Already Gone Page 2
"Card marking? Is that still in use Marcus?" "Sure but it's gotten more sophisticated. We've used luminous marked cards quite successfully. We mark the deck with a luminous substance which cannot be seen by the human eye. My partner Jimmy is outfitted with a gimmicked pair of contact lenses which can detect the markings. It's quite an advantage."
"How about base dealing? What’s that entail?" Willy asked. "That's Paulie's specialty," Marcus replied. “Base dealers are sleight of hand experts. They deal select cards from the bottom of the deck or the second tier of the deck. If they're good, and Paulie's one of the best, they rarely get caught."
"What's the take on an average night?" Willy asked attentively. "Depends on the play and how the cards are flowing. If we're playing straight up maybe fifteen hundred. If we have a high roller to fleece, it could be four or five times that much."
"That occupation sounds a bit risky as well, son." "Yeah, but it's what I do," Marcus replied with a shrug. “I take precautions. We change locations for the game on a regular basis to stay ahead of the local cops. San Diego police have better things to do than go around shutting down illegal poker games, but it happens. We don't pimp the games on social media as some underground parlors do. The more the word gets out, the better the chance of being robbed. My only mistake was holding the last game at my house instead of at another location."
"Would you say that you're a professional card player Marcus?" Willy asked. "No, not a pro. I play now and again if the situation is right. I tried card counting at Blackjack in Atlantic City some years back but didn't have much success. I decided to host card games rather than play myself."
"Where's home?" Willy questioned taking a sip of his coffee. "Mission Bay. Or it was. After that last game, I decided to leave the area for a while. I'm staying downtown at the Jefferson." "The Jefferson?" Willy exclaimed. "That transient hotel on Elm Street?" "That's the one," Marcus replied with a grimace. "Sounds like we've both seen better days then my boy?" Willy added.
"What about you Willy? Where do you live?" Marcus asked. "Just up the street a bit. Corner of Laurel and Front." "What'll it be Professor?" the bartender asked approaching their table. "Couple of chilies, a bit of bread and another round if you please, Scott," Willy answered.
"Sure thing. Coming right up." "You a regular here, Willy?" Marcus inquired. "You could say that. I stop by now and then to grab a coffee and a sandwich on my way home. Scott and I have had some interesting conversations on quiet afternoons."
"So tell me, professor," Marcus asked, "Was it your teaching style that caused you to be labeled Wild Willy? Or was it your penchant for flim-flam? Your treasure hunting trips were a legend on campus." "Actually,” Willy offered “all of the above I suppose. I've always had an interest in the unexplained mysteries of our world. Most summer breaks would see me off on one treasure hunt or another. My last trip and final expedition, some years back, took me to Oklahoma to search for the lost treasure of Frank James."
"Frank James?" Marcus asked sipping his beer. "Who's that?" "Jesse James' brother." Willy responded. "Jesse James the outlaw?" Marcus asked. "Right you are my boy."
"There's a staggering amount of information readily available about possible treasure caches relating to the James gang. For example, I found a waybill documenting the James gang ambushing a pack train in 1875 stealing two million dollars in gold coins and bars. They drove a dozen heavily laden burros into the Wichita Mountains where they were stalled by a blizzard."
"Knowing they could go no further, they hid the gold in a ravine called Buzzard's Roost. Months later they tried to rob a bank in Northfield, Minnesota but things went south and the gang was splintered. A manhunt netted most of them with Jesse and Frank barely escaping. Five years later Jesse was killed."
"Hold on Willy," Marcus remarked, "what's a waybill?"
"A waybill is simply documentation that provides leads to potential treasure caches. The term I suspect is not used as much by modern treasure hunters as it once was by the old timers. If you've never held one in your hands, Marcus, you can't imagine how compelling they are. The images are meant to convey information only to a select few and there's no printed legend to explain the scale or the meaning of cryptic symbols. Knowledge hovers just beyond the edges of the map. You're so close, but you're not quite there."
"Interesting," Marcus replied. "Did you really think you could find the two million dollars they hid? I'm sure countless others have searched for it as well."
