Beautiful Sacrifice

cynically.
    In that, the gallery wasn’t so different from the gory basement. Just better lighting.
    A woman approached, a thin blonde who had pushed ordinary good looks as far as she could with skillful makeup and clothing. She was seductive, but kept well back from the edge of the cliff called trashy. Green eyes, unlikely boobs for such a thin frame, artfully cut hair, expensive-looking clothes, and gold jewelry with pre-Columbian designs.
    “I’m Ms. Arkan. If you have any questions, I’m at your disposal.”
    “Thank you,” Hunter said. “Right now we just want to look around.”
    Ms. Arkan nodded and went back to a small, elegant desk tucked against the far wall. In the corner nearest the door, a man stood quietly, watching nothing and everything.
    “Classy rent-a-cop,” Jase murmured. “I’ll bet he’s Houston PD working a second shift to put tortillas and beans on the table.”
    “Hope so. That would mean that he knows how to use the gun that’s under his coat.”
    Lina tried to be invisible. Unlike her mother, she didn’t make a habit of trolling pre-Columbian sales galleries. Guilt by association was an established truth in academia.
    Wandering off, Jase stared at a breastplate made of whatappeared to be solid gold. The pectoral and abdominal muscles were suggested by squared-off shapes that managed to be graceful. The pedestal holding the breastplate spun slowly, like a runway model strutting haute couture.
    “This thing is giving me a boner,” Jase whispered after Hunter wandered over. “Is that normal?”
    “If it lasts more than four hours, call a doctor.”
    Jase snickered.
    Under his breath, Hunter muttered something about triumph, subjugation, and plunder. He would rather have seen the artifacts for sale in a back alley in Cozumel. But that was his prejudice. Smart people with money didn’t go into a dark alley. They came to places like this and paid for the lighting and protection.
    More gold and silver objects—figurines and jewelry—were carefully displayed against black velvet with pinpoint spotlights shining down, making each piece appear special, breathtakingly unique in its perfection.
    “Nothing familiar here,” Jase said very quietly.
    “There’s some pottery where Lina is standing. Masks, too.”
    Slowly both men worked their way through the gallery aisles to where Lina was. Along the way they saw ancient jewelry, cloth, pottery in striking shapes, and figurines in everything from gold to clay. New World jade gleamed with ancient reverence. In another aisle there were chunks of limestone with broken pre-Columbian designs etched into them.
    Jase might not have had a Ph.D., but he was a long way from stupid. Nowhere did he see anything that made his professional instincts quiver. Knives, yes. Obsidian, occasionally. But no knife was made from a single piece of obsidian. Masks, yes, many of them. One had a few obsidian inlays, as well as jade and what could have been shell. But no mask had enough obsidian to come close to the one in the photos. Pieces of cloth, yes, but no stained bundles. The only artifacts that gave him pause were in a long case. Clay censers of various degrees of intricacy were illuminated from within.
    “Nope,” Hunter said softly.
    “Not even close?”
    “Right function. Wrong time and design.”
    “Damn. I haven’t seen anything useful. Have you?” Jase asked.
    “Not yet.”
    As the men drew close to Lina, she lifted an eyebrow questioningly.
    “Damn few Late Terminal Classic Yucatec Maya artifacts,” Hunter said.
    “I’m glad you said it,” Jase muttered. “I couldn’t have.”
    Lina almost smiled. “Exactly. Artifacts from that place and time period aren’t thick on any ground, especially high-end galleries. My mother’s galleries have the most and the best of that type of artifacts, yet she was asking me if I’d heard anything about some spectacular new artifacts.”
    Silence, then Jase nodded glumly. “Point made. I’m outta here. I’ve got better ways to waste my time.”
    “Philistine,” Hunter said.
    “Want to see my T-shirt?” Jase asked.
    “What about the Happy Meal, boy wonder?” Hunter retorted.
    “I’m getting that real soon. Later, old man. Or sooner if you come up with anything useful.”
    Jase headed out.
    Shaking her head, Lina looked at Hunter. “Are you two always like that?”
    “Like what?”
    “Pushing and shoving and loving it.”
    “Ever since we met. He was four and I was a month older. I