Jackpot. Chapter 3

José’s broke but Leroy’s got some dough saved up. The deal is, Leroy makes his money back first, then they split it fifty-fifty. But before that can happen, they need to find some kind of economy, a real one, not like round these parts, so they drop Leroy’s van off at the shop and drive deeper into the desert. 

The road ends at the grandest canyon of them all, The Grand Canyon. They roll right up to the edge and get out.

“Damn it!” Leroy throws his hat on the ground and his voice echoes across the open miles. “This’ll take forever to get around!”

José stands at the rim, contemplating the majesty of nature.

“Well,” says Leroy, “I reckon we can stop in town for the night. Make our way around tomorrow.” He walks back to the truck. 

José pulls out his gun, looks at it for a moment, then tosses it over the edge. Shots ring out as it bounces down the rocks.

“What the hell’d you do that for?!” shouts Leroy, covering his ears.

“I don’t want to use it ever again!”

Leroy’s pissed. He thinks José’s being naive, but there’s no denying the nobility of his gesture. He holds his tongue, gets in the truck, and waits until José’s ready. When he climbs into the passenger seat, no words pass between them. Leroy starts the engine and they head around another way, following signs for a nearby town.

A couple miles out they spot a ragged old man shuffling along the side of the road. Leroy pumps the brakes and José rolls down his window.

“Need a ride?” 

“Where you headed?”

“Going into town,” says Leroy.

The old man shakes his head like an electric toothbrush. “No thanks! Anywhere but that hellhole!”

“What’s wrong with it?” asks José.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“No!”

José shrugs. “Alright, geezer.”

The old man is offended. He’s no geezer, it's just the booze!

“By the way, where’s a good place to stay around here?” asks José.

The old man thinks about it and decides to repay José’s insult. “Well, there’s the inn, but that’s mighty expensive. I lived above my gift shop on Main Street, but I don’t reckon I’m ever going back. Here.” He tosses José a ring of keys. “It’s yours now.” The old man chuckles and resumes his trek.

“I guess there is such thing as a free lunch!”

“Maybe,” says Leroy, but something don’t feel right.

It’s dusk when they roll into town. Main Street is deserted. There’s a thin dirt lot behind the gift shop, and that’s where they park the pickup. The faded sign above the door reads: Desert Knick Knacks and Grand Souvenirs. The shop is dark and dusty. José fumbles for the lights and eventually turns them on. Seems the old man left in a hurry. There’s still money in the register, the sign in the front window is still flipped to “OPEN,” and the bent ceiling fan is still spinning on its lopsided axis. Mystery is in the air. Upstairs there’s a small kitchen and two bedrooms. Why that lonely old man would need two bedrooms is beyond Leroy, but José senses the absence of a child. Clothes are strewn across the old man’s bed. A suitcase lies half-packed on the floor.

“Wonder why he was in such a hurry?” says Leroy.

“Maybe he had some trouble with the law.”

“Could be.” 

But no officers come knocking, and José and Leroy turn in for the night. The full moon shines bright and coyotes howl in the distance. Leroy’s fast asleep, but something’s bothering José. He stares up at the ceiling, his dry eyes unable to stay shut, his ears tuned in to every little sound. He wonders why the old man’s TV has a bright red light next to its power button to show that it’s off. He can see damn well that it’s off, because it’s not on. He gets up and unplugs it. Footsteps. Cold sweat drenches his nightcap. Something gets knocked over down in the store. He tiptoes across the kitchen and down the stairs, wishing he hadn’t thrown his gun off a cliff. All he has now are his trusty fists, Rupert and Percy, names that once sounded tough and romantic, but now strike him as wimpy and bourgeois. Percy flips on the lights. The store is empty, but the back door is swinging open and shut in the breeze. The stand of novelty license plates rolls back and forth across the floor, half its plates scattered.

“Just the wind,” says José, chuckling. He shuts the door, rights the stand, and goes back to sleep. 

In the morning Leroy cooks up some eggs, double-over western jackalope-style with a little pepper, just the way he likes ‘em. 

“Think we can make it to California today?” José asks between mouthfuls.

“Maybe. But I’ve been thinking. Why not set up shop here? The old man gave us the place, and half the trouble in business is getting a store!”

José mulls it over.

“And,” Leroy adds, “we’re right next to the grandest tourist attraction in the whole U.S. of A!”

“You know what,” says José, pointing his fork, “you’ve got a point.”

“We’ll spend our principal setting up ties with a factory that can––” 

Outside, someone screams. Our heroic duo run down through the gift shop and out the door to find some townsfolk gathered around. Someone’s scrawled “LEAVE” in red on the front windows, and there’s a dead chicken lying in a pool of blood on the sidewalk.  

“What the hell?” asks Leroy.

“Who are you?” asks a burly young man who could have been a great quarterback if only he’d listened to his coach and given it a hundred and ten percent during practice and game time, no matter what. 