"As far as I know there remains a hoard of James gang gold bullion yet to be discovered but that's not what I was after. There's evidence to suggest that Jesse was a full-fledged member of a group called the Knights of the Golden Circle. The KGC, as they were called, was comprised of die-hard Southern rebel’s intent on restarting the civil war. That never happened, of course, but most of the wealth they had accumulated still lies buried throughout the southwest. "
"Jesse also hid smaller caches of gold and silver coins, in Mason jars, to help finance the KGC operation. It was these smaller caches I was after. My research indicated that a promising area to search was in a region called Tucker's Clearing. So, armed with a metal detector, my waybill, GPS and necessary supplies I rented a Range Rover and headed for Southwest Oklahoma."
"I hit the road for a tiny burg called Cement. Stopping for lunch at a local bar outside town, I met a few of the more seasoned treasure hunters. They were quite willing to pass on a bone or two to a newbie. Almost too willing I thought. They advised me to steer clear of Tucker's Clearing and Buzzard's Roost as the area had been picked clean by others before me. Instead, they said I should concentrate my search further to the Northwest. A suitable area was to be found approximately 35 miles due Southeast in the Tarbone Mountains."
"Armed with maps of the terrain culled from Google Earth, I set out. Ignoring their questionable advice, I headed directly for Tucker's Clearing. It was midmorning when I arrived at what I guessed was the right location. Surrounded by low lying shrub-topped hills, the clearing was no more than 300 yards wide in any direction."
"I decided to start searching at the top of the nearest knoll and work my way completely around. By midafternoon, I'd covered about a quarter of the hill top. Any metal I found turned out to be useless scrap or bottle caps. I continued searching the top of the knoll for the next two days with nothing to show for my efforts. On the third day following a sack lunch, I set out to cover as much ground as I could until sunset. At the crest of a hill on the Northwest side of the area, my metal detector went wild."
"I had a bit of trouble locating the exact spot of the signal source due to the uneven terrain. Once pinned down, the detector indicated that the metal below was most likely gold at a depth of three to four feet. Marking the area with stones, I removed my collapsible shovel from my pack and began digging. I shoveled out an area three feet wide by a foot deep just as the sun was setting. I was tired and hungry yet feeling hopeful as darkness fell. Two feet or more from my goal, I decided to retreat to my Range Rover for a rest and something to eat. Around nine pm, I returned to the site, armed with lanterns and assorted tools, just as a crescent moon was rising."
"Determined to discover what lay below, I dug straight down into the dry Oklahoma clay. Hitting a depth of three feet, I brought my metal detector into the hole to gain another signal. Once again, the radar indicated the source was gold at a depth now of one foot. Digging feverishly, the tip of my shovel struck something hard but brittle and I heard what I thought was shattering glass. Removing the dirt with my hands, I came upon broken slices of thick glass resembling a Mason jar. Imagine my elation when I next unearthed the brass screw-in-top of a Mason jar and a few silver and gold coins."
"To make a long story a bit shorter, Marcus, I discovered what I believe to be one of Jesse’s hidden KGC caches. The sum of my find was twenty-six $20.00 gold pieces and 12 silver dollars all dated 1873 and 1874. Their approximate value in today's market would have been $75,000 and quite possibly more if I could prove
they were James gang loot." "What do you mean would have been, Willy?" Marcus asked anxiously.
"Alas, the treasure was not meant to be mine. Gathering up my spoils, lantern, and tools, I proceeded back around the hill tops towards the direction of my Range Rover. By now the moon had set and the only light I had was a dim beam from my lantern. Burdened with the pack and light, I stumbled on some loose rocks and tumbled, gold and all, twenty feet down into the clearing below."
"I came to with excruciating pain in my leg and back. I was certain my left leg was broken. The remains of my pack and my new found gold were strewn hither and yon in the clearing below. I slowly and painfully searched my pockets for my cell phone. It was then I realized I had put my phone in my backpack. It was pitch black as I considered my situation. I had foolishly not told anyone where I was headed and my Range Rover might not be discovered for days. My only hope was to locate my pack and phone. I crawled, arm over arm to find my pack. At some point, crawling along the hillside, I passed out."
