All Maps Are Fiction

by Clyde Witt

  “Yeah. I was thinking of you taking Bird Lady along as—”

  “Whoa! Hold on partner,” Aston said as she rose from her chair. “No way. Are you crazy? In a wheelchair? No way.”

  “The idea has merit,” Eric said. “It would be the perfect cover in case the Border Patrol comes along. Plus, it would give us confirmation from an outsider, so to speak, for Mike to write the story without letting him know where the stuff is. Expensive, but I like the idea, Gabby.”

  “I don’t. No way. I’m outta here,” Aston said as she turned to leave the room.

  “Hey, hold on, Buttercup,” Gabby said. “How am I gonna get home?”

  “Buttercup?” Aston and Eric said at the same time.

  Aston tossed him the keys to the car. “Drive yourself—Buttercup. Jesus H. Christ.”

  And she was gone. From his desk, Eric watched her jump a curb with her skateboard and roll out to the street.

  “Okay old man, that didn’t go too well.”

  “Yeah, bad choice of words. I’ll have Phyllis, err, Bird Lady give her a call.”

  “You mean to sort of butter her up?”

  Gabby shook his head. “You gonna drive me home, smart ass, or should I drive myself and run up your insurance rates?”

  Aston sat on a bench watching other boarders run the halfpipe, doing easy tricks and falling on their butts. If she did go out to Arizona on her own it might be the opportunity she needed to take the stash and disappear. Who’d miss her? Diane, maybe. How would she sell the stuff? Okay, maybe take half of it and leave the rest. Figure out how to sell it when she returned and be done with Tree Top Flyers and Eric. Would she miss Gabby and Phyllis? Maybe, but not for long. That California sun would bake her brain and clean out all the past shit that got her to this point.

  If they’re serious about her taking Phyllis along, that would complicate things a whole bunch. No, to work, she had to nix the idea of Phyllis going.

  A skinny kid, young enough to be her son, no shirt in the chilly air, cap askew, rolled up to her. “You gonna ride that BMW Street Carver lady, or just sit around and watch?”

  Aston stood on the seat of the bench and jumped onto her board. “Okay, punk, let me show you a few things.”

  “No way,” Aston said when Phyllis called. “No way am I going back out there.” With you, is what she really wanted to add.

  “Come on, it’ll be fun.

  “Define fun.”

  Phyllis laughed. “Okay, who do you want to be: Thelma or Louise?”

  It was Aston’s turn to laugh. “We’re definitely not taking that route. No, the place is just too creepy.” This is not going well, Aston thought.

  Phyllis paused and cleared her throat. “Look, last night we had a little talk, me and Randal. The old fart told me a lot of things he shouldn’t have—”

  “About our project?”

  “No, not directly. Things sort of indirectly related. Stuff about himself that has led us both, maybe all of us, to where we are now.”

  “Phyllis, you know, there’s no way you or I could handle that wheelchair out there. You’ve been there. You know what it’s like.”

  Again, Phyllis paused before she spoke. “Aston, I’m a lot more agile than you might think. This wheelchair and Gabby’s, too, are more for show and Medicare benefits than anything. Just the other night—well, you don’t need to hear that stuff. Look, him and me don’t have a lot of adventures left in this life. I promise, I won’t be a burden. If that handsome Border Patrol dude comes around—”

  “Who said he was handsome?”

  The line was silent, then Phyllis said. “Can you come over here? I think there are some things I should tell you to make the picture come into better focus.

  It was dusk by the time Aston arrived at Bright Horizons. Phyllis, wrapped in an oversize sweater was seated at the picnic table, nursing a glass of wine.

  “Evening Phyllis. Now, what’s so important? And, by the way, you’re not going to talk me into any sort of joint trip to Arizona. Ain’t gonna happen.”

  “No, I just feel the need to tell you a few things about what’s really going on here; stuff maybe only I know and can swear you to secrecy about. After we’ll talk about Arizona. When you get to be my age you don’t want to start thinking about all the questions you still have that need answers.”

