Just Deserts

Everyone was waiting for the Old Man to die.

The neighbors knew he was loaded. His family knew he was loaded. Three exes and double handfuls of bratty step-kids with all their attendant harpies knew it.

They descended on the house as soon as the ambulance pulled away. I watched from the privacy of my own lawn, martini in hand, and the old man's lawyer joined me. He brought his own chair and thermos to watch the show.

I gave the lawyer lots of side eye. He was sipping contentedly, listening to the crashes and smashes coming from next door. “Uhh, aren't you supposed to be stopping this? Rules, will, laws and crap?”

He just smiled into his open thermos, and I could see the fumes rising in the late summer heat. Must've been the good stuff with a splash of cranberry for color. “Sherriff's on his way, with a bunch of deputies who need practice. It's not like they'll find the map in the house anyway. I should know.”

“What? Map?”

He chuckled, slurped more Grey Goose. I could smell it now. “Yep. Old coot was a rockhound since he was a kid. I grew up with him, you know? He found some old forgotten treasure out there, would always claim he found pockets of turquoise here or there, or panned for gold, or went into the old silver mines and found a rich vein. Nope, he'd just go out and grab some bullion, bring it back, melt it down. Untraceable, so it can't be claimed and confiscated. He'd hand it off to me to sell, I kept a portion, he got the rest. So any 'riches' these vultures think they'll finding are about to go – oh, here they come. Later than I expected. I'm drunker than I thought.”

Sure enough, they came in quiet and dark. And they had such fun doing the sneaky-creep to surround the house, to take everyone in. Trespassing, breaking and entering, possession of burglary tools, burglary, attemped grand theft, wanton destruction, being total jerkwads. I really hope the last charge sticks, because I'd seen how miserable these people were to the guy over the years. Living next door to a mysterious recluse, I've spent more afternoons than I care to admit in this exact position, drinking more gin and vermouth than is healthy for my liver, listening to the horrid yelling he'd had to endure. And then they'd leave, screaming goblins in tow, when they got nothing.

And me and the lawyer watched it all. The really interesting moment was the one where they actually had to drag the last vulture out, literally kicking and screaming. Not screaming so the neighborhood could hear, which was his usual M.O., but almost pleading: “Nooo, I just found it! I found his map! Lemme have it, it's mine, I found it, I'll share it with you!”

The lawyer chuckled on that one. “Adding resisting arrest and bribery to that one, I'm gonna have a field day!” But he made no move to get up and secure the alleged copy, and I kept quiet.

See, I have a thing for treasure. I've always wanted to find one. Yes, I followed the whole Finn thing quite closely, and before that, the Treasure's Trove Project. It all goes back to Kit Williams and that dratted Masquerade book. I have all of them, all the books, arranged on a special shelf in my home office.

Pirate caches, lost objects d'art, Oak Island. Steamboat Arabia, Titanic, Atocha. I love it all.

The lawyer finally had to get up and chat with the officers, and I helped him get out of his chair. They took lots of notes on his observations, they came over to talk to me about mine, lots of notes. Eventually the cars trundled off with their prizes, and the lawyer boarded up the house as best he could.

He came back at the end to pick up his chair, and he looked a lot more sober than before. Hard work nailing plywood over doors and windows will do that. But he looked troubled when he saw my face. “Look, I may have said too much. I know that look. Just – don't. Please. Don't. Whatever you're thinking, let it go. I'm telling you, I know. It's not worth it. I mean it. Just, look, just don't.” And he swung into his BMW and drove away.

I was thinking it all right.

This could be my only chance to actually find a real treasure! The lawyer said it was real!

And he also told me not to. I know it wasn't jealousy, I know what that looks like, I watched that emotion play out over and over, over the fence. This was more like... Caution? Warning?

I thought about it.

And I snuck over, in the middle of the night, and checked the back door. Lawyering doesn't make you a good carpenter, that's for sure.

Getting in was child's play. But I'm not stupid, I went in with an infrared flashlight and visor. I didn't want to get caught.

I didn't mess with stuff, but let me tell you, they trashed the place. They weren't looking to grab stuff to sell, they were smashing everything. Looking for the treasure map, I'm guessing. So where would it be?

I doubted the kitchen, the living room. Too close to outside contact. I snuck up the stairs. Half the bannisters were destroyed, looked like someone kicked them to flinders. Looking for a hollow one?

It was on the floor of his bedroom, of course. It was easy.

Too easy?

I grabbed it and got out of there. And put the wood back in place, and jammed the nails back in as quietly as possible.

I learned the show wasn't over very quickly. I shouldn't have retired my chair so early. I got another, and watched the parade unfold.

Apparently, each and every person was released individually. And each and every one, the idiots came back. And not quietly! They would bash in the front door, go rummaging, and run out clutching a piece of paper while I sat there still calling the cops. They'd get followup visits, too, I'm sure, they weren't hard to identify.

