Swamp Story: a Novel, page 5
“How much?”
Phil thought for a moment, then said, “Five hundred.” The number just popped into his head. He was thinking $235 for Stella, plus whatever he could get from this lunatic.
Ken thought about it, nodded. “I can do that,” he said.
“And what exactly do I have to do?”
“Simple, Phil. We meet here, you bring the head. We go to a location I got scouted out in the Everglades, it’s maybe fifty miles. You put on the head, walk a little ways on the trail, we shoot some video, boom, you’re done. The whole thing, round trip, you’re back here in three, four hours max.”
“And you’ll pay me five hundred dollars. Cash.”
“When we’re done, yeah, absolutely.”
“But right there. On the spot. You will give me five hundred dollars.”
“Sure.”
“And I’m gonna need to see the money before we go anywhere.”
“I’ll have the money, Phil.”
“How soon do we do this? It has to be before Friday.”
“I gotta set it up, but… OK, make it Wednesday. Say we meet here at four. That work for you?”
“That works.”
Ken stuck out his hand. “So we got a deal?”
Phil shook the hand. “Deal.”
“OK, then, Phil.” Ken stood, picked up his backpack. “This thing is gonna be big, Phil. You’ll see. And down the road, there’s more opportunities. Win-win.”
“Right,” said Phil.
“Wednesday at four,” said Ken.
“I’ll be here.”
Ken left the bar. Phil drained his fifth mule, signaled for the sixth.
“The Everglades Melon Monster,” he muttered. “I am out of my fucking mind.”
Chapter 6
Jesse was alone at the cabin with Kark. Slater was away—he’d been away a lot lately—telling Jesse he was going to Miami on business. She was pretty sure his business was screwing other women, but she was past caring about his infidelities.
Ordinarily when Slater was gone, Jesse took Willa and went for a walk. She disliked being alone with Kark, who was always trying, in what he believed to be subtle ways, to catch a glimpse of her breasts.
But today Jesse hung around. Kark was a creep, but he was a knowledgeable creep, and Jesse was looking for information.
“Hey, Kark,” she called into the cabin, where he spent much of the day looking at his phone, presumably porn. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, Jess,” said Kark. He appeared in the doorway, scratching his belly. “What’s up?”
“Have you ever heard of, like, gold around here? In the Everglades?”
“You mean like buried treasure?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure, there’s stories. I read a bunch of ’em when I was researching Glades Man.”
“What kind of stories?”
“Well, there’s a lot about criminals, drug runners, outlaws, hiding cash, drug stashes, stuff like that. And there’s all kinds of stories about Indian artifacts out here, supposedly worth a lot of money to collectors.”
“But what about gold? Are there any stories about that? Like bars of actual gold buried in the ground?”
Kark scratched some more. “There’s one story I read about a few different places, supposedly it really happened. But I dunno. A lot of people looked for it and nobody ever found anything.”
“What’s the story?”
“OK, during the Civil War, supposedly these Confederate soldiers were transporting this big shipment of gold, like for a payroll. According to the story, the Yankees were chasing them, so they took the gold into the Everglades and buried it. And then the war ended, and everything was kind of crazy for a while, and nobody ever found the gold.”
“Like where in the Everglades? Near here?”
“Some people say it was up in Broward. But some people say it’s not up there, it’s somewhere else. Nobody knows for sure. Nobody even knows if the gold really exists. Like I said, a lot of people have looked for it. I think some people are still looking for it. But nobody ever found it. Or if they did, they kept it secret.”
“How much gold are we talking about?”
“I don’t remember exactly. I think it was like half a ton.”
“Half a ton? That’s a lot of gold, right?”
“Oh yeah. A lot of gold. Today’s prices, you’re talking millions of dollars. Millions.”
“Huh,” said Jesse.
“Why’re you asking about gold, Jess? You planning to go on a treasure hunt?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I was just… I was wondering, with all the, you know, weird stuff out here, all those, you know, old buildings and everything. I was just wondering what else might be out here.”
