Several years ago, I wrote a story, “It’s Against the Law,” where I introduced three characters, Jack, who was an investigative reporter for a major Chicago newspaper, Dalton, who was a photographer with his own studio, and Dave, a sergeant on the Arlington Hills police force.

In my sequel to the story, ‘But is it Immoral,’ I used Jack and Dalton again.

Since then, I have received a bunch of emails and comments asking when they would get together again for another story, so I thought I’d have them join forces for another adventure, although only as supporting cast members. I hope you like it ... and as always, I enjoy reading your comments.

This was ridiculous. Outside the wind was gusting up to thirty miles per hour, and it was about to start pouring any minute. He was starting to feel like a fool. Whoever belonged to the mysterious voice was twenty minutes late. The whole thing sounded too far-fetched to be legit, anyway. I’ll wait another ten minutes, he thought. If he isn’t here by then, I’m taking off.

He had about three fingers of beer left in the bottle, so rather than order another, Aaron decided to just nurse it along. This whole thing was either some stupid practical joke or somebody was just playing games. Either way, he wasn’t in the mood.

A few minutes later, he glanced at his watch once more, threw back the last of his Budweiser, and started to get up when the guy sitting on the next stool grabbed his arm.

“I recognize you from the picture in the paper. I had to make sure you were alone.”

Aaron identified the voice as the same one from the strange phone call he’d gotten the night before.

“Get us another beer and meet me over there in the corner booth.”

Aaron didn’t like the guy’s demeanor and was still tempted to just leave, but his curiosity wouldn’t let him. He ordered two more beers and watched as the dark figure of a man limped his way along the floor and across the room.

This can’t be real, Aaron told himself. The weird character was dressed as if he’d stepped out of a thirties noir movie. The dark grey suit he wore was at least a size too big and the black patch over his left eye seemed to be carrying things a little too far. Well, I’m here, Aaron thought to himself, I might as well see what he has to say.

He could hear it start to pour outside as he walked over, slid into the booth opposite the grungy stranger and pushed one of the beers in his direction. “Okay, what’s this all about?”

The man’s greasy hair hung down over his forehead, almost reaching his dark brown eyes as he lowered his head and his voice. “Ever hear of Peg Leg Smith’s lost gold mine?”

Aaron laughed out loud. He knew this had to be somebody’s idea of a joke. “Peg Leg Smith, huh; can’t say as I have,” he said, flippantly.

“I can tell you don’t believe me, but hear me out. The mine is real and I know where it is.”

“Okay,” Aaron replied with a sigh. “You have the floor. Tell me all about this lost gold mine.”

The stranger looked around to make sure no one was listening nearby. “Peg Leg Smith was a mountain man and fur trapper out west in the early eighteen hundreds. Anyway, he was taking a bunch of beaver pelts across the desert to sell in Los Angeles around the late eighteen twenties. On his way, he picked up some black rocks he thought were copper. When he got to LA, he found out it was gold. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t find the spot again, but he said the gold was just laying all around, tons of it.”

Aaron was wondering why he was even wasting his time listening. It was obviously nothing but BS. “So he couldn’t find it again, but you know where it is?”

“Yeah,” the stranger confirmed. “A few years later somebody else found it again, an old prospector; he loaded his saddlebags with the stuff.”

“And then he couldn’t find it again, either, right?” asked a very skeptical Aaron.

“No, he got sick and died.”

Aaron had had just about enough of the guy’s nonsense. “Look, get to the point. Why did you call me?”

“I read about you in the newspaper. You seem like somebody I can trust. I know where the gold is, but...”

“If you know where it is, what do you need me for? Why not just go get it yourself?”

This time it was the stranger who chuckled. “Look at me. I’ve got a bum leg, I can only see out of one eye and my ticker isn’t in the best of shape. As I said, the gold is in the desert. You can drive some of the way but the last twenty or thirty miles is pretty rugged territory; the only way to get there is on horseback. I’d never make it.

“You’ll also need to rent a horse, a couple of pack mules, and a horse trailer large enough to carry them. All that costs money, money I don’t have.”

“So how is it that you’re the only one who knows where this gold is?”