“We’re the new proprietors of Desert Knick Knacks and Grand Souvenirs,” says Leroy, reading off the sign. “Ran into the old owner out on the road and he gave us the keys. Didn’t want nothing to do with it no more.”

“I don’t blame him. Place has been haunted ever since he inherited it from my father.” 

The crowd begins to disperse.

“Haunted?” asks Leroy.

“Your father?” asks José.

“Yes, sir,” he says, grinning. “The name’s James Calahan.” 

“Leroy McMenahan.”

“José… Jones.”

“Pleasure.” 

They shake hands. 

“As I was saying, when my father died, he left the shop to Frank Rodenbelt, no relation mind you. Anyways, him and old Frank went way back, friends since they were kids. Me, I would have been just fine running the store myself, but my father wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted me to go to college to study hydro engineering, but here I am now with a piece of paper and no dams to my name.” 

“I see,” says Leroy. “How long’s this haunting been going on?”

“Quite some time now, I’m afraid. About a week after I got back to town, Frank started telling people he was seeing ghosts and hearing voices telling him to clear out.”

“Really?” asks José, pale as a ghost himself.

“Yes, sir. I took a look for myself a few times, but I never saw anything unusual until this.”

José crosses himself. 

“Well, I reckon we’d better clean up all this blood,” says Leroy. 

“Wait a second,” says James. “I understand old Frank said you could have this place, but he was in no condition to be making such an important decision. Now, seeing as this was my father’s store and all, I think it would only be fair if––” 

Leroy holds up his hand. “We’re keeping the store.”

“But––”

“I won’t hear it. Frank gave us this store for a reason, I feel it in my bones. I refuse to go against his wishes.”

James is furious but holds back. “Fine. Just don’t come crying to me if you see any… ghosts!” He walks away, cackling.

“Oh, Leroy, I sure hope he’s fibbing about those ghosts!” says José, shivering.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. I ain’t one to believe in such things. Only notions of facts and science floating round in this head,” says Leroy, tapping his head. He goes inside and finds a mop and bucket. The window is dyed pink as the blood washes down, but looks clean as ever after a second washing. Leroy picks the chicken up by its feet and throws it in the trash, and José breathes a sigh of relief as the bloody water trickles into the gutter. 

“Just one thing I can’t put my finger on,” says Leroy. “Who, or what, would write such a thing on our store?”

José thinks. “El Chupacabra?”

“Could be… but why?” They go back inside and a crow caws as the door swings shut.

Despite all their unanswered questions, they’re able to put the incident out of their minds and get to work. They spend the rest of the day planning, contacting potential manufacturers, and selling knick knacks to the occasional tourist. The sun sinks into the canyon and they get ready for bed. 

Leroy shuts his eyes and pulls the covers up high, ready for a good night’s sleep after a long day. Right as he’s about to drift off, he hears a scream. He jolts up. Did he imagine it? No, because he hears it again. It’s José. Leroy jumps out of bed and into his slippers. He runs through the kitchen and tries the door to José’s room. It’s locked. The screams get louder. He kicks his way in and sees a ghost standing on the end of José’s bed, flapping around.

“Woooooo!” the ghost shouts. “I’m a ghost! Leave this place at once! Woooooo!” 

José can’t stop screaming and pulls his sheets up to his mouth. Leroy flips on the light. The ghost, really just someone wearing a large bedsheet, jumps off the bed and tries to climb out the window, but Leroy grabs him by the foot and pulls him back inside.

“Please don’t hurt me!” the ghost whimpers, clawing at the rug. Leroy reaches down and pulls the sheet off. 

“James Calahan?!” Leroy and José exclaim in unison.

“Dang nabbit! You got me.”

“Why’d you do it, James?” José asks from his bed. 

James doesn’t respond.

“I think I can explain,” says Leroy, holding up a finger. “It all started when his father died. Young James here had been expecting to inherit the store, but in a twist of fate, it went to Frank Rodenbelt. Rather than accepting the wishes of his father, James devised an ingenious plan to spook old Frank into turning it over to him: he’d dress up as a ghost and haunt the place until Frank couldn’t take it no more. Except he spooked old Frank a little too much, you see, and we got the store instead. Now––” Leroy’s explanation is cut off by a roaring wind. Papers and books circle the room and the three men cower in terror as a towering, bearded specter appears before them.

“Enough!” booms the specter. 

“Dad?” asks James, peering out from under the bed.

“Yes, it is I, Robert Calahan, your father!” The specter strokes his majestic beard. “Why haven’t you built any dams, my son?”

“Why didn’t you give me the store?”

“Why the hell would I give you the store? You always hated this place, making you work here after school was like waging war! I want no more excuses! I didn’t shell out five hundred dollars for that prophecy so you could sit on your ass selling knick knacks! Do what the mystic Sara said, journey to the dry city of Los Angeles. There you shall find great demand for dam builders.”

