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  "Glad you're back with us my boy," Willy remarked happily. "Oh, my head," Marcus moaned holding his hand to his forehead. "Roy Dunn gave you quite a beating son, but you're on the mend now," Willy said.

  "What happened to that asshole?" Marcus asked. "The police arrested him. My guess is he's either in the County jail or the Navy brig." Willy replied.

  "You saw everything that happened between Dunn and me Willy?" Marcus asked. "I saw enough to make sure Roy Dunn gets booted out of the Navy for good." "And Cracker? Where is she?" "Parts unknown my boy. Haven't seen her since she left us at the restaurant." "Did she come to talk to you at the hotel Maggie?" Marcus asked.

  "No, and let's not talk about her anymore. Agreed?" Maggie said glancing away. "Agreed," Marcus replied shyly. "As soon as you're up and about my boy we'll pack up and head for Buzzard's Roost," Willy said excitedly.

  "I don't know Willy, I think I've had enough. You go. I'm staying here for now." "But son," Willy replied. "The knowledge we've gained so far gives us an excellent shot at locating Frank's gold. You can't quit now." "I'll think about it," he replied. "For now, you go Willy and I hope you find it. If I change my mind, I'll catch a flight and join you later."

  "Change your mind?" Maggie said angrily before he could respond. "You mean after all this you still intend to chase after this silly treasure. You're a fool, Marcus. I'm going out for some coffee. You and Willy go ahead and make your ridiculous plans," she said walking towards the door.

  "Sounds like you need to make a choice my boy," Willy said. "Yeah, looks that way. Do me one favor before you leave Willy." "Of course Marcus. What is it?" "Contact Albrecht and send him a copy of all of the session recordings. Oh and thank him for having that guy . . What was his name?"

  "Tisdale," Willy replied.

  "Tisdale, yes. Thank Albrecht for having Tisdale watch out for me. Wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him and his partner." "I'll do that son. I'm not sure that was Albrecht's intent, but it worked out well all the same."

  ≈≈≈≈≈≈

  The Navy brig, on Pearl, was a bigger place than Dunn had expected. The building was long, low and sprawling with a one-story center core. There was a browned lawn out front with parking lots on both sides. The whole place looked grim and weather-beaten in the bright sunlight.

  There was no one at the front desk when he and his escort arrived. His two Marine guards led him to an interview room off the reception area. Commander Taylor the JAG lawyer on duty and Tisdale, grinning like a Cheshire cat, were seated at a narrow, steel conference table.

  "So, Dunn," Commander Taylor said, "Looks like you're gonna be an old man with a dishonorable discharge from the only job you've ever had. You've got no social skills, you've never worked in the civilian world, you've been busted twice before, and you're good for nothing. Maybe you should tell me exactly what happened. Then maybe, just maybe, I can exert some positive influence at your court-martial."

  Standing at attention, watching his military career and pension go out the window, Roy Dunn threw himself at the mercy of Commander Taylor and told him everything.

  ≈≈≈≈≈≈

  Two days after visiting Marcus in the hospital, Willy caught the next flight to Oklahoma City. Upon arrival, he pulled together the gear he would need, rented a Range Rover, and headed for Buzzard's Roost. Stopping in Cement he made arrangements to hire a young man on a temporary basis to help with hauling the equipment to the site. With the promise of ten bucks an hour, the young man signed on.

  ≈≈≈≈≈≈

  One week later, released from the hospital, Marcus met Maggie at The Shore Bird for dinner. The bar was packed with a boisterous crowd drinking watered down mai tai's and umbrella drinks. Avoiding the crowd, they settled on a table in the rear of the restaurant.

  "Thanks for agreeing to meet me, Maggie," Marcus said holding out a chair for her. "Don't read too much into this Marcus. You said over the phone you were leaving soon, and I just wanted to say goodbye," she replied taking a seat. "It's just a quick trip back to San Diego to take care of a few things and to meet with Albrecht," he said. "When are you leaving?" Maggie asked.

  "I'm catching a flight for the Mainland tomorrow morning." "You sure you're well enough to fly?" she asked. "Yeah, other than a mild headache now and again I feel fine," he said his eyes roaming over her chest and then quickly back to her eyes.