  Afterward, Aston thought about the things Phyllis told her, particularly about Starke. She wanted to stand and walk away. Instead, she pasted on a smile and looked for some early evening stars. She realized she had been listening to a love story. A lonely lover’s story. About how a man blew up his future like he did everything else. How he spent money, love and dreams like they were going out of style.

  One part of the narrative bothered Aston because it hit too close to home. The part about how Starke was always a problem when he was stoned. How it was nearly impossible to tell what was truth and what was fiction with the guy.

  “We’d get high and I never could figure out if those things he’d say about Lillian were true or not,” Phyllis had said.

  “Lillian? You mean Joe Yates’s wife? Eric’s mother?”

  “Yeah. I think a large part of what he said, or says, about her was true. You just can’t tell with some men.”

  Aston watched what she thought might be a tear form in Phyllis’s right eye. In the dark she couldn’t be sure. “Sort of the way I feel about all men,” she said.

  Phyllis explained, considering the phone calls from Starke and map clues, she figured Starke was playing some kind of game with Gabby, challenging him for the fun of it like they did with the DEA back in Arizona. “But there’s something else going on. Only Starke knows the rules.”

  When Aston asked what she thought the game might be, Phyllis turned away and said into the darkness, “Maybe it’s really about Eric.”

  By the time the evening ended, the two women had decided that two sets of camo pants and two short-sleeved shirts would be more than enough. Phyllis said, “I’ve always traveled light, no need to change, now.”

  Aston retrieved her latte from the end of the counter and turned to leave. When she spotted Mike, staring into his coffee and tapping a spoon on the table, she searched for an easy exit to get past him. She was too late. Their eyes met. He looked toward the door and she thought he registered surprise before he raised a hand to signal her to join him. “Well, hello,” he said and half raised from his chair. “Ah, good to see you ‘cause I have a question. Have a seat. I’ll have to break this new trip I planned to Diane, one way or another. Any ideas?”

  Aston did not sit but leaned on her skateboard and smiled. “What, you mean your return, on your own, to Montana? You might go with the truth: You’re doing a story that requires another road trip. Easy peasy.”

  He looked back into his coffee. “Easy for you to say. I’ve been making, and breaking, a lot of dates these days. Can I mention this next trip is in relation to your project?”

  “Look, we’re trying to keep a lid on this. Keep me out of it.”

  “Maybe you could—”

  “Stop. No way. My plate is way too full. In fact, I’m on a plane tonight to, ah, check some things out.”

  He glanced toward the door of the coffee shop. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Nope. I’ll have a credible witness who will report back to you, with photos, I hope.” She released a breath and looked into her coffee. “Christ, why did my board flip me that day, in that spot?”

  “Huh? What board? What are you talking about?” he said and looked at his wristwatch then the door, again.

  “Nothing. Doesn’t involve you. Look, tell Diane the truth. She’s a big girl. Besides, I don’t know why, but she does care about you.”

  “You don’t know why she’d go for a great guy like me?” he said, and smiled.

  “You ride a skateboard?”r />
  “Hell no.”

  “There’s your answer. I gotta run.”

  Aston rolled through the parking lot on her skateboard and sipped her coffee while waiting for the light to change to cross Broadway. A red sports car caught her attention and she realized it was Pat Travino’s car entering the parking lot from the side street. The good doctor was alone. Aston jumped the curb across the street and stood, looking toward the interior of the coffee shop. She watched Pat walk over to the table where Mike sat, busy typing on his computer. He looked up, and she leaned over and kissed him on the mouth.

  “Holy shit,” Aston said to her coffee cup.

  Eric was on the phone when Aston dropped her board outside his office and bounced off the doorframe as she entered. “Houston, we have a problem,” she said, and ignored his waving hand. He pointed to the chair next to the desk.

  Unable to sit, she paced between the window and door until he finished his call.

  “What the hell—” he started to say.

  “Eric, listen, this is serious. I just—”

  “Eric is it?”

  “Sorry, I mean Boss,” she said and dropped into the chair. “Look, I just left Starbucks where I had an uncomfortable conversation with Mike. It was like the guy was holding court there, or something. While I’m going out, guess who’s coming in, and planting a smooch in the middle of his face?”

