Pickers

Rusty stood back from the open engine compartment of the '72 Ford pick-up and admired his handiwork. It had taken almost 13 months to get the old truck restored and here it was, finally purring like a kitten. Well, it was running, anyway. Fiona would have to eat some major crow, he thought. What was it she said? Oh, yes, “You just wasted $500 on a piece of junk that will take up space in the garage FOREVER.”

“Hey, babe!” Rusty shouted through the open garage door. “Looks like FOREVER ended today!”

Fiona walked into the garage, pulling a vintage apron over her head. “What was that? Hey! Look at that! You actually got that damn thing running!”

Rusty stood in front of the truck with both hands on his hips, in a Superman pose. His patched overalls were thoroughly covered with grime, and the tattoos on his forearms were completely obscured by grease, all the way up to his elbows. He gathered up his long, red beard and tossed it back over his shoulder like a cape.

“I am HANDIMAN! Fixer of gadgets, repairer of gizmos, and restorer of classic Ford F-100's!”

Fiona rolled her eyes and moved in for a closer look at the old engine. “Well, Handiman, I'm thinking there must have been some divine intervention involved right here. That and the $2000 in new parts you finally had to spend.”

There it was. It only took Fiona about 30 seconds to bring up the money. She ALWAYS brought up the money. That was her thing. Rusty created and Fiona funded. Although it was a big reason why their relationship—both personal and business—was such a success, Fiona's focus on the money was a major source of irritation for Rusty. The implication that his art, creativity and craftsmanship should always consider the bottom line was exasperating and sometimes infuriating. This time, he was in such a good mood, he let it go without escalating into the usual argument.

Rusty knew why Fiona was so obsessed with money. She grew up dirt poor in a trailer park in Fontana, CA, the youngest of seven kids—fathered by five different men. Her mother was a reformed drug addict and all of Fiona's siblings spent a significant amount of their upbringing in foster care. Fortunately, Fiona's mom got into a 12 step program by the time her youngest was born, but it was never a happy, stable family life.

At seventeen, Fiona was “discovered” by a modeling agent while working at a Hot Dog on a Stick kiosk in the Fontana Fashion Mall. The agent, Mrs. Rumkey, was a typical modeling lesson scammer, but she had enough knowledge and sense to recognize the special quality that Fiona possessed—the quality that made the camera fall in love with her.

Success as a high fashion model provided Fiona with a ticket out of the trailer park, and when that brief career ended, her obsession with saving money and investing wisely kept her from ever returning to Fontana. World travel gave her a Continental flare and an eye for art. Living for years in hotel rooms provided a natural progression into her second career: Running high-end, artistically unusual, architecturally unique bed and breakfast venues.

Rusty was an artist. Not a painter or a sculptor in the traditional, classically trained sense. Rusty created his art from junk. Fiona often called him the “Dumpster Savant”. When most people would see nothing more than a rusting pile of old pipe, boilers and car parts, Rusty saw a fantastical, steampunk desk...or bunk beds...or hot tub. It wasn't difficult for Rusty. He literally grew up in a scrapyard. Homeschooled by his strictly religious mother, Rusty had few friends his own age and very few toys to play with. Possessing a seemingly limitless imagination and an endless supply of junk, Rusty started creating amazing contraptions and awesome Rube Goldberg-esque playthings before he was ten years old. By the time he was twenty, his incredible, repurposed artwork was getting national attention.

At six foot, four inches tall, and with a massive red beard that reached his belt buckle, Rusty was an imposing figure that many people shied away from at first introduction. Fiona only noticed his friendly blue eyes. The meeting was at one of Rusty's art installations. It was an full-size Spanish galleon—a pirate ship—made entirely from scrap metal. Fiona was amazed at the structure, but of course, her interest was mainly a financial one. She was looking for a unique, artistically unusual idea for the construction of the spa at her new B&B. Something steampunk—with real steam. Rusty's work seemed perfectly suited for the look she was hoping to achieve.

The spa project turned out to be more successful than Fiona had ever imagined. Rusty certainly had more inspiration than usual. He had fallen head over heels in love with his patron; a willowy, beautiful ex-model who was 10 years his senior. The spa was not only Rusty's finest artistic creation, it utilized the ultimate in green technologies and environmentally friendly resources. The B&B was featured in almost every major travel magazine, not to mention a piece in Time, and was an incredible financial victory in every way.

Fiona was equally taken with Rusty, and she would be the first to admit that his ability to make junk into large sums of money was a big factor in her initial attraction to him. He was also nothing like the feminine, narcissistic men she encountered in the fashion industry. Rusty was all man. He was big, strong, and he made things—useful things with his own hands. He was like a cross between King Midas, Paul Bunyan and Thor.

Fiona was also impressed with Rusty's honesty. Growing up surrounded by drunks and junkies made for some complicated trust issues that no amount of therapy could repair. There was something comforting—and oddly sexy—about a man incapable of telling an untruth. Fiona was also amazed by the fact that Rusty had absolutely no use for a mirror. She never saw him look in one, and when they first started dating, she couldn't even find one in his house. The fact that he was so ruggedly handsome and had no clue, made Fiona feel like she had a naughty, little secret that she would never have to share with anyone.

“Okay, Handiman, I'm going back inside to finish that shepherd's pie we're having for dinner. You better start getting cleaned up now...dinner's in an hour.”

“Come here and gimme a hug!” Rusty said with a drawl, lurching toward Fiona like Frankenstein. “HUGS!”