Two or three a week, thereabouts. Then the trickle of vultures slowed, stopped.

The lawyer came back with a big dumpster, and cleaned out the place.

I was waiting on the lawn with my own extra chair when he took a break. He sighed as he eased into it, opening his thermos. We silently toasted each other and drank in silence for a while.

“How goes it?” I asked casually, too casually.

“Interesting, in the ominous sense of the term.”

“Oh?”

“Lessons in futility, I tell you. Just when they get released from jail, back in after a day with new B&E charges. I knew they'd all come back. That's why I installed a small camera on the front door.”

I tried to hide my reaction. I hoped it was only the front door! “What happened?”

“What I expected. They got out, they came and screamed at me, I told them the will's rock solid and they're out. They screamed some more, sometimes I called the sheriff to drag them out. And then the camera says they drove here, broke in, and ran out. I'd come in and fix the door, I think you were at work at the time. Of course I'm doing that on the clock. And then they all vanished.”

I almost spit out my drink. “What?”

“Yeah. Trial's coming up, I jumped through the hoops to have the whole mess of them charged together, and they've all dropped off the face of the earth.”

“That's... crazy.”

“It's like you've met 'em.”

“Not introduced formally. The old man wasn't that stupid.”

“He was lots smarter than anyone gave him credit for. Except falling in love, he was a mess there. Always went for the sob stories that turned into harpies with rotten kids. Never married them, though, thank goodness. Thought being generous to give them space to raise kids was good, till they tried to bleed him dry. Then I'd help him kick 'em out. Well, the ones who'll benefit the most now are the curators at the state museum, they've been salivating over his mineral collection for years. It's been in storage, and he'd visit it just to pet them and talk to them like old friends. Those rocks were better friends than his nutzy fam, that's for sure. Greedy bloodsucking lampreys.”

This was coming from a lawyer. That's harsh, people.

“He even invited me along sometimes, to the unit. He allowed me to record him as he was telling me the stories of what came from where. I'm making certain sure that a recording is going to the museum, for them to play in the collection room. I'm thinking of commissioning a display room, naming it after him.”

“You admired him a lot.”

“More than I told him. I hope he knew.”

“Look, I lived aside of him for, what, thirty years? We didn't talk much, though I always said hello. You had whole conversations with him, actually got together and talked and stuff. He cared about you, man.”

“Thanks, I needed that.” He took another swig, put the rest away. “I'm almost finished getting the trash out, I'll send in the contractors to fix the place up to sell. Hopefully your new neighbors won't be so 'exciting.' But here's some advice: just don't. Don't. Please.” He threw me that troubled look again, and trudged back to pick up the last pieces of a life.

I knew what he was talking about. He knew.

But six months later I found myself packing my car with supplies and driving off. The new neighbors, a nice family, was moving in next door and it gave them more room to maneuver. The kids were cute.

Of course I'd been studying the map. Pretty straightforward, looked like his personal copy made for himself as a reminder. Not like the pirate maps, just some drawings that show unusual formations and points out dangerous spots, like arroyos and box canyons. Nasty things, especially in the rainy season.

Well, I guess they are. I looked up some of the stuff, not that I've ever been out there. But I kept up on Finn's treasure, and the people seemed pretty smart, and still five died. I didn't want to do anything stupid, you know?

I didn't realize the road would run out. And there was no way in bleep I was going to get my car any closer. In an SUV, maybe. Or not.

Now what?

The tracks showed I wasn't the only one who had the same problem.

I have a good phone plan. I have an awesome hotspot, got directions to the nearest town. Over a good plate of scrambled eggs and hash, chatting with the locals, I learned that there's a guy who'll rent out some of his mules to rock hounds.

So I paid him a visit.

He laughed.

“Oh, another one from Center City? I thought we were done with the pack of jackals.”

I was surprised. “What do you mean, another one?”

“Oh, you're not chasing some fake treasure map that the old man handed out?”

“Fake?” A certain paper inside my inner pocket suddenly seemed very warm against my chest.

“Yeah. I'll miss the old man, that's for sure. I guess he's dead, since every single parasitic worm that crawled out of the woodwork claimed to be his heir?”

“Yeah, I'm the next door neighbor. Well, was. Wait, fakes?”

“All the same map, all the same markings. Sure I rented them some mules, the stupid greenhorns. They hop on, they take off. Look, my mules came back, and the people didn't. My mules are smarter than those fools. One even left in flip flops! I don't know what the old man set up out there, but it's gotta be a trap. I'm kinda afraid to go out there now, I think the desert may be littered with city people. It ain't pretty, man, the desert doesn't screw around if you're not prepared.”

“Well, I've got water and lots of freeze dried supplies. I always admired him, you know? I just want to see if the treasure's real, I've always wanted to find one.”

