All Maps Are Fiction Page 6

  “Huh? What? Who? You been talking to her about me? What are you talking about?”

  “Only kidding, Gabby. Let me explain an idea for a new product. I’m trying to convince my boss we could come up with a whole new line of puzzles.”

  Aston explained her idea: The customer sends in an address or picture of some special spot for the company to create a puzzle around. “We come up with a whimsey from their picture, a bird they saw, smily face, whatever. And then we cut the outside edges the same shape as the whimsey so the solid or straight outside lines are missing. They’ll have to start with the whimsey and essentially work the puzzle from the center out, not outside in. We could—”

  “Wait. You mean I could send you a photo or address of this place and you’d make a puzzle, like this? Like an aerial photo? With maybe a wheelchair for the whimsey? And the outside shape would be a wheelchair, too?”

  “Right. And—”

  “A photo of any place?”

  “Yep. We—”

  “You mean, like the spot in the Grand Canyon where I lost my virginity, for example?”

  “For example. You know, Gabby, for an old guy, you apparently have a lot of ginger in your system.”

  “Not a lot, girl. I just save it for the right time.”

  Aston laughed and tipped back, grabbing at the edge of the bench before she toppled to the ground. When she caught her breath she said, “In the case of the Grand Canyon adventure you mentioned, we’d probably be safe with a whimsey in the shape of a rattle snake. Give me another idea of a spot.”

  Gabby turned slightly and looked at the ground. His eyes moved as if following some bug. She noticed that he was biting on his lip, occasionally looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

  “Hey, I ain’t asking you for the location of where you buried the bodies when you were a bad guy,” Aston said and acted like she was about to punch him on the arm.

  He thought about the mysterious package of maps he had received not long ago. “Then, what about a spot where there’s some treasure buried, instead?” he said, and move to be out of her arm’s reach.

  Phyllis felt the cell phone in her pocket vibrate. Damned robocall, she thought. This time, however, the area code looked familiar. Someplace out west. Caller ID said, ‘Friend.’ When the ringing went beyond four she thought it might be real and decided to answer.

  “What?” she said.

  “Hey, girl, you doin’ okay?”

  “Who is this?”

  Starke coughed and cleared his throat. “Your one and only--“

  “Holy shit! Russell, is this really you?”

  “Like I said, ‘Your one and only.’ How you was, gal?”

  “I’ll be switched. Well, if you’re thinking of romance, you’re a bit late.”

  Starke coughed and laughed until Phyllis feared the man on the other end of the line might pass out. “I can’t believe this. What are you up to, Russell? Your supposed to be dead, you know.”

  “Well, gal, I’m about as close as I can get to it and still drink beer. I’m making my last swirl around the drain out here and I’m thinking it’s about pay-back time.”

  “Ha. Just ‘cause you gave me a million bucks you think you can make demands?”

  Starke had another coughing session. “Always did think you were about the sharpest tool in the shed, gal. I’m just thinkin’ it was about time to call in a favor is all. Involves some people from back in the day.”

  “Let’s not talk about your previous girl friends.” Phyllis glanced out the window and imagined she was looking at giant saguaro cacti, not maple trees. She listened to static on the line and waited for him to say something.

  “Long time ago, friend. Long time.”

  “Good to know you’re still mostly alive, Russell.”

  “Well, that’s part of why I called. The other part is that I’m looking to have a bit more fun in my life and was thinking about twisting the tiger’s tail a bit tighter than I have been.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I sent your friend, Gabby Conrad, some maps and things, along with my phone number, a week or so ago. He never acknowledged receipt of the stuff. I was wondering if he ever mentioned it to you?”

  “Nope. Wait. How do you know that I know Gabby Conrad? And how in the hell do you know him? There’s a lot of unanswered questions here. Besides, we don’t waste energy on a lot of pillow talk around here.”

  That started Starke off on another coughing fit. “You gotta stop that, gal, or I won’t live long enough to finish this call. You ever wonder where I got my money from?”

