Dastardly

by Lorraine Ray

And so I make the big decision to go on with the plan of finding gold with old Oliver. It’s a stupid plan, but it’s the only one which presents itself in the next week. If nothing comes of it, I won’t be out much money and my car will be in better shape, which will mean I can get a temp job with UPS or something and make some dough if I have to and I am beginning to think I’ll have to.

  A skunk stinks horribly on the side of the road, and Oliver in the car with me stinks almost as much. Like an intense skunk sitting about two feet away from me. Old poopy pants himself in a jumble beside me and I have all the windows of my car rolled down. Something Oliver does not like.

  “The breeze is tearing at my head,” he complains. “And I smell the skunk still. Pew, it’s horrible! That’s a horrible stink.”

  “Uh huh,” I say, bored to death by his complaints, knowing he smells like a skunk himself and what he is complaining about is called fresh air. Oliver could do with a little air circulating around him and his fucking stinky clothes that haven’t been in a washing machine for a couple of decades at the least. Jeez, I swear his fucking shirt is rotting around his grimy old red turkey neck. Dude, I never have seen such dirty cuffs and hems to his jeans. Someone could grow an organic garden in the soil in his pant cuffs and that is the second time I’ve thought that. Has Oliver never thought of washing his clothes or his body? Is the concept of a shower alien to him? His hair stinks like rotting oil and dandruff. The old guy never washes his hands, even. I remind myself not to let Oliver touch much of my food. Shit. How could anyone let themselves get into such a state of disorder and filth? I make a stern mental note to take showers when I’m older.

  “Don’t you got any air conditioning in this jalopy?” asks the coot a little cantankerously. Oliver shifts around in my seat as though he has a load of rocks in his back pockets.

  “No. I don’t, dude. Compressor went out. It costs five hundred bucks and I ain’t got that kind of money. That’s why I’m on this wild goose chase with you. And a friend of mine needs money for her little girl to get her teeth fixed.”

  “Oh, that so…that’s terrible.” Oliver shakes his head.

  “Her front teeth fell out, but the new teeth are coming in through the roof of her mouth instead of in the spaces where the baby teeth were.”

  “Damn, that’s sad. Real sad.”

  “Yeah, right in the roof of her mouth. She went to a specialist orthodontist.”

  “Damn. Those orthos are expensive, I think.”

  “Yeah, he wants a fortune to fix it and he has to start on it pretty soon or her teeth are gonna be a big mess.”

  “Sure, figures.”

  “She’s a nice little kid too. And her mom is my oldest friend. I heard the orthodontist will give credit, but you have to have the initial deposit or he won’t work.” I don’t mention I was the one who took the money that Marsha would have used to make the initial deposit on Bailey’s teeth. I’m the douchebag friend who ran off with her dough. And I had spent nearly all of it on this wild goose chase so now I couldn’t give it back to her.

  “Gosh, that’s a pity. I sees why you need dough, all right. Damn, that’s a pitiful case for your friend to have happen to her. What a story. Bout your oldest friend. It ain’t fair to the kid. And you are right to want to help them. That’s because you’re a good person, Vig. The people who want to help usually have the least to give, though. That’s what I’ve discovered. Anyway, this ain’t no wild goose chase. We’re gonna do well, Vig. Pity about your air conditioning, though. I could use some cooling right about now. I love air conditioning when you’re on the highway. Damn pity about it.”

  “Sure is a pity. It’s shit like that which is why I hafta find this treasure you’re talking about.” I stare intently at the road past the enormous rust splotches on my hood. “I gotta make things right. I took money from Marsha and Bailey when I shouldn’t have. I gotta make it right now that they have trouble.”

