Swamp Story: a Novel, page 26
“Like we would ever trust you,” said Billy.
“My brother’s right, asshole,” said Duck. “Soon as I hand over the baby, I got no way to know what you’re gonna do. The baby stays with us.”
“No!” cried Jesse. Willa, startled awake by her mother’s voice, started crying. “Please,” said Jesse, sobbing. “I’m begging you. Please.” She fell to her knees in front of Duck.
A leer formed on Duck’s hideously marred face. “Maybe while you’re down there, you should give me a blow job.”
Billy laughed, Duck joining him. They stopped when Brad took a step toward them.
“Watch it, asshole,” said Duck, waving the knife. Brad stopped.
Willa was crying harder now.
Jesse looked up at Duck. “If you take her,” she said, struggling to control her voice, “how do I get her back?”
“We’ll work something out,” said Duck, smiling.
“Please, God, no,” Jesse wailed, grabbing at Duck’s legs.
He kicked her away, his look warning Brad to keep back. She put her face in her hands, sobbing. Duck went to the trailer, threw a leg over and climbed in. Willa was bawling.
“Billy,” said Duck. “Time to go.”
Billy climbed onto the ATV seat. He looked at the console, frowned, looked back at Duck.
“There’s no key,” he said.
“What the fuck,” said Duck. He looked at Brad. “Where’s the fucking key?”
Brad waited a couple of beats, then dug his hand into his jeans pocket. He pulled out a large, flat, silver-colored key and held it up. It glinted in the moonlight.
“Give it to Billy,” said Duck.
“Give her the baby,” said Brad.
“We done this once already, asshole,” said Duck. “Last time you dropped the gun. This time you’re gonna give us the key.”
Brad shook his head. “No.”
Jesse was staring at him.
“If you don’t drop it,” said Duck, “I’m gonna hurt this fucking baby.”
“You do anything to the baby,” said Brad, “and I throw this key into the swamp.”
“How do I know you won’t do that anyway, if I give up the baby?”
“Because then it’ll be me here with a woman and a baby against two pissed-off guys with a knife. I want you to leave.”
Duck frowned. “You don’t want the gold?”
“Not as much as I want to keep the three of us alive.”
Duck nodded slowly. “So how do we do this?”
“Duck,” said Billy, “we can’t—”
“Shut the fuck up, Billy,” said Duck. He looked back at Brad. “How do we do this?”
“I set the key on the ground and walk away from it, let’s say ten steps. Your brother does not move. You hand the baby to Jesse. When she has the baby, she comes to me and your brother goes to the key. Then you leave. With the gold.”
A long silence from Duck, then: “OK.”
“OK,” said Brad. He bent over and set the key down on the ground. He straightened, looking at Billy, then Duck.
“Billy,” said Duck, “don’t move.”
Brad walked away from the key, ten steps exactly. He looked at Jesse.
Jesse rose and went to the trailer. As she leaned over the side and reached for her baby, she lost her balance and almost fell in, her legs waving in the air. After a few seconds she pushed herself back upright and again reached out toward Duck. He handed Willa to her. Jesse turned and ran to Brad, hugging her crying baby. Brad put his arm around her, pulled her close. She sobbed into his shoulder, her body shaking as she comforted Willa.
Billy went over to the key and picked it up. He went back to the ATV, inserted the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine started.
Duck was staring at Brad, standing with Jesse twenty feet away.
Raising his voice over the sound of the ATV, Duck said, “We ain’t done, asshole.”
Brad said nothing.
“We’re coming back for you,” said Duck. He pointed to Jesse. “You too, sweetheart. We are definitely not done with you. We got money now, and we’ll be back.” He turned to Billy. “Let’s go.”
Billy cranked the throttle and the ATV rolled forward, pulling the trailer with the gold and Duck, who was still staring at Brad and Jesse. The ATV crossed the weeded lot, swerved around the side of the little house. Duck was still staring back at them as the trailer disappeared.
