Edward’s cell phone is ringing, which annoys him for a couple of reasons. First off, he works in a museum, and in the quiet surrounding the ring is amplified. Secondly, he’s just not a cell phone kind of guy. Face to face conversations, in person, with little chance of growing a brain tumor. And thirdly, because whenever he hears from Tiffany she wants something from him. He considers her a fairly good friend, but no one he’d trust his life to.
“Yes?” He answers.
“Hey, I’m here. You are at work, right? I have something you’re going to want to see.”
“Tiffany I’m here, at work, because I’m working. Can’t it wait?”
“Nope. You can’t wait. Trust me, just take 15 or something.”
Edward steps back from his display and looks up at the “Myths and Folklore” sign hung above the glass panel, “I’ll meet you in the cafeteria.”
He hangs up and taps on the glass at the painting man inside the display. He pantomimes ridiculously an invisible watch on his wrist, walking toward the door, and a series of finger which he hopes indicated fifteen minutes. The man nods and goes back to the paints. Edward shuffles the pile of papers strewn on the floor in front of him into a somewhat orderly stack, out of the way for any imaginary travelers that won’t being walking up the hallway. He pricks an empty coffee cup and a sandwich wrapper from the corner of his workspace and exits past his motionless Ute friend.
The cafeteria is empty, most of the museum already closed for the evening. Edward wonders how Tiffany even managed to get inside, but resolves his desire not to know. She’s sitting at one of the many round tables, napkin dispensers dot the tops like tread centered on buttons. The building is entirely quiet, only the occasional shout of metal trash can wheels against tile from the janitor on level two.
Without words Edward takes a seat across the table and Tiffany slides a folded brown paper across the laminate top toward him. He unfolds it and examines it. The paper is brown with age, wrinkled with time. The paper is old, most likely an early hemp with an almost cloth like feel to the texture and wrinkles. It is a map, the area pictured nondescript compared to today’s geographical definitions. It depicts landscapes, a small key in the bottom right contains the only written words.
At the center of the map, some distance from the depicted starting point, stands a city.
“So. Do you think it’s legit?” Tiffany reclines in her chair.
The writing, material, pigment and ink all check out to what Edward knows. He begins a short creative cross between a mumble and a stammer.
“If it wasn’t legit, do you think we’d have bothered following you?” At the far end of the cafeteria a man in a gray suit stands, his slick black hair looks a bit like a gladiator helmet. Behind him other men in suits begin to climb the escalators or prowl the hallway.
“Where did you get this exactly?” Edward asks under his breath.
“See the guy on the left, red-ish hair?”
“Yeah.”
“Got it from him.”
“As in he gave it to you? You’re borrowing it? It’s on loan?”
“As in sticky fingers.”
“Of course.”
The gray suited man strides toward them, reaches the first set of round tables and send them flying. Chairs topple and the tables crash to the side. Edward and Tiffany sprint in the opposite direction through the maze of tables and immediately upon standing begin hearing gunshots. A few echo down at them from the second level as they turn and run up the main hallway toward the back of the museum. Edward pulls Tiffany through a service door along the right wall, slams and locks it behind him, guns and tables still on the other side.
“Unbelievable!” Edward gasps, “You… We’re… They shot at us.” Edward channels his panicked energy into his legs and leads them toward the employee stairwell, kicks now landing against the locked door.
“This is amazing. The real map to El Dorado! We are gonna be rich!” Tiffany giggles.
“If they don’t kill us, and we get out of here without them following us, and we somehow find means to travel through the wilds of North America, then maybe we might happen upon a significant historical discovery, yes.”
“Wow. Buzz kill. It’s a city of gold…”
To the left of the stairwell door, Edward grabs a lever protruding from the gray metal box attached to the wall and pulls every light in the building into darkness.
***
From outside the four story brick building he sees the lights suddenly cut out. The parking lot lamp posts seem to shine like spotlights on him in the sudden darkness. He moves out of their direct path and jogs for the entrance.
***
The museum is completely dark, and completely quiet. Edward doesn’t need a map for the hallways, he has Tiffany’s hand and they’re moving in a hunched, quiet run through the dark. They’ve gotten to the third level, and Edward pulls Tiffany to a squat next to a large window overlooking the parking garage.
“That’s why we’re not heading for the car,” Edward nods toward the three men who pace his vehicle.
In the distance beyond the window sirens blare and faint glows of red and blue pop through the night. The men around his car notice too, and after a second more pile from the museum entrance below them. Edward notices the gray suit is not with them. Beyond that he doesn’t have a head count.
“Come on,” Edward grabs Tiffany again and leads her toward the last employee only stairwell.
“Where are we going? They’re leaving.”
“Not all of them. We just have to make it a few more minutes until the cops get here.”
The door to the fourth floor doesn’t lock behind them. It closes with a solid click.
This level is mostly storage. Old banners and signage. Old display case innards and even a few outdated computers. A kind of museum of a museum.
“Predictable.”
Tiffany and Edward freeze.
“The map, please,” the man in the gray suit stands somewhere in the darkness.
Edward slowly, quietly, begins to pull Tiffany toward to far end of the long, cluttered room.
“I won’t ask nicely again.” The man’s voice seems close.
They hear the cock of his gun. Edward reaches his hand out, groping in the darkness. The quick flash of a muzzle reflects off the metal bar feet away from him, and he dives for it pulling Tiffany with him. More blind shots light the room, bullets crashing against the stacks like mice unsure of their maze. Edward press the metal bar and pulls Tiffany out onto the roof. A firm grip lands on his shoulder and tosses Edward, and consequently Tiffany across the roof. They land in an uncomfortable heap against the cement.
Edward turns his head in time to see a gray suit appear in the open doorway behind him. The suit raises his gun, a fist clips the side of his head. From the right side of the open door punch after punch land on the suited man, his gun drops from his grip as the door makes contact with his face and a worn black hiking boot connects with the gray suited ass.
Edward rolls from Tiffany and sees a helicopter just beside him, the cockpit door it ajar and a man lays unconscious on the cement in a small spatter of blood.
The gray suit lands quietly against the rooftop and the second figure leans over for the disarmed gun, checks the safety and tucks it in the back of the waits of his sandy blue denim jeans. Sirens are close below.
The man walks past Edward and Tiffany to the helicopter, opens the door and looks back at them, “Mind if I drive?”
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