Free The Best Bad Dream by Robert Ward Page A

their eyes.
    They must know, Jack thought, that all this nontraditional, spiritual “medicine” was jive. Wasn't it obvious that having their legs pummeled with rocks from ancient stream beds wasn't going to do a damned thing for their failing hearts and crummy circulation? And didn't they know that having their skin exfoliated, and their imaginary third eye filled with some kind of fancy, heated olive oil, was going to mean absolutely zero in a fight against cancer? They must know; but they did it anyway. They had mud baths and Cornmeal Wraps, and ate lizard skins ground up in capsules, and they knew that at least some of the staff was laughing at them behind their backs while they accepted their over-the-top tips, but they went on with it, because “what if?” What if it somehow worked? What if the Cornmeal Wrap broke through some kind of molecular twenty-first-century fucked-up dying-cell cancer, and somehow stimulated youth in them? What if it worked in spite of their cynicism? What if there was some particle of truth to it all and it made them young again? Even if just for a month, or a couple of weeks or, for that matter, one weekend?
    Why not give it a shot?
    They found Phil Holden at the Piñon Bar. He was standing at the bar downing a margarita. He wore a green silk shirt with blue parrots on it and white pants. He looked like an eighties refugee from Miami Vice.
    Alex Williams introduced Jack, who noticed that Holden's face was bloated from alcohol.
    “I understand you were up at the Tewa Pueblo yesterday,” Jack said. “Did you happen to see this girl?”

    He showed Holden a picture of Jennifer Wu.
    “Yeah,” Phil said, as he picked up his drink. “Yeah, I guess I did see her. She was standing over by the big round structure they got there. What's that thing called?”
    “The kiva,” Jack said.
    “Right, me and Dee Dee—that's my wife—we just come out of there and we saw this Chinese girl talking to some people.”
    “What did they look like?”
    “I don't know. Three or four guys. Not Indians, I don't think. They seemed to be asking her for directions. She kind of walked away with them . . . and she was pointing, you know, south, I guess. Like they were asking directions to Santa Fe, or someplace south of Taos, anyway.”
    “You sure of this?” Jack asked.
    “Yeah, I am.”
    “Well then, yesterday, when the second Chinese girl came up and asked you where her sister went, why did you tell her you hadn't seen her?”
    Phil shook his head.
    “I don't know why I said that,” he blushed. “I just smelled bad news coming and I didn't want any part of it.”
    “What do you mean, bad news?” Jack pushed. “We think that this girl, Jennifer Wu, was kidnapped and maybe you could have stopped it.”
    “Yeah, I see that now,” Phil said. “I do. But I didn't know anything about that yesterday, right? I mean, for all I know, those Chinese girls coulda been in cahoots with the bikers. They get us to go somewhere with them and the next thing me and Dee Dee know is we're out in the desert somewhere, our money gone, and bullet holes in our heads.”
    Jack sighed.

    “You see what kind of rides the bikers had?”
    “Couldn't be sure. Harleys maybe.”
    “License plates?”
    “Well, they were New Mexico plates, that's for sure. But I didn't get any of them.”
    “Could you physically identify any of the guys who took her?” Jack asked.
    “Not really. I didn't get that close and, you know, it's dark up there. Only moonlight. Now, if you guys don't mind, I'm going to order another drink and then take a nap.”
    “Yeah, sure,” Jack said. “That's just fine. But I may want to talk to you again. Okay?”
    “Sure,” Phil said. “Most exciting thing that's happened to me since I been here.” He took another sip of his drink and turned away from Jack.
    “Does that help you at all?” Alex Williams asked, looking concerned, as they walked outside.
    “Well, it confirms one thing. That Jennifer