American Bruja: The Los Angeles Cauldron

Chapter 24. Ben Salvia

Tuesday, August 9, 2011, 12:00 a.m. Los Angeles

My mind's racing as I pace in front of Mama's shrine to Santa Muerte. Dust covers the saint's statue shrouded in an alcove of inky darkness. Heavy clouds cover the full moon. A gust of steamy wind rustles the black sagebrush flanking the alcove and fills the night air with a pungent scent.

Behind me, the front door opens. A flashlight beam sweeps round and comes to rest on Santa Muerte's skeletal form.

As I turn toward the light, I'm blinded. "What the hell?"

The flashlight beam swings back to light up Ken's work boots, then travels up his jeans to rest on his crotch. Ken's left hand shoots down to grab his junk. "You need to see this!"

I walk to where Ken stands in the castoff doorway light and elbow him in the ribs. "I'd need a magnifying glass to see your huevos."

Ken puts the flashlight under his chin and flashes a grin. "Eat me."

Martin appears in the open doorway waving a thin paperback titled, "Where to Find GOLD in Southern California."

Curiosity overcomes my desire to punch Ken, and I grab the book from Marty's hands. "Where'd you get this?"

With a frown, he crosses his arms. "I have my sources."

Suddenly, Martin is shoved from behind. I step aside as he stumbles off the threshold and over the conical rock we keep by the front door for boot scraping. The book flies from his hands as he's airborne and looks to splat in a face plant. Fucker disappoints when he twists catlike to land on his feet. The tattooed rattlesnake on his left hand seems to slither as he snatches the book from the dirt.

George erupts in laughter and joins us outside. "Marty has a girlfriend who works at the library."

I shove the paperback in my jeans and grab Martin by the shoulders. "Why haven't I met this so-called girlfriend?"

Marty shoves me off. "She's none of your business."

I'm blinded again as Ken shines the flashlight in my face. "I could give a flying fuck who Marty's banging. Read the chapter he found."

Snatching the flashlight from Ken, I grab the paperback and thumb to the bookmarked chapter titled Santa Susana Treasure.

My eyes widen as I read about a Mexican caballero who fell in love with the daughter of a wealthy rancher in the early 1850s. He was too poor to ask for her hand in marriage, so he robbed the stagecoach as it crossed the Santa Susana Pass. As he made his escape with $100,000 in gold coins, a passenger shot him in the back.

Although mortally wounded, the unnamed caballero galloped away. By the time he reached the valley floor, he'd lost so much blood that he fell from his horse. His mount raced away, only to return minutes later with the rancher's daughter. She leapt from the horse and professed her love. The Mexican bandit died in her embrace.

The breath catches in my throat as I read the closing sentence. "The gold was never found, but clues to its whereabouts are contained in the girl's diary."

Sweet baby Jesus! The story mirrors Salvia lore about our ancestor Fernando, mastermind of the one and only stagecoach robbery in the Santa Susana Pass. Fernando disappeared after the getaway, and the gold was never found.

I shut the book and move south to stand at the cliff's edge for an unobstructed view of the San Inferno Valley. My brothers follow. Below stretches the darkness of the Chatsworth Reservoir. My attention's drawn to a cluster of lights at the northeastern edge, the site of a horse ranch where Marisol Garcia's family has lived since the early 1800s.