Brad and Jesse watched it go, his arm around her, her arms around Willa. Willa was calming down, soothed by her mother’s voice and touch. Jesse was still shaking a little but no longer sobbing.
“I’m sorry,” said Brad, finally.
“Sorry for what?”
“Well for one thing, they got the gold.”
“I don’t care. I’m glad it’s gone. All I care is about is you got Willa back.”
“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about… I mean, when I told him I wasn’t gonna give him the key, I was taking a chance.”
“Yeah, but you were right. It was the only way. If we’d let him take Willa… I can’t even think about it. You have nothing to be sorry about.”
“I’m sorry about one thing.”
“Which is?”
“They’re still alive. What he said at the end there… I believe him. He’s not gonna let it go. They’ll come back.”
“Maybe not.”
Brad looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“Remember when I went to get Willa from the creep, and I lost my balance and fell into the trailer?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t lose my balance. I did that on purpose.”
Brad frowned. “Why’d you do that?”
“So I could put the phone in the trailer.”
“Holy shit. You… you did that?”
“Yup. When I was on the ground, I felt it in my pocket. And when you were talking to the creep, I turned it on. I stuck it down the side of the gold pile, where it won’t show.”
“So if somebody is still tracking it…”
“Yeah. They’ll find the creeps.”
“Holy shit, Jesse. That was really, really smart.”
“Thank you.”
“Remind me never to piss you off.”
“You better not.”
He still had his arm around her, and this seemed like a natural time to give her a squeeze. Feeling it, she lifted her face toward his, gave him a little smooch on the cheek. Then they walked together back to the little house, still touching. Brad wanted that walk to go on forever.
Chapter 57
As the sun rose over the Atlantic the next morning, Tenklo was back on South Beach, at his post outside Kristov Berliuz’s office in the hotel behind the Bongo Mongo.
Tenklo’s head was bandaged where the gold bar had hit him. Also bandaged, more heavily, was his shoulder, which had been treated by the extremely discreet physician employed to tend to members of the Berliuz organization.
Tenklo did not feel great, but his main concession to his injuries was that instead of standing in front of the office door, he was sitting on a folding chair. In his hand was the phone he was using to keep in touch with the rest of Berliuz’s crew, who were out searching for the gold. Kristov Berliuz had not given up on the gold. Kristov Berliuz never gave up on anything.
At Tenklo’s feet, its charger plugged into a wall outlet, lay the iPad. It had been retrieved, along with the ATV, by the Berliuz henchpersons who had rescued the semiconscious Tenklo from the mob out in the Everglades. Tenklo had spent the night in a hazy, painkiller-induced stupor, so he hadn’t checked the iPad until early this morning, when he found that the battery had died.
Now he picked it up and pressed the power button. As the iPad came to life, he wasn’t expecting much: The last time he’d looked, out in the swamp, the icon indicating the location of the iPhone had not appeared. But he knew he had to check, because Berliuz would expect him to. Berliuz was a very thorough man.
The iPad powered up. Tenklo navigated to the Find My app.
And there it was.
Tenklo stared at the icon.
It was back. It had moved, but it was still in the Everglades.
Tenklo stood, grunting in pain. He knocked on the door.
“Come in,” said Berliuz.
Tenklo entered the office. Berliuz, behind his desk, shot him a questioning look. Tenklo set the iPad down on the desk. He pointed to the icon.
“The phone,” he said, speaking in the language of their homeland. “It’s back.”
Berliuz looked at the icon. “Where are Lokias and Premi?”
“Not far from there. A few miles.”
“Send them.”
Tenklo nodded. “I will go, too.”
Berliuz raised a questioning eyebrow, pointedly looking at the bandage on Tenklo’s forehead. This was the closest Tenklo had ever seen his boss come to expressing concern for his welfare.
“I will go,” Tenklo repeated. Then, in English, he added: “It’s personal.”
Berliuz nodded.