  "When's your meeting with Doctor Albrecht?" Maggie asked. "He agreed to meet me at his home tomorrow evening," Marcus replied. "How did he sound when you called him?" she asked raising her left eyebrow as she removed her glasses.

  "He seemed genuinely relieved that I was back on my feet again. Apparently Tisdale told him everything that happened." "And the session recordings?" Maggie asked. "Willy sent him the tape as promised. He liked what he heard but was disappointed that Cracker didn't come back to La Jolla to meet with him. Anyway, he said he'd be happy to see me."

  "What plans do you have after you meet with him?" Maggie asked. "I'm either going to join Willy in Oklahoma or look for a job and a place to stay in San Diego or return here and look for work. I haven't decided yet. A lot depends on how you feel about our getting back together again."

  "You know how I feel Marcus, and it hasn't changed," Maggie responded angrily. "If you and Willy are going to continue with this insane chase for gold in Oklahoma then I'm not part of the package. If you come to your senses, then we'll see."

  "Hey, I'm making an effort here Maggie." "Yes, I agree you're making an effort to set things right with Albrecht, and I applaud you for that. I just wonder when you're going to make an effort to set things right with me."

  "You're the one who's been avoiding my phone calls the past week," Marcus exploded. "And when I call your home number that bitch Holly won't let me talk to you."

  "She's not a bitch. She's just looking out for me." "What do you want from me then?" Marcus countered. "What do I want? What do I want? I'll tell you what I want Marcus," Maggie said standing up and pushing her chair away from the table. "I want you to forget about this pipe dream of buried James gang gold. I want you to apologize to both Holly and me for what happened at our home. And most of all I want an apology for your choosing that slut Cracker over me."

  "That was just business, Maggie. Just business." "Business?" she responded. "You made it your business to bed her rather than come after me?" "You threw me out, Maggie. What was I supposed to do?" he replied looking disappointed.

  "You were supposed to chase after me, Marcus. Instead, you did nothing!" "I'm sorry," he replied with a shrug. "Maybe I should have handled things differently." "Yes, maybe you should have Marcus but it's too late now!"

  "May I start you folks off with a drink?" the waiter asked approaching their table. "Ask him," Maggie said pointing at Marcus. "I'm leaving."

  ≈≈≈≈≈≈

  Arriving at San Diego International Airport the following morning Marcus rented a car for the drive to La Jolla. On the way there he checked into The Sunset an inexpensive, by La Jolla standards, motel on the outskirts of town.

  After unpacking, he decided to take a walk around the area. He was roaming the sidewalks, saw a diner that was open, and walked in with the hope of finding a beer and a sandwich. Sitting at a small booth by the door, a wave of loneliness hit him as he contemplated his next move. Things hadn't gone well with Maggie, and he was beginning to doubt he would ever see her again. And with money running low he'd have to raise capital somehow. He wondered if the locals played poker.

  That afternoon, his pockets stuffed with his remaining cash, Marcus got in his car and drove to Morgan's Hideaway. The desk clerk at The Sunset informed him Morgan's had everything he was looking for, including a full bar, pizza oven, pool tables, and high stakes poker in the back room. Built in the late fifties, the bar was favored by a local blend of old-timers, hipsters and hustlers working the underground angles of back-room poker and illegal sports books.

  The bar was swarming with regulars and long-legged ladies
in short shorts tending tables when he arrived. Marcus sidled up to a bartender and after some small talk asked if there was perhaps a card game in progress he could join. He was told that yes, for the fee of $50 a game of Texas Hold'em could be found.

  Sliding $50 across the bar, Marcus inquired if a game of straight poker could instead be had. Marcus wasn't a fan of Texas Hold'em primarily because cheating with a house dealer on hand was difficult if not downright dangerous. A table filled with tourists playing straight poker was, on the other hand, easy pickings.

  The bartender told him that a high-stakes game of straight poker could be found, a half hour drive from there in Imperial City. Grabbing the address and downing the remainder of his beer, Marcus set out in search of some action.

  Passing dozens of ramshackle houses, he found the address he was looking for near an overgrown avocado orchard. A group of mangy dogs, tied up outside the house next door, barked angrily as he approached. Their barking roused a young, muscular man, in a tattered Grateful Dead tee shirt, lounging in a chair by the front door.

