by Johnny Shaw
Ricky tried to look away, but Frank held him tight.
“You brought that girl into the world. Now you’ve abandoned her. Because you’re sad? Guilty? Sack up and stop acting the bitch. That’s a worse crime than any old bastards that might got killed. Don’t matter what you’ve done to now. You leave that little girl behind, you’ll burn in every kind of hell anyone’s ever imagined.”
“I was trying to protect her,” Ricky said, “from the cops and the lawyers and everything they would take.”
“You protect someone by fighting. No one ever protected anything or anyone by giving up.”
Tears streamed down Ricky’s face. He nodded his head. No words came. Frank started the car and drove away. Ricky took one last glance at his little girl.
Frank gripped Ricky’s shoulder firmly, fatherly. “We go through our lives, we do good things, bad things. Can’t take either back. But we can draw a line. We can say from now on, from this point, I ain’t ever going to be a son of a bitch again. She ain’t lost yet. You fight, you can have her, your wife, your family back. You going to be a son of a bitch anymore?”
Ricky shook his head.
“You going to draw a line?”
Ricky nodded.
“That’s right. Because, kid, there’s only one real son of a bitch in this car.”
Harry never realized how exhausting sitting in a waiting room could be. He dug through the magazines, but the only function they appeared to serve was as a place to put one’s used chewing gum. The kid across from him picked his nose knuckle-deep and stared at him. The guy next to him coughed with abandon, spray going in every direction. It felt like a light rain on the back of Harry’s hand, only infectious.
He had been on time, but an hour later the lady nurse at the counter still hadn’t called on him. He didn’t know he had fallen asleep until he was jerked awake by the sound of his name.
The effort to reach a standing position made him light-headed and nauseous. Half hangover plus half broken leg equaled all awful. Even with the aid of the crutch, every small movement shot electric jolts of pain through his entire body.
After what felt like an epic journey, he leaned heavily against the counter. The lady nurse smiled a well-rehearsed fake smile. It was almost believable.
“Ready for my exam. Leg really needs looking at,” Harry said.
“Oh, your examination isn’t today.”
“Excuse me?”
“Due to a short staff and overscheduling, we cannot perform your examination at this time. The soonest that we can schedule you is—” She typed rapidly into her computer and squinted at the screen. “Three months from now.”
“They sent me here. The prison. They scheduled an appointment. The lady on the phone said I needed to come here today.”
“Yes. We need a signature from you to defer the examination until we can reschedule. Once we have the signed form and the doctor cosigns, we’ll send the completed medical leave paperwork on. After that, there should be no further disruption of your payments.”
“You couldn’t mail a letter? I had to come in?”
“We require proof of ID, and most patients prefer not to pay for a notary. We’ve found it easier to have you drop by.”
“Easier?”
The throbbing in Harry’s leg doubled and made its way into his head. His vision blurred and tilted for a moment, but came back as quickly.
“So you’re saying—let me get this exactly right—there is no exam and all I need to do is sign a piece of paper and my money will keep coming until my actual appointment—three months from now.”
“That is correct.”
“But I—” Harry closed his eyes and bit down on the inside of his cheek. He took a deep breath that didn’t help.
“Do you have a question?”
Harry shook his head. “Where do I sign?”
The nurse found a clipboard in a stack and attached a form. She handed it to Harry over the counter. He glanced at the form, and then signed it without reading. The nurse’s eyes caught sight of Harry’s leg.
“Holy sweet Jesus, your leg.”
Harry looked down. His pant leg was stained dark red with blood. The darkness of the blood was surrounded by a halo of some kind of fatty discharge. The sight of it didn’t do Harry any favors. He simultaneously vomited and passed out.
Frank chewed on an unlit cigar and Ricky silently scratched at the bandage on his arm. They had been at the hospital so long that it had only made sense to have someone take a look at Ricky’s dog bites.
They stood over Harry’s hospital bed. Harry’s leg was wrapped tight and elevated. His red eyes flitted at half-mast.
