The Shape Shifter by Tony Hillerman Read Free Book Online

trimmed now, and the black was modified into various shades of gray. Otherwise he was medium sized, trim and neat, and his eyes had re-tained their bright brown glint.
    “How time flies,” Garcia said, after shaking Leaphorn’s hand and slipping into the booth. “But I see you still drink coffee.”
    “I guess I’m an addict. And I asked the young lady to bring a cup for you, but she didn’t.”
    “Good thing,” Garcia said. “I swore off the stuff.
    Switched to drinking tea.”
    “Oh,” Leaphorn said.
    “Kept me awake.”

    48
    TONY HILLERMAN
    Leaphorn nodded.
    “Why you hunting Melvin Bork?”
    Leaphorn considered that a moment. “Well, he’s sort of a friend. Used to be, way back. Haven’t seen him for years. We sort of got together in our rookie days, when I went to the FBI school back east. We met there. But maybe it’s partly just curiosity.”
    Garcia was studying him. “Curious? Yeah, me, too.” Leaphorn let that hang.
    “So you’re saying you really are retired now, right?
    How long?”
    “Just getting started at it. This is the first month.”
    “How you like it?”
    Leaphorn shrugged. “Not much. I think it takes some getting used to.”
    Garcia sighed. “I’m up for it end of this year.”
    “You don’t look old enough.”
    Garcia made a wry face. “Getting tired though. Tired of doing all the damned paperwork. Messing with the federal regulations, dealing with drunks, and women beating up on their husbands, and vice versa, all that, and working with some of those young city boys the Federal Bureau of Ineptitude sends out here to our waterless desert.”
    Leaphorn sipped his coffee.
    “How about you, Joe. You miss being a cop?”
    “I still am one, sort of. I carry a Coconino deputy sheriff’s badge, and ones from San Juan and McKinley counties in New Mexico.”
    Garcia raised his eyebrows. “I think you’re supposed to turn those in, aren’t you? After all, you’re just a—ah, just a civilian now.”

    THE SHAPE SHIFTER
    49
    “Hadn’t thought about it,” Leaphorn said, and smiled.
    “Are you going to report me to the sheriff ?” Garcia laughed.
    The waiter arrived. Garcia ordered iced tea and two doughnuts.
    “Now you’re going to ask me about Bork,” he said.
    “Well, I like him. We worked with him on some stuff. He’s smart. Former deputy himself. Seemed honorable.” He sipped his tea, looked at Leaphorn. “But I didn’t like the sound of that telephone call.”
    “No,” Leaphorn said.
    “The missus said you’d told her to let me hear that tape. What’s he into? Any ideas about that?”
    “Here’s all I know,” Leaphorn said. He handed Garcia Bork’s letter and the magazine photo of the tale-teller rug. Then he told Garcia about remembering how it had been burned to ashes in the Totter’s Trading Post fire—
    along with one of the FBI’s most wanted bad men.
    Garcia studied the photo, looking thoughtful.
    “I never saw the original,” he said. “Is this it?”
    “I saw it just once in Totter’s gallery,” Leaphorn said.
    “Not long before the fire. Stood and stared at it a long time. I’d heard some of the old stories about it from my grandmother. The photo looks like the rug I remember looking at. But it doesn’t seem possible. I talked to Mr.
    Tarkington at his gallery here. He thought it might be a copy. But he wasn’t ready to make any bets.” Garcia looked up from the photo. “Pretty flossy house it’s hanging in,” he said. “Judging from the view through the window, that might be old John Raskins’s house.”
    “That’s what Tarkington told me. He told me this Delos fella lives there now.”

    50
    TONY HILLERMAN
    “I take it you haven’t talked to Delos yet? Asked him where he got the rug?”
    “I intend to do that tomorrow. Thought I’d call him and see if he’ll let me in. Let me look at the rug.” Garcia smiled. “Good luck,” he said. “He’s pretty high society for Flagstaff. He’s probably going to refer you