  “I hear ya. The gold would do me some good, too. I’d like to have a decent meal once in a blue moon and I’d like to stop living with my damn stupid sister. She can’t stop nagging me all the time about my drinking and she won’t cook me a steak like I asked her to—kindly. All I wants from her is a measly cooked steak once and awhile, with A1 sauce, but what does she want? She wants to nag me non-stop about why I need to clean up my act and stop drinking. She thinks I gotta stop or I’m gonna die. Well, I ain’t gonna stop to please her, that’s for sure. Goddamn it. A man is entitled to booze it up when he’s my age. I’ve done a lot of crap that I need to forget about.”

  “Oh yeah. Hear, hear!”

  “You got me on that one.”

  “And how.”

  “Boy, it’s pretty out here. I ain’t been on the highway in ages.”

  “I guess it’s all right.”

  “It ain’t all right. Stop being so mealy-mouthed. It’s damn pretty. The mountains look a pretty purple color with lots of saddles in the sky and the weeds are waving and some of the cactus is blooming.”

  “You ought to be a writer,” I say. “You have some ideas there that you could write.” I’m driving Oliver out toward the Dos Cabeza Mountains, but we have only gotten as far as Texas Canyon. We drive on silently for half an hour. Texas Canyon is near the Wilcox Playa and nothing but big smooth boulders, cracked and heaped together.

  “Look at those boulders, will you?” says Oliver.

  “Yep, I’m looking when I can, old timer.”

  “Those are something aren’t they?”

  “Sure are.”

  “And off there on the horizon there’s the playa thingy. Big old lonely dry lake. Spooky with those birds on it. Sandhill cranes. Terrible looking things. Worse looking than me, even. Freaky heads and big horrid bodies on long legs.”

  “Nobody out here at all.”

  “Nah, there ain’t.”

  Isolated. Got to go on the highway in a sweep along to the east from town. Driving along with mostly trucks as friends for hours, heading in the direction of New Mexico and the rising morning sun. Mountains a pale baby blue blur against the horizon. Creosote flats in all directions.

  About noon, I drive off on the off ramp at the great gray Playa and after a lunch of hamburgers at a small town café we proceed in the direction on the road Oliver tells me to take. And I sincerely hope this jerk knows what he is talking about with this Dutch oven and a treasure. I would give anything to find it. Well, does that make sense? If I give anything to find it, I would have to give away some pretty nice things. Would I give away my eyesight to find it, for example? Nope. Would I give away Bailey and Marsha to find it? No, no I wouldn’t.

  Having never been out there before, I am trusting Oliver to know what we are doing. And Oliver seems eager enough and familiar with the signs and turn posts that I need to take, if not familiar with every aspect of the place.

  “To find gold you look for quartz crystal. Usually in a line,” says the old coot happily. He squints at the mountains we are passing as though he can see lines of quartz along them.

  “Oh for crying out loud, every fucking kid in Arizona knows that crap. Tell me something new I don’t know,” I growl. Why hadn’t I noticed before that this guy is spouting a lot of pabulum? This line of quartz junk is nothing special. “I thought you said we were looking for a Dutch oven full of gold. Not stuff we have to mine.”

  “That’s right. I ain’t talking about mining for us now. Just generally.”

  “Uh huh.”

  The scrawny trees and round rocks have a toasted tan look to them.

  “Lotsa dust. Off the playa I guess,” says Oliver, changing the subject.

  “Everything is dusty here,” I observe.

  “Yeah, dang.”

  “Wind’s pretty stiff, most days. I don’t know. Maybe we should have brought some better jackets and warmer clothing.”

  “Ah, nah. We’ll be fine. Got our sleeping bags.”

  I drive on for nearly an hour more.

  “Turn off ahead,
Milepost 154.”

  “That seems right?”

  “Yep.”

  The vegetation of the desert floor evolves into small scrub oaks and bushes. Squirrels dash out from the rocks across the asphalt ahead where the road’s surface has cracked in a thousand directions. I avoid several deep potholes when the highway climbs off into a canyon.

  “A lot of water came down here,” Oliver exclaims.

  “Must have been in the summer.”

