All Maps Are Fiction Page 7

  “I didn’t need to. I liked you not knowing and wanted to see where it might go, just two old people getting to be friends, maybe falling in love, even.”

  Chapter Six

  Aston skidded to a stop outside of Eric’s office, grabbed the door jamb and swung in without knocking, her usual way of making an entrance. “Hey Boss—”

  “What the hell? Didn’t you ever learn to knock?” he said. “You know, it might not look like it to you, but I do run a business here.”

  “Oh, sorry, really. I was just so excited—”

  “Well, get unexcited and come back in about an hour.”

  Aston turned and walked to the back of the break room where she kept her skateboard. She flicked the switches to full power as she tossed the board to the ground and jumped on. Her eyes blinked several times and she told herself that it was wind, maybe early pollen or something that was making them water. At the bottom of the hill she stopped to dig her cellphone and earbuds from the bottom of her backpack. She scrolled through her music list until she found the most recent download, her favorite album from Queen, and cranked up the volume until it made her head hurt.

  Repairs made to Holtzhaur Street meant a fast, downhill trip, across Standish and then a straight shot to Rodgers and the new skateboard park. Nothing like a few crashes on the halfpipe to give me a different sort of pain, she thought. She turned the corner and entered the park. Eric sat on a bench, two cups of coffee next to him. He held one up to her.

  She rolled up and jumped off the board. “Got a date?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry I snapped like that,” he said. “If it’s not bill collectors it’s unreliable suppliers or broken down machines. Always something. I hired you to be an ideas generator, not a whipping boy. I’m sorry.”

  She faced the trees surrounding the skate park, wishing he had not used that term, ‘whipping boy.’ The girl that’s never right, always wrong. “Apology accepted,” she said and sat. “How did you know I’d come here?”

  “Just a guess. Where does a person go when they’re really pissed off?”

  “Or hurt. And you?”

  “I get in my car and see if I can make it go from zero to sixty in less than five seconds.”

  “Skateboarding must seem like boredom city then.”

  He looked at her and smiled. “So what was this idea you had that seemed so important that you couldn’t wait for me to decide how much money I would have to cut from the Quality Control Manager’s budget?”

  “Whoa, now that is serious shit. Actually, it’s not my idea, it’s Gabby’s. And I think it has merit. Might even forestall having to cut the QC budget.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “He wants to tell you, personally. Since he knew your dad, and Starke, he thinks he should be treated like one of the family.”

  Eric watched a couple of kids fall off their boards trying some tricks on the halfpipe. “Don’t know as we need any more people in this family.”

  “I’ll set up a meeting for when? Tomorrow?”

  “That works. And one more thing. You’ve been working for me for what, a couple weeks? How about wearing something other than that skull and crossbones T-shirt?”

  “That’s my next great idea, Boss. I was just about to put out a memo.” Aston gave him a grin. “On Fridays, we’re going to have a T-shirt exchange. Everybody brings in a favorite. We hang them all up in the lunchroom, then we draw numbers out of a hat. Whoever gets number one gets to choose the first shirt. Number two gets second choice and so on. That way everybody gets a new, or at least a different, shirt. I figure, if we do it every Friday for three months we’ll all have new wardrobes and nobody spends a penny.”

  Eric shook his head and looked up at the leafless trees. “Ya know, you might be dangerous if you ever set your mind to it.”

  “Thanks, Boss. I assume you even have a T-shirt for the exchange on Friday, right?”

  “Of course I do, someplace. By the way, I think I’ll change your job title. How about, along with still being the QC manager, we call you our Executive Ideas Generator?”

  “Does the job pay more?”

  “Of course—not.”

  “Title sounds kind of mechanical, but I’ll take it.”

  Aston was jumping curbs with her skateboard in the parking lot when Eric arrived at the office.

  “You’re up bright and early,” he called to her as his car came to a stop.

  Aston rolled over and popped the board into the air as she dismounted.

  “I read somewhere that if you want to get ahead in your career you should arrive at work before the boss.”