  “Ah, let me guess, Santa Claus?”

  “Close. None other than Doctor Travino.”

  Eric cleared his throat, tipped his head to one side. He sat straight in his chair and shook his head. “What? Mike and Pat? No way.”

  Aston did not like the sudden change of color in his face. “Ah, yes, way, Boss. You okay?”

  “Ah shit.”

  “Yeah, good word for it. Should we be worried about the possibility of pillow talk, here?”

  He rose from his chair. “Why do I have the feeling I’m being played? And by whom?” he said as he dropped back into the chair, locked his fingers at the back of his head, and stared at the ceiling.

  “Want me to kill her, or him, Boss?”

  Eric ran his fingers through his hair. An image of the handgun in his closet at home flashed in his mind. “What’s happening here? This started out to be a low-budget, fun project and now we’re—”

  “Okay, no killing. How about knee-capping?”

  Eric smiled and looked at her.

  Except for the familiar hum of the cutting machines back in the shop, she thought the office seemed strangely quiet. She wondered if he was assessing her new look, suggested by Diane. No braid today. Her hair fell over her right shoulder. She wore a regular, patterned blouse, borrowed from Diane, not a T-shirt.

  Eric let a deep sigh escape. “No to the knee capping. If this is true, and I believe you, we need to let him run off the leash for a while; dig up whatever info he can in Montana so he can write the story.”

  “No Plan B?”

  Eric leaned toward her. “None I can think of. Did you tell Gabby about this?”

  She noticed a vein on the side of his head pulsing. “Naw, if he needs to know, you can tell him. The old guy has doubts about that dude in Montana, too, and wants all the information he can get.”

  Aston examined the chipped polish on her fingernails. “What are we, you, going to do about Doctor T?”

  Eric could see the bottle of pills peeking out from between two books on his desk. He exhaled. “I can’t believe this shit. Well, they don’t know what we know, that’s to our advantage. I suppose we keep on keepin’ on, although that will be hard. We might be able to turn this to our advantage since it appears she and Mike could be cooking up something. You know, we could come up with misinformation, that sort of thing.”

  “God, this is beginning to smell like a political campaign.”

  “Right. Complicated, isn’t it?”

  Aston fingered the ripped places on the front of her jeans, checked the scabs on her knees and took a deep breath. “Couldn’t we, you and me, go back to where we were when we were strangers?”

  “Why? What would you do differently?”

  “I would sing for you, Eric.”

  He wiped his hands on his trousers. “I, ah—”

  “Hey, Boss, don’t be afraid of the fire. I’d never let you get burned.”

  He shook his head, cleared his throat and ran his fingers along the edge of his desk. Without looking at her he said, “All set for your road trip? Gabby tells me that Phyllis is picking up the tab on this whole adventure. Helps the company’s bottom line, that’s for sure.”

  Aston stood then sat when she sensed he wasn’t finished. “Yep. Two first class seats, leaving tonight, back in three days. Thought it smart to build in some slack. Bird Lady’s really up for this.”

  “And you?”

  “We’ll be okay. She’s a tough bird herself. By the way, I charged some binoculars and a spotting scope on your card.”

  “How much?”

  “Let’s just say it’s in lieu of my annual pay raise.”

  Eric looked at her, then the ceiling. “Remember, a couple weeks ago—seems like a thousand years ago—you suggested we change our names.”

  “Right. All the past shit would be gone by now, for sure. A new you, or, new us.”

  “Like identity theft.”

  “Not exactly, Boss. You and I would understand. I still like the idea. We could be—Bonnie and Clyde—fits better than Adam and Eve, now. We could go into the banking business—withdrawals only. You’d get the company out of any financial bind and I’d—”

  “That movie’s been made. Bad ending.”

  “Only if we got caught.”

  “We’d get caught.”

  “How? Why?” she said, and placed her hands on her knees and leaned toward him.

  “Because I follow the rules. Imagine this scene: You’re driving the getaway car—probably my red Porsche—prepared to run a red light at three in the morning. I’d say, ‘Whoa, you have to stop because it’s the law.’”