"The next thing I knew I was being loaded onto a stretcher and hauled by two EMTs to an ambulance. While recovering in the hospital, I learned that a group of four teenage campers found me the next morning as they were headed to a campsite. They phoned emergency services and the EMTs arrived within an hour to haul me out. I spent a week recovering in the hospital while my leg was set and my wounds tended. I wanted to thank the four teenagers, but their names and addresses hadn't recorded by the emergency personnel."
"Released from the hospital, I hired a cab to drive me to the bar in Cement where I had met the local treasure hunters. I recognized two of them sitting at the bar. They remembered me and appeared to be entirely sympathetic concerning my plight. I convinced them to drive me back to Tucker's Clearing to search for and recover my gold coins, promising to cut them in on the find."
"We set off and arrived, in the early afternoon, at the spot where I had originally parked my Range Rover. I remained in the car while my two new partners climbed the hill to the place where I took my tumble. An hour later they returned with the remains of my pack. The gold coins and broken Mason jar were, according to them, nowhere to be found. They drove me back to my motel swearing they would continue to search for the gold and notify me should it be found."
"To this day I have no idea what happened to my James gang coins. They could have been taken by the teenagers or the local hunters or persons unknown. All I have to show for my troubles is a limp."
"Fascinating tale, professor," Marcus exclaimed. "I'd like to hear more." "Another time Marcus," Willy responded looking out the tavern’s window. "We'd best get going soon as I'd like to get home before dark. I have a thought," he continued, downing the last of his coffee. "It appears that you and I are in the same boat financially as it were. Why don't you accompany me Friday afternoon to La Jolla? An acquaintance of mine, there might be able to assist us both."
"How so and who is this acquaintance?" Marcus asked hopefully.
"His name's Doctor Robert Albrecht. A bit of a crackpot, into hypnosis, spiritualism and the like but a fascinating chap nonetheless. Plus he appears to be quite wealthy." "How do you know him?" Marcus asked.
"I know little of his background, I'm afraid" Willy replied. "I met Robert a few days ago while trying to relieve him of $500 cash in downtown La Jolla. Bumped into him, as it were, coming out of an antique shop. I was carrying a bag of broken glass which I dropped when his wheelchair collided with me. I claimed that, due to his carelessness, my $500 Loetz glass vase was broken."
"Unfortunately, he knew more about Loetz vases than I did. Examining the broken glass, he suspected I was up to no good. Threatening to have me arrested, I admitted my ploy and apologized profusely. Instead of calling the police, he suggested we have lunch. Over coffee, he offered me a few dollars to recruit a suitable young man to take a trip for him. I accepted his offer and we worked out an arrangement. I was planning on hanging out on Campus to corral a former student and then I ran into you."
"A trip where?" Marcus asked. "To Oahu," Willy replied. "Hawaii?” Marcus blurted. “Why doesn't he go himself?" "He's in a wheelchair son. Hasn't been on an airplane in years." "I don't know Willy," Marcus replied. "Sounds kind of random."
"What have you got to lose?" Willy declared. "Hear the man out. There might be a few bucks in it for us both." "I suppose," Marcus replied. "Anything's better than another week at The Jefferson and I would like to get out of town for a while."
"That's a plan then. Pick me up Friday afternoon around four. Here's my address," Willy said, pulling a pen and paper from his breast pocket. "Sure thing Willy. And I'd like to hear more of your expeditions as well. I seem to recall a lecture of yours dealing with the Lost Dutchman's gold mine in the Superstition Mountains."
"Ah, yes, that's a hell of a story," Willy responded grabbing his cane. "See you Friday, my boy, and we'll chat some more."
* * *
Chapter Three
La Jolla
I'M STILL NOT sure what to make of this guy, Marcus thought, as he pulled up in front of Willy’s apartment. He's an interesting old fart, but I've no idea where this is heading. Willy limped out of his front door just as Marcus pulled to a stop.
"Right on time, my boy," Willy said as he opened the car door. "Glad to see you." "Same here, professor. Where are we headed?" "Plug this address into your GPS," Willy said, handing him a slip of paper. "It's a short drive to Albrecht's place. Should give us time to chat a bit along the way."
