frankie's story-1

Frankie Laurente met the Japanese in Butuan in 2007 when he was still the regional driver of Quedancor. That morning outside their office, he was telling the guard about Tago and Berto Morales, a Tagon-on who got famous after hitting the jackpot when the payloader he was driving as employee of the National Irrigation Administration in the 80s bumped into what was considered the greatest gold cache ever found this side of Asia.

“Excuse me, did you say Tago?”

Frankie stopped in mid-sentence, surprised that the question came from one of the three men retracing their steps toward him. By the way they looked, walked and talked, Frankie surmised they were Japanese.

“Did you say you’re from Tago?” the same old man with a tiny scar just below his right eye asked, this time in Bisaya.

Frankie nodded.

The man looked at his companions who smiled. Then one of them whispered to the man with the scar who, in turn, asked Frankie if they could talk to him for a while.

Frankie hesitated.

Hastily, the man fished a business card from his wallet and handed it to Frankie. “We’re actually from Kajima Construction.”

A huge billboard flashed in Frankie’s mind, one placed near the yet unfinished Butuan bridge that said: “A Project of Kajima Construction.”

Frankie followed them to a snack bar across the street.

“We just need to know a few things about Tago,” the scarred man said even before he could pull a chair. “We’ve been wanting to visit the place. Could you be our guide?”

A beat. Then a shuffling of menu cards.

“When do you want to go to Tago?” Frankie asked.

“Up to you,” the scar twitched along with the eye.

“I won’t be going home until Friday afternoon, after 5:00 PM,” Frankie said. The smell of coffee and pastries that began to engulf the room made his mouth water.

The man with the scar looked at the two men who remained rooted in their seats, silent. Frankie felt feet nudging under the table.

“Friday then," the old man said. "After 5:00 PM.”

Frankie nodded even as he stared beyond the thick and tinted glass, to the guard across the street who stood with his gun glinting in the fierce April sun.


...to be continued....