“Told you it was a dumb plan,” Frank said.
“What’re you talking about?” Harry slurred. “The money flow is back on track. Like a charm. Like a lucky charm.”
Harry wasn’t about to tell them the truth. Nobody had to know the embarrassing fact that his fractured leg had been entirely unnecessary. A minor error in judgment that resulted in two hours of emergency surgery. And a lot of pain. On the plus side, the painkillers they gave him made him feel cozy and warm inside.
“You fixed up now? No worse the wear? Everything back where it should be?” Frank asked.
“Said the break was clean. They reset it, stapled the wound. Should be out in a day or two. Have to change the dressing on my leg regular. Take infection pills. When the gash heals, I turn in the temporary for a plaster cast. I’ll let you sign it.”
“When do you get money? When can we start?” Ricky cut in.
“That’s what I like to hear. Listen to that enthusiasm,” Harry said.
Ricky reached into his pocket and pulled out the small swath of cloth that he always carried with him. “I’m ready to find our gold.”
PART THREE: HOLY DIVER
SIXTEEN
The small boat drifted along the surface of the water. Scrub and low hills failed as scenery around the dam lake. But the men weren’t there for sightseeing. Or fishing, though that hadn’t stopped them from bringing fishing gear. There was no restriction against scuba diving. Everything they were planning was perfectly legal. But to Harry, this was his, and he didn’t want to advertise. He insisted they appear to be any other fishing boat.
Harry had used his newfound library skills to learn about diving, recreational boating, and other elements of their excursion. He had driven to San Diego for equipment and rented the boat in advance from Bo’s Boats, one of two rental places along that stretch of the Colorado River. It hadn’t been much different than planning a family vacation or fishing junket. Not that Harry knew anything about either.
The boat was abuzz with activity. Bernardo and Ramón hauled the gear from one end to the other. Ricky organized the equipment as they brought it over. Harry futzed with the GPS unit. Frank worked the rudder, following Harry’s shouted commands.
“This is it. Drop anchor,” Harry said. “We’re right on top of downtown Picacho.”
Ricky dropped the small anchor into the water.
“How we going to do this?” Frank asked.
“Figured one of your boys would suit up, hit the water. The suits are weighted. Sink to the bottom, then I can guide them with this GPS thingy as I track against the maps. I paid a premium for them high-tech, full-face masks that you can talk into, like walkies.”
Bernardo and Ramón looked at each other, then at Harry. Bernardo spoke for them. “We do not go in the water.”
“What?” Harry smiled, but only because he had forgotten to remove the smile from his face.
“I have not scuba dived. Ramón has not scuba dived.”
“An excellent opportunity to learn. Who did you think was going to dive? Your million-year-old grandfather with cancer? Me? With a giant cast on my leg? Or was it going to be the shriveled-arm dude? No offense, Ricky. Who, if not one of you two?”
“I did not think of any of that,” Bernardo said. “I did not think of any of that, because that was not my job t
o think of. We are here to lift. Only to lift.”
“You’re right.” Harry felt his rising panic. “We should have discussed it before. Why don’t you suit up and we’ll forget about it?”
Bernardo shook his head. Ramón mimicked his brother a second later. “I have told you,” Bernardo said. “We do not go in the water.”
“Frank? Can you talk to them?” Harry’s body shook.
But before Frank could answer, Ramón spoke for the first time. He looked down at his feet and spoke softly, but loud enough to hear. “I cannot swim. We cannot swim.”
Harry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He couldn’t believe it. They had come all the way out there and nobody could do the dive. How could it not have come up? Did they want money? Was this a tactic? They couldn’t want a cut, because they didn’t know about the gold. Unless Frank told them.
“What are we supposed to do? You know how much money I spent? We’re supposed to take the boat back? Call it a day?”
“You know what they say about when you assume,” Ramón said, still staring at his feet.