  “No. I just figured it was not a good idea to look the gift horse in the mouth—whatever that means. You know I’m grateful Russell, I am truly grateful, for a lot of reasons. Never had the chance to properly thank you. So what’s going on, here?”

  Starke told her of how he got his money running drugs and contraband stuff between Mexico and various places in the states, which she suspected. His clients were usually high-rollers who rarely asked for receipts of delivery. So, from time to time, paying himself a bonus seemed appropriate. When he needed cash he would dig up his part of some stash and convert it into dollars.

  “It’s not the life I planned, but it was the life I’ve had. So now, there’s a whole lot of stuff buried that could be converted into cash and do a whole lot of people some good. But I don’t need it and ain’t able to do much of anything. So I thought, maybe I could entice old Gabby into a treasure hunt. He was always one to like a mystery.”

  Phyllis turned her back to the two aides that had entered the room. She lowered her voice. “So, why are you calling me?”

  “If there’s one thing that old buzzard might enjoy more than solving mysteries, it’s showing ladies how smart he is.”

  Phyllis thought about Gabby’s obsession with jigsaw puzzles and how he liked to show the finished work to her and the aides. “So you want me to have him call you?”

  “Naw. I want you to get him interested in those maps I sent so he’ll use that brain of his for something other than watching television, or whatever it is he does with his time.”

  Phyllis laughed. “He doesn’t even know how to turn the TV on. He spends every waking minute doing jigsaw puzzles. Can’t say he’s in shape to do much treasure hunting, either.”

  “Not surprised. One more thing, Phyllis. Don’t know if you know him but you could find out for me. How did Joe Yates’ boy turn out?”

  Phyllis watched the maintenance men repairing a hole in the fence at the back of the property. “ In fact, Gabby mentioned something about that company and the kid just the other night. Well, he’s just fine, Russell. The kid runs your old company, or what used to be your company.”

  Starke was silent. “Good to know. If there’s anything you need, you have my cellphone number now so don’t hesitate to call. And if I don’t answer, change the last digit in the sequence of my number to ‘one’ and you’ll get my nephew. He’s a good kid. Seems to have inherited his uncle’s sense of irresponsibility, though.”

  “You take care, Russell. The world needs more irresponsible people like you.”

  The line went dead. Phyllis looked out the window and thought, what the hell was that all about?

  It was still dark in the room. Phyllis looked passed his shoulder and could see light beginning to slip in beneath the blinds of her east-facing window. This was the part of the day she enjoyed most, when she could lie here with him, tangled like two spoons dropped in the silverware drawer.

  “You thinking about getting up?” Gabby said.

  “Sort of. But first I think we have to talk,” she said and rubbed the back of his head as if petting a dog.

  Gabby raised and twisted to be able to see her face. “Morning, Phyllis,” he said and turned back to look out the window. “Looks like the yolk running out of a crack in an
egg this morning, doesn’t it?”

  “Morning, Randal. Yes, it does. Sleep well?”

  “Yeah, always better when I’m in your room.”

  Phyllis smiled as the morning light brightened. “Randal, may I ask you something?”

  “Anything, except the names of my first four wives.”

  “Ha, I can guess why there were four. I was wondering how you happened to settle in here, at Bright Horizons. You lived out west, didn’t you?”

  “Well, there’s an easy answer and a not-so-easy answer,” he said, unable to look at her. “Three, no, maybe four, years ago I had a bit more than pocket change in my pocket, and no place to go after my house in Denver was sold from underneath me by wife number five. Or was it number six? Anyway, I knew, or thought I knew, some folks here in Cleveland, so I came here.”

  She touched his ear. “So, is that the easy or the not-so-easy answer?”