  Trees with shivering leaves crowd a narrow stream below the road on the right. The car climbs higher in curves. Eventually we drive into a parking lot and a trailhead into the mountain wilderness.

  “This is the place where we’ll leave the car,” says Oliver happily. “It’s exactly the way it ought to be.”

  “I sure hope so,” I say warily. “So far no rangers.”

  “Won’t be any. This darn place is deserted for weeks. Nobody comes here in the winter. Pull into the far corner of the parking lot ahead.”

  “On the left?”

  “Yep.”

  “This here is the trailhead parking. Put the car over there. The spot in the corner!”

  “Why?”

  “It’s open at the back there and you can nose your way up a piece under the bushy trees,” Oliver explains.

  “You mean here?” I pull into a spot at the edge of the parking lot.

  “Yeah. And under the bunch of trees ahead,” Oliver says pointing happily.

  “Okay. Why here?”

  “Don’t wanna pay park fees and don’t want anybody to see the car. At least not right away. Hope they don’t got aerial surveillance here now.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “There won’t be anyone around for a few days, so we’ll be fine. We can camp in the car tonight and leave on our search in the morning.”

  I pull all the way through the spot, up a small canyon where the car can be covered by a bushy tree. I drive carefully under the tree which Oliver indicates as the best and leave the motor running until I’ve made sure the car isn’t easily visible from the parking lot.

  “Seems well hidden,” says Oliver after we have worked to spread boughs over the roof.

  “I suppose.”

  “It’ll have to do. Nobody seems to come around here anyway. Not on weekdays at least. I hope not. Don’t want people snooping around and wondering what we’re up to on the mountain. That’s gonna make it hard to bring the gold down when we find it.”

  “Hey, look on the ground there! A fucking lizard screaming to death when it died. Now it’s a skeleton with its mouth open. I gotta get a close up of it. That’s way cool.” I touch my phone to take a picture and try to share it, but there’s no signal.

  “That ain’t ‘way cool’ and it ain’t exactly respectful. That lizard were a living thing, idiot. Sheesh, you’re like some creepy kid or something. I wouldn’t do stuff like that if I was you, Vig,” says Oliver.

  “What? It’s a lizard. I can’t get any fucking cell phone signal out here. Goddamn it.”

  “Everything is part of the world. Everything has a soul.”

  “Yadda yah.”

  “You don’t make fun of stuff that died! That’s asking for trouble. Gonna give you bad luck, son. Don’t ever take photos of dead thing like that. Making fun of it.” Oliver shook his head in disgust at me. “I don’t like disrespect to animals. Shouldn’t have come with you. You act like a silly kid.”

  “Okay, Mr. Superstition,” I say, chuckling at him as I clamber into the backseat of my car and spread my sleeping bag over the seat. “You have to sleep in the front with the wheel, since I did the driving. Does that seem fair enough?”

  “Okay. Only sensible.” Oliver says this as he slowly returns back to his usual chipper attitude. I have to admit the old coot is reasonable about things that are fair. An old guy who is naturally closer to death can’t help being superstitious about shit.

  “Well, the sun’s setting. So I say it’s only sensible we eat some food and get some sleep,” I suggest. “I gotta lie down cuz my back is killing me. That’s one thing about driving I don’t like.” I close the back door and collapse on the seat, tucking a pillow under my head. It feels like my back is going to seize up tight.

  “Sure. That makes sense. Let’s open our chili cans and eat em. I’m tired myself with all that wind hitting me. Feels like I ran a damn marathon.”

  There he is again going on about the wind crap. He doesn’t want to talk about his stink. I don’t have the heart to attack him for stinking. “Okay. Here, take the keys. Everything’s in the trunk. Get me a beer pronto. Chili and opener is in a cardboard box. Cookies, too. We head for this heaping bucket of Apache gold of yours in the morning. We need to sleep well tonight and get rest.” I need a beer to ease my back pain.

