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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

1987

“Uncle Jack!” Shawn cried as he ran across the yard and jumped into his uncle’s open arms.

“Shawn, my boy!  I’ve missed you!”

“I’ve missed you too, Uncle Jack!”

“Jack, to what do we owe this pleasure,” Henry said, walking up behind Shawn and shaking his little brother’s hand.

“Henry, how are you?”

“Good, Jack, and you?”

“Good… good,” Jack responded.  He looked back down at Shawn and ruffled his hair.  “Shawny, come sit at the picnic table.  I have a present for you!”

“Awesome!” Shawn said and ran over to the table.

Once Henry and Jack sat down, Jack heaved his bag onto the table with dramatic flair.  He began digging through the bag, tossing out a random sock over here and a toothbrush over there.  The anticipation was driving Shawn nuts – he was practically shaking the whole table as he jumped up and down and wiggled around on his seat.

“Aha!  Here it is!” Jack said, looking at Shawn.  Shawn couldn’t yet see what Jack was holding. 

Jack slowly pulled out what looked from the bottom like a boring, ugly rock.  Shawn’s heart sank.  But as soon as Jack turned it over and the sun reflected off the top, Shawn couldn’t help himself and let out a quiet “Whoa.”

Jack placed the object in the middle of the picnic table.  The sun reflected off of every angle of the stone before them.  The blue was close to a sapphire, but far more brilliant.  It shined like a diamond, but was far brighter.

“What is it, Uncle Jack?”

“This, Shawn, is benitoite.  It is found only in San Benito County, about three to four hours from here.  It is extremely rare.  It’s the only stone that has the color of a sapphire and the dispersion of a diamond.  This piece, my boy, is big enough and clear enough to turn into a gemstone.” 

Shawn looked up with a confused look on his face.

“Jewelry, Shawn,” Henry responded.

Shawn scrunched his face up.

“But you should keep this piece exactly as it is,” Jack said.  “It could be worth a lot of money some day.  But more importantly, it’s cool to have and you can tell everybody that your Uncle Jack the treasure hunter gave it to you!”

Shawn could only utter “Cool.” 

“Wow, Jack, that’s impressive,” Henry said.

“Thanks, Uncle Jack!”  Shawn climbed off his seat, ran around the table, and gave Jack a big hug.

“Oh and here’s a penny!  It’s from 1943, which is the only year that pennies were made of steel rather than copper.”

 

Present Day

“Jack Spencer likely knows where they are,” Milo said, looking at his boss Fred Tristan.

“Ah, Jack Spencer.  I haven’t crossed paths with him in quite some time.  Still up to his old tricks, is he?” Fred said as he shifted in his chair. 

“Looks that way, sir,” Milo responded.

Fred Tristan was sitting in his favorite wing chair in his office.  His office overlooked the warehouse he owned and his employees busily hurried about on the floor below.  Fred’s office was his sanctuary.  Once the door was closed, he could see the hustle and bustle, but he couldn’t hear it.  He could settle in his wing chair, the chair in which only he sat, and have a pleasant conversation with his associate, Milo, or his brother, Frank.  Frank also had a wing chair in the office, which he was currently occupying. 

The office was like any other warehouse office, but Fred had taken the time to make the atmosphere restful and cozy.  It was of course an efficient space – Fred had his desk and Frank had a small workspace.  They spent enough time in there that they deserved to be comfortable.  In addition to the wing chairs, the office had beautiful Tiffany lamps on the desk and two other tables.  No harsh fluorescent overhead lights were allowed.  The only harsh light was the intense work light that Frank had in his workspace – but that was out of necessity.

Between the brother’s chairs stood one of the tables.  Atop the table was Fred’s favorite Tiffany lamp and two cups of Earl Gray tea.  Milo was seated in a desk chair in front of them, resting his cup of tea in his lap.  The trio had spent a great deal of time over the years seated as they were, discussing various business matters.  They were generally the only persons allowed in the office, but they welcomed special visitors from time to time.

Fred and Frank were in their fifties, Fred being the older by two years.  The two were inseparable as children and that close relationship persisted into adulthood.  Some determined that Fred was the brains and Frank was the brawn, but they equally shared both qualities.  Being 6’0 and 6’2 respectively, both with large builds, Fred and Frank’s commanding presence was noticed wherever they went.  Adding Milo into the mix, himself standing 5’11, made the trio a force to be reckoned with.

Fred was a prominent businessman in Santa Barbara.  His business was antiquity imports and exports.  He did quite well in his business, but his true passion was his hobby.  The police had a funny way of continually trying to prove his hobby was his real business and that his antiquities dealings were simply a front to Fred’s true passion.

Fred’s hobby was jewelry importing.  Well, technically, it was gemstone importing.  Some people referred to it as smuggling.  Diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, you name it.  If it was a beautiful gemstone and if it was worth money, Fred was most likely at the center of any business transactions surrounding it.

Fred’s brother, Frank, joined in the hobby as well.  Frank was a master gem cutter.  He could take the rawest, most rugged mass of material and turn it into a gemstone that would make the most highly respected appraisers’ jaws drop.  It was a skill few people possessed.  Unlike most gem cutters, Frank came by it naturally.  He possessed a level hand, patience, and persistent that few others could grasp. 

