Fool's Gold

Fool’s Gold

By Sean Salzman

Rays of golden sunshine crept onto budding azalea bushes and yellow ticked flowers that surrounded the one-story house. The wild verdure swayed gently in the morning breeze which turned the long, Floridian flatlands into a fragrant ocean.

Mike poured himself a cup of yesterday’s coffee, let it warm up in the microwave, and stirred in his powdered creamer. Eyelids half-open, he gazed out the kitchen window. Friends had offered him plenty of unwarranted advice for rooting out the tickseed that dominated his acreage (after all it was technically a weed and, hey, Mike, don’t you want to use that space?), but he liked it. To Mike Henderson, this house was his fortress of solitude away from the noise of the city. If all it took was a 4-foot plant wall to keep out nosy neighbors, he’d keep buying fertilizer.

“It’s 6:32am,” tolled the automated voice alarm from his phone. Mike downed the rest of his cup and poured half of the remaining pot in a to-go mug along with an unhealthy amount of sugar. He rubbed his eyes; four hours of sleep at 35 didn’t pack the same punch it had a decade earlier. Mike put on his fraying FSU ball cap, grabbed the keys to the Tacoma, and marked off the calendar before he left for work. The date next to the black Sharpie-d X-mark was April 1^st.

Cruising down I-4, Mike tapped his fingers to the gentle tunes of KCRQ’s Golden Oldies and let the damp, morning air pour in through open windows. His thoughts drifted to his brother and what they had pulled the previous night. Bill, always the creative one, had taken their small garage auto repair shop and turned it into one of Orlando’s largest maintenance facilities. Now they had two sizeable buildings on different sides of town, a skilled staff, and parking lots large enough to fit the original shop many times over. The business had transformed in all but name: Henderson AAA Auto Repair.

 Around the holidays, Bill was always scheming new ways to drum up business. Two years ago, for Easter, he had the idea to put out radio ads saying any repair that was quicker than cooking an egg would be half-price. That had gone alright until one customer claimed he only baked his eggs, which took an hour, and they ended up losing a whole heap of money. The way Mike saw it, Bill was betting $50 on black at the roulette table with his notions. There was a fifty-fifty chance he’d think of something good, but it was still fun to watch.

Yesterday, Bill had come to see him around 4pm while Mike was under the hood of 2004 Jeep Wrangler. Bill was dressed in bright blue suit and slacks. His white ten-gallon hat sat squarely between two tufts of dirty-blonde hair. The bell above the door chimed as he entered the work area, and his face lit up with a devilish grin when he saw Mike.

“Hold the phone, Mikey! You know what day it is?” Bill asked.

“March 31^st last I checked,” replied Mike.

“Right you are!” Bill’s alligator shoes clicked on the concrete as he walked towards the front end of the Jeep. “Which, of course, makes tomorrow…” He leaned in under the hood and whispered, “April Fool’s Day!”

Mike sighed, “Damn it, Bill, I know that look. Can we please just have a normal Thursd-,”

“Tut-tut,” Bill interrupted. “You haven’t even heard my plan! Tonight, after close, we do a little switcheroo. Take a couple of tomorrow’s scheduled pickups from here, load ‘em on the trailer I got parked in the lot outside and drop ‘em off over at the Pine Hills building. We do the same thing over there, and then tomorrow, when the customers come to collect,” Bill paused for dramatic effect, “April Fools!”

Mike stopped working and stared at his brother. “How in the hell is that supposed to help bring in business, Bill?”

Bill leaned back, put his hands on his hips, and replied, “We’ll throw in a ‘Fool’s Discount’ - a 20% coupon on their next visit.”

“I don’t know Bill, sounds more like fool’s gold to me. This thing is bound to go pear-shaped one way or another,” Mike said. He shut the hood of the Wrangler and wiped his hands on a greasy rag.

Bill clapped him on the shoulder and exclaimed, “Mikey, you’re a genius! We’ll call it Fool’s Gold! Alright, it’s settled then. I’ll head back to the Pine Hills office and get things ready. You see if anyone here wants some extra OT tonight and we’ll get this thing rolling!”

Ernesto, Sidney, and Mike made several trips ferrying the cars across town later that evening. The moon was beginning to dip westward by the time they finished the whole operation. Mike wiped his brow, thanked them for the help, and they parted ways.

The Baldwin Park garage’s glass facade glowed brightly as Mike pulled into the lot the next morning. He parked his truck behind the building, and quickly made his way through the back door to the air-conditioned interior. The break room aroma was a mix of hot coffee and new tires. An old Coca-Cola clock on the wall showed it was 7:44am. One of his coworkers, Rashonda, was flipping through a newspaper.

“Mornin’ Mike,” she said, eyes focused on the page.

“Anything good in there? I need some good news for today,” said Mike.

She raised an eyebrow and replied, “I don’t know why you expect it from the paper. Don’t you know by now they don’t print that kind of stuff. You want a feel-good story, go to church. I’m looking for something exciting.”

