Treasure Trail

Chapter 2: First Day Back to Work-2

They laughed.

“For a skinny cowpoke, you sure is heavy.”

“And you sure are hard.”

Gustavo squirmed a bit. “Hard?”

“I thought lying on top of a man would be…” Alfie rolled off. “Softer.”

“Lot’s-a hard livin’ made me rough, I suppose. Hey!” Gustavo pointed. “You done climbed up here with one of them daggum rocks in yer hand?” He gave Alfie a shove.

“I like ‘em.”

“Woulda been easier ta climb without it.”

Alfie tugged at the front of his britches. “I know.”

Gustavo started a fire. As soon as the flames were roaring, Alfie held up his rock to peer through and look at them.

“I think these rocks could be worth something.” Still taken by the beauty, he held it up to the moonlight, too. “Precious gems, maybe.”

“Ain’t no rock with worth around here except the gold ones. And you sure talk a lot.” Gustavo must have said that ten times on day one.

“I guess I’m grateful I finally got someone to talk to,” Alfie said. “Been kinda lonely all these months.”

“Consarn kid.” Gustavo grunted with a hearty stretch before lying back with his hands behind his head. “In that case, I guess I ain’t mind ya talkin’. Just don’t be mad if I fall asleep while yer doin’ it.”

“This early?”

“Sunday’s is fer restin’. Tomorr-a, we get back ta work.”

Alfie stretched out, too. “Bandit work?”

“Plottin’ and plannin’ comes first. Watchin’ and figurin’ out when to strike.”

“Oh.”

“Things is always lean fer a while between jobs. Some night ya might wish ya had snake when all we got to fry is crickets.”

Alfie grabbed hold of his gut.

“Eventually, if ya stick around, you’ll see I always find a way to git a little of what’s comin’ ta me.”

All that remembering, and somehow, Alfie still found himself only four steps up from the bottom of Miss Rose’s staircase.

“We should go sleep on top of the mesa,” he said.

Gustavo was shorter, too. At least when Alfie didn’t need to lean against the railing to stay more or less upright. “I fer sure couldn’t haul your drunk pretend cowpoke ass up there by myself.”

“Put your arm across my shoulder.” Miss Rose offered aid.

“You sure are pretty.” Her eyes reminded Alfie of the special rocks found near the mesa, too. So did her skin, different from Gustavo’s, but also beautiful and brown. She was little, not tall, not broad, except for her chest. Somehow, she was strong enough, though, to hoist Alfie along when working with Gustavo. In his inebriated state, Alfie imagined them floating, lifted by Miss Rose’s voluminous frock like some sort of high-fashion wearable hot air balloon. The notion made him giddy, and when he smiled, Miss Rose smiled back. Hers faded quickly, as she and Gustavo both spun around toward the front entrance when the door suddenly burst open.

Even fuzzy in the brain, Alfie was aware.

“You on the lam, bandito?” Rose asked.

It was just an already inebriated customer and his gal ready to dance. They even provided their own off-key melody that drowned out the piano.

“Someone’s always on my tail fer somethin’ or other, Rose. That matter?” Gustavo dug into his pocket and tossed her a shiny gold coin.

“I’d let you stay here for free.” Miss Rose chomped down on the edge to test its authenticity. “But payment keeps my mouth shut.”

“Lucky fer me I got paid today, then. First day back in the saddle, as the sayin’ goes.”

“Word around here was you were in jail up in the mountains. You looking to get back there? Only one kinda job pays on the first day.”

Gustavo took off his hat and rubbed at his matted raven locks. “Funny thing about jailers. They’s like a mean drunk sometimes who brings home a poor mangy dog. First time it bites ‘em, they throw it back on the street to fend fer itself rather than be bothered ta feed it. I laid low a good while with the boy ta let things settle.”

“He’s your sidekick, now?”

“He’s my…My Alfie.”

“I just want you to be careful, Gustavo.” Miss Rose’s smile looked as soft as the skin on her arm where it touched Alfie’s cheek.

“I gotta be, I guess. Now that there’s two of us.”

“Good. Let’s get you and your Alfie upstairs.”

The rustle of satin, lace and several layers of petticoats was somehow loud enough to hear above the din as Rose sashayed up several steps ahead. A knock on one of the many doors at the top of the stairs brought a stranger’s assistance.

“Can you help Gustavo get that one to the end of the hall.” When Miss Rose pointed at Alfie, he pointed back.

“Sure thing.” The stranger took Alfie under one arm.

“Thanks, Virgil.”

“Thanks Virgil.” Alfie parroted Miss Rose’s appreciation then offered some to her. “You’re the best lady boss these parts have ever seen.”

“And that phony cowboy drawl you put on is coming out with a rot-gut slur and a hundred proof vapor I can almost see.” Miss Rose waved it or another odor away. “Soon as we get you two to a room, someone’ll bring in water for a bath.”