“There’s a whole lotta weird things out here,” said Kark.
“Yeah.”
A silence descended. Kark, still scratching himself, was staring at Jesse’s body the way he usually did, as if he’d never before seen a live human female.
“OK, well,” Jesse said, crossing her arms. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” said Kark. “Listen, if you ever, like, need anything, you know, with Slater not around…”
“Right, thanks,” said Jesse. “So I’m gonna take a walk.”
“You want company?”
“No thanks. I’m good.” She picked Willa up off the towel where she’d been dozing, fitted her into the baby carrier and slid it over her shoulders. She could feel Kark’s eyes on her. She grabbed her backpack, folded the towel and stuffed it inside. She picked up the machete.
“You and the baby gonna hunt for buried treasure?” said Kark.
Jesse forced a laugh. “Just taking a walk.”
“Well, be careful,” said Kark. “All kinds of weird shit in this swamp.”
“Thanks,” said Jesse. She turned and started walking. She could feel the hard weight in her backpack pressing against her hip.
Chapter 7
Ken Bortle was standing in the parking lot behind the Gallo Grande, waiting next to an overflowing dumpster baking in the late-afternoon Miami sun, emitting near-visible stench rays.
Ken was there for a meeting with a man known as Pinky. Pinky supplied Ken with drugs, mostly marijuana, which Ken then sold at a profit to residents of the Everglades who for various reasons did not wish to venture into civilization. This was essentially the current business model of Bortle Brothers Bait & Beer.
Pinky arrived punctually and silently in a highly modified Tesla equipped with bulletproof glass, a sound system that could liquefy granite and a front seat customized to accommodate Pinky’s body, which weighed a tad over 430 pounds and measured nearly the same horizontally as vertically. Pinky, whose real name was Bob Kearful, had once been a standout nose tackle at the University of Florida and probably would have gone to the NFL had it not been for a crucial play in the Florida-Georgia game during which he bit off the little finger of a Georgia offensive guard and refused to spit it out. This conduct was deemed so unsportsmanlike that Pinky was permanently banned from the game, though it also earned him his nickname and the undying affection of Gator fans.
Pinky eased his massive bulk out of the Tesla and grunted himself to a standing position. He was wearing flip-flops, wraparound sunglasses in Day-Glo green, the world’s largest pair of fire-engine-red Bermuda shorts and a tank top that said BUT FIRST ROO ROO.
“Hey, Pinky,” said Ken.
Pinky, ignoring him, looked around the parking lot, which aside from Ken and himself was deserted. He popped the Tesla’s front trunk, revealing four packages wrapped in black trash bags sealed with duct tape. He pointed to one. Ken grabbed it and stuffed it into his backpack.
Pinky closed the trunk. In a voice that seemed to originate from deep beneath the surface of the Earth, he said, “Saturday,” meaning he would collect his money then. Pinky was willing to extend credit because Ken was a longtime customer who understood that if he failed to pay promptly, he would die.
“Right,” said Ken. “So, Pinky, how you been? You like the Dolphins this year?”
It was like making small talk with a UPS truck. Pinky, his eyes still scanning the parking lot, turned, grunted his body back into the Tesla and whirred away.
“Good talk,” said Ken.
Chapter 8
Phil rang Stu’s doorbell. After a moment the door opened to reveal Stu’s wife, Amy, who was the best friend of Phil’s ex-wife, Laurie.
“Hello, Phil,” she said. She did not invite him in.
“Hey, Amy,” he said. “I called Stu before. I’m just here to pick up… something.”
“The Dora the Explorer head,” said Amy. She did not actually add the words “you pathetic loser,” but Phil heard them clearly nonetheless.
“Right, the head.”
“Stu!” she called over her shoulder. “Phil’s here for the head.”
Stu’s voice came back: “Be right there.”
