Fool's Gold

by PJ Skinner

  ‘Um, yes, sorry, I’ll be right out.’ How embarrassing! She shook herself and opened the door.

  Chapter XV

  They set out for San Martin in two cars. The excitement Sam felt was only momentarily extinguished by Gloria running over a stray dog who wandered into their path. She had no choice, as the oncoming cars and pedestrian traffic on the side of the road gave her no chance to avoid it. There was a gasp in the car as it bounced over the body of the dead canine.

  ‘I hope that’s not an omen,’ said Alfredo.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Gloria, driving on as if nothing had happened. Sam wasn’t convinced by this show of bravado, as Gloria proceeded to light a cigarette with shaky hands. They reached the town in the late afternoon and parked outside the Hotel California where all of the goods were unloaded and placed in Sam’s room, leaving a small space for her to reach the bed. She was happy she didn’t have to share her room with Wilson again. He was sharing with Alfredo.

  ‘Okay, good luck everyone. Call us from San Lorenzo when you are coming out and we’ll come and get you,’ Mike said, proceeding to shake first Alfredo’s hand and then Wilson’s. He didn’t mention the treasure because of Wilson but his eyes shone like black diamonds in the dark night. He stood in front of Sam uncertain of the protocol. She smiled at him and nodded which went down well. Gloria reached out and gave Sam a big hug.

  ‘Be careful,’ she whispered. ‘Keep a rock beside your bed to hit him with.’

  ‘I will.’

  Mike and Gloria got back into the cars and drove back to Calderon in convoy. Sam stood outside the hotel looking at the lights disappear. She desperately wanted to discuss the treasure with Alfredo but they had to get rid of Wilson at Riccuarte first. She caught his eye and knew he had read her thoughts.

  ‘Let’s get something to eat,’ Wilson said.

  Everyone went straight to bed after dinner. Sam had hoped for a repeat performance from the love-struck troubadours, but they did not materialize.

  ***

  Back in Calderon, Señor Sanchez’s fixer, Segundo, had been busy in the streets of the old town following a trail that led him to the home of a certain Jose Falconi, a well-known thief and violent lowlife. He had heard talk on the street that Falconi was responsible for Gloria’s car crash and now he was going to find out who paid him to do it. He knocked on the door and waited. A battered-looking young woman answered the door. She was thin and bruised with a new black eye. She wrapped her shawl tighter as the cold evening air hit her frail body.

  ‘Yes?’ she asked. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I’m looking for Jose Falconi. I’m an old friend. I’ve come to repay a debt.’

  ‘He’s not here at the moment. He should be back soon. Would you like to wait?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’ll wait in the cantina around the corner. Would you be good enough to direct him there when he gets home, please?’

  ‘Of course, Señor. I’ll do that as soon as he arrives.’

  Segundo felt sorry for her, as he noticed how the expectation of some money had lifted her spirits. She would never receive anything again from Jose, not even punches. He could imagine from the state of her, the pittance Falconi was giving her to survive on. He stuffed a couple of generous notes in her hand, feeling that Señor Sanchez would approve. To her protestations, he assured her that he had come into some money and that God had told him to be generous with it.

  ‘God bless you and keep you, sir,’ she said.

  ‘Now, don’t go telling him about the money,’ said Segundo, but he could see from the way she stuffed it down her bra that she had no intention of telling Falconi. As she shut the door, he walked away, feeling that she would be much better off without him. That black eye she had was not from walking into a door. He went around the corner and entered the small cantina that smelled of deep fried tripe and old cooking oil. He ordered a soup of pig’s trotters and settled down to wait.

  ***

  Wilson had hired a boy with a barrow to carry their supplies to the station in the morning. They were soon standing on the platform, shivering in the cold dawn light, waiting for the train to arrive. Alfredo showed unexpected efficiency organizing several porters into making a pile of their supplies next to the tracks ready for loading onto the roof. Wilson had pushed his way through the normal melee at the ticket office, and he had made his way back clutching the tickets. He gave them to Sam and told her to get on the train when it arrived.