“That a gentle hint?” Gustavo asked.

“You smell like the belly of an armadillo that slithered through horseshit. The other one smells like the shit.”

“I forgit. You ain’t do gentle, Rose.” Her brush against Gustavo’s cheek and then Alfie’s proved otherwise.

“Sometimes in actions, never in words.” She giggled when Gustavo leaned closer to plant a kiss on her cheek. “Now let Virgil get you out of my upstairs foyer and behind a closed door before you clear out the joint.”

* * * *

“So, Abuelita Abril emailed that part of the old story last night.” Memo put his phone on the nightstand beside the bed.

Renovated in 2018, just before August moved in, his apartment was mostly white and gray, with none of the colorful frill or 1800s opulence of Miss Rose’s place. There were blinds on the windows, no drapes, and there certainly wasn’t room for a piano.

“I think you might have embellished some,” August said.

It was barely light outside. The morning was starting off gray. The alarm had gone off ten minutes earlier, but August and Memo had been awake over an hour.

“Maybe.” Memo sat up and threw back to covers. “The story got cut short.” He scooched to the edge of the mattress. “Abuelita always has to rush off. No matter what time of day or night we talk, she’ll say the cat wanted in or out, or something on the stove’s about to boil over. Those things must happen when she’s typing, too.”

August chuckled and reached for Memo’s bare arm. “Don’t go.”

Allowing capture long enough to grab a fistful of wild hair, Memo secured it with the rubber band he slipped off his wrist. “I have to feed you before you head to the firehouse. Breakfast burrito?”

“Sounds delicious.” August watched Memo walk the few steps to the fridge. Kitchen, living room, bedroom, three rooms were pretty much one. “Though nowhere near as delicious as you with no clothes on.”

Flesh and hairiness, for a while, there was the cross nestled in a thick patch between Memo’s pecs. No more. He’d put it back on when the orderly at the hospital returned his personal belongings days after the bookstore fire. Then, the first night home, either accidentally or on purpose, it had gotten torn off when Memo was drying off in front of the mirror after a shared bath.

“Careful, there.” August had picked it up off the floor. “The clasp broke.”

Memo took it and dropped it into the drawer where wrapped bars of soap and toothpaste were stored.

“We’ll get it fixed next time we go out. Or get a new chain.”

“Whatever.”

August had mentioned the necklace several more times since that night. Weeks later, it was still in the bathroom drawer. He thought about going for it now, but met Memo at the refrigerator instead, where he put his lips to some sweat at the back of Memo’s neck. “Whatcha thinkin’?”

When Memo touched October 10 on the poster-size twelve month calendar taped to the refrigerator door, August knew.

First Day Back to Work.

“Remember…” He gently moved Memo’s fingers up past October, June, and January, past the year and the picture of two puppies tugging a rope above it, up to where another smaller sheet of paper was affixed with a firefighter’s helmet magnet. Every phone number August could think of was written there. “Mom, my brothers, Tasha, the firehouse, me…Call any one of us if you need to. Any time. All day long.”

“Mamá offered to come sit with me.” Memo turned and took a deep breath August could feel on the exhale. “But I have to get used to being alone eventually.”

“Right. Here or back at your office at the church.” As gentle as August tried to be, his not so subtle nudge received a scowl.

“Hey.” Memo’s smile was less genuine. “Even splitting the pilfered gold coins with CJ, I could potentially end up with enough to cover six months of what my salary used to be.” He finally opened the refrigerator for eggs. “Maybe I can even retire.”

“A job isn’t always just about income.”

“True.” Memo’s one syllable response was as good as three, “Moving on…”

“Your abuela doesn’t have an exact amount?”

“Nope.” Memo brushed against August’s hip on the way to the stove. “Two grand per coin all the way up to maybe thirty-five or forty.”

“If the internet’s believable.” None of this was new information. August and Memo had tried to suss out the coins’ value during Memo’s first conversation with his grandmother in fifteen years. Once Abril had expressed her gratitude for Memo’s recovery, her apologies for allowing the rift between them to last so long, and the love she swore never went away, she spoke of the family inheritance. Photos of the coins she sent uncovered the same information she’d already conveyed. “I wonder why your abuelita is suddenly in a hurry to get rid of them.”

“She mentioned something about a curse, for starters. I wonder if she just came across them. Like they were stashed away. Hidden or something. CJ’s on the fence, unsure if they want in or not.”

A flight to Arizona to visit Abril had been booked for October 31, just three weeks away. Curse, schmurse! Memo seemed totally unfazed by talk of bad luck, the hex of filthy lucre, or God’s wrath. Of course, Memo wasn’t acting like himself, like the man August had come to know last April, May, June, July, August, and September. On the other hand, the trip west was the only thing to foster excitement outside the bedroom in weeks. Thankfully, that hadn’t waned.