Something for Nothing by David Anthony

someone from the 1920s, with the person stiff and formal but in a way that spoke to the greater seriousness and maturity of earlier generations.
    Under the jewelry lay three coins. They were gold. One was aten-dollar coin dated 1908. It had a picture of an Indian on it. There was also a twenty-dollar piece dated 1900, with some sort of Lady Liberty image on it. She was surrounded by a halo of stars. Last, there was a one-dollar coin from 1854. Like the one from 1900, it had a Lady Liberty image on it, and she, too, was surrounded by this semicircle of stars. Martin held them in his hand, as if assessing them. They were hefty, he thought. And pretty valuable—probably a couple of hundred dollars apiece.
    He looked up again, scanning the orchard, and then twisted around to make sure no one was sneaking up on him, or that there wasn’t a cop slowing down, trying to figure out why that car was back there in the orchard. No one.
    Martin put the coins back into the box, and put the box under his seat. Then, remembering the gun in his pocket, he took it out and slipped it under the seat, setting it next to the jewelry box. He started the car, swung it around, and started to drive slowly out of the orchard—no need to peel out fast, fleeing in a panic. He slowed to a stop at the edge of the road, waited for a pickup truck to drive past, and then pulled out.
    As he drove toward the highway, it occurred to him that those coins were probably even more valuable than he’d thought. Gold prices had skyrocketed in the past year as oil prices shot up, and so these would fetch a nice little bit of cash. Not that he was stupid enough to try it—if Miriam noticed the jewelry box was missing, the first thing she and Hal would do is call the local coin dealers and pawn shops. Plus, it wasn’t like three gold coins would set you up for life (or pay off someone like Val Desmond). Still, it was exciting . . . and almost exactly what he’d hoped for when he decided to actually break into her house and snoop around. It was as if he’d stumbled onto a little bit of treasure back there in Miriam’s bedroom. And the best part was that now it was his.

CHAPTER FOUR
    V al called a little over a week later and said he was ready to set up a run to Mexico. Ramirez was about to get another shipment, and, as planned, he’d offered to cut Val in. Martin didn’t know how much Val was making off these exchanges, but it had to be a fair amount if he could afford to forgive half of Martin’s debt, and then pay him five thousand dollars every time he flew down there.
    Val wanted Martin to drive out to his house in Pleasanton and pick up the cash. “You should come and see Temperature’s Rising, anyway,” he said. “His morning splits have been great. I think he’s got a real shot at the fair.”
    Martin said okay, fine, and half an hour later he was on the way. It was a Saturday, and he wasn’t up to much. He wondered if he should have acted busy, said it would be a few hours, but the talk about Temperature’s Rising had made him too excited to bother. Being on the main card was a big deal, at least for the local racing community. No, it wasn’t going to get written up in the
Daily Racing Form,
but the area trainers and jockeys would know whose horses had gotten into the race and which ones had done well. Martin was more than a little pleased to think that he might become an owner the local people in the business might know and talk about.
    â€œOh, sure,” he imagined people saying as they sat at the track looking through a race program. “That’s Martin Anderson’s horse. He’s hooked up with Val Desmond, but he seems to be the brains of the outfit. His horses always run strong.”
    In fact, of course, it was Val who suggested horses to Martin—Martin wouldn’t have known where to look, much less what to look for. And Val’s inclination was toward