Tenklo picked up the iPad, turned and left.
Chapter 58
Brad was awakened midmorning by pounding on his bedroom door. It was Ken, his eyes bloodshot. He’d spent most of the night at the cabin smoking weed with Kark and Slater.
“What?” said Brad.
“Need you in the store, bro,” said Ken. “We got a UPS delivery, T-shirts and some other shit. A LOT of people out there wanna buy Melon Monster merch. We’re all over the news. Also huge on social media. Huge.” He lowered his voice. “Also there’s a lotta people looking for the gold. Which, FYI, Slater also knows about it. Says half of it’s his. So wherever you got it hid, make sure it’s hid good.”
“It’s gone,” said Brad.
“You mean, like, you took it somewhere?”
Brad shook his head. “It’s gone. There is no more gold.”
Ken arched his eyebrows. “OK, then. No more gold. Anyway, I need you in the store, like, now.”
“I’ll be right there.”
A few minutes later Brad entered the store through the rear door and pushed through the crowd to the front. Ken was behind the counter, selling T-shirts out of cardboard boxes on the floor next to him. They were going fast; people were literally throwing twenties at Ken (Bortle Brothers was cash only). Brad went behind the counter, picked up a shirt.
“Ken,” he said, “you know ‘melon’ has only one ‘L,’ right?”
“These people don’t care,” said Ken, accepting a wad of bills.
Brad looked out the window. The parking lot was overflowing, a jumbled mass of vehicles and people, many of whom had slept there in their cars. Hundreds of people were wandering around, some carrying metal detectors, some wearing monster costumes. Brad counted four TV-news trucks.
“Jesus,” he said.
“I know,” said Ken. “Give me a hand here, OK?”
In less than an hour they sold everything they had. People kept coming in; Ken told them he was expecting another T-shirt delivery any minute. They all decided to wait. Meanwhile, outside, more people were showing up, and still more.
“I don’t get it,” said Brad when he and Ken had a quiet moment. “Why are these people here?”
Ken held up his phone. “Because it’s on here. Go to TikTok. Every other video is about this. There’s videos with celebrities, influencers… OK, look at this one.”
Brad looked at Ken’s phone, which displayed a video of a man in a white robe, standing in front of a huge crowd. The man held up a Melon Monster head that looked a lot like the one Phil wore in the videos. The man put it on. The crowd went wild.
“Is that…,” said Brad. “Is that the pope?”
“Yup,” said Ken. “CGI. You can’t even tell it’s not real. Look how many views it has. And there’s thousands of videos like that.”
“But why? I mean, no offense, but this whole thing—the monster, the video you made—it’s stupid. And it’s obviously fake. Everybody can see it’s stupid and fake.”
Ken shrugged. “So?”
Brad gestured at the parking lot. “So why are all these people here?”
“Because everybody else is here.”
“But it’s bullshit.”
“Yeah, but it’s their bullshit. To these kids, everything is bullshit, but at least this is bullshit they can be part of.” He pointed out the window to a young woman holding a crude homemade version of the Melon Monster head. As they watched, she put it on and took a selfie in front of the Bortle Brothers sign.
“See?” said Ken. “She’s part of the same thing as Cardi B. And the pope!”
“Who’s Cardi B?” said Brad.
“Never mind,” said Ken. “The point is, this isn’t really about the thing it’s supposably about. It’s about them.” He pointed at the parking-lot crowd.
“You think it’ll last?”
“Probably not. I say we cash in while it’s here.”
Brad nodded, looking at the Bortle Brothers sign, and said, “Know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think Dad and Uncle Canaan would’ve loved this.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. This was their whole business model. Taking money from tourists for complete bullshit.”
Ken laughed. “True.” He looked at Brad. “So you’re saying I was right? My idea? That you said was so stupid?”
“I still think it’s stupid,” said Brad. “But I guess, these days, stupid is what works.”
Ken nodded. “I’ll take that as an apology.”