  Sam stood on the platform in a crowd of people. There were even more of them than the last time. It got worse as the train shuffled into view. She held firm and got ready to mount the steps. There was a lot of pushing and shoving around her, and she started to feel quite claustrophobic. The train stopped with the steps right in front of her. She grasped the handrails with relief and pulled herself up out of the crowd. She could feel people pulling at her clothes. Suddenly, her money belt slid mysteriously from around her waist, and in a flash, it was gone. Sam gasped and looked around. All she saw was a sea of eager faces and jostling bodies. It was hopeless. She struggled back down the steps and through the throng to where Wilson was helping Alfredo.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked crossly. ‘Didn’t I tell you to get on the train?’

  ‘Someone stole my money belt.’

  It was obvious that he hadn’t understood her. He shrugged and tried to turn away.

  ‘My money. My passport. Stolen.’ She watched his expression change as he understood what she was saying.

  ‘Stolen? Shit! Wait here.’

  He turned back towards Alfredo, who was directing his porters to lift the boxes onto the roof and shouted something. Sam could see him gesticulating at the men, who started to lower the boxes back down to the ground. Alfredo looked over at Sam, and shrugged apologetically. ‘We can’t go without your passport,’ he said. ‘You can’t travel anywhere in Sierramar without identification. We won’t be going to Riccuarte today.’

  Sam felt a terrible sense of anti-climax. She gazed at the train, which was now full and ready to go. The passengers were crammed in even more than usual, and some people were hanging out of the glassless windows for air. Then, she saw a face she knew. Tati! Tati was on the train. But why?

  ‘Tati!’ she shouted, but the train was moving away, and there was no reaction from the face on the train. She tried to push through the crowd but it was too late. The train had left the platform. Sam was still standing there with a startled look on her face when Wilson came over with Alfredo.

  ‘What now?’ he asked.

  ‘Tati, she was on the train. I’m pretty sure,’ she faltered, feeling less certain under the scrutiny of Wilson and Alfredo.

  ‘Why would Tati be on the train? Don’t be stupid, Sam. All black people look the same,’ said Wilson dismissively in Spanish. ‘You’re confused because you were robbed. Tati is in Calderon doing the laundry.’

  She flushed red with fury and her knuckles whitened as she struggled to contain her emotions.

  ‘But she’s on holiday. It was her. I’m sure. I know what Tati looks like. Almost sure anyway...’ Sam trailed off, embarrassed, as Wilson had made her look stupid. Wilson had turned away and was attracting the attention of a local policeman, who was loitering at the coffee stall. He walked over to the man, taking some bills out of his pocket. Alfredo rolled his eyes at her.

  ‘Don’t worry, Sam,’ he said. ‘The local police know the pickpockets who work the station. They’ll get your passport back by this evening.’

  ‘Seriously? How can you be sure?’

  ‘I’m from here, Sam. I’m pretty sure.’

  It was a grumpy group that returned to the hotel to book rooms for another night. Humours were not improved by Alfredo singing the Eagle’s hit song. ‘Welcome to the Hotel California. You can check out any time you want, but you can never leeeeeave.’

  ‘Shut up, Alfredo,’ said Wilson.

  They all went back to bed for a couple of hours and re-emerged for
a lunch of chicken soup and rice with tripe. The two men munched their way happily through this culinary feast, but Sam was put off by the chicken’s feet floating to the top of her bowl of soup when she was about to tuck in. When Alfredo translated the second course as tripe, nausea rose in her throat. She had rice and a fried egg instead, having had enough culture for one day. After lunch Sam called Mike to tell him about the robbery.

  ‘For fuck’s sake. You should be more careful. Did you manage to swap the tickets for tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, we did.’

  ‘No harm done I s’pose. It’s been there hundreds of years. I guess one more day won’t make any difference.’

  Sam noted the complete lack of concern for her wellbeing. Mike was only interested in one thing–money. She was determined to find the treasure and get his attention for once. She longed for his approval and to feel like a member of the team, one of the boys.

