The Guilty - Jason Pinter [79]
but had turned his back on the very institution he sought to
help.
"Ten years ago," Largo said, "I attempted to dig up the
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grave of William H. Bonney, also known as Billy the Kid. For
years I fought to do this, and fought to have the story covered
in the press. I wanted to inform the public of the travesty and
secrets that had been kept hidden for over a century. But
when you threaten the very sanctity of a legend--a legend that
goes right to the heart of an entire culture--you're not going
to make many friends."
I looked around, wondered if Tabby and Yorba Linda had
replaced all those friends he'd lost.
"Who tried to stop you?"
"The name Bill Richardson ring a bell?"
"As in governor of New Mexico Bill Richardson?"
"As in presidential candidate Bill Richardson. You think
he'd have a snowball's chance in Albuquerque without the
support of his fellow Southerners? You think anyone below
the Mason-Dixon line would be happy to have one of their
biggest legends--not to mention juiciest cash cows--proven
bogus?"
"I don't imagine that would make a whole lot of people
down there happy. But why did you want to exhume the body
of Billy the Kid? What would that have proved?"
Largo wet his upper lip with his tongue, slicked it back and
forth, bristling the gray hairs. He looked at me as if debating
whether to speak. "How much do you know about William H.
Bonney? And by that I mean the methods in which he died."
"I know he was shot in the back by Pat Garrett, and that
Garrett was a former riding mate of Bonney's. He was not a
member of the Regulators."
"No, Garrett was not a Regulator," Largo said. "Garrett
was a saloon keeper and small-time cattle rustler. To call him
a former 'mate' of Bonney's is patently false, another story
cooked up to give the legend bigger tits."
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"I also know Garrett became a minor celebrity after
killing the Kid, and published a book about the chase and
capture," I said.
At this moment Largo let out a deep belly laugh. The cats
circling his legs scattered. "A minor celebrity, you say? Certainly nowhere near as much of a celebrity as this Athena
Paradis, or David Loverne. Actually Patrick Garrett was one
of this country's very first victims of celebrity overexposure,
as both his tawdry book and sketchy methods in which he dispatched Mr. Bonney left him disgraced and broke."
"What do you mean, sketchy?" I asked.
"By sketchy, I mean that only a fool would believe that
Patrick Floyd Garrett killed William H. Bonney on July 14,
1881. The real Billy the Kid lived for many years after his
alleged death in Fort Sumner."
"Brushy Bill Roberts," I said.
Largo nodded. "The town of Fort Sumner would shrivel up
and die without the legend of Billy the Kid to wet its whistle.
As would most of the Southwest, considering how much of its
prosperity is built upon the house of cards that is the legend of
its outlaws. Billy the Kid is perhaps the single most important
card in that house. Pull it out, and the entire edifice crumbles."
"And you tried to pull it out."
"Yes, and you can imagine the good folks of New Mexico
did not take kindly to having their stock in trade jeopardized.
Yes, I did try. And rightfully so. But those god damn yellow
bureaucrats in Washington and down South stopped me.
Cowards are more afraid of the truth than they are of facing
the fact that they've been lying for over a hundred and twentyfive years."
"You want to dig up the body of Billy the Kid," I said, "and
do what with it?"
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"Take a sample of the DNA contained in the so-called grave
of Billy the Kid and compare it to DNA obtained from his birth
mother, Catherine Antrim, who is buried in Silver City."
"And if you're able to prove that the DNA from that grave
site doesn't match Catherine Antrim..."
"Then we'll know for sure that Billy the Kid was never
buried in Fort Sumner, and Brushy Bill wasn't the charlatan
folks would like to have you believe."
"So why didn't you go through with it?" I asked.
"Oh Lord, where to begin,"