“That prospector I told you about? He had a doctor taking care of him before he died. That doctor was an ancestor of mine. My sister was doing all kinds of that ... what do you call it ... gene something?”

“Genealogy?”

“Yeah, where they track down old relatives and stuff. Anyway, she somehow got a bunch of stuff that used to belong to people we were related to in the past. When she died a few months ago of breast cancer, I got all that stuff. I found the map, along with a journal that the doctor kept in an old tin box with his name on it. It’s all there. The prospector had thousands in gold. He drew the map just before he died.”

“If the doctor had the map why didn’t he go get the gold?”

“He was a doctor, not a prospector. According to his journal, he did wander out a couple times but got scared and went back home before he reached it. From what he wrote, he seemed pretty content with being a doctor. The gold just didn’t mean that much to him.”

“That’s it? How do you know any of that stuff is even authentic?”

“You can tell. It’s real old paper, all yellowed and everything. I’m telling you, I know it’s real. It even smells old.”

“It takes more than that. I’d have to have the map and the journal authenticated by an expert before giving you anything for it. How much do you want for it anyway?”

“Half,” replied the stranger. “I want half of everything you find.”

That was a little surprising. Aaron had figured the guy was going to try and sell him the map. “You don’t want anything for the map?” he asked.

“What kind of fool do you take me for? I want half of the gold. I figure with today’s prices, it’s got be worth hundreds of millions of dollars. I’m not greedy, I’ll take half and you take half. I will want a receipt for the map when I give it to you, though.”

This put a little different wrinkle on things. What motive would the guy have for scamming him if he didn’t want any money upfront? “Where is this map and journal of yours?”

The stranger gave him a wary eye. “They’re safe and sound in a safety deposit box.”

Aaron took another sip of his beer and sat back in the booth. “Okay, let me get this straight. You want me to lead an expedition into...”

“No! No expedition,” interrupted the unkempt stranger, “just you.”

“Just me? What makes you think I can find it alone? I’d need a guide who knows the area.”

“You found that boat, didn’t you? It’s got to be harder finding something in the water than on land. The map is pretty damned detailed. All you’ll really need is a compass and you shouldn’t have any problems.”

Aaron sat just staring at the guy, trying to figure out his angle.

The stranger could almost read all the questions floating around in Aaron’s head. “Look,” he said, “I’ve had this map for months, trying to figure out who I could trust with it. Then I read about you. I decided I had to trust somebody; it might as well be you, but I don’t want a bunch of other people involved. That’s a sure way to get screwed, in my book.”

The two men sat silently for a few moments before Aaron spoke. “I need some time to think this over.”

“How much time?”

“I don’t know, a few days, a week maybe, no more than that, though. You blocked your number when you called last night; how can I get in touch with you?”

“You got a pen?”

Aaron took one from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to him.

“Here’s my number,” he said, scribbling it down on a napkin. “Call me when you make up your mind.” He started to slide out of the booth.

“Wait, I don’t even know your name.”

“John,” he replied. “John Jones.”With that, the mysterious man in the oversized grey suit limped his way through the bar and out the door.

A few seconds later, Aaron got up and went to see if he could spot what kind of car the guy was driving, maybe get a license number that he could give to his cousin, but the guy was already gone.

The rain wasn’t coming down nearly as hard as it had been, so Aaron decided it was a good time to go home before it started coming down in sheets again. His wife was sitting on the couch watching TV when he walked in.

“Where you been?”

He walked over and kissed her on the forehead. “I had a business meeting,” he said. Brenda was never that interested in his adventures, so he didn’t see the need to elaborate.

“At this time of night?”

“Yeah, some weird guy with a treasure map.”

Brenda looked at him like he had two heads. “A treasure map? Like pirate treasure? Don’t you have enough of that stuff?”

“No, this is something different: a lost gold mine out west somewhere. I haven’t decided on anything yet. I still have a bunch of questions. The only lost gold mine I ever heard of was the Lost Dutchman’s. People have been looking for that one for over a hundred and fifty years and haven’t found diddly-squat. I’m going to call Dave in the morning.”

“Dave? What does he know about lost gold mines?”

