A Boy Called Duct Tape (4 page)

Mom had always stressed the importance of learning new words and their definitions, and I couldn’t help but recall a word I’d learned the week before in Language Arts.
Haggard
: appearing worn and exhausted. Mom looked haggard. And her head. Lately it seemed to be drooping.

Mom turned on the burner beneath the pan of water. “Any plans today?”

“We thought we might ride into town and hang out at the park and watch them set up for the Outlaw Days Festival,” I said, throwing my legs over the side of the sofa and sitting up.

Mom rifled through her purse, which was sitting on the kitchen cabinet. She fished out several one-dollar bills, then came over and handed them to me with another tired smile. “Can you make three dollars stretch?”

“Oh, sure, Mom. There’s plenty of free stuff to do,” I said, feeling guilty about taking the money. “We might go to Harper’s Hole to swim.”

I wanted to tell Mom about the gold coin I’d found—such news was certain to bring a little joy into her otherwise gloomy day—but there were still a few loose ends to tie up. I hoped A GUIDE TO U.S. COINS was right about its value. Mom’s car was in need of major repair, the cracked block and all. The tires were also bald.

Earl Blood stood behind the glass counter staring at the gold piece in his hand, his dark eyes creeping me out. Burl Blood stood at Earl’s side peering at the shiny coin. Earl and Burl were twins. They had greasy, shoulder-length hair, and bushy beards.

Pia, Kiki, and I stood on the other side of the counter. My pulse was hammering in my temple. The suspense was about to kill me.

“Interesting coin,” Earl said, munching on a wad of tobacco and grasping the $20 gold piece between his bony fingers. His cheerless eyes swept over us.

When Burl squeezed in for a better look, Earl dismissed him with an angry wave of his hand. “You’re crowding me, Burl! Git back!”

Burl gave a quick, shy nod and stepped back. “Okie dokie.”

The dusty interior of the pawnshop was stuffed to the ceiling with used items of every size and description. Guitars. Fishing rods. Outboard motors. Chainsaws. Garden tools. A set of used snow tires was stacked in one corner. The grimy glass display case behind which the brothers stood was divided into two sections: one for jewelry, watches and rings, and the other for antique coins.

Each coin in the glass display case was neatly wrapped in a cellophane package. A hand-lettered sign taped to the glass read:

ASK FOR ASISTENCE IF YOU WANT TO SEE A COIN

“Where’d ya say ya found this here coin?” Earl asked, raising his chilling gaze until it found me.

“I didn’t say.” I knew better than to divulge that information.

“We’d like to have it appraised,” Kiki said.

A skinny rack of bones, Earl stared at Kiki. “And who’s this? Don’t think I’ve seen this pretty little gal ’round town before.” Earl turned his head and spit a stream of brownish tobacco juice into some sort of receptacle that sat on the floor out of sight. Probably a spittoon.

“Did you just … spit?” Kiki asked, her eyebrows pinched together.

“Shore did, little gal,” Earl said, smiling around a lump of chewing tobacco lodged in one side of his cheek.

“That’s, uh, what I thought,” Kiki said, grimacing. “Anyway, I’m just visiting.”

“And where’d ya say ya found this here coin, little sister?” Earl asked again, this time looking at Pia.

“In James Creek,” Pia said proudly. “Pablo found it at the bottom of Har—”

“Pia!” I blared.

“James Creek, eh?” Earl said, a full-size grin now stretching his skeletal face, the slyness rolling off of him.

Pia fell silent. Biting her bottom lip, she seemed to realize her mistake.

“Whereabouts on the James Creek, little sister?” Earl asked, stroking his knotty beard.

“Don’t know,” Pia said, swaying from side to side like a three-year-old who couldn’t hold her water. She kept her eyes glued to a banjo on the wall.

Earl’s icy gaze found me. “Ya say ya found it in James Creek, but ya don’t know where?” He seemed to be sizing me up.

“Right,” I said. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so uneasy in the presence of an adult.

“That don’t make no sense, kid. Ya gotta know where ya—”

“Is it gold, Mr. Blood?” Kiki interrupted, exhaling an impatient breath.

“Easy, little gal,” Earl said. “I’m getting there.”

“Well …?” Now Kiki was tapping her foot.

Earl wedged the coin between his tobacco-stained teeth and chomped down on it. He removed the coin from his mouth and looked at it. His eyes gleaming, he said, “Well … it’s shore enough gold.” He held it out for us to see. “Got teeth marks. Means it’s gold.”