  “Sound advice. The other part of that is that you should leave the office after the boss.”

  “Well, let’s not rush this career thing. Besides, I have an idea, and since I’m the ideas generator around here—”

  “Let’s find some coffee and talk about it.”

  As he moved to unlock the office door, she rolled over to where her backpack rested. “Got two dark roasts right here, Boss. Put those keys away, we’re going on a road trip.”

  “Damn. This might be a challenging day.”

  “Yeah, and it’s way early.”

  As they approached the Bright Horizons building, Eric slowed his pace and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes on an image of this place and his grandmother from long ago. He thought he saw her reflection in the glass doors. “I suppose we have to go inside?” he asked.

  On the way over, Aston had briefed him about Gabby’s idea, enough to convince him the old man had a solid plan for a new product. The hitch was, Gabby wanted to explain it to Eric, personally.

  “Actually, Gabby likes to talk out here,” she said, looking toward the abandoned picnic table. “He says the stink in there is going to kill him. I think it’s paranoia, not the smell, that makes him want to get outside. I’ll go call him from the desk.”

  It was not necessary to call. Gabby sat in his wheelchair next to the receptionist, a large manila folder on his lap. He waved for her to come in.

  “You gonna push me? I’ve got to hang on to this stuff.” He rolled his eyes toward the receptionist. “The help around here is getting uppity if you ask ‘em to do one thing above their pay grade.”

  The woman behind the desk shook her head and smiled at Aston. “You can just let that wheelchair go anytime you want, honey. Let the old buzzard play in the traffic down there at the bottom of the hill, for all I care.”

  “See what I’m sayin’,” Gabby said as Aston moved behind the chair and released its brakes.

  “At least you’re consistent in how you treat the ladies,” Aston said and winked at the receptionist.

  Aston rolled the chair next to Eric where he sat at the table.

  “I thought you told me your boyfriend was good-looking,” Gabby said.

  “He is,” Aston said. “This guy here is my boss. Eric, shake hands with the crankiest bastard you’ll ever meet.”

  “Hello, ah, Gabby. Aston’s told me a lot of, ah, favorable things about you,” Eric said, reaching out.

  “Huh. She must of been talking about somebody else,” he said and gave Eric’s hand a knuckle-crushing squeeze. “Knew your old man. His whacky partner, Starke, too. Maybe better. Starke was probably the brains behind that business of yours.”

  Eric drew in a deep breath. “Ah, my dad was quite successful—”

  “Now boys, let’s play nice or I’ll put you both to bed with no supper.”

  “Ha,” Gabby snorted. “Can you imagine me in a threesome at my age?”

  Eric felt his face flush and knew his ears would be bright red. He cleared his throat. “Gabby, I think your idea for a new puzzle format has merit. But producing a puzzle map for the Dutchman’s Lost Goldmine would—”

  “Who said anything about some Dutchman’s gold mine?
I’m talking real treasure here, pal.”

  “Ah, well, I figured—”

  “Good grief, Aston. I thought you said this guy was kinda bright. He’s so conflicted he should be in there talking to Bird Lady, not to us.”

  “Ease up, Gabby. Let’s leave your girlfriend out of this. Eric here is smart and runs a very successful family business. Company’s been around since before you started pissing in your pants, so let’s not insult him.”

  “Sorry, Eric. And don’t listen to anything Aston says about Bird Lady. She’s just jealous.”

  Eric alternated looks at the pair, cleared his throat, and let his attention settle on Gabby. “Well, I guess when I hear about buried treasure I think of gold. Too many old cowboy movies I suppose. Tell us what you have in mind.”

  “Palladium,” Gabby said.

  “What?” Eric and Aston said in unison.

  “Palladium. Rivals gold in value and getting more so by the day.”

  “Gabby, you’re going to have to educate me here,” Aston said as she sat on the bench between the two men.