“I’m sure he knows even less than I do, but he has resources for checking things out. I’m going to give him a description of the guy I met tonight. He had a limp and patch over his left eye. He might be a known con man or something.”

“I see,” she replied. “So, Mr. Indiana Jones, you want to go to bed and look for the golden pussy? Who knows, you might just strike it rich.”

They’d been married long enough that Aaron didn’t need a map to find his way around. Brenda started to moan as soon as his lips touched her neck, behind her ear. That drove her crazy with desire and was always a good place to start.

Always willing to take his time, Aaron let his right hand explore hills and valleys of her breasts, pinching her nipples and gently squeezing the soft voluptuous globes. As his lips traveled southward, so did his touch until he reached an already wet pussy. Brenda arched her back in response and whimpered with ecstasy. As Aaron kissed and nibbled his way down. He always loved her response when he sucked her clit in his mouth and rolled it around with tongue.

“Oh FUCK!” she cried out.

Aaron knew that was his clue. He maneuvered into place and slid inside of her. Brenda’s body writhed with pleasures of the flesh as he made love to her. He took his time, enjoying the sight of her coming again and again. Finally, it was his turned. “I ... I can’t hold out much longer, babe.”

“I ... I ... I’m almost ... come with m ... eeeee.” Her squeels coupling with his groans as both climaxed with passion. Brenda threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her breasts, holding him as their two hearts beat like drums.

The next morning, Aaron tried his cousin’s cell phone but it went straight to voice mail. That meant Dave was on the day shift.

“Arlington Hills police, how can I help you?”

“Hi, I was wondering if Dave Wyland was in?”

“No, I’m sorry, Sergeant Wyland is on a call. Can I help you?”

“No, this is Aaron Brookfield, his cousin. Could I just leave a message for him to call me when he gets a chance?”

“Brookfield, you said?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll have him call you.”

Aaron said thanks and hung up with a small sigh. The more he thought about this lost treasure the more anxious he was getting to talk to someone about it. He wondered how long it would take for Dave to call back. Well, he thought, you know what they say about a watched pot never boiling. Brenda had already left for work and he didn’t want to just sit around waiting, so he strolled into his home office to see if he had any assignments.

Aaron always wanted to be a writer, but honest people, whether they were friends or publishers, told him his stuff was boring. He finally realized that boring was his forte and became a technical writer. It wasn’t what he wanted to write, but it was writing and he found he was extremely good at making something that was very complex sound very simple. He was once told by a client that he could take the formula for jet propulsion and break it down so a third-grader could understand it. At one time he made a pretty good living, but he’d slacked off quite a bit since striking it rich and only kept a couple of clients.

His wife, however, never slowed down a bit. She’d been working for the same insurance company for years. After the dust settled and Aron found out how much he was worth, he wanted Brenda to quit so they could travel the world, but she refused. She enjoyed the job and the people with whom she worked.

Aaron checked his email ... nothing, no assignments. Curious about what he might find online, he typed Peg Leg Smith into the search bar. There it was: one full page of articles all about him and the lost gold mine. The first two he clicked on gave very little information. The most extensive article was one from a True West magazine. It even mentioned the second prospector and the doctor, but there were no records or anything to substantiate the story.

Just as he finished reading, his phone rang. “Hello.”

“Hi, Aaron, it’s Dave. The desk sarge said you called.”

“Yeah, Dave, thanks for calling back. Liston, I had something pretty weird happen the other night, I was wondering if we could grab a beer someplace and talk about it?”

“Ah, yeah, no problem; I get off at three-thirty. Lisa doesn’t get home till five-thirty, so I’ve got time after work.” The two men arranged to meet at Lucky’s, a small bar near the police station that was popular with the cops.

Brenda was getting ready to join a couple of co-workers for lunch when she got a call. She tapped the connect icon as soon as she saw the display. “Hi, lover,” she cooed. “Can you make lunch after all?”

“No, I’m still in that sales meeting. I got a short break so I thought I’d call real quick. Did he say anything?”

“Not much but he’s thinking about it. I’ve seen that look in his eye before. I think you’ve got him hooked.”

“Fantastic,” he replied with exuberance.

“I still don’t like this, Sean. I ... I’m not sure I can go through with it.”