“Dad, I told you, I don’t care about that stupid prophecy. I’m just trying to make some money and live my life.”

“Then why’d you go through four years of hydro engineering school?”

“Because you made me!”

“Hah! You were eighteen, boy, I didn’t make you do anything! Talk about making money––you’d make ten times as much building dams and you know it! Look at your life, my son. You’re dressing up as a ghost and scaring people, but you’re the one who’s scared.” 

“Scared of what?”

“Of growing up!” shouts José, tears in his eyes. “Your dad loves you, he’s trying to set you up with a good life! Don’t you see that?” He hides under the covers and sobs.

The specter scratches his head. “Did Frank really give it to you two?”

“Yes, sir,” says Leroy.

“Then it is yours.”

José and Leroy yeehaw.

“But Dad––”

The specter places a ghostly hand on James’ shoulder. “My son, your destiny lies not in this store, but in the great waterless lands to the west! The climate’s a’changing, my boy! Go forth, and through hard work and perseverance, you shall discover the true meaning of...” The specter rambles on for another twenty minutes. Comfortable in his bed, José falls back asleep. Leroy barely manages to stay awake, resorting to pinching and even slapping himself. James is also bored by his father’s speech, but since it’s directed at him he’s forced to work eleven times as hard to pay attention. A sigh of relief is shared amongst the living as the specter’s speech ends.

“‘...Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.’ And with that, I bid you farewell. Until we meet again.” The ferocious wind returns to the room, blowing in the opposite direction as last time. The scattered papers and books find their way back to their original places. The specter has vanished. James wipes a tear from his eye.

“He always was a windbag. Ain’t nothing death can change about that.”

Leroy looks over at José, fast asleep. “You want to finish this in the kitchen?”

“I was thinking the same thing.” 

James and Leroy tiptoe out of there. 

“Well, I reckon I better head on down to Los Angeles.”

“Agreed.”

“I’m sorry about trying to haunt you and all. That was mighty foolish of me.”

“Don’t mention it, kid. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now get the heck out of here and make your dad proud!”

“Yes, sir!” James Calahan dashes off, forgetting his sheet, forgetting the store, forgetting everything except the dusty road to the city of angels. 

A month goes by. José and Leroy have replaced all the old knick knacks with their own merchandise, but business is slow. How could these foolish tourists fail to appreciate the genius of the saguaro sombrero pennants, mugs, ashtrays, placemats, action figures, plush dolls, paintings, bumper stickers, temporary tattoos, and of course, the actual cacti wearing sombreros tactically positioned throughout the store, cacti that José and Leroy spent a whole day out in the desert digging up and dodging park rangers to retrieve? 

A tan old lady wearing all sorts of crystal jewelry walks in, looks around, and leaves without buying anything. José slams his fist down on the counter and holds back tears.

“What are we doing wrong?”

“I don’t know, José. If I did, I’d sure as hell tell you. Be patient, alright?”

José blows his nose and wipes his eyes. “I know, I know. It just feels like something’s missing.”

Leroy strokes his stubble, deep in thought. He remains frozen in place for the rest of the day. Seeing a chance to save a couple bucks, José takes the batteries out of the clock and uses Leroy as a sundial. When the sun hangs low and shines into Leroy’s squinting eyes, José draws the blinds and locks up for the night.

“Come on Leroy, let’s go get a bite to eat.”

Leroy nods but José doubts he really heard him. Once Leroy gets those thinking gears turning, there ain’t no stopping them. 

They arrive at a blossoming Mexican restaurant. Blossoming because it’s new, the only new place in town, always adding new things, new specials, new paintings, new ferns, new fish in the aquarium, potted flowers in every corner, on every table, flowers on the wallpaper, flowers in the funny cigarettes the dishwashers smoke out back. Forty-five years later, at the height of Sino-American tensions, it receives a one-star review on the internet and goes out of business. But for now, it’s a fine establishment that serves good food to good people. 

The waiter directs José and Leroy to their usual table in the corner. A five-piece mariachi band walks between tables performing a beautiful, heart-wrenching rendition of “La Cucaracha.” José weeps as he shovels fistfulls of tortilla chips into his mouth. Leroy gazes at the band, not so much listening as admiring the dexterity of each musician. The singer breaks into a spicy maracas solo and time slows to a crawl. Leroy can hear every ball sliding around inside those waving red shells, each micro-collision carefully controlled by the singer’s deft wrists. The gears finish turning.

“I’ve got it!”

“What?” José sobs.

“Our idea… you were right, José, it was only half finished! Putting a sombrero on a cactus was pure genius, but if we have it hold maracas too, there’s no way we can lose!”

José spits his chips out all over the table. “Leroy, that's perfect! It’ll change everything!”

The waiter returns. “Are you gentlemen ready to order?”

Leroy drains his water and crunches down on an ice cube. “I think we’ll take this meal to go.”