“I ask for help and I get the Go Go Gophers. High was bad enough, but stupid and high. I’m surprised you retarded redskins have enough brains between…”
Bernardo didn’t bother to let him finish. He picked up Harry, held him over his head like a barbell, and threw him off the boat.
Five minutes later, Harry was back on the boat silently drying his cast. Gooey plaster stuck to the towel. He was lucky he hadn’t sunk to the bottom. Harry stared death at Bernardo. The big Indian stared back, daring Harry to speak.
Frank put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Don’t mind the mutiny. You’re in charge. What’s the plan? We’ve got to have options.”
“There is no plan. That’s it. We come back next month when I get the money together again. When my leg is better or we find someone with diving experience. What else can I do? Get some real divers, instead of these…”
Bernardo’s look stopped Harry in midsentence.
Harry laughed. “Do you want to fish? We got the boat. We got fish poles. Let’s catch some fish.”
“I read something about the tilapia being good,” Frank added.
“We have no bait,” Ramón said.
Harry turned to him, fuming. “The big Indian is right. We don’t have any bait. We didn’t bring bait. Just another screw-up, brought to you by Harry Shitburger. So we’re out of luck on that front, too. Can’t even fish. Anyone want to go for a swim? Those of us that know how, that is. Me? I already had a dip, but anybody else?”
“I’ll dive.”
Everyone turned to Ricky, who picked up a wet suit and held it against his body.
“What?” Harry said. “What did you say?”
“I’ll do the dive. I got my legs and one strong arm. It’s not like there’s ocean currents. Been diving before, too. One time when Flavia and me drove down to Cabo. Been a while, but don’t remember it being that hard. I can do it. What have we got to lose?”
Everyone turned back to Harry.
“I love you, kid,” Harry said as he stood up and crushed Ricky in a big hug. He turned to the Indians. “Are you two going to sit there or help Ricky with the gear?”
The Indians remained motionless, giving Harry a hard stare.
Frank spoke up. “Okay, boys, you proved your point. Besides, you big baloneys love the Go Go Gophers. Seen a collection in your DVDs.”
“Whoopee doopee! We have fun,” Bernardo said deadpan. He stood and Ramón followed, picking up the scuba gear.
Ricky pulled Frank aside. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Course.”
“Hold onto this.” Ricky handed Frank the small piece of cloth, Rosie’s manta. “I don’t want it to get wet.”
“It’ll be waiting for you. And Ricky?”
“Yeah?”
“I knew you had it in you.”
“I ain’t doing this for me.”
“Exactly.” Frank gave him a slap on the back.
Harry wasn’t lying. He hadn’t skimped on the gear. The full-face mask with the advanced wireless system would allow him to communicate with Ricky underwater. The guy had told Harry it was a twin-hose, open-circuit system with a demand regulator, but that meant nothing to him. He had a GPS unit that would allow him to track Ricky and coordinate his position with the calculations on his maps, both modern and old. He should be able to guide him directly to the most probable locations. Walk the kid right down Main Street.
Ricky felt like a superhero in all the gear. Like a GI Joe action figure. The big one, not the lamer, smaller one. He had the costume and all the hard-to-find accessories. For the first time in a long time, he was glad to be alive. He didn’t need a drink. The prep for the dive was rush enough. He couldn’t wait to get in the water. Scared and excited.
“Check. Check. One, two.”
“Can hear you loud and clear, Harry. Like we’re in the same room.”
“Let’s do this. Any questions about the gear, the plan, anything?”
Harry had his maps out on top of a beer cooler with the GPS tracker and some mapping equipment at the ready. He marked a small dot on the map to designate their current location and had a pen at the ready to track Ricky’s movement.
“I’m good.”
Ricky walked to the back of the boat. The equipment felt heavy and cumbersome and the flippers were awkward, but he knew in the water it would be different. He checked the pressure gauge. Ricky turned on the headlamp and the flashlight he had tied to his dead arm. He hoped that in the water what little movement his left arm had could be put to use.