Fiona gave a playful scream and ducked under the greasy arms. “Use SOAP!”

Rusty stood back to admire his work for a few more minutes. The truck was a find, no matter what Fiona thought. The body was in almost perfect condition, even though a family of squirrels had taken up residence in the engine compartment for many years. Incredibly, there was barely a dent in the truck bed and hardly any rust.

The interior was another story. Squirrels, and probably rats, had chewed away the upholstery and most of the dashboard. It was and ugly mess and the restoration would probably cost another $1200. Rusty was a pro with a wrench or a wielding torch, but he'd never worked on car upholstery before. Nevertheless, he was confident he could make it look better than new.

Rusty turned off the engine and opened both of the cab doors. He decided to pull out the benchseat, just to see if any part of it was salvageable. The seat certainly didn't give any resistance when he pulled it free. It wasn't even bolted down. Several of the springs clattered onto the garage floor in a cloud of dust and rust when he set it down. Rusty bent down to inspect the area where the seat used to be. There were a number of old coins. $0.76 worth. Hey, Fiona will be glad to know about this little windfall, he mused.

There was also something else on the floorboards that the seat had been covering. Rusty picked it up for inspection. It was a dusty, old cigar box. Red Dot Cigars. 15 cents each. Wow, this was interesting, he thought. The box was tied shut by an old piece of jute twine. Rusty pulled out his pocket knife and cut off the string. He wondered what was inside. Clearly, the cigar box had been hidden there. For how long? Rusty gave the box a shake. There was definitely something in there.

Rusty decided to do the opening under a little more light. He placed the box on his workbench and turned on the trouble light that was hanging from the rafters. He was getting excited. This was the kind of thing that made picking worthwhile. Every once in a while, you uncovered a real treasure. A sudden twinge of guilt hit him. Fiona would probably enjoy the unveiling as much as he would. Maybe he should wait until after dinner, or go get her now.

“Hey, babe! Come out here and see what I found!” No response from the house. Fiona was probably in the bathroom. He headed inside to get her.

Trinkets

“Wait until you see this, sweetie, an old cigar box was hidden under the seat of the truck! Really old and tied up with twine!” Rusty wasn't good at hiding his enthusiasm. He was as excited as a little kid on Christmas morning.

Fiona followed Rusty into the garage, where they both were suddenly confronted by strong acrid fumes and a plume of heavy black smoke.

“Oh, my God, Rusty! Did you set the garage on fire again? What the hell?”

The smoke was emanating from glowing red embers on Rusty's workbench, from the very spot where he left the cigar box. Rusty bolted for the fire extinguisher that was hanging on the wall next to the garage door. He quickly sprayed the embers until they stopped glowing. Rusty was an old hand at putting out fires.

When the smoke and fire retardant cleared, Rusty was amazed to see there was absolutely nothing left of the cigar box. Only a black, greasy burn mark remained, along with two odd, metallic objects. Rusty bent down to pick up one of the objects, but found it was still hot to the touch.

“What the hell are those things?” queried Fiona. “Why did they catch on fire?

“I have know idea, babe, but they used to be in a cigar box,” Rusty was totally perplexed. He really wanted to take closer look but was naturally a bit apprehensive. What if the things were toxic or something? They'd already breathed in a good dose of nasty smoke.

Fiona started to cough. “Ack! That smoke is bad! I'll turn on the fans.” The garage workshop was very well-appointed with tools and adequate ventilation.

Rusty found a pair of wielding tongs and gingerly picked up one of the objects. He located a paint brush and dusted off the soot and fire retardant. It appeared to be an amulet or crest of some kind. It was flat and circular in shape, and about four inches in diameter—about the size of a large jar lid. The design was very intricate. It looked like an octopus, or some kind of squid. The face looked humanoid, with two large eyes.

“Babe, look at the eyes on this thing. Are those diamonds?”

Fiona moved in for a closer look. “Wow, if they are diamonds, this is a valuable piece of jewelry, Russ. They have to be at least three carats! What kind of metal is that?”

Rusty continued brushing at the black metal and tried to scratch it with his fingernail. “I've never seen anything like it. It's black, but it doesn't appear to be painted. It's too heavy to be gold.”

Fiona turned her attention to the second object. It was about the size and shape of a stick of butter. It appeared to be made of the same black metal, and the visible sides were covered with some kind of writing—runes, actually.

“Give me those tongs!” she snapped.

Rusty obeyed and Fiona poked at the object. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the thing emitted a buzzing noise and started to vibrate. The runes began to glow red, in contrast to the black metal surface.

“Holy fucking shit! This thing is alive! Rusty, get a box!”

Rusty searched around for something that would fill the bill. One thing for sure, it needed to be a fireproof box. That's when he remembered the little firesafe in the office. They only kept their passports and tax returns in it. Hey, if it kept fire out, maybe it could keep fire IN.

Rusty ran inside and returned with the firesafe. He held it open at the edge of the workbench and Fiona knocked the object inside. It glowed and buzzed furiously, until Rusty slammed the lid shut. After the box was closed, the noise suddenly stopped. Rusty shook the box. The object rattled lifelessly inside.

Rusty and Fiona looked at each for almost a full minute without speaking. Rusty went back to the other object that remained on the workbench—appropriately inanimate.

“This thing looks really, really old, Fiona. It's like an...artifact or something. We're talking real Indiana Jones kind of shit.”

Fiona shook her head. “I'm thinking more like Exorcist kind of shit.”

To be continued...