  They were all sitting in the front lobby of the hotel in the late afternoon when Sam’s money belt was pushed through a gap at the bottom of the entrance door. She saw it sliding into the lobby and ran over to the door. There wasn’t anyone outside. She looked out into the street. It was full of local people bustling about their business and local buses picking their way through the crowded streets spewing out clouds of exhaust fumes. There was no-one who looked remotely suspicious. She picked up the money belt and ran the strap through her fingers. It had been sliced through with surgical precision. She shuddered as she imagined how sharp the knife must have been and how close it must have been to her skin. She unzipped the purse and gasped in amazement. Not only was her passport inside but also her money.

  ‘I told you, Sam. It’s traditional. The police always get it back for you if you pay them,’ said Alfredo, who had not moved from his chair.

  ‘But the money’s still in it,’ protested Sam. ‘What sort of pickpocket leaves the money behind?’

  ‘Never mind the pickpockets,’ said Alfredo. ‘What sort of policeman would return the money belt with the money inside?’

  Even Sam knew this was a pretty unlikely scenario. The police in Sierramar were not famed as beacons of honesty. Wilson shook his head in disbelief. He reached for the money belt and marvelled at its contents. He showed Alfredo the cash.

  ‘Okay,’ said Alfredo, ‘that’s weird.’

  ‘Perhaps the pickpocket was looking for something else? A document or credit cards?’ Wilson appeared keen to dismiss the incident as a freak occurrence. Maybe he was anxious to get out and about and see if he could find some entertainment.

  ‘It’s a mystery,’ said Alfredo.

  ‘I’m going out for a walk around town,’ said Wilson. ‘So, Alfredo, are you coming?’

  ‘Yes. Let me get my coat.’

  Sam was standing near the door of the hotel, but she wasn’t included in the invitation. She couldn’t think of anything worse than a night with two drunks but she still felt hurt and excluded. Even Alfredo had not asked her if she wanted to come. She swallowed her disappointment.

  ‘Have a good time,’ she said, but they wouldn’t. They would get hammered and talk about how badly life had treated them and then come home in time for a rotten hangover on the train. For once, she didn’t know if it was because she was a woman, a foreigner, or they didn’t like her. Maybe it was all three reasons. This was not reassuring, as there was nothing she could do about any of them, and Sam craved acceptance more than air.

  She stomped off to her room and hid under the ancient blanket. Down in the street, people were shutting up shops and going home to their families. It started to rain. She sat up in bed, with the blanket wrapped around her, itching her skin, and watched the rain wash the rubbish off the streets and into the drains. The old town with its wooden balconies hanging over the streets full of laundry and flowers reminded her of the Wild West. She wondered where Wilson and Alfredo had got to and wished she wasn’t so sensitive. Could Alfredo keep a secret when he was drunk? She didn’t want Wilson knowing about the treasure but she had a nasty suspicion that he was suspicious about the motives for the trip. No-one that worked any time with Mike would swallow the story about him paying for a trip to do some archaeology. Something else nagged at her. With all the excitement over her money belt, she had almost forgotten but now she was sure. She had indeed seen Tati on the train. She had not imagined it. What was Tati doing there? Was she following them? Was it a coincidence? She would have to keep her wits about her as things were getting more complicated by the minute.

  ***

  Alfredo was sloshed. Wilson had made sure of that. He leaned over and refilled Alfredo’s glass with some cheap aguardiente.

  ‘Drink up, there are no bars in the jungle.’

  ‘I’ve had enough. I promised Mike that I’d try and stay sober.’

  ‘Mike, Mike, who cares about Mike?’

  ‘I do, he’s funding this trip.’

  ‘And how come he’s so interested in history all of a sudden? He always struck me as a money man.’

  ‘History is very important. There may be precious artefacts.’

  ‘Are they valuable? Or precious because of their history?’

  ‘Both I hope.’

  ‘And do you think that Mike will let them stay in Sierramar? Ha! You, my friend, are living in cloud cuckoo land. He’ll take everything and sell it abroad.’

  ‘But he promised me.’