“You love me, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course, but...”

“And I love you, but we can’t live on love alone, honey.”

“I know,” she replied. “I just wish there was another way.”

“Honey, we’ve gone over it several times. There is no other way, not if we want to live out our lives in comfort.”

“I know,” she acknowledged. “Honey, since you weren’t available for lunch, I agreed to go out with some of the girls from the office. They’re heading my way now, so I have to let you go.”

“Okay, gorgeous, are we still on for Friday night?”

“Of course; Aaron thinks it’s another girl’s night out.”

She heard him chuckle. “Let me know if he says anything about, you know what.”

“I will, honey, bye.”

Aaron was sitting at the bar when Dave walked in. A beer was already waiting for him as he took the next stool. “Hey, Aaron, nice to see you,” he said holding out his hand. Aaron took it and said likewise. “So, what’s going on? What’s this weird happening you’re talking about?”

Aaron told him all about the one-eyed man with a limp and Peg Leg Smith’s gold mine, just the way it had been told to him the night before. “I had sized the guy up as a con man at first. I thought sure he was going to try and sell me the map. He threw me for a loop when he said he didn’t want anything for it. He wants half of the gold.”

“That doesn’t really mean anything,” explained Dave. “Some of these guys are extremely clever. Trying to sell you the map would be way too obvious. He has something else up his sleeve.”

“So you think it’s definitely a con?”

“Oh, Aaron, I can’t say one way or the other right now. You didn’t get this guy’s license number, did you?”

“No, I tried but he was gone by the time I got outside. I was wondering if you could see if there are any con men around with a limp and a patch over their eye?”

Dave chuckled. “If the guy’s on the con, I doubt very much if the limp or the patch is real, Aaron. They do things like that to make their marks feel sorry for them. Are you supposed to see him again?”

“Yeah, I told him I needed a week to think about it. If I agree he’ll have to give me the map to have it authenticated.”

“What did he say when you told him that?”

“Nothing, really, he didn’t look surprised at all.”

“Hmmm,” Dave hummed. “So he’s not expecting to hear from you for a week?”

“Well, I told him a week, max, but yeah.”

“Okay, I’ve got a couple of buddies. One is an investigative reporter and the other owns a photography studio. They’re both pretty sharp. Let me run this past them and see what they think.”

“Okay, I appreciate that. What do you think, though? What are the odds on this being the real deal?”

“I have no idea, Aaron. Just don’t go making any deals without letting me know first, okay?”

“Okay.”

That night Dave called Dalton Conrad, a photographer friend of his. “Hi Dalton, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No, not at all, Dave. I’m still at the studio just finishing up. How have you been?”

“Good, how’s Tracy and the little one?”

“Well, Tracy is completely bald from pulling her hair out,” he joked, “and Lorelai is finally starting to sleep through the night ... thank God. What’s up?”

“Well, you remember me telling you about my cousin a couple years ago, the one who found the pirate ship?”

“Yeah, of course. What’d he find this time, a gold mine?” he asked with a chuckle.

“You got it,” Dave answered with a laugh.

“You’re kidding.”

“Well, at least a map to a gold mine,” Dave elaborated. “The whole thing might be just a big scam, though. He asked for my help to check it out, but you and Jack are better at investigating things like this than I am. I was wondering if you two could meet me tomorrow night for a couple of drinks. I’ll buy.”

“Have you talked to Jack yet?” Dalton asked.

“No, my first call was to you.”

“Okay, I’ll call Jack and see if he can join us. Tomorrow night around eight at Plato’s Place; sound okay?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Dalton called Jack as soon as he hung up with Dave. Jack Northrupe was an investigative reporter for a major Chicago Newspaper. He and Dalton met and became friends years prior when Dalton worked on the same paper as a press photographer. Since then, Dalton had moved on and opened his own commercial photography studio, but their friendship has only grown stronger over the years.

Jack was there for his friend when Dalton’s first wife cheated on him and was his best man when he married Tracy, his second wife.

Jack loved investigating a good mystery and jumped at the chance when Dalton told him Dave needed their help. They were both waiting for Dave at Plato’s Place the following evening.