Mike shrugged and said, “Fair enough. Did you hear about what Bill’s got planned? For the holiday?”

Rashonda sighed and looked at him. “I did, and let me tell you this, the only fools in here today are gonna be us,” she said and snapped the paper for emphasis.

The doors opened at 8:00am. Ernesto had called in to take care of his sick kid, so Mike had the unenviable task to work the front desk alone. Holidays were usually busier with people taking off work, ‘but at least it’s not any of the big ones,’ he thought. The first customer showed up twenty minutes later.

“Good morning and welcome to Henderson Triple-A Auto Repair. My name’s Mike, how can I help you today?” he asked.

The elderly woman beamed at him and slowly ambled over. Her head barely cleared the counter. Felt red and blue dinosaurs were sown on her light pastel cardigan. “Good morning, young man. I’m here to pick up my car. I got a call saying that it would be ready today.”

Mike smiled, “Of course, and what is your name young lady?”

“Oh, well I’m Gina, Gina Cooperman. My car’s a Pontiac. It’s a bit old now, but I wanted to make sure it was ok and get it a new coat of paint. There’s a lot of memories in that car!” she winked.

Mike typed her name into his computer terminal and whistled. The entry for Gina Cooperman showed she had a 1964 Pontiac GTO which was currently parked at the Pine Hills lot. “Misses Cooperman,” said Mike, “that is one beautiful car. But looking here, the system says your car is scheduled for pickup at our other location in Pine Hills.”

Gina frowned. “Are you certain?” she asked, “I’m sure the message said it was this address.”

Mike refreshed the search but knew the result wouldn’t change. “Unfortunately, it looks that way,” he said. Mrs. Cooperman’s worried look made a pang of guilt echo in his stomach.

“Alright then, I guess I better get going,” she said, eyes downcast as she turned away.

Mike came out from behind the counter. “Misses Cooperman, please, wait a moment,” he said and pulled a card out of his wallet. “I’m deeply sorry about the mix-up. This is my personal card. If you need anything in the future, don’t hesitate to call. Today’s service is on me.”

She smiled and thanked him. Mike breathed a sigh of relief. ‘It’s going to be a long day,’ he thought.

The next few hours passed without notice. Several customers came and went, and the day progressed mostly as Bill had predicted. A few people were upset at first, but less so at the prospect of saving money Some caught onto the prank before Mike had played through the shtick, and even got a kick out of it.

The clock said 12:21 and his stomach was starting to rumble when a young guy in an expensive-looking cream three-piece suit walked in the door. He brushed one hand through oily jet-black hair, took off a pair of Gucci sunglasses, and popped a mint.

“Good afternoon and welcome to Henderson Triple-A Auto Repair. My name’s Mike, how-,” Mike started to say.

“Yeah, yeah,” interrupted the stranger, “I’m here to pick up a car, so let’s get to it.” He walked over and put arm on the counter.

“Ok, can I get your name and the vehicle type please?” asked Mike.

The stranger looked bewildered. “Seriously? You don’t know who I am?” he asked.

Mike let out a quiet sigh, “I fix cars, not read minds. Please, enlighten me.”

“Rosadeli, Leo Rosadeli,” he said and clapped his hands together. Mike kept his expression neutral. Leo sighed, “The car’s a Porsche 911. My cousin dropped it off and I’m picking it up for him. So, uh, where’s the keys?”

Mike checked the computer for Leo Rosadeli. Sure enough, the Porsche 911 GT3 had been dropped off about a week earlier by a Salvador Toussaint for some routine maintenance. He had left instructions that it was to be picked up by one Leo Rosadeli, a cousin. There was even a picture of the man's smug face. The car’s current location was listed as the Pine Hills garage. Leo tapped his fingers on the counter.

“I can see here that your, uh, cousin dropped the car off about a week ago. The system does say that you’re approved for the pickup of the vehicle. However,” Mike made a show of typing some keys and said, “It looks like the pickup is scheduled for our Pine Hills location.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Leo burst out.

Mike swung the monitor around 90 degrees and clicked the button to pull up the map to Pine Hills. “The Pine Hills garage is right over here,” he said and pointed at the map. “If you take the 408 Expressway going west from here you can get there in about twenty minutes.”

           Exasperated, Leo smacked the countertop. “Sal gave me this address. He doesn’t make mistakes like that, you understand?” His voice was filled with quiet rage, “Before you give me another bullshit excuse, let me tell you what’s going to happen next. You’re going to get on the phone, call somebody, and have them bring the car here, yesterday.”

           Mike raised the palms of his hands in a placating gesture. “I can call someone, but it might take them an hour or two to get over here at the earliest. If you’re in a rush, your best bet is to pick it up over there,” he said.

           Leo fumed and jabbed a finger at Mike with each word, “We are not done.” He rushed out of the shop and slammed the door with a loud bang. Mike smirked. There were some customers he was happy to lose. He dialed Bill’s number to give him a heads up on Leo Rosadeli.

