Jim fake-leaves Push as he so often does, getting right to the town border (one stoplight away, I thought, instead of these ninety dramatic mile markers back into the desert) before making his Next Big Discovery and figuring that he needs to just turn and go back after all. For the third time. In as many weeks. This time, he flips open the glove compartment to find his monogrammed handkerchief with a map hand-drawn on it. The map indicates Demonhead Flats, a riverbed, a number of paces, and a big red X. He's going to find treasure! But first he's going to have to dig through a positively not-drawn-to-scale amount of unseemly desert snot. Or so it indicates there on the map.
Jim drives straight for Pyre For Hire, pulling up in front and asking the two men if he can borrow one of their shovels for "government business." He flashes the badge, and one man tells the other to "check on Caleb." A squat man -- possessing an interesting Polito-esque quality himself, which seems to be going around -- puts his face against the window that peers into Polito 2.0's final burning place. Jim's face appears next to it, and in Spanish -- with subtitles -- the man explains that "there are certain aboriginal tribes who believe we remain conscious in our bodies when we die." Fire? Walk with me.
Being an offensive and insensitive white man in a way that could be made only worse by Jim slamming the man over the head with his own shovel and yelling, "I Hopi one day your story will end" and then busting for his car, Jim grabs one of the shovels and bails. He makes for Demonhead Flats once more, digging furiously while the previouslys (Bodnick, Polito 2.0, Taudrey) sear his mind yet again. He digs and digs, but is suddenly stopped by the voice of Sheriff Relaxo coming from above the hole, bidding him greeting with, "Hello, Taxman. Find something? I heard you been stealing shovels." Jim, stuck in the hole, keeps digging until -- oops -- he finds a dead body with a serpent tattooed across its forearm. Cut instantly to Jim having a dream that he's in the pyre himself, and he comes to in a prison cell that looks like he's going to tap the walls for amusement before busting out in a whimsical musical number starring Björk and Peter Stormare. I'll give anything for that not to happen. Again. Dawn sits above him in the cell, reading him his rights in a very cutesy fashion. He asks what the charge is, and we mutter it with her: "Well, murder, of course." He groggily tries to explain that he was digging for, "I think, money." Dawn thinks that silly, asking, "If there were any money, where did it come from? And more importantly, where is it now?" Cut to Bodnick's casket being lowered into a hole in the ground. Oh, puh-leeze. Bodnick is alive, the money is in the coffin, the tattoo is ripped off from Memento, and, in the true spirit of that movie and the ideas stolen herein, Oswald Wilkes raped and murdered my wife.