It took six years for Henry Flagler to build his railroad to Key West. It took two-hundred-mile-an-hour winds and an eighteen-foot tidal wave about sixty seconds to bring it down. Give or take a dozen or so people, five hundred souls were lost in that horrific storm. And even though James and I had studied that event in eighth grade Florida history, I’d never read about the Florida East Coast Railway finance director, Matthew Kriegel, and the ten crates of gold bullion that he supposedly loaded onto Old 447’s baggage car that fateful September 2, 1935.
I’d learned about the treasure from Mary Trueblood, Kriegel’s great-granddaughter, when my girlfriend Emily gave her one of my business cards, More or Less Investigations. And I also learned that the gold, $1.2 million worth back then, had never been found.
What Mary Trueblood failed to tell me at the time was that the last investigation team she hired to find the gold had disappeared and not been heard from in over six months. Of course, my partner James Lessor would have taken the job anyway. Even though we were simply offered expenses.
“Expenses, and a percentage, Skip. Do you know what that gold is worth today? Over thirty-four thousand ounces? More than forty-four million dollars, amigo. And she’s willing to give us a half percent. That’s two hundred and twenty thousand dollars, dude.”
James pulled one of my beers from our tiny refrigerator, popped the top, and took a long swallow.
“She’ll give us half a percent if we find this phantom gold. And who’s to say it’s hers to claim, James?” James always thinks we’re going to strike it rich. A fortune is just around the corner.
“Listen, pally, the company doesn’t exist anymore. Flagler’s railway company went under after the hurricane. That means the gold is finder’s keepers. Like Mel Fisher’s shipwreck treasure.”
I seemed to remember that the state of Florida claimed at least 25 percent of any treasure that was discovered. That was already diluting our find by fifty-five thousand dollars.
“What about our jobs?” This private investigating company wasn’t exactly a full-time gig.
“Skip, my man, do we really care about these dead-end jobs?”
He had a point. As college grads we had bottomed out in grades and our job search. James was a line cook at a fast-food place called Cap’n Crab in Carol City, Florida, and I sold security systems to people in the same town-a town where no one had any money, any prospects, or anything they needed to secure. We needed a change and the far-off chance of making one hundred sixty-five thousand dollars did sound tempting.
“So maybe we ask for leaves of absence.” A couple of weeks to see if we could locate this fortune in lost gold. “At least we’ve got something to come back to.”
James shook his head and took another swallow of my Yuengling beer. He was slouched on the stained sofa, feet propped up on the scarred coffee table in our tiny Carol City apartment.
“Jobs? We don’t need no stinking jobs.”
I smiled. James was a wiz with the movie quotes, but he had this one wrong.
“It’s badges. We don’t need no stinkin’ badges. The Treasure of the Sierra Madre. Humphrey Bogart, nineteen forty-seven.”
“Forty-eight, but it’s kind of fitting don’t you think?”
“I’ll tell you what’s fitting, my friend. It’s another quote from that same movie.”
“Give.”
I concentrated for a few seconds. “Gold itself ain’t good for nothing except-”
“Except what?”
“I’m working on it.” I channeled the movie. “Gold itself ain’t good for nothing except making jewelry with and gold teeth.”
“Good one, mate.” James was genuinely impressed.
I can’t explain it. The two of us remember a lot of trivial, useless crap.
We both finished our beers and it got real quiet.
“Skip, this Mary Trueblood, she’s got the treasure map.”
“Well, she’s got an idea of where this stuff may have gone.”
“Dude, we’ll get leaves of absence. We’ll get some expense money up front and take two weeks off. If we find the gold, we’re each rolling in it. If we don’t, it’s an adventure, right?”
Adventures with my best friend James have almost gotten us killed. Several times. I should remember that a lot more than I do.