Amy stood in the doorway, still not inviting Phil in.
“So,” he said. “How’re you doing?”
“Fine,” said Amy.
“You talk to Laurie lately?”
“Yes,” she said, conveying, in that single word, the message that of course she had talked to Laurie lately; she talked to Laurie, her best friend, all the time, thousands of words a day, many of them about Phil, none of which were complimentary, and none of which she would ever share with him.
“Well, tell her hi,” said Phil.
“Right,” said Amy, clearly meaning no.
Before the conversation could get even more awkward, Stu appeared behind Amy, holding the Dora the Explorer head, which was smeared with dried cake frosting. Amy, without saying goodbye to Phil, turned and went back into the house.
“Thanks, man,” said Phil, reaching for the head.
Stu pulled it back. “I’m confused, Phil. Last time I talked to you, you’re like, ‘Get that thing away from me,’ and now you want it?”
“I can explain.”
“Good, because I’m really curious. Also, I had to pay seventy-five dollars for this thing because the rental place won’t take it back because you got birthday cake all over it.”
“OK, that’s my bad. I’m sorry. I’ll pay you the seventy-five. But I need the head.”
“And I need to know why you need it before I let you have it.”
“Seriously, Stu?”
“Seriously, Phil. The head is now my property. I’m legally responsible for it.”
Phil sighed. “OK. I need it for a job.”
“Like a birthday party? Do they need an Elsa?”
“No, it’s not a party. It’s… OK, it’s really weird.”
“I’m listening.”
So Phil told him everything: how he’d promised $235 to Stella; how he’d been approached by Ken Bortle, of Bortle Brothers Bait & Beer, in the bar; how he’d agreed to be in the video for $500.
When Phil was done, Stu said, “The Everglades Melon Monster. Holy shit.”
“I know,” said Phil. “It’s insane. But I’m desperate.”
“No, I mean, holy shit, this could be really good.”
Phil stared at him. “You don’t really think—”
“I’m telling you, people love this stuff. The paranormal. This could be an opportunity, Phil.”
“An opportunity to do what?”
“Get in on the ground floor.”
“The ground floor of the Everglades Melon Monster?”
“You never know, Phil. Things go viral. People get rich. These kids on TikTok, you never heard of them, they do some stupid fucking dance, it takes off, they make millions of dollars.”
“Well all I’m hoping to get out of this is five hundred. So if you’ll please let me borrow your head, I’ll give you the seventy-five when I get paid.”
“I don’t want the seventy-five,” said Stu. “I want in.”
“In what?”
“In on this project. I want a piece of it. In exchange for the use of my property. Also my marketing expertise.”
“Stu, I don’t think it’s that kind of project. It’s just this guy paying me to do this.”
Stu shook his head. “You’re not seeing the big picture. This is an opportunity, Phil. We missed a big one with that birthday-party video. That was gold, you taking that shot to the balls, landing in the cake. I’m still kicking myself. We should have monetized that.”
“How the hell would we monetize that?”
Stu waved away the question. “Point is, this is an opportunity. I want in. I want to go with you.”
“To the Everglades?”
“Yes. I want to talk to whatshisname, the bait and beer guy. As a marketing professional.”
Phil hesitated. He thought Stu was delusional, but he liked the idea of having somebody with him when he went out into the swamp.
“OK,” he said.
They agreed to meet at the Gallo Grande. Stu handed Phil the Dora head, making a gesture of it, the way a high school principal presents the plaque for Best Grade Point Average.
“See you Wednesday,” said Phil, turning to go.
“This could be big,” Stu said. “You’ll see.”
“Sure,” said Phil, not looking back as he trudged, head in hand, to his car.
Chapter 9
Jesse knelt on the damp ground in the clearing, staring at the gold bar she’d just dug up, glinting in the late-afternoon sun, heavy in her hands.