  “Both, I suppose. Shoulda called ahead. When I got here, most of the people I thought I knew were either moved away or dead. I was in pretty bad shape in those days, mentally. Strange how things happen, but I was in this dive bar over on the west side one night and I spots an old acquaintance sitting at the bar. The guy’d been a flyer, friend of Yates and Starke. I knew him from the old days. We had a couple beers, I cried on his shoulder about being homeless. He got tired of it and went back and talked with some other guy who’d been sitting in the shadows. Before he left, though, he walked back over to me and suggested I check out this place out here in the sticks. He said I’d meet some real characters, along with lots of nice people who lived here. I had nothing better to do so I came over here to see what was what. And, in your case, he was right,” Gabby said and rolled over to look at her.

  “Huh.” Phyllis hesitated and looked out the window. “I dreamt about us again last night Randal. We were on vacation someplace. A place with a long, sandy beach.”

  Gabby turned away. “In your dreams, my lady, in your dreams. You know I don’t like water, unless it’s branch water, not the kind that comes in oceans.”

  “Dreams do come true, my friend.” Phyllis exhaled. “Penny for your thoughts this morning. Or, has the price gone up?”

  “Not for you, Phyllis. Special senior discount on Sundays for anyone with silver in her hair and gold in her heart.”

  “Oh sir, how you talk.”

  Gabby looked around the dimly lit room. “It’s not so much a thought I got for sale this morning. More like a secret. Actually, it’s a question I’m peddling, if you can afford the price.”

  “I’m good at secrets, and I have lots of money.”

  He told her about the folder of maps he had received from an anonymous source, whom he suspected was Starke who was allegedly dead.

  “I took a quick look at them. Old maps from places out in Arizona or Utah, maybe. Didn’t make sense. Got me thinking about the good times I had out there.”

  Phyllis smiled and thought, this might not be as hard as she imagined. “What do you plan to do with them? Those maps.”

  “Well, that’s the strange thing. You know I’ve been talking with that young gal from Tree Top Flyers Puzzles. She’s talking about making puzzles from maps or something for people. Places that show where they vacationed, maybe. I’m wondering if I should give her one of the maps to make a puzzle for me. But I’m curious about why Starke, if it was him, sent me those maps.”

  Phyllis gave him a kiss on the back of his neck. “Okay, mister, you told me how you got here from Denver, now tell me the rest of your life story.”

  “Might not be clear about the time of some things, only the places where things happened. Plus, I’m not real sure where this is going to end.”

  “Fair enough. Plus, it’s easier to change the past than the future, I suspect.”

  “Back in the late 60s, while I was with the DEA, my brother, the one with the brains, was a mining engineer. Worked at the Custer Mine Number Two, up in Montana. He called me up one day, asked if I knew any ‘reliable’ pilots who might be looking to earn some extra cash. By reliable, he meant guys we hadn’t arrested who could keep their mouths shut and their planes beneath the radar. That’s how I got tangled up with Starke and Yates.”

  Phyllis grinned as she turned to look at the ceiling. She laughed. “Starke and Yates. The guys who run the puzzle company. And from what I’ve heard, Starke was the one who died.”

  “Maybe. Reggie, that’s my brother, never believed the story of Starke crashing. Turns out, I think Reggie might have been right. He believed until his dying day, Starke ripped him off—hid some stuff, and later cashed it in. Reggie spent his vacations tramping all over the southwest looking for the stuff. I played along with his story. Years later, after Reggie died, I had a phone call from some guy who refused to identify himself. I often wondered if it was Starke that made that call. This guy asked if I was interested in buried treasure. I said, ‘What? Are you some kind of pirate?’ The guy laughed and hung up.

  “So, long after Reggie was dead anyway, I got a letter, no return address, typed, postmarked Salt Lake City. It said, words to the effect, did I want to earn some money in retirement. The Tree Top Pirates were looking for employees.

  “So, maybe three years ago, after I moved in here, I got another letter from this same guy. Had to be Starke. Letter said, ‘Grim Reaper’s knocking at the door. I have to walk the plank pretty soon.’ The letter said he had some papers and stuff that belonged to my brother. Thought I might want them. Whoever this guy was, or is, he was keeping track of my whereabouts. The bundle of papers he eventually sent turned out to be maps and things. I stuffed the envelope in a drawer and forgot about ‘em. Now I’m wondering what the maps my be for.”