“Hi, guys, thanks for coming,” Dave acknowledged as he motioned for the barmaid. As soon as she brought their drinks, Jack was the first to express his curiosity.

“Okay, Dave, what’s up? Dalton says your cousin has a map to a lost gold mine?”

“Well, he doesn’t have it yet, but he’s supposed to get it sometime this week. He asked me to check it out, but there’s nothing to go on. Aaron thought I could check out the guy who approached him from his description because the guy had a limp and a patch over his eye, but shit, that’s probably BS.

“He’s supposed to meet the guy again to get the map. Dalton, I was hoping you’d be able to get some surveillance pictures of the guy for me. Even with the eye patch, if he’s a known con man, I might get a hit if I run him through facial recognition.

“Jack, I was hoping you’d be able to find out more on this gold mine. He called it Peg Leg Smith’s lost gold. I tried looking it up on the web and it looks like a old legend, but there’s very little information on it.”

“Well, first off,” said Jack, “most people believe the stories. It’s not like the Lost Dutchmen’s. No one’s ever found any evidence that one really exists, but there have been others who have found gold in that same area that Peg Leg talked about.”

That caught Dave’s attention. “No kidding. So, you already know something about it?”

“Yeah, I don’t know that much, but I know someone who will. Jerry Fender is a historian and an expert in the Old West. The paper uses him at times to verify old documents and things. This would be right up his alley.”

“That’d be great, Jack, can you talk to him?”

“Yeah, he lives just outside of Denver, but I’ll call him tomorrow.”

Dave looked toward Dalton. “Old buddy, do you think you’d be able to get a couple of decent shots of the guy’s face without him knowing about it?”

Dalton acted as if he took offense. “That’s downright insulting, Dave. How many times have I taken surveillance photos for you? Have you ever had any complaints?”

“No, of course not, but Aaron said they met at some dingy neighborhood bar on the north side. They meet at night and I don’t think you’re going to have a lot of light.”

Dalton was grinning. “This is perfect,” he said. “Nikon has a camera designed specifically for low light photography. It’s not really something I need; in fact, it’s no good for the studio at all. Basically, it’s designed for sports and photojournalism. You can take action shots at the bottom of a coal mine at midnight with this thing. It’s not cheap, so I couldn’t justify the cost for what would essentially be a plaything for me, but now I have a legitimate reason to buy it,” he said, widening his grin.

“Oh, Dalton, don’t go out and buy something expensive just for this. Don’t you have a regular camera you can use?”

“Of course I do, but lighting is always a factor when doing surveillance work at night. With that camera, it’ll be a piece of cake. Don’t worry, Dave. I would have bought it anyway. Now I can do it without feeling guilty, that’s all.”

The three friends continued to talk through another round of beers. Dalton regaled his buddies with a couple stories regarding the new addition to his family, little Lorelai, the apple of his eye.

Before leaving they all went over the plan. Dave would inform Dalton where and when Aaron would meet the one-eyed stranger again, and Jack would call Jerry Fender and see how much information he could get on the gold mine.

The next morning, while Dalton stood in his favorite camera store, writing a company check for a little over five grand, Jack was making a call.

“Hi, Jerry, it’s Jack Northrupe, how are you?

“Hi, Jack, I’m fine. How’s yourself?”

“Excellent,” he replied. “Listen, Jerry, I know someone who thinks he may have a map to Peg Leg’s gold. If I sent it to you, could you authenticate it for me?”

Jerry chuckled. “Not really.”

“You’re kidding, how come?”

“Because there were a bunch of phonies drawn up during that time. Peg Leg was quite a character. Legend has it he cut off his own leg after it got infected from being shot with an arrow. He was a big liar and an even bigger horse thief, but he actually did find gold. There’re assay records of it; problem was, he couldn’t find it again. Word got out about his strike, though, so he drew up some phony maps and sold them for a pretty penny. He was even paid to lead a couple of expeditions out there. He made sure he got paid upfront, then he’d lead them pretty far into the desert and abandon them.”

“Jesus, nice guy!”

