive. Was I right about the dog?”

“Yeah, she loves him. I’m not sure how she feels about me.”

I told her everything about my morning with Izuanita.

Then I told her she was right about Cantú’s house.

“I was there in the evening, and even though no lights were on, I was able to examine the pots easily because of the bright sunlight streaming through the window. When you drove me there, we saw what I thought was that window when we went around to the back of the place. But we were driving south and the window was on our left.”

“So?”

“So the window faces east. There couldn’t have been any bright evening sun coming through it.”

“How do you know we were driving south?”

“Because the Sandias were on our left.”

“I’ll take your word for that.”

“And that means you were right,” I admitted. “It must be a different house in
Casitas del Bosque
.”

“On the opposite side of the street.”

“Exactly.”

She gave me that mischievous smile. “So all you have to do is break in to every house on the opposite side of the street until you find the one with the pots.”

“There’s an easier way. I’ll just get the address from Whit.”

“Which he’ll give you because he wants you to steal some of the pots.”

“The way he sees it,” I corrected her, “is that no one knows how many pots were in that collection, so what difference does it make if we take a few and sell them.”

“And how do you see it?”

I shrugged and said, “Depends on whether the dead guy has heirs. If he does, then taking the pots would definitely be stealing.”

“And you won’t do that.”

I shook my head. “But I might take back my copies.”

“Why? He paid for them, didn’t he?”

“It sure looks that way. I know Cantú was the one who handed me the money, but it appears you were right that he was just the errand boy, so the collector was the one who had them copied. Then the collector sold the originals because he needed money, and he kept the copies so his collection appeared to remain intact.”

“That was your original theory.”

“And still the best,” I boasted. “So here’s my issue. What’s going to happen to the collection? Suppose he had heirs and they want the cash instead of the pots.”

“Who wouldn’t choose a million bucks over a bunch of old cracked pots.”

“Me,” I said.

“Yeah, but you’re sort of a cracked pot yourself.”

She said it with a smile and I didn’t argue the point. “So they auction off the pots. The person or persons who bought the three originals would likely be interested, and when they see the pots they think they bought are still in the collection—“

“They’ll think they’ve been swindled!”

“Exactly. They won’t be able to tell the fakes from the originals, so they’ll assume the collector sold them fakes.”

“Can’t they run lab tests or something?”

“Sure. But before they reach that point there’s going to be a lot of confusion, accusation, and argument. And guess whose name is going to be dragged in?”

“So what’s your plan?”

“If I take the fakes, then the person or persons who own the originals won’t have to fight over what they have and whether it’s genuine. I won’t have to get involved with the police, the probate court, the heirs, the collectors, or anyone else. The heirs will have the original pots they inherited and the collectors will have the three pots they bought.”

“And you’ll have your copies.”

“Exactly.”

“Which you already got paid for.”

“Yeah, and now I can get paid for them again. The guy who bought them still owes me an appraisal fee. The only thing that’s changed is the fee just got a lot higher.”

She held her glass up and I clinked mine against it.

“What about the Cadillac?” she asked.

“I’ll drive it back to 183 Titanium Trail and leave it in the garage.”

“Won’t Izuanita be disappointed when she finds out you don’t own a Cadillac convertible?”

“She already knows that. I told her I was keeping it for someone.”

Susannah dredged a large chip through the salsa and popped it into her mouth. She chewed and ruminated.

“If Izuanita lives around here, how come you’ve never seen her before?”

“What makes you think she lives around here?”

“Because both times you’ve seen her, she was on foot.”

“Most people in Old Town are on foot. She probably parked in the lot around the corner on Central.”

She shook her head. “You told me this morning she came walking down the sidewalk from Alfredo’s Coffee House. But when she left, she walked in the opposite direction towards
La Placita
and passed Chris just as she turned the corner to the parking lot.”

“Maybe she lives miles from here and just loves to walk.”

“Perfect. Maybe the two of you can take long walks through the woods.”

“First we’d have to go somewhere where there are woods.”

“But you don’t travel.”

“For Izuanita, I’d go to the ends of the earth.”

“Geez,” she moaned and took a drink of her margarita. “Tell me more about your English lesson with Chris.”

“It wasn’t an English lesson, and I hope you didn’t tell him it was.”

She shook her head.

“You were right about him being handsome,” I said. “He looks like he could be a model for a really upscale men’s clothing catalog.”

“I know,” she said dreamily, “and he has great manners. You don’t see that much these days.”

“Except he sort of invades your space,” I said.

“That’s not bad manners, Hubie. That’s just Europe, especially Italy.”

“So I’ve heard. Anyway, he’s a good conversationalist except for his odd word choices.”

“And you helped with that, right?”

“I tried to. He didn’t seem the least offended by my constantly correcting him. And he did something I really liked. After I told him the correct usage of a word, he would work that word into the conversation a few minutes later. I think that shows he wants to improve.”

“What did you talk about.”

“Etruscan pottery.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Chris liked the pots in my shop. He said they reminded him in some ways of ancient Etruscan pots. He’s from Florence, and I guess that’s in the area where the ancient Etruscans lived. He said their pots used black, red, and sienna shades and geometric patterns, and I told him they seemed similar to some work from the pueblos along the —“

“Hubie?”

“Yes?”

“Can we get another round?”

“Sure.”

“And another topic.”

“Sure.”