  ‘And you believed him? You need to work with me on this. I’m a patriot. Let me help you save the artefacts for the nation.’

  ‘But I promised him.’

  ‘At least let me come with you. We can decide what to do if we find anything.’

  ‘You won’t interfere with my work?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Okay, but don’t tell Sam that you know what we’re doing. The hunt for the treasure is very important.’

  A tiny slip of the tongue, a massive mistake where Wilson was concerned. Alfredo did not notice that he had dropped the t-word. Wilson did not react and stood up, pulling Alfredo up with him.

  ‘Let’s go. You’re right. Mike’s paying us to work, not drink. Let’s get back to the hotel. We have to get up early.’

  ***

  ‘It’s all gone.’

  ‘Edward? What’s up mate? You sound funny.’

  ‘It’s all gone Mike. Everything.’

  ‘What’s gone?’ I don’t understand.’

  ‘Don’t you watch the bloody news?’

  ‘We don’t have a television. Anyway, it’s in Spanish.’

  ‘Black Monday. The stock exchanges crashed in New York on Friday and now it’s happened here.’

  ‘I don’t understand. How come your brokers didn’t tell you then?’

  ‘The storm. It was the storm on Thursday.’

  ‘What storm? Have you been drinking?’

  ‘Yes, of course I have. Christ! Don’t you know anything? There was an epic storm over Britain on Thursday. They say it may have knocked down one million trees. One of them landed on my car and cut the electricity and phone lines in my street. Ophelia and I lit the candles and hunkered down. Hardly anyone in the City went to work; it was impossible to get in or out. Our electricity came back on Friday night and it was all over the news. Wall Street was down by one hundred and nine points.’

  ‘Jesus! That’s terrible. What did you do?’

  ‘I had to wait until today to get hold of my broker. Only the junior was there. He was crying. I couldn’t get any sense out of him. Finally, he admitted that he had panicked and sold everything at a huge loss. The London markets finished three hundred points down. I’m cleaned out.’

  ‘So, what do you want me to do?’

  ‘Find the treasure, Mike. It’s our only hope.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Edward.’

  ‘I know, and that’s not the worst thing.’

  ‘It isn’t?’

  ‘They’ve cancelled all the grouse shooting because of the storm.’ Edward laughed, a nasty hollow sound. H
e hung up.

  Chapter XVI

  Hernan Sanchez received the call as he was getting ready for bed. He had been waiting with growing impatience and trepidation for confirmation about the identity of the man who had tried to kill his daughter. He worried that someone was taking revenge on him for some dodgy deal he had done in the past, like cutting corners on a building contract or failing to properly reinforce a road before applying tarmac. He had lately withdrawn from that sort of business and was planning to live out a comfortable old age with his vast fortune. Gloria was his future. The sabotage of her car had been a massive wake-up call for him. He had neglected her in the past and he was aware that a lot of her bad behaviour was related to his. It was time to make up for it before it was too late. He had sprung into action in the only way he knew how. He lumbered back into the hallway to pick up the persistently ringing phone. He had a pretty good idea who would be risking his wrath by calling at such an hour.

  ‘Segundo?’ He grunted. ‘What news do you have for me?’

  ‘Boss, forgive me for disturbing you so late. I thought I shouldn’t wait until the morning. Your daughter may still be in danger.’

  ‘Nothing is more important than her. Tell me what you know.’

  ‘I discovered that a certain low-life scum, who would murder his mother for a couple of dollars, was the man who tampered with the brakes. He was called Jose Falconi and was well known in criminal circles.’

  ‘But did you find out who was behind this? Who paid him?’

  ‘Finding out who paid him was more complicated. I’m afraid I had to use some persuasion to get him to talk. I hope that’s all right with you.’

  ‘Naturally. Anything you had to do to protect my daughter is legitimate in my eyes, Segundo. I’ll shelter you from any consequences. Where’s this Falconi now?’ said Sanchez who had noticed the use of the past tense.

  ‘I understand that he’s at the bottom of Yanacocha Lake.’