“Yeah,” Jerry replied with a chuckle. “Now, if your friend has one of his maps, I can verify it because we have samples of his handwriting, but others got in on the scam as well. No one truly knows for sure, but I wouldn’t doubt if there weren’t fifty or sixty of those bogus maps still floating around today. Thing is, the paper and the ink will be original from that period. That’s why I said I can’t really authenticate it. I can verify the age of the paper and the ink, but that doesn’t mean the map is real. As far as I know, there aren’t any authentic maps, just a lot of phonys.”

“This one is supposedly drawn by some prospector that died. There’s also a diary by some doctor that’s supposed to confirm everything.”

“Dr. DeCourcy?”

“I have no idea. Supposedly the guy that has it is a long lost relative of this doctor’s.”

“Well, to be honest, I haven’t heard of any fake diaries by the doctor, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any. Years after Peg Leg found it, an old prospector found it again. We know it was from the same area by the content of the ore. No one even knows the prospector’s name because he was sick when he hit Los Angeles. He found Dr. DeCourcy, but he was too far gone to save. The doctor actually brought the gold into the assayer’s office, saying the prospector gave it to him as payment. Of course, there was no one to dispute it, so he was able to keep it. It was about thirty-six hundred dollars; a small fortune in those days.

“Unfortunately, I don’t know of any handwriting samples for him. If you want to send me the map and diary, I’ll be happy to take a look at it, but as I said, all I can do is verify the age of the ink and the paper. I won’t be able to tell you if it’s the real McCoy or not.”

“Okay, Jerry, thanks for being so honest. I’ll tell this guy what you said and leave it up to him on what he wants to do.”

“Good enough, Jack.”

They hung up and Jack called Dave to go over Jerry’s story with him. Dave, in turn, called his cousin and relayed everything to him.

By this time, Aaron was getting more and more excited over the prospect of finding another lost treasure. Hearing there were so many phony maps out there was disheartening.

He had never experienced a thrill like when he discovered the Devil’s Mist off the coast of Saint Thomas in the Virgin Islands. A storm had uncovered it from a sandy grave where it had laid untouched for centuries. It was purely by luck that he had been scuba diving in that area on that day, but it turned into the adventure of a lifetime, not to mention riches beyond his wildest dreams. Now he had a chance to possibly do it again.

While the two were talking, Aaron decided he was at least going to arrange another meeting with the one-eyed John Smith and get the map and diary. Dave warned him not to give the guy any money. He said the guy might want some for security. Aaron agreed.

After calling the stranger, Aaron called Dave with the time and place of the meeting. He, in turn, called Dalton.

“I just looked it up, Dalton, it’s a small neighborhood bar on Addison and Oak Park. I’m going to head on down there about an hour early and wait inside the bar. Would you be able to find a place to park and try to get some headshots of him going in and coming out?”

“Yeah, no problem, Dave.”

“Does Tracy know what you’re doing?”

“Of course, I don’t keep anything from her. She’s jealous. She wants to help,” Dalton chuckled.

A few nights later, Dalton was parked on the side street overlooking Charlie’s Club. Peeking out of the open rear window was his new camera equipped with the longest lens he had and zoomed all the way out to five-hundred millimeters. From that distance, he’d be able to get good head and shoulders shots. He knew Dave was already inside, but he wasn’t sure about Aaron. In that neighborhood, only street parking was available, so he had to keep a keen eye open in case the subject walked passed him on the way in.

About twenty minutes early, a dark looking figure came limping around the corner, heading for the front door of the bar. Dalton looked through the eyepiece of his camera and started clicking away. He got a good look at the stranger’s eyepatch when he looked around before going inside.

Once the guy disappeared behind the door, Dalton took a look at the back of his new camera. Damn, he said to himself, the pictures were sharp and clear as a bell. He readjusted himself to get a little more comfortable in the back seat and waited, but not for long. Only fifteen minutes had elapsed before the mysterious figure came back out. Again, Dalton started clicking away until his prey had disappeared around the corner again. Dalton quickly stuck his camera in the trunk and started in pursuit. His plan was to hopefully get the license number of the guy’s car.

He crossed the street and let the guy get a reasonable distance ahead before starting his tail. After about a block he ducked behind a car when the stranger stopped to look around. Obviously feeling secure, the cagey character removed his eyepatch and continued to walk, minus the limp.