  "What you want?" he said standing up and looking menacing. "Just looking for a friendly game," Marcus replied. "What kind of game?"

  "Card game. Straight poker."

  "Ah, poker. It'll cost you." "How much?" Marcus replied. "$50 for me. $250 buy in. You got that much?" Peeling off $50 from his roll, Marcus handed the money over.

  Opening the front door, Marcus entered a dingy, two-room hobble reeking of beer and cigarette smoke. Several animated games were in progress at three large, round tables in what passed for a living room. A tall, bearded Aussie, with a cigar perched behind his ear, approached Marcus and asked, "What's up mate? Want in?"

  "I do if there's a game of straight poker open." "$500 buy-in, friend," the Aussie said. "The guy outside said $250," Marcus replied. "In here its $500 mate." "OK, I'm good. Which table?" "The open seat over there," he replied, pointing to a table in the corner of the room. "Have a seat friend," a balding man of about fifty said pulling out an empty chair.

  Two hours later Marcus was down to his last fifty dollar bill. The cards had not gone his way, and the players at his table were much better than he expected they would be. That coupled with the fact that opportunities to base deal when he had the cards were minimal. With just enough money left for one more hand, he made a false shuffle and dealt himself a full house, Jacks over Tens, from the bottom of the deck.

  "What the fuck," a younger guy with thick glasses sitting across from Marcus said loudly. "You base dealing there slick?" "Are you talking to me, friend?" Marcus replied. "Yea, I'm talking to you! Turn over your cards." "What's this all about?" the Aussie said walking over and keeping his eye on Marcus.

  "This asshole just dealt from the bottom Darcy." "You sure about that Billy?" Darcy asked. Standing up Billy replied, "Yea, I'm sure. How long have I been coming here? You ever heard me accuse someone of cheating?"

  "Let's see your cards, Mister," Darcy said as he grabbed Marcus' wrist. Three Jacks and two tens appeared as Darcy flipped the cards over. "Full house, Jacks over! Nice hand shithead. Too bad it won't do you any good. Split up his chips guys this jackass is leaving." "Wait a minute," Marcus shouted moving away from Darcy. "That's all I've got."

  "Tough shit asshole," Darcy replied as he kneed Marcus in the groin and leveled an elbow to his jaw. "Now get out before I really get pissed." As Marcus climbed painfully back up from his knees, a group of guys broke away from the table and approached him menacingly. "Enough, enough," Marcus implored with his hands in the air. "Take the money, I'm leaving."

  ≈≈≈≈≈≈

  With its infinite procession of sun-scorched vacationers, beach-buzzing wave runners and wide opened beaches, La Jolla is a free for all. Everything and anything are available from upscale dining and street-side grills to antique shops and night clubs. Taking one look at the wide, white sand beach and its breathtaking crescent bay, Marcus understood why Robert Albrecht called this area home.

  It was a short drive to Albrecht’s home. On the way there Marcus pulled into a Denny's to use the men's room to clean up before proceeding on. His left eye was swollen and turning black from the elbow Darcy gave him. With his credit cards maxed out and cash gone he wasn't sure what he'd do for money. Maybe Albrecht would float him a loan.

  ≈≈≈≈≈≈

  "Hello," Albrecht shouted from his front porch as Marcus pulled his car into the driveway and parked. "Wasn't sure if I'd see you tonight." "Sorry, I'm late Robert," Marcus replied as he got out of the car. "Had a bad run at cards this afternoon." "Poker again Marcus?" Robert asked wheeling his chair around. "Afraid so."

  "What happened to your eye son? That is one nasty bruise. Is that poker related as well?" "Yes, rough game," Marcus replied rubbing his jaw. "Well, I'm glad you could make it. Come inside we'll get some ice for that eye," Albrecht replied as he pointed his wheelchair towards the foyer.

  "Your place hasn't changed much," Marcus said eyeing the pile of books and manuscripts stacked on the floor and upon every available table. "It's a work in progress Marcus. But I'm getting there," he replied guiding him to an empty chair. "Please sit down. I'll get a bag of ice from the freezer."

