August Twelfth, Nineteen Eighty-seven.
Gold Hill Conservation Hall
Three p.m.There was only slightly something off with the day. That day in particular was not right in one small aspect. I had ripped my tie two days prior, and had not been able to replace it in time. Amazing, how difficult it is to find a tie that will match your mahogany-and-bubblegum, custom-tailored suit. Nothing would do. We searched every store from here to Alabama, under the humid heat of August mornings and the oven-dry flames of the afternoons. I called half a dozen tailors myself, but most everybody had plenty of business, this time of year. After all, it had been the Gold Hill History Preservation Weekend. I was due for a change of luck, and in this blistering little hill town I found it. The only thing is, my luck did not change from bad to good. It changed from bad to terrible.
As I stood under the stone archway which supported a front balcony overhead, waiting for Cheréuz to arrive and to escort her inside, a reporter by the name of Jewels Materby approached me. The dog was wearing camouflaged Cargo shorts and a tourist T-shirt with the logo CAP'TA LUZ RAMEAU on it. While I doubt that's actually French, it sure looked like it at the time. Materby's high, bony cheeks were framed by loose, shoulder-length hair that couldn't decide whether it was dark orange or brown. His smile possessed one of those sleazy qualities that made you want to turn and upchuck into the nearest waste can or punch bowl, whatever the case may be, and he brimmed with self-confidence and an air of complete certainty so complacent, that I swore I could smell his ego from across the street.
"Good evening," he said passively, to which I checked my watch out of compulsion. It wasn't a minute after two forty-nine in the afternoon. I nodded and shifted my weight back, stepping to the side so he could accompany me under the shade. Less than a second later I checked my watch again, anxious for Cheréuz to arrive and spare me from whatever Materby wanted.
Materby stepped forward and withdrew a cigar from--his back pocket? The pockets on those cargo shorts were so huge, I didn't doubt his ability to smuggle handguns in them. After offering me one, to which I declined, the reporter smiled and placed one between his own teeth. I noticed at that time that his teeth were not very white or bright at all. Producing a cigarette lighter from his high-capacity shorts, Materby lit his cigar and breathed in. To my concern, he nearly broke out into a series of coughing fits, before regaining his composure and continuing to smoke.
"Are you all right?" I asked plainly. He shook his head.
"No," his tone was that of a man who was bored of playing an old game, "this happens all the time when I try cold turkey." He then took another breath of smoke, before we just stood there for a few minutes. Finally, he looked sidelong over at me, and grinned. "Mr. Swan?" he presumed. At my nod, he grinned and offered a hand wearing a large, gaudy ring of gold--a class ring of some nineteen seventies' year--to shake my hand. After a moment, I obliged him. I will always regret doing that. For then he said, "My name is Jewels James Materby. Searcher of knowledge and wearer of sandals."
I noticed his sandals. They were quite nice. "Yes, I see that," I responded, before finally gaining my hand back. "How can I help you?"
He said hello to a passing woman, before answering me. "I'm interested in conducting an interview with you or your associate, Miss Graham. I'm looking to write an article on archaeology and some historical setting." At my raised eyebrows, he nodded and obliged my curiosity: "Tenochtitlan, of course."
With an "Oh" expression, I leaned back and then nodded. "I see," I answered shortly, "but unfortunately Juliette is the one you'll want to talk to for that. I don't actually deal with the fieldwork and the archaeological aspect of things." I smiled, before adding, "I always go to the books."
Materby produced a card from--where, I was never quite sure. "You'll want this," he said, blinking. The cigar, he dropped off the side of the steps were were occupying. I pocketed the card without looking at it. Strangely enough, the reporter did not seem to have finished with me. I had already veered away, to scan the approaching cars, when his voice met my ears from very close by. "In that case, my newspaper firm is more than willing to pay for a detailed list of what you found in Venezuela.
I turned around, surprised. "Venezuela?" I echoed. "How did you know about that?" As anybody knows, Tenochtitlan is in Mexico. What we had found in Venezuela had not been revealed to anybody.
Sensing this, Materby's smile widened into an ear-touching grin. "You let me know when you're ready to talk," he said, before walking between two pillars and out of sight. This was as far as I could deal with him, because the sound of heels stepping out of a limousine arrested my attention.
It was Cheréuz, in all her blond-haired glory.
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