  “Listen up. I’m only going to repeat this as many times as you ask. Palladium is a key component in pollution-control devices. Everything, like cars, trucks, buses. The price of this stuff has surged at least sixty percent in the last six months alone. And fuck the overall low number of cars being sold and all that talk about electric cars, the price of palladium shows no signs of slowing down. Fully electric cars worth a shit aren’t going to happen, even in Aston’s lifetime. Hybrids still need pollution control and what about the billions of people in China waiting to spend the money they make fleecing us.”

  Eric pulled a notepad from his shirt pocket and began clicking the end of his ballpoint pen. “Whoa, slow down a bit. What, or how, is this palladium stuff used in pollution control? What’s it look like?”

  “Give us the Science 101 version,” Aston said. “And how does this fit into the jigsaw puzzle business?”

  “Okay, I’ll dumb this stuff down for you college-educated people. There’s six platinum-group metals. Palladium is one. Something like eighty percent of it winds up in the exhaust systems of cars. It’s function is to turn the toxic shit from your engine’s combustion into carbon dioxide and water vapor. It’s also used in jewelry, electronics, including dentistry for Christ’s sake.”

  “Okay, I get it,” Eric said. “Where does palladium come from?”

  “Mostly, they mine it in South Africa and Russia, now. Plus from the recycling of catalytic converters. Used to get some from the mines in Montana and up in Canada. Typically, it’s a secondary product from other mining operations more focused on nickel or platinum. Ya see,” Gabby said, lowering his voice and leaning toward Aston and Eric, “they used to think of it as a pain in the ass and damn near threw it away. Piled it up wherever they could to get it out of the way. Now, Hells’ bells, they can’t get enough of it. And guess what? Production of palladium will lag behind demand so much this year, the price for this crap will top gold and become the highest priced among the four most-widely traded precious metals.”

  Gabby leaned back in his chair and studied the blank faces of Aston and Eric. “Any questions, Peeps?”

  Eric scratched at the back of his neck, glanced at Aston, and turned to Gabby. “Well, this is all fine science, however, I still don’t see what any of this has to do with me, us, and jigsaw puzzle making.”

  The old man tapped out a tattoo with his fingers on the folder resting in his lap. He looked over at Aston who was beginning to smile.

  “I think I know where this is headed,” she said, smiling at Gabby. “The old fart here knows where we can get our hands on some palladium. He wants us, you, to make a jigsaw puzzle leading to the buried treasure chest. People buy the puzzle map, hunt for the stuff, dig it up, sell it, and we all live happily ever after, right?”

  “Ah, the young lady is smart as well as attractive, fortunately,” Gabby said and bowed his head in Aston’s direction. “You’re close. Give or take a bit, palladium currently goes for more than twelve hundred bucks an ounce. That’s about forty thou a kilo. Better than drugs. Plus, it’s legal. And a treasure chest about the size of a bread box could set the finder up for life.”

  Eric closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. This interview with the old guy was taking more time and brain power than he anticipated. He thought he was here to pacify Aston, not get entangled in some investment scheme.

  “Okay, Gabby, I have more questions than answers, here. Why should we make a treasure map puzzle? Why not just go dig up this buried load of palladium and cash it in? And should I use the word, ‘alleged’?”

  Gabby looked at Aston, her brow furrowed, eyes focused on something near her feet. “Well, a couple reasons: First, we, or you I should say, are in the jigsaw puzzle making business, not the palladium-selling business. And the second thing—there is no second thing, you jerk. Puzzle making is a fun-making business you’re in. We should all have a bit of fun with what’s left of our lives. Can you imagine people pissing in their pants waiting for this puzzle to hit the shelves? Good god, man, even the dumbest PR flak on the planet could sell this one.”

  “I get the point,” Aston said, “but selling buried treasure maps is not a big thing these days. The Nigerian princesses on the internet have about ruined most get-rich-quick schemes.”

