Free Assumption by Percival Everett

and drove to Fonda’s Funeral Home. He found Emilio sweeping off the loading dock in back.
    “Emilio?”
    The man jumped. “Jesus, man, you scared the shit of me.”
    “Sorry.”
    “Go away.”
    “I just want to ask you a couple more questions. Won’t take long. I promise.”
    Emilio leaned on the broom. “Go.”
    “What was José into?”
    “I told you, man, I don’t know nothing.”
    “Who took his body?”
    Emilio looked away.
    “I think, I’m not sure, but I think you told me last time that you scored some drugs at some point. That’s probable cause. I can go search your house right now. Do you think I’ll find anything there?” Ogden stared at the man.
    Emilio shifted his weight. “It was his father.”
    “What?”
    “His father. José’s father came and took the body. I let him in. You gonna arrest me?”
    “I don’t know,” Ogden said. “Why’d his father do that?”
    “He thought they were going to do an autopsy on José and that family, well, they’re like super religious.”
    “Yeah, I know.”
    “I know I shouldn’t have let him in. You gonna arrest me?”
    “Not for that, no.”
    “But you’re going to arrest me,” Emilio said.
    “I don’t know. Were you two into drugs? Just tell me. Off the record. I’m not going to arrest you. I promise.”
    “No drugs. We were getting paid to smash cars.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “José and me were supposed to hang out up in one of them canyons up there and smash anybody that parked there.”
    “Just the two of you?”
    “There were some other guys, I guess. We had our own hours, you know. Anyways, we only had to smash four or five. No one ever came up there.”
    “Who paid you to do this?”
    “I don’t know. José got paid and he paid me. I was helping José.”
    “What canyon?”
    “I don’t know what it’s called.”
    “Niebla?” Ogden asked.
    “That sounds right.”
    Ogden started to walk away, then stopped. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

Fragua was eating piñon nuts like crazy, cracking and chewing and brushing the empty shells onto the floor of Ogden’s truck. Ogden looked at him and then at the mess.
    “You’re going to clean that up, right?” Ogden asked.
    “Clean up what? This is natural waste, bio-­stuff. You should be happy to have it in here. They’ll break down naturally and contribute to the ecosystem that is your truck.” He looked out the window. “I love early morning.”
    “I need to tell you, I found out something about José Marotta’s body,” Ogden said.
    “If you know, that’s fine,” Fragua said. “Let’s keep it just the way it is.”
    “You know.”
    Fragua looked ahead through the windshield.
    “How’d you find out?”
    “You told me. When you noticed the Marottas are Penitentes. Pretty much when the mother faked fainting when we told them their son’s body was missing. They never even called the station to find out if we’d found him.”
    “Mr. Detective.”
    “Enough said,” Fragua said.
    “Enough said.”
    “You say the Bickers land is up Niebla Canyon.”
    “The trail leads all the way to Mount Wheeler. My father and I used to hike it.”
    “You say somebody paid those boys to break windows?”
    “Yep.”
    “But not slash tires,” Fragua said.
    “That’s right.”
    “Pot farm,” Fragua said.
    “My guess.”
    After a couple of hours of hiking, Ogden stopped and looked at the rough trail. He pulled a topo map out of his pocket and studied it. “Okay, we leave the trail here.” They walked a half mile and then crossed an old logging road.
    “This ain’t on the map,” Ogden said.
    Fragua took a knee and studied the road. “Somebody uses it, though.”
    They followed the road about a mile and came to a clearing. “This could be it,” Ogden said.
    “Look at this,” Fragua said. He pointed to a hole that had been shoveled out, the dirt left in a pile beside it.
    “Here’s another one,” Ogden said. “And another.”
    There were dozens of small