She’d made her way back to this spot because she’d had trouble convincing herself, despite the weight of the bar in her backpack, that it was real—that there was as much gold as she thought she’d seen. She feared that it would somehow be gone.
But it was still here. The gold was real. And there was a lot of it. She’d walked around the clearing, probing the ground with the machete; over and over she felt it strike metal. There were many bars, dozens at least. This had to be the legendary shipment Kark had read about. He’d said it could be half a ton of gold. Worth millions of dollars.
Millions of dollars.
In the baby carrier, Willa whimpered. Jesse set down the gold bar, repositioned the carrier and pulled up her shirt so Willa could latch on. As her baby fed, Jesse tried to think of a plan of action, but all that came to her mind was questions. What was the legal status of the gold? Could she claim it as hers? Should she move it to a safe place? Where would that be? And how would she move it? She’d need somebody to help her, but who could she trust?
Not Slater. He’d already taken every cent she had. And definitely not Kark. Maybe a friend… She had friends, or she used to, before she’d met Slater and gotten swept into his weird world. But she doubted any of her friends had the kind of expertise she’d need to deal with this. Her parents, maybe, if she could swallow her pride and call them. And if they believed her.
Maybe she should tell the authorities about the gold. But which ones? And if she told them, would she be giving up any claim to what she’d found? She didn’t know who owned this ground, didn’t know what her rights were.
She was also worried about the two camo creeps she’d run into out here. One of them had been carrying a metal detector. And they’d been close to where she was now. Were they looking for the gold? Were they still out here? What if they found it? All the more reason for Jesse to move it as soon as possible. But that brought her back to the question of where to move it, and how, and who to ask for help…
No answers came. Willa finished feeding. Jesse repositioned the baby carrier. She pondered the gold bar she’d just dug up. She decided, since she already had a bar in her backpack, to leave this one here. She covered it with dirt, grabbed the machete and rose. She surveyed the area, looking over the tops of the bushes surrounding the clearing. Seeing no one, she sloshed back through the knee-deep water to the path. She turned back toward the cabin, still pondering what to do, whom she could trust. Her parents? A lawyer? The police?
Definitely not Slater. If he found out about the gold, he’d try to take it, or he’d come up with some unworkable, illegal scheme. Whatever he did, he’d think only of himself, and he’d screw everything up. He always did.
That thought got Jesse thinking about the bar in her backpack. Maybe she shouldn’t keep it with her. Slater might go through her backpack; he’d done it before. Until she had a plan, maybe it was better to keep the bar hidden in a safe place, away from the cabin.
Up ahead, sitting in the tree shadows a dozen yards off the path, was the run-down dark-gray house that had spooked her the first time she’d come this way. It still spooked her, but it was a landmark she knew she could find.
She looked around to make sure she wasn’t being watched, then left the path and walked through the tall grass to the house. A rickety-looking wooden staircase rose to a front porch that was missing half its planks. The front door, connected by just one hinge, hung open at an angle; inside, in the shadowy half-light, Jesse saw garbage and debris strewn across the filthy floor. She didn’t want to go in there.
She studied the staircase. It had four steps, made of warped planks. She bent down and tugged upward on the lowest one. It gave a bit. She slid the machete blade between the step and the vertical riser supporting it, then lifted up on the handle. With a creak the step came loose on the left side, three rusted nails popping up. Jesse lifted the step and peered into the opening underneath. She saw only dirt.
She looked around again, then unslung the backpack. She dug out the gold bar and slid it into the opening. She pressed the step back into place and, using the butt of the machete, hammered the three nails down into the riser. She stood back. To her eye, the step looked undisturbed.
She returned to the path. Before starting for the cabin, she looked around one more time to make sure nobody was watching her.
She didn’t see the two men in camo.
But they saw her.
Chapter 10
“Where’s Jess?” asked Slater, looking around the cabin.
“She went for a walk,” said Kark. “How was Miami?”
“Profitable,” said Slater. He held up a wad of cash.
