2006-03-12 - 7:53 a.m.

“Come at night,” she said. Looking back, this should have been a warning. But there I was, driving south, with the stink of anticipation upon me, and a metal detector on the back seat. I was on the trail of buried treasure. I’m not a greedy man, but who could resist? I’d wanted to do this since I was a kid, and I had bills to pay. Fuck it. I’d had my doubts but I’d convinced myself that this was the right thing to do. I still tell myself that.
The neighborhood was just as foreboding as I remembered. Clapped out buildings and wheezy desperation. This wasn’t where you wanted to stick around after twilight. But, I had a job to do. I was alive with anticipation. My shirt was sticking to me. I could already feel their eyes. This was a sure thing, though. I was going to be rich. Before I tell you what happened I’ll give you some details.
I can’t remember the exact circumstances of when I was to be changed internally, but it started with a standard phone call. Old Mrs Mallid. One of my least favourite clients, it was relieving not to have to explain the minutia of her account get-out clauses for once. She had another problem this time. She told me that Mr Henry next door had bought the farm and nobody was coming to mourn. How sad. A damn shame. I felt myself floating above the small talk until she said the following: “…and I just don’t know what to do about that money of his.” I was back down. She might have been crazy but something told me this pinata was worth a swing. No relatives? You saw him bury what? He never trusted banks? And so I was seduced by the shapely form of avarice. This old stonker had money – cash! - buried in his backyard. Of course I asked if she’d checked. The reply: “I’m not digging up no dead man’s money…. There’s just some things you don’t do.” I heard but I didn’t listen.
The first attempt was an anti-climax. I ended up mowing the damn lawn. She stood and watched over me over the fence, on that muggy afternoon as I whitled the jungle that was once a garden. There were snakes. I could hear them. I regretted wearing shorts. There was no way I could dig in this riotous vegetation. I spent hours chopping before borrowing her mower so I could get an idea of what was underfoot. The best things come to he who waits. She watched me with what I now suspect was curiosity. After much commotion I had reduced the thickety maze to stubble. I felt a sense of satisfaction blending into my anticipation to produce a molotive cocktail of arrogance. Feeling her gaze I asked if this was really OK. She said, “I don’t want no part of this… there’s some things you just don’t mess with, boy. I’d be careful if I was you. You don’t know what yo’ gettin’ yo’self in fo’” Never mind, it was agreed I could return with a metal detector at nighttime the following weekend. Nighttime was her clause. I figured I’d added enough to her policy over the years that I owed her one. Besides, technically I was committing a crime and I didn’t want witnesses. Darkness suited the deed. Which brings us up to speed.
I knocked on her door. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t going to freak out and blow the deal. My deal. Hell, I was even going to offer her half if she kept her mouth shut. There was no need. She was still superstitious in words although her manner, I thought, belied a determined calm. Ill auguries were hobbling my imaginings but I had scent of the prize. I was doing this. It felt weird, though. Here I was, at midnight in a dead man’s garden, in the wrong part of town, looking to steal some money while being watched by some fearful old crone. The moonlight bounced off her eyeglasses, sending shards into my spine. I was almost hoping the metal detector would fail me. I thought its beep might be the signal for my harm. I could imagine old Mrs Mallid throwing off her disguise and vaulting the fence to fustigate me. He had no business here. Who’d miss me, anyway? I continued to pace around, my arm shaking as it guided the detector to my bounty.
I was almost relieved that nothing happened. Well, it didn’t at first. She was still outside her porch, surveying my trespass with what I could now tell was steely distaste. I turned to her. I’d had enough. “Well Mrs Mallid,” I said, trying to buy time, “Looks like I’ve drawn a blank. Think I’m just gonna head home,” It was then that the metal detector sprung into life. I jumped. She didn’t flinch. She relished my discomfort at this ridiculous situation. “Looks like yo’ got somethin’ boy! Yessir, yo’ struck gold tonight!” was her verdict. Why would she sound so delighted? I composed myself. “Yep, don’t it just?” I said, trying to sound triumphant. No going back now. I must have stood there like an idiot for too long cos Mrs Mallid said “Well, you gonna dig or ain’t ya, boy?”. What choice did I have? There was treasure under there and I all I had standing between in judgment was this old bag. I got the shovel from my car and started to dig. The ground was hard but that made sense – why should this be easy? After much blistered perspiration, I hit something hard. It was a good thing I caught her eye just then for it was at this moment I saw my cast fate. Suddenly it all made sense, as they say. I realised that I was digging my own grave.

My gut sounded the alarm. A premonitory gurgle. I was waist deep and she was looking over me. I knew what she had planned. How had I been so stupid? I dig up the money and her henchmen spring out and render me supine for the hole I’ve dug. Nobody knows I’m here. I wanted the loot to myself. She’s done this before. Invent a dead man with a phantom treasure to lure the greedy. They tidy the garden, they dig, they die, they leave nothing but a car and a wallet. Perfect. I almost had to admire her, although I was too terrified at the time to consider the economy of her malevolent scheme. My enemy unveiled, I knew what I had to do. There was no choice. Not with all these unseen accomplices waiting to spring into grotesque action. I swung the shovel. I missed her head. I’ll never forget the look I caught from her bespectacled old peepers as she felt the balance of power glance her shoulder. The sound she made was horribly old. Prone, she attempted to land her gaze upon me once more. I averted my senses and brought my weapon down. This time I got her. She made an “uh uh uh” sound as it seeped away. The eyeglasses were cracked. She was still gurgling as I shoveled dirt upon her.
I know now that there was nobody lying in wait for me. I’d scared them off. I’d got what I came for. It was her fault. I still tell myself that. Once I’d got the hell out of there and my heart was once again almost sober, I permitted myself to open the box that I had exhumed from the site of my decline. It was empty. I look into it every day. You don’t want to know what I see in there.

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