Unfortunately, there was a dark side to Fred and Frank’s hobby.  To Fred’s chagrin, not everyone could be trusted in his hobby.  It was really unfortunate that dealings with such beautiful gemstones could turn people so ugly.  That’s why Fred had Frank and Milo.  Frank’s precision and skill with a blade, coupled with that patience and persistence of his, went well beyond cutting stones.  He even amazed Fred sometimes.  You see, in some circles, Frank was known as “The Sharpener”.  One reason was that he always contributed his gem cutting skills to the sharpest tools at his disposal – he would often re-sharpen his tools multiple times in one cutting session, far more than most gem cutters cared to do.  The other reason for his moniker was that he always carried with him a sharpened knife in a sheath attached to his belt.  When the knife wasn’t in the sheath, it was either being sharpened or being used.  He needed to protect his brother and their true passion after all.  The police had tried to pin at least a dozen brutal stabbings and throat slashings on poor Frank in the past decade, but they could never get any of the charges to stick.  His persistence and patience ensured that the job was done right every time.

And then there was Milo.  He meant a great deal to Fred and Frank, and they considered him a part of their family.  Their hobby kept them quite busy, so Milo handled everything else.  If additional manpower was needed for a task, Milo would make the necessary arrangements.  If Fred and Frank wanted to welcome a visitor to their office, Milo would make sure the visitor arrived safely and got home (or let’s face facts, to the morgue) safely.  Milo watched out for the brothers.  He made sure they could devote the necessary time to Fred’s antiquities business, but keep their primary focus on their hobby.  He kept both the business and the hobby running like a well oiled machine.  It was a thing of beauty to see how organized and efficient he was in all matters.

“So, remind me what we know about Jack Spencer,” Fred asked.

Milo took a sip of tea and returned the cup to its saucer.  “Jack has an older brother, Henry.  He’s a retired cop.  He spends his days either fishing, doing yard work, going to the spa, or playing poker.”

“There’s a great retirement,” Fred said thoughtfully.  Frank nodded in agreement.

“Henry’s son, Jack’s nephew, is named Shawn.  He runs a ‘psychic’ detective agency called… you’ll never believe it… Psych.”

Frank and Fred laughed.  Fred said, “Psych?  Funny kid.  Now, did you say psychic?  I think I've heard of him before.”

“He claims to be psychic and uses his talents to solve cases, both private cases for his agency as well as cases for the SBPD.  His agency is co-owned and operated by a Burton Guster.  Mr. Guster also works as a pharmaceutical sales representative at Central Coast Pharmaceuticals.  He certainly keeps himself busy.”

“Strong work ethic.  I like that,” Fred said.

“Yes, sir.  The pair has solved quite a large number of cases,” Milo said, passing a folder to Fred.  Fred opened the folder to see a fairly large stack of newspaper clippings describing the psychic detective and the cases he solved.  “Perhaps you’ve read some of these before?”

“I have.  That must be why he sounded familiar.  I didn’t realize he was related to our friend Jack,” Fred said as he glanced through the clippings and passed them to Frank.  Fred was an avid reader of many newspapers each day.  He liked to know what was going on around him at all times.

Milo continued, “That’s it for family.  Jack’s generally a loner, but also likes to acquire partners left and right.  That’s gotten him into trouble more than once, as you can likely imagine.  Many of the relationships have gone south fairly quickly.”

“Not surprising.  In business, it is better to form lasting relationships with a small group of people and stick by them,” Fred said, looking thoughtfully at Frank and Milo.  “The two of you are all I need, all we need, to get by.  We’ve been extremely successful and have never had the problems that Jack Spencer seems to encounter.”

“Very true, sir,”  Milo said.  “Now then, the last time Mr. Spencer was in the area was a few months ago.  Together with his nephew and his nephew’s colleague they managed to track down the gold of Hippolyte de Bouchard.  It appears the nephew and his colleague tricked Jack out of the treasure and then gave it to the museum.”

“Really?” Fred said, impressed at the audacity of the nephew and his colleague.  “Family dinners must be fun for them, no?”

Frank and Milo laughed.

“Great job, as always, Milo,” Fred said proudly.  “How valid is Jack’s claim?”

“I have the information from a good source.  Personally, I think he’s all talk again, but he’s been talking openly about having James Couch’s journal from the original 1907 discovery.  He’s been telling a lot of people, well, at least a lot of the wrong people.”

“Will he work with us?” Frank asked Milo.

“I’m not sure.  If we offer him sufficient compensation, then I think yes.  But we’ll have to control his desire to acquire partners along the way, and that could be tricky,” Milo said.

Milo held his teacup to one side and looked down at a piece of paper that had been underneath.  “Jack’s plane arrives at 3:00 P.M. this afternoon.  He’s agreed to meet with us at 3:30 P.M.  We’ll have a car waiting for him at the airport.”

“Wonderful.  If you would, kind sir, please keep an eye on his brother and nephew – just in case,” Fred said.

“Already being done, sir.”

“What would I do without you, Milo.”

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