  “One beer coming up, buddy.” Oliver scurries around to the trunk. “I could use one too.”

  “Well, take one. They’re for both of us. Bring me mine, please. I am tired from all that damn driving.”

  “Is they cans you bought?”

  “Yep, I went super cheap.”

  “Okay. That’s good enough. We can buy better stuff later. When we get the gold, right?”

  “Yep, that’s the idea. Us and a bunch of other fools, no doubt.”

  “Sure. I agree to that. Lots of people looking. Looking for gold might be said to be a hobby of everyone out here. The fantasy you love to imagine,” says the old dip-shit.

  He opens the trunk. “A lot of people dream, but the difference is we’re doing. We’re doing things about our dreams and not sitting around with our mouths open. Good things come to those who do stuff for themselves. I think that’s an expression or some such shit. Hey, you got those elf cookies with the good fudge. I love them. My sister will not buy me those and I love em. You have made my day. Maybe my week.”

  “Well, bring me my fucking beer.”

  I hear Oliver opening the carton. He comes around the side of the Subaru and is popping the top for me as he gets to the window. “Yeah. Here it is.” Oliver passes it carefully through the opening.

  “Thanks, old timer.”

  “Nothing’s too much for my gold-searching buddy. We’re putting ourselves into action in order to find the dough.”

  “Yeah, we’re not dreaming, I guess,” I say through the window.

  Oliver returns to the trunk. “No, we’re not dreaming. I know you doubt me about the gold. You doubting the truth of what I’m saying, of the story I told you, but I swear tomorrow you will doubt me no more. Here’s your chili and a spoon.” Oliver’s back at the window, this time with the cold can of chili with a spoon stabbed into it. He passes it through the open back window and heads for the trunk again. “I’m making myself useful back here.”

  “Sure are, old timer.”

  “I’ll bring the cookies round to you in a sec. You relax. You did the driving.”

  “Thanks, old timer.”

  “How’s the beer?”

  “Excellent!”

  I’m already stretched out on my sleeping bag and with a pillow under my head in the back seat. “Dinner in bed. Fantastic!”

  “Yeah. You got served. Like royalty.” Oliver hands the cookies in the window.

  “A few cookie crumbs gonna land in here. Ha!”

  “This gold searching is turning out okay. I’m getting good food for a change. E.L. Fudge, uh huh.”

  “Bought what I could for us.” I open the package of cookies. Oliver hops into the front seat and begins spooning the cold chili into his mouth. I offer the old coot a cookie.

  “Sure you did. We’re gonna be rich tomorrow or the day after, you wait and see. Your eyes are gonna bug. Moren they do now,” the old man adds surreptitiously. He stuffs a cookie in his mouth eagerly.

  That is a nasty crack at me. Luckily for him, I’m not too sensitive about my bulgy eyes.

  “Everybody has a fantasy.”

  “Sure, we all got golden prospects. In our mind. Plans and schemes. They used to say b
uilding castles in the air.”

  “Everybody’s done that. Only this one isn’t a fantasy, right?” I say.

  “Um, sure it ain’t.”

  He sounds tentative for the first time. I have not heard that in his voice before and it draws me up quick. “This isn’t some fantasy of yours, is it? Tell me now if it is!” I sit up on the car seat and come forward toward Oliver.

  “No, no.” He slashes the air with his arms and reacts angrily to my suggestion, a little too angrily for it to not be cutting close to the bone. “How can you ask that? I told you the truth. I can’t do no more. We are on the verge of something big, man.”

  Fucking idiot! That’s what I am. I sink back on my pillow and shovel cold chili into my mouth. This is a wild goose chase! And after a few minutes in the closed car I realize this goose also stinks like hell.

  “Ah, don’t roll it down,” says the old coot when I crank open a window. “The nights is cold enough here! It’s February! I feel the cold coming down the canyon already and it’s getting into the car.”