           The air danced around the horizon as the ripe-orange sun began to wane. When the desk phone rang, Mike recognized the number and picked up the handset. “What’s the word, Bill?” he asked.

           “Man, you were not kidding. That Rosadeli kid was pissed!” Bill exclaimed. “Came in cussing up a storm, acting like he had a bone to pick with every soul in the place. I tried my best to calm him down, but he really blew his top when I told him about the discount.”

           Mike laughed, “Forget about him, that kid was an asshole.”

           “Damn right,” Bill replied, “I also met a very nice woman today in the cutest sweater who told me someone made her feel extra special. She told me she’ll be recommending us to all her friends and neighbors. Great work there, Mikey.”

           “Yeah, well I didn’t really have a choice,” said Mike.

           “Sure, you did! Hey, listen,” said Bill, “Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight after work. Cindy would love to see you and it’ll be good for you.”

           “Alright, Bill,” he replied, “I’ll see you then, but I gotta get back to it now.” Mike hung up the phone.

A few minutes down the 408 expressway, through a winding maze of alleyways in Downtown Orlando, Leo Rosadeli plotted in the dark. He lay sprawled on the leather couch surrounding the Idol club’s VIP suite. Heavy bass music reverberated through the padded walls of the hazy, smoke-filled room.

           Leo stared at his cell phone, wrestling with his thoughts. He’d been meaning to make a move, and this might be the perfect opportunity. After serving as the mob’s glorified delivery boy for the past year, he was tired of taking shit from the low guys.

Sal had always been meticulous about the drops, so much so guys had started calling him the Accountant. When the Porsche wasn’t exactly where Sal said it would be, Leo knew something was off. That yokel at the garage had tried to play him about some trash holiday and showed his hand. They had moved the car. That was the kicker. The idiots never realized the car was nothing more than a suitcase. Still, Sal wouldn’t know that. Who knows what happened to that money? Leo would make sure no one did.

His plan was risky but, in the game, you moved up or you became somebody’s bitch. Leo Rosadeli was nobody’s bitch. He dialed the number.

“Marcos, I’m calling in that favor. I’ll meet you in 30 minutes,” Leo said and hung up the phone.

Mike locked the front door of the shop and checked his watched which read 9:05pm. He texted Bill to let him know he was on the way and headed for his truck. Bill and Cindy’s house was only 15 minutes away, but Mike stopped at the E & G Discount Liquor Store to pick up a bottle of wine. He tipped the bum outside the store a dollar on his way out and checked his phone. Bill hadn’t texted him back yet.

Mike rolled the windows down, turned the radio up, and caught himself singing along to Johnny Cash’s hit ‘Folsom Prison Blues’. The night air was a pleasant 62 degrees. He parted his fingers and the air flow through as he motored down the backroads.

He turned a corner and saw the house down the street. String lights from the second story ran to the stone walkway. Tall, ivy-covered, Venetian fencing ran the outskirts of the neatly trimmed yard. Music trickled out from a cracked windowsill.

Mike parked on the street and killed the engine. He looked at the house, then himself, and sighed. He thought, ‘Maybe it is time to clean things up a bit.’ He snatched the wine before his mind could wander further and left the truck.

As he approached the door, he called out, “Who’s ready for a drink? I know I am!” No one answered. He noticed the door was open, so he let himself inside. The foyer was empty. “Maybe they’re out back,” he said out loud.

Mike slid open the back door. The chaise lounges were unoccupied, the pool was still, and the salsa music played for no one. “Bill? Cindy?” he called out. Crickets chirped in response. He went back inside.

Mike suddenly remembered what day it was. “Ok, very funny you guys! April Fools! You got me!” His voice echoed through the empty house. He tiptoed around and poked his head quickly in different rooms to try and catch Bill and Cindy. The last place he looked was the kitchen where a streak of blood trickled down the oak cabinets.

“What the hell?” he said aloud. Mike’s breaths became shallow; heart pumped like hydraulic piston in overdrive. He twisted his head from side to side searching for the source of the blood streak. It didn’t make sense; besides the ruined cabinets, the kitchen was immaculate. He dropped to the floor, and then he saw it. Underneath the table was one, alligator shoe.

Mike had started to panic. He ran outside and pulled out his phone. His fingers were trembling, and it took what felt like a lifetime to dial 911. “Come on, come on, come on!” he shrieked into the phone. The operator answered, “911, what’s your emergency?”

Mike tried to take a deep breath, but he was hyper-ventilating. “I, I, I’m, oh god, I, oh, uh, uh, I, I think, uh,” he struggled to answer.

“Sir, are you in a safe place? Can you tell me where you are?” The operator probed.

“I’m, uh. I’m at 387 Longview Place. I don’t know what happened but, uh, what, what’s that?” Mike paused and turned to see a shadowy figure for a split-second before his world went black.

“Sir? Hello? Are you ok? Is someone there with you?” asked the 911 operator. “We’re sending a car. I need you to stay on the line.”

The phone laid in the grass, a voice on the other end pleading into the night, but there was no one left to hear it.

The End