  “And there’s a cop off to the side someplace who sees us, right? Hits the lights and siren, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I like the way you think, Boss. We’ll make a great team. I’ll be the gas, you be the brakes. We’ll go far, but first we need a map.”

  “Precisely the problem that got us to where we currently are.”

  “Naw. I was thinking about one of those fancy maps the ancient cartographers used to make. You know, where up along the edges they wrote, ‘Here there be dragons.’ Or, ‘Beyond here lies nothing.’”

  “Then what?”

  “Then, that’s where we’d start, beyond the edges, to go look for the dragons.”

  He stood at the window and watched her slalom her skateboard between cars in the parking lot, out toward the street. The idea of having a gun in his hand returned. Maybe it’s time to get rid of that damned thing, he thought, since I’m afraid to use it on myself, to say nothing of using it on another person.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Aston pressed her forehead against the cool windowpane of the hotel room and scanned the parking lot. Waves of heat created by a sun hidden behind the hotel shimmered above the blacktop highway that disappeared into the west. She peered over the traffic on the highway into the desert wilderness. The Ruby Mine seemed like it was a long way off. The day was brightening and she felt she was headed in the right direction. During the flight to Arizona she did little other than try to figure out how she could get at least some of the palladium, assuming it was there, for herself. The greatest challenge would be separating herself from Phyllis for almost a day.

  While Phyllis showered, Aston searched online for a phone number for the local Border Patrol office. As the phone began to ring she was struck by the thought that she did not know Fred’s last name
. Before she could think of what to say, a female voice said, “Border Patrol. How may I direct your call?”

  Aston cleared her throat. “Ah, is Fred in?”

  “Just heading out the door. Please hold.”

  In what seemed like took forever, a husky voice said, “Schumann, here.”

  “Ah, hi Fred. This is Aston Leerie. I was out here birding, maybe a week ago and—”

  “Oh yeah. The lady looking for the spotted sparrow or something.”

  “Five striped, actually. Well, I’m back, and with a friend. We’re going back up there later this morning, toward the Ruby Mine, ‘cause it would be a lifer for her and—”

  “Lifer?”

  “Oh, right. A life bird, first time she’s seen the bird, in her life, I mean. Anyway, I thought I’d give you a call to, you know, see if it was safe to go up there.”

  She heard Fred take a deep breath. “Yeah, been sort of quiet, for the past few days at least. Things change fast. I’ll tell the boys to keep an eye out for your car. And don’t go wandering back in there on the other side of that fence. It’s not safe. The boys had another bird watcher back in there, come to think of it, not too long after you were up there. Old fart. Used the same excuse you did, looking for birds, but appeared to be checking out the old mine shaft. They said the guy looked like he was gonna die before he got back to his car. Do you all get your info from the same book?”

  “Yeah, we have a field guide called, ‘Excuses To Use Against Authorities.’”

  “No excuses. It’s not safe. Assuming the illegals don’t get you, the snakes might. What about dinner this evening?”

  “Ah, sure. My eighty-year-old lady friend would enjoy meeting a real Border Patrolman.”

  “Hmm. Well, okay, I get it. If I’m in the hotel dining room I’ll stop by your table.”

  “Do that. And thanks, Fred.” She stared at the ceiling and smiled. Lying had always been one of her better skills, she thought, especially with men.

  The drive to the Ruby Mine took longer than Aston anticipated. Every time a bird flew across the road Phyllis yelled for her to stop the car. As they crested the hill at the ghost town, Aston moved the car to the side of the road. They rolled down the windows and studied the landscape with binoculars. In the silence of the desert Aston heard only the cooling engine’s ticking sounds while they searched for birds. The air, at whatever this altitude was, felt cooler than she remembered. When Aston thought it safe to enter the enclosed area, the pair started down the narrow game trail that led back to the abandoned fridge, washer and dryer. Aston smiled at the clicking sounds made by Phyllis’s trekking poles. It offered a false sense of security for the older woman when she tapped the poles against bushes and rocks to clear the track of spiders.