"So how much do you know about this guy Willy?" Marcus asked as he pulled out into traffic. "Well Marcus, I know that he's a retired psychologist who made a pile of money and a name for himself conducting past life regression therapy." "Past life, what?" Marcus asked.
"As Albrecht explained it, past life regression is a technique that uses hypnosis to recover what practitioners believe are memories of past lives or incarnations. Albrecht uses guided meditation techniques to lead his patients back in time to their earliest memories. Then he takes them even further back to what he says are their previous lives. His theory is that if we live multiple lives there is an argument to be made that we don't ever die and that there is a plane or dimension between our physical lives. A life between lives as it were."
"What a bunch of crap!" Marcus replied. "Perhaps, my boy, but what's important is that Albrecht believes in the practice. I also know that he and I share a common interest in the story of the James brothers. The good doctor is an aficionado of the Wild West and has made quite a study of the James/Cole Younger gang."
"More James Gang. That's a hell of a coincidence," Marcus exclaimed. "Yes, I thought so too. That's most likely the reason he and I got along so well after the Loetz glass affair." "Do you recall the story of how Jesse James was killed Marcus?" Willy asked after a moment. "Yeah, I think so. Shot in the back by one of his outlaw buddies."
"That's correct. By Bob Ford, a supposed friend of his. Ford shot Jesse in the back of the head while he was adjusting a crooked picture on the wall in his home. Reportedly, he and his brother Charlie had been in secret negotiations with the governor of Missouri to kill Jesse and collect the reward money."
"Albrecht believes that Jesse faked his death at the hands of Bob Ford and left the area to live a long life under the alias of J. Frank Dalton in Granbury, Texas. He intends to seek proof that that is the case."
"Proof? How is he going to get evidence of that and what does all this have to do with me?" "You'll find out shortly. Ah, here we are now. Second house on the left. We'll continue this conversation later, my boy," Willy said, as they pulled into the drive and parked.
Albrecht's house was a large Spanish style, u-shaped ranch with a substantial yard and garden and a commanding view of the beach. He was sitting in the foyer as they arrived. A tall, thin man, in a wheelchair, with a chiseled face and long, thinning gray hair, he kept his hair in a ponytail, giving him an air of a rebellious hippie.
"Robert," Willy exclaimed as he shook Albrecht's hand firml
y. "Let me introduce my new protégé, Marcus Reno." "Marcus, this is Doctor Robert Albrecht." "A distinct pleasure, son," Albrecht replied taking Marcus' hand. "I don't know about the protégé thing, but I'm pleased to meet you as well," Marcus replied. "Please come in," Albrecht motioned, "and excuse the clutter."
≈≈≈≈≈≈
Namaste: Whoa, let's pause here a minute. Where does this Albrecht guy fit in?
Sumantra: Robert Albrecht was one of my last incarnations on planet Earth.
Namaste: You've been reincarnated?
Sumantra: Oh yes, hundreds of times Namaste. And in most of those lifetimes you and I were related in one way or another.
N. We've known each other before?
S. We have. Dozens of times. In many different places and time periods. That’s why I came here to the Waymeet to guide you.
N. How did you know I was here?
S. Because I know who you really are my friend. I know all about you. And I knew that since you did not believe in a life after death that you would not initially experience one.
You see when one passes over one experiences what they expect to find. You carry your experience and personality with you when you leave your physical body. Had you believed in an Afterlife you would have been surrounded by your loved ones immediately upon leaving your body. Instead, you arrived at the Waymeet. I knew you had arrived and I hurried to meet you.
N. Another thing, you call me Namaste yet you claim that in my last incarnation I was called Marcus Reno?
S. Yes my friend. I have known you in other times and places and under many different names, but Namaste is your whole self, the soul of the sum of your various personalities in the past. Your entire identity, who has lived these separate lives can be designated by the name of Namaste. Marcus Reno is just one of the many lives that you, Namaste have lived.
N. So you claim I’ve lived other lives as well? Tell me about them.