“Not like this.” He shook his head. “Look, you want to explore some of the rock hounding sites? Let's go, I'll lead you out. Show you some cool stuff. Bring back some awesome samples. But if you go out alone, I don't think you're coming back. None of the others did. The old man wasn't vindictive, but there's something really off about this whole thing. Drop it, man, is it worth your life?”

I almost took him up on it. It was real close. But I remembered the map I had was old and rough, and I'd bet it was the original. I shook my head, but it took some thinking.

“Well, I tried. Your funeral, man. Here, let me show you my mules, and how you take care of them. And you'd better take real good care of them, or they'll come back and leave you there. Those other morons wouldn't listen, but you're not like them. I wish you'd reconsider...”

I headed out the next morning.

It was amazing out there. The desert is beautiful in the fall. No leaves turning, of course, there's no leaves, but there's beauty out there all the same.

I followed the map. I had a compass, a topographic map, and GPS on my phone. A tent, food and water, and plenty of fodder for the mules. The guy who rented me the mules gave me another map, which showed where to get water for them. There were places, if you knew where to look. This was not information he'd given to the others, but he also expected them to return after a day or two.

Well, after a week, I wasn't even close to the first landmark on the map. And I began to worry, and figured out that this might have been a bad idea.

I finally got to the first marker on Day Ten, but fodder was low. I didn't have enough to get back out.

Three days later, I found the second, then the third. Oh, so this map ws deliberately deceptive. Or maybe the old man made stops here and there, collecting minerals? There were small dots on the map that might be stains, or maybe little hat mines.

But then the fodder ran out, and the mules were gone when I woke up. The hoofprints clearly showed they'd taken off for their barn.

I was in the shadow of the fourth marker, and I was in deep trouble.

Well, at that point, I could see the fifth and final through a gap in the forth. I made decisions about what to take with me, buried the rest at the base of the rock, and headed out. What else was there to do? No way I was going to make it back if I tried walking.

I got there by midday. A notch in the desert, with nothing else for miles but more rocks and little mesquite bushes here and there. I would have missed it entirely except for the line-of-sight clue.

My phone was dead, because of course I forgot to charge it. And how would I recharge it out here anyway? Lightning strike?

The notch was not so easy to climb through, but when I did, my jaw dropped.

There was a little box canyon hidden there. Overhanging rocks even kept it hidden from the sky.

And there was a horrible smell coming from the bottom.

I made my way down, not terribly thrilled by what I'd find, but I kinda knew.

The whole family. All of them.

They'd even brought the kids.

Some had even resorted to – no, I don't want to think about that. I could see the evidence. I get it, desperation makes you do drastic stuff, but.... wow. Ugh.

It was awful.

I deposited my breakfast among the bodies, rinsed my mouth with a tiny bit of water from my bottle.

That's when I saw the message, carved in the rock:

SUCKERS. THAT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR BEING GREEDY. ONLY MY LAWYER HAS THE REAL MAP, AND HE WAS INSTRUCTED TO PLANT FAKE ONES. YOU'RE NOT EVEN CLOSE.

You get fatalistic real fast when you realize you're out of options.

Staring across the corpses, I wasn't taking it all in. I saw bones sticking out of the sand near the far wall, but they looked very old. I went over to investigate, pulled out my pocket shovel. It didn't take long to clear the skeleton to the chest, with its faded U.S. Cavalry coat. Looking over, I could see the horse bones stacked neatly near the remains of a fire circle and soot.

The smell was overwhelming.

I made a decision.

I wanted away from this graveyard, and the stench, and the thought of what dying here among them would do to what little humanity I had left. Spend eternity with their ghosts? No freaking way.

I walked out, and back to the fourth marker.

I slept surprisingly well that night. Next morning, I wrote a note on a small piece of paper, put it in an empty water bottle, buried it when I dug up my supplies. I marked the spot with a big grease pencil arrow as a warning to anyone else.

And then I tried walking home with as much food and water as I could carry.

If you're reading this, you know I didn't make it. I'd brought a journal on the off chance it would help my memoirs. The fake map's in the back. Don't follow it, it leads to death. Just know that I walked as far as I could, back the way I'd come, loving this deadly grave I'd dug for myself. The sky is so blue, and it goes on forever, and the sunsets will break your heart. The night sky, I just can't describe it all. It's amazing.

I can imagine that lawyer, sipping his cranberry-spritzed Grey Goose in his office, and feeling a bit sorry for me. He tried to warn me, he did. And I didn't listen. I wonder what he'll do with his map. And I'm sure he'll get back home if he ever chooses to follow it.

You get poetic as death approaches. But I've got no more paper to write it all out. It's beautiful. It's all beautiful.

There's a coyote following me, and there are vultures gathering. And I'm nowhere near the second marker, and my water's gone. If they leave enough of me to bury, let this be my epitaph:

Engulfed in the desert's parched silence, I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.