Then, as he had seen in countless movies, which was his primary reference regarding diving, he let himself fall backward off the edge.
SEVENTEEN
It wasn’t like Cabo. No pretty multicolored fish squirting through the neon reef. No sea turtles swimming along the sea floor. No bikinied wife kicking her flippers ahead of him. No nothing.
Ricky couldn’t see squat.
Squinting into the brown water, he was stuck inside a dirt-filled snow globe. His visibility wasn’t even five feet. And as soon as he moved in the silty water, the debris he kicked up reduced it to two or three.
“How’s it going down there, Ricky?” Harry’s voice echoed loud, like it was inside his brain.
“Feels okay, Harry. Still got some ’drenaline, but I’m breathing easy. Water feels good, warmish. Can’t see anything though. Super cloudy.”
“It might be clearer deeper. Get used to being in the water, then head down slowly.”
“This mask is awesome. Like a science fiction. Way better than having that thing in your mouth.”
“That’s what she said. Over and out.”
Ricky let the weight belt do its job and descended slowly. His sense of direction was challenged with no landmarks to guide him, but knowing where down was helped. It was strangely peaceful apart from his breathing and the noises of the apparatus. Nothing to see. Nothing to hear. He could get used to that kind of quiet.
Ricky felt like he sank forever, not able to gauge his speed. He checked the depth, and he had only gone twenty feet. He must have been going slower than he thought or maybe at an angle. As he dropped, the visibility increased, but there was still nothing but silt to look at.
“You’re veering west a little,” Harry said inside his head. “Try to drop straight down.”
“Doing my best.”
He adjusted a shoulder strap that was digging into his shoulder. Looking down, he finally saw the lake floor.
“I’m at the bottom,” Ricky said.
He reached down, cupped some of the sand, and let it slide through his fingers. It felt cold in his bare hand. A small cloud rose from the floor.
Ricky looked at his wrist compass. “Show me the way.”
“Head due east. Maybe thirty yards. That’ll put you back below us. You didn’t drift that far. Keep your eyes open. See if you see anything tow
ny. Signs. Hell, any wood or brick. Building foundations. Anything with an edge. I don’t know what’s left or even how close my calculations got us. Look for any kind of marker.”
“Roger. Over and out.” Ricky was having fun. Considering the last few months, that was monumental.
The lake floor offered nothing for the thirty yards he traveled. He kept it slow, scanning ahead and feeling his way along the surface. Just more sand. He hadn’t even seen a single fish. When he finally caught some movement, it was in the form of something scuttling past in his peripheral vision. A fish, a crawdad, didn’t matter. Unless it talked and gave directions, it wasn’t going to help him find what he was looking for.
“Anything?” Harry asked.
“Nothing.”
“Stay east. Dig a little if you have to. Who knows what happens to buildings after they’ve been underwater for seventy years?”
Ricky continued forward, scanning the ground below him. He dug in the sand, but it clouded his vision, so he stopped. That’s when he saw it. Out of the corner of his eye. Bright green in a sea of cloudy grayish.
“I see something.”
“What?”
“Looks like glass. Hold on.”
Ricky reached for the green sticking out of the sand. He brushed the sand away.
“It’s a bottle.”
“Could be you’re near one of the saloons. Good sign. Means you’re in town.”
Ricky pulled it out of the sand and turned it in his hand, revealing a Heineken label. Ricky let the bottle drop. It landed with no sound.
“Just some boater’s trash. Heineken bottle.”
“Out-of-towners. Only a city jerk would drink not-Mex imported and chuck their garbage over the side. Some people got no respect.”
As Ricky looked up, something hit his head on the left side. Or more accurately, he hit his head on something. It twisted the mask on his face, a little water leaking in.
“Ow!” Ricky shouted.
“What? What’s happening? Ricky, are you okay?” Harry’s voice crackled, no longer as clear as before.