  "I want to apologize for trying to deceive you, Robert," Marcus said taking a seat. "I know I said that over the phone but I thought it would be wise to come in person to say I'm sorry." "No need Marcus," Albrecht replied returning with the ice. "I'm quite pleased how this whole affair turned out. The information uncovered about Jesse and Frank is fascinating. I'm completely convinced now that Jesse did indeed fake his death with Bob and Charlie Ford's assistance. I'm not sure if he lived out the remainder of his life as Frank Dalton or as someone else, but I'm determined to find out."

  "Have you spoken to William lately?" Robert asked. "Yes, last week. I phoned to check up on him. He hadn't yet put a shovel in the ground. He said he'd had difficulty gaining permission from landowners in the area to dig at Buzzard's Roost."

  "I'm not sure I understand what William is doing going to Buzzard's Roost. He surely knows from listening to the recordings that Frank's treasure, if there ever was one, isn't buried there." "It's not?" Marcus blurted.

  "Why no. The last session made it clear that the tree carvings at Buzzard's Roost were false markings." "False markings?" Marcus exclaimed sounding stunned. "Yes, of course," Robert replied. "I don't understand," Marcus countered. "Are you familiar with the KGC Marcus?" Robert prodded. "Willy mentioned them once. Knights of the Golden Circle or something like that." "Correct," Robert replied.

  "The KGC was a group comprised of die-hard, southern rebels, intent on establishing a Confederate nation independent from the Northern States. After the Civil War was over, they refused to accept the terms of the Southern surrender. They went underground with the goal of restarting the Civil War. Legend has it that Jesse was a member of the KGC but his brother Frank was not."

  "In the late 1800's, efforts were made to infiltrate the KGC by members of a law enforcement group called the Pinkertons. A few of the members of the Pinkertons were originally in the KGC. They were aware of the gold caches hidden by KGC operatives and wished to find them for their own gain."

  "For this reason the KGC devised different markings to confuse the Pinkertons. False markings were created on purpose as blinds, so that if they were found, the robbers would think they had what they were after. In some cases, the falsified markings have been found while the true carvings behind them have not as yet been discovered."

  "There were various marks made to distinguish the various sets of records, true and false. Please hand me the pencil and scrap of paper on the table."

  "This KGC symbol was a sign of a false marking."

  Ў

  "This KGC character was for a true marking."

  Ќ

  "There were others, but these two are the important ones. They were carved on trees, boulders, and caves, to identify the location of KGC gold and silver caches. It would appear that Jesse used identica
l symbols as blinds to hide the Mexican burro train treasure."

  "I don't recall any mention of that on the last recording," Marcus said. "That's odd. Let me play it back for you," Robert replied. "Would you grab the recorder over there on the table? The sessions are listed separately. Find number six and hit play."

  This is Doctor Peter Billingsley. It is April 7th, 2014 5:30 in the afternoon. My subject is Miss Virginia McCracken of Pearl City, Hawaii. This is our sixth session. I have induced a deep hypnotic trance state, and Virginia is resting comfortably on the couch in my study.

  "Where are you now Virginia and what do you see?"

  "I'm watching a play on a stage. The audience is jeering and hooting at the actor."

  "What is the name of the play?"

  "Outlaws of Missouri."

  "Who is the actor?"

  "I don't know. The play is over. Folks are throwing tomatoes at the drawn curtain. They are filing out now cursing the actor. People are shouting and calling him a dirty little coward. One man is saying—come outside Bob—we'll show you what for."

  "What are you doing now?"

  "I'm backstage. I'm confronting the actor. His name is Bob. He is shouting that it wasn't Jesse; it was Bigelow, Charlie Bigelow. I'm pointing my revolver at him. He's shaking and shouting to –ask Jesse—ask Jesse. Find him and ask him. I didn't shoot him. I shot Bigelow."

  Pausing the recorder Marcus said, "There, that's the end where Willy turned off the recording." Hitting the play button, Robert replied. "Not quite the end Marcus. Let's listen to the rest. The part you apparently didn't hear."

  "Ask Bob for his last name?"

  "I can't. He ran out the side door of the building."

  "Can you go after him?"

  "Too many people in the way all shouting and hooting. The scene is fading now. I’m not sure where to go or what to do next."

  "Next, I want you to go to the most noteworthy and significant occurrence late in your life and tell me what you see."

  "I'm with Cole."