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HER TREASURE
By Bob Clark
"So what I gotta do to be in on this one? I ain't got the money." On a payphone outside the Nueces County Fairgrounds exhibition hall in Robstown, Jimmy Bliss, grifter extraordinaire couldn't agree to the deal being offered. "Look Spike, you're the money man in this one and ever since I know you, you always staked the players to expenses."
"Yeah," said the gruff voice on the other end, but times are changing. I got burned on a couple of jobs. I'm doing business different now. Look, if you're in, you get twenty-five percent, the other guy gets the same and I get the rest. No deductions, no high finance. It's easy money, but you take care of your own expenses for two weeks. Take it or leave it. I got other guys standing in line."
Jimmy was sure Spike had no such line of con men of his caliber, but he needed a big score to get back on his feet after going south of the border and running into some cops on the take. Today, he made a hundred and twenty dollars in just a couple of hours on a Three Card Monty scam in the fairgrounds parking lot. The local suckers never saw it coming. There was no way that amount would cover two weeks in a San Antonio motel or even his food bill for that matter. He pulled the mouthpiece away from his face and sighed. When he brought it back to his mouth, he said, "All right, I'll be at the meet tomorrow at three. How about the other guy?" After getting confirmation they'd all be there, he hung up the handset. He told himself he'd manage somehow, but unless he sold his ten-year-old Mercury Grand Marquis, this job was going to be short lived.
Instead of driving all the way to San Antonio and blowing his cash on a motel, he opted for the picnic area at milepost nineteen on Interstate 37 where he'd sleep overnight. He thought maybe he might make a buck from some of the travelers who thought they could beat him at Three Card Monty. That brought on a chuckle.
Halfway between Robstown and the Interstate, he spotted a woman in a long skirt and a peasant blouse walking, no trudging along the access road. A canvas bag strapped over her left shoulder loaded her down on that side while she half carried and half dragged a bigger and longer canvas bag on her right side. He pulled over and rolled to a stop, then got out. When she drew even with him, he shouted down to her, "Need a ride? Those bags look mighty heavy." He cared nothing about giving her a ride, but with a smirk on his face thought she might give him one.
She stopped, put down the small bag and let the other slip to the ground. She stared up the embankment to the highway. In a heavily accented voice, she said, "I go to Orange Grove. You go there?"
He had no idea where Orange Grove was, but said, "Yeah, that's where I'm headed. Let me help you."
She hefted the two bags once again and turned in the car's direction. When she saw Jimmy heading down the incline, she shouted, "Ya, ya. I do it myself." She reached the car and Jimmy opened the rear door. "Here, let me put those bags in the back. They look like they weigh a ton." She ignored his offer of help and placed the smaller bag on the rear seat. With two hands, she gripped the strap of the larger one and heaved it onto the carpeted floor of the car. She allowed him to close the door and slid onto the front seat after he opened the passenger door.
Behind the wheel, he asked, "So where did you say you were going?
"I go to Orange Grove."
As the car regained highway speed, he glanced at the woman and saw she had her eyes fixed on the horizon. Damn skirt, he thought. Hides too much, but that blouse tells me she ain't bad for her age. He estimated her to be in her mid-forties and probably unmarried because there was no ring on the left hand. Not even a tan line to indicate the possibility.
"Bags looked like they were too much for you. Did you think you were going to make it all the way with that load?"
"I make it."
Like pulling teeth from a Rottweiler just to get her to say those three words, he thought. "So, uh, what's in them bags? Too heavy for clothes, huh?"
"Is my treasure. I need to take to the country."
He looked at the South Texas vista with low vegetation and not a building in sight and thought it couldn't get more country than right where they were.
"Here," she said, pointing to an intersection ahead. "You turn here."
He saw the highway sign with an arrow showing the way to Orange Grove and did as she requested, but the bags and their contents remained in his thoughts. Could be gold. These Mexicans put a lot of faith in gold, especially with their gold teeth and big medals around their necks. Maybe even cash. Remember once hearing about an old cleaning lady dying and they found her mattress stuffed with a fortune. Might be I got a way to come up with the stake I need for that job in San Antonio. “From here, how far to Orange Grove?" he asked.
"Quince minutos," she answered. She turned to check on her two bags in the back seat and Jimmy noticed a flash of leg when her skirt moved.
"Sorry, lady. No speako Spanish."
"Is maybe fifteen minutes."
"You think I could see what's in them bags? Maybe I could buy part of your load. Make it a little easier on you."
"No. I don't take money. Nobody can buy what is in the bags."
"Must be real valuable, huh?"
"Yes, I tell you. Is my treasure."
He looked around. This road was even more desolate than the highway. No cars, no people, no nothing. He tapped the brake and pulled off onto the grassy shoulder. "Changed my mind. I'm not going to Orange Grove. You have to get out here."
The woman shrugged and opened her door. "I get my bags first."
He waited until she had placed both feet on the ground and he gunned the engine. The tires spun and sent up clods of dirt and grass and the woman ducked to avoid the spray. He made a quick u-turn on the roadway and headed back in the direction of the highway. She ran onto the road and tried to block him, but he swerved around her.
Thirty minutes later, Roel Balderramma's pickup pulled up behind a Mercury Grand Marquis and in Spanish he asked the woman beside him if that was the car she left her bags in. She nodded and he pulled his shotgun down from the gun rack and slipped two cartridges in, then snapped it shut. Still in Spanish, he said, "Lucky you had your cell phone so I could come and pick you up. I see legs sticking out of the back seat. They may not be moving, but I'm not taking any chances with this pendejo."
"Wait," cautioned the woman. "If he opened those bags, it might be dangerous. When my landlord in Robstown told me I had to get rid of my treasure or he would kick me out, I decided to take all forty-three of my homeless rattlesnake pets out to your place and let them find new homes. I wasn't going to let them kill my treasure.
END
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