  “Unless you’re the Nigerian Princess, ya mean,” Gabby said, and pointed a finger at Eric. “Look, this will be so legit people will believe it—because it’s true. The whole story of a load of palladium that went missing in the late 1960s, early 70s, is true. I have proof. The Custer Mining Company in Montana covered it up. Could be, maybe, probably, they covered it up just to lower the supply and drive up demand. Nobody’s ever written the full story about it.”

  Eric glanced at his wristwatch. “I still say, why not dig up the stuff ourselves and—”

  Gabby’s fist pounded the envelope in his lap. “Cause we don’t need the fucking money! We need fun. I’m making my last swirl around the drain here, you got so much money you can have two fancy-ass cars in the garage—Aston tells me—and she’s cool with having enough batteries for that skateboard of hers. We don’t need money. We need a few laughs.”

  Aston smiled and leaned back against the picnic table. Eric released a long breath and gazed at the clear sky above them. Fun. Laughs. “Okay, first things first. How do we know you’re telling us the truth? I mean, you’re sitting here in a wheelchair—”

  Gabby leaded forward. “I used to be a DEA agent, young fella. How do you think I met your dad and his buddy? They did some things for me, I did some things for them. When we were all finished doing our things, they decided to go straight. At least your dad did. Starke was a crazy bastard. Said flying was in his blood. Claimed his grandfather was a barn stormer pilot back in the day, even had a fling with Amelia Earhart, for Christ’s sake.”

  “I never met Starke. Crashed in the desert, dad said.”

  “Right. Buried the nose of his DC3 in the sands of Utah, so the story goes. He was a crazy bastard, but not dumb. He must have had some sort of crystal ball that told him palladium was the future. Don’t ask me how he knew. Smells like he had some insider help. He never said. He worked for whoever ponied up the cash,” Gabby said and ran his fingers around the edge of the manila folder on his lap. “It’s all kind of complicated. I know what I believe and what I want to believe. I hope they’re not two different things. What we got here, I’m pretty sure,” he said and tapped the thick folder on his lap, “is all we need to find some kind of treasure.”

  “Do you think my dad would have gone for it, the buried treasure idea?” Eric asked.

  “I don’t think Yates really knew, and if he did, he probably wouldn’t have believed Starke. I talked with your old man, once, about Starke, and he said, ‘Starke’s crazier than bat shit.’ The boys seemed to have had a falling out,
I think.”

  Aston leaned forward, resting her forearms on her thighs. “So, you’ve been sitting on this idea since when, the 1970s? How do we know if this shit is still there?”

  “Not since the 70s. It’s complicated. We don’t know. Some things have recently come to light that indicate Starke—maybe somebody’s helping him—might still be alive,” Gabby said and leaned back. “We have to give these maps some serious consideration, of course, see where they lead, then go out and dig around, before we make any puzzle. And I have a few ideas about that, too.”

  Driving back to the office Aston said, “What do you think, Boss?”

  Eric shook his head. “I think your friend is a few bricks short of a full load. Really, how could it just happen to be that this character turns up on our doorstep and has maps that might make a great puzzle? We don’t know anything about him. In my world, if you can’t put it in the bank you stay away.”

  Aston watched the scenery drift past. She wondered, what if it was true? What if there was a buried treasure of some sort? It could mean a new condo, some serious boards, maybe even a car. Don’t let your mind go to that cozy house in the suburbs with the white picket fence shit, she thought. “I like what Gabby said about having fun,” she said to the blurry landscape.

  “Too risky. He’s a guy living on borrowed time, playing with people whose time may have already run out, as well as other people, us, who have to figure out how best to use our time. Too risky.”

  “Sir, permission requested to run some numbers on the proposed idea.”

  Eric looked over at her and shook his head. “I don’t know why, but permission granted. And don’t tell the rest of the troops how you go about wasting your time and the company’s money.”

  As Aston walked toward the back of the CVS store to chat with her friend Diane, she thought the back of the man reading some papers on the counter looked familiar. It was Eric. He appeared to be studying the label on a vial of pills.

  “Hope you didn’t short-count this guy,” Aston said.