As he spoke Jesse entered the store, holding Willa in her carrier. They both looked better than they had the previous night; Willa had just been fed, and Jesse’s face was less swollen, though still deeply bruised.
“Morning,” she said.
“Morning,” said Brad and Ken.
“I apologize for how I look,” said Jesse. “I don’t have any—”
“You look beautiful,” said Brad, getting a look from Ken.
“Well, I don’t, but thank you,” said Jesse. “Looks like you’ve been busy out here.”
“We’ve sold a lot of T-shirts,” said Ken, pointing to a customer sporting one.
“You know there’s only one ‘L’ in ‘melon,’ right?” said Jesse.
“I need to write that down,” said Ken.
“Anything I can do to help? I worked retail a couple of summers in college.”
“At the moment,” said Brad, “we got nothing to sell.”
“That’s about to change,” said Ken. He nodded toward the parking lot. A UPS van was pulling off the highway. The crowd, seeing it, was already heading toward the store.
“I’ll go help the driver,” said Ken, hurrying out the door.
Jesse set Willa’s carrier down behind the counter. “So,” she said. “What do you need me to do?”
“You don’t need to help, really,” said Brad. “We can handle it ourselves.”
“I want to help,” she said. “And judging from the condition of your store bathroom, you can’t handle it yourselves.”
Brad laughed. “Seriously, you don’t need to—”
“Brad,” she said, putting her hand on his forearm. “I need to make myself useful around here. I’m not rich anymore. I need a job.”
“So you’re planning to… I mean, you want to stay?”
“Do you want me to stay?” She kept her hand on his forearm.
“Hell yes, I want you to stay,” he said.
“Then I want to stay,” she said.
They were looking into each other’s eyes.
“If this was a movie,” said Brad, “we’d kiss each other now.”
“Not in front of Willa,” said Jesse. “Maybe later.”
“It’s a date,” said Brad.
“OK,” she said. “Now let’s sell these people some misspelled shirts.”
Chapter 59
Phil awoke with a fierce headache, a throbbing knee and a bursting bladder.
Somebody was rapping at the door to his apartment.
“WAIT A MINUTE,” he said, limping to the bathroom. He relieved himself for what felt like a solid five minutes, then looked at himself in the mirror. He was still wearing the Duke sweatshirt, having fallen asleep in his clothes when Stu finally, after hours stuck in the Tamiami Trail traffic mess, got him home. His hair was a tangled, oily mess; he had massive bags under his bloodshot eyes; his skin, beneath three days’ worth of gray beard stubble, had a distinctly yellowish cast, with some red splotches. He looked like a homeless person, which he realized was what he would be pretty soon.
More rapping on the door.
“I’M COMING.”
He limped to the door, opened it.
Stella stared at his face.
“Ohmigod, Daddy,” she said. “You look horrible.”
“I’m OK,” he said. “Just a little tired.”
She shook her head. “You’re not OK.”
“How’d you get here?”
“I drove.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Your mom let you drive all the way out here?”
“She thinks I went to Dadeland.”
“Baby girl, you shouldn’t have done that.”
“We need to talk.”
He nodded, then winced from the pain bomb that the movement detonated in his forehead.
“OK,” he said. He led her into the living room, which was also the dining area and kitchen. He cleared some old Miami Heralds off the sofa, which was rented and was about to be repossessed, as Phil had not made any payments for five months.
They sat down.
“OK,” he said. “What are we talking about?”
Stella took a breath, let it out, then said: “Your drinking.”
Phil sat up. “Stella, I really don’t think my drinking is your business.”
“Really?” She took her phone out of her pocket, tapped the screen, handed it to Phil. It displayed a slo-mo video of him during the mob scene in the Everglades. In it he lifted the monster head briefly, revealing his face, beet red and glistening with sweat, his jaw slack, his eyes glassy and unfocused.
Phil turned his head, but Stella moved her phone so it stayed in front of him.