  She reached out and ran her hand down the back of his arm. “A lot of people in this world only judge a life by how it ends. I need to tell you about me and Starke.”

  “What? You knew him?”

  “Yes, in the Biblical sense, too, you might say. Knew you, too, but you’ve never guessed it, have you?”

  “What? I don’t understand,” he said and shifted on his elbow to face her.

  Phyllis reached over and took Gabby’s hand in hers. “Rewind that tape in your head to those years when you worked for the DEA back in Arizona. You worked out of that not-so-secret field office up near Safford Peak.”

  Gabby turned slowly and stared far beyond the window. He tried to erase years of fog from his memory. “Ah, of course, I sort of remember. But how do you—”

  “Remember the Lizard Diner in town, next to the dry goods store?”

  “Yeah. Had breakfast there almost every morning.”

  Phyllis didn’t say anything, smiled at him and rubbed his hand.

  “Holy shit! You were that chick with the low-cut—”

  “Yep, that was me. And I couldn’t get the time of day out of you. All so secret with your coming and going. When I figured it was hopeless, I moved down to Tucson, went to work in a diner down there while I finished college and met Yates and Starke. Yates was married, and not around much. He had family back here. Starke, on the other hand, was one crazy bastard, as I think you’ve already established. We were both a bit crazy back then.”

  Gabby shook his head. “I can’t believe you knew those guys.”

  “Oh, more than knew them, at least with Starke. Helped him with his drug running a couple times.”

  “What? How? You were a dope pusher? This is a big load for an old guy like me to carry. I’m glad I’m still in bed.”

  “No, not a dope pusher, exactly, I don’t think. He’d tell me when he was making a run of something and making a drop in the desert. I’d go out to a designated spot when and where he was scheduled to fly over. The crazy bastard would come roaring in fifty feet off the ground in the rickety old DC-3. I’d stand where he told me. Often I’d take off my shirt and wave, so he’d know it was me—”
>
  “I bet.”

  “He’d make a second pass over the spot and toss something out of the plane. Nothing much, usually something the size of a cigar box. He used those old metal ammo cans you see for sale all over now. It’d bounce to hell and back before I could pick it up, take it home and we’d celebrate that night in town. Never asked him what was in the boxes.”

  “Palladium.”

  “What’s that? Coulda been. Didn’t weigh much.

  “But, how in the hell did you wind up here?”

  “How does anybody end up anyplace? I was in love with that crazy jerk. Didn’t know he had the hots for Lillian Yates. One morning he tells me he’s quit the flying business and moving to Cleveland to start a puzzle factory with Yates. Naturally, I followed him and had great plans until I bumped into him and his girlfriend in the supermarket. I liked it around here, so I stayed. Taught school in a couple places. He’d call me from time to time, whenever his girlfriend got tired of him telling war stories. We kept in touch—so to speak—but it was never the same. He went back to flying so that was that.

  “One day, after I got sick, out of money, and ready to jump in the lake, out of the blue he shows up on my doorstep. Hadn’t seen him in years. Must have been five years ago. He looked like hell. Said he was more dead than alive.” Phyllis coughed and took a drink from the water bottle she kept on her nightstand. “So I told him, he should get a plane and together we’d make one last flight; go crash it in Lake Erie and end it all. He laughs and tells me, ‘I did that already, think up another plan.’ Then he pulled out a check book and wrote me a check for a million bucks. Can you believe that? Said he had all the money he’d ever need and wanted to do the right thing. I didn’t believe the check was real but the bank said it was. Set me up here for the rest of my life, and then some I suppose.”

  Gabby ran his hands through his hair. “So that’s why that bugger in that bar that night suggested I move into Bright Horizons. He, or Starke, knew you were here. Why didn’t you say something when I—”