“What about its condition?” I asked, noting the new teeth marks in the coin.

“It’s gold, but it ain’t in very good condition,” Earl said, studying one side of the coin, and then the other. “I’d judge it no better than Good.” He spit again.

I remembered the classifications from the website: Good, Very Good, Fine, and Very Fine. Good wasn’t much to write home about.

“You sure it’s not Fine or Very Fine?” I argued. I thought the coin was in great shape—except for his teeth marks. Every word was legible. Even the feathers on the Eagle were distinct. It looked like it had just been minted.

“Who’s the expert here, kid?” Earl snorted. “It’s Good. No more, no less.”

“Earl’s right as rain,” Burl said. “He shore enough knows about old coins.”

“What’s the CC mean?” I asked.

“Means it was minted in Carson City, Nevada,” Earl said, continuing to examine the coin.

“Is that something special?” I asked.

“Nope. Don’t mean nothing special.” Earl had rushed his words.

I had the feeling that I shouldn’t trust Earl Blood.

“So what’s it worth, Mr. Blood?” Kiki asked.

“Well, let’s have us a look-see, little gal,” Earl said, stepping over to his computer, which sat at the end of the counter next to the cash register. He peered at the gold piece in his hand and then glanced at the computer screen. His knobby fingers strummed the keys.

Standing behind his brother, Burl leaned in for a closer look.

“I said git back!” Earl yelled, twitching a shoulder.

“Why can’t I have me a little look-see?” Burl complained.

“Cause ya can’t read, ya id-jut! Now git back!”

“Okie dokie.”

Head down, Burl shuffled over to where we stood on the other side of the counter. He raised his head and looked at Kiki. In a quiet voice he said, “I ain’t no id-jut, little gal. I can shore enough read a thing or two.”

“Yes, I’m sure … I’m sure you can,” Kiki faltered, giving me a wary sideways glance.

In the next moment, Earl’s sinister eyes widened, and he stared at the computer screen for what seemed to be an eternity. Muttering, Earl glanced down again at the $20 gold piece in his hand, and then turned it over and inspected the opposite side. He tapped a computer key and returned to his place behind the counter.

“Naw, ain’t worth much,” Earl reported, turning to spit again. Some of the tobacco juice dimpled his lips. “But I’ll tell ya what I’ll do, kid,” he told me, wiping his lips with the sleeve of his red plaid shirt. “I’m feeling a might generous this morning and I’ll give ya $75 for this here gold coin. That’s more than it’s worth, but $75 will give each of ya $25. That’ll shore enough buy some cotton candy at the Outlaw Days Festival. How’s about it?” Earl was smiling like he’d just won the Missouri lottery.

“We need to think about your offer,” I said, holding out my hand. I was certain the coin was worth more. Much more—like $6,175 more.

“Let us talk it over, Mr. Blood,” Kiki said. “We’ll come back this afternoon.”

“Ya do that very thing,” Earl said. “Talk it over, and I’ll hold the coin until ya come back. That way it wouldn’t get scratched nor damaged nor lost.” He stuck the coin in his pants pocket.

Pia had heard enough. “That sucks! I want my coin!” she declared, raising up on her tiptoes and extending her hand across the display case.

“Ain’t ya afraid ya might lose it, little sister?” Earl asked with a shady smile.

“We won’t lose it,” I said.

“That’s right,” Pia persisted. “We won’t lose it. Now give it back.”

“Ya drive a hard bargain, kid,” Earl said, giving me a wink. “I’ll give ya a hundred bucks for it right now.” He stepped to the cash register, opened it, and removed a hundred-dollar bill. He came over and slapped the bill onto the counter.

“Land sakes, a hundred dollars!” Burl crowed, his eyes laser-focused on the bill.

“Ya ever see a hundred-dollar bill, kid?” Earl said.

“Plenty of times,” I lied. “But we still need to talk it over.”

“I want my coin!” Pia squawked, her arm still stretched across the glass counter.

“Okay, okay,” Earl told Pia. “Don’t get your drawers in a ruffle, little sister. Take it.” Earl removed the coin from his pants pocket and flipped it in Pia’s direction. Leaning back on her heels, Pia snatched it out of the air. She stuck the coin in her pocket, and we left without another word.

Outside on the sidewalk, Kiki said, “If Earl Blood was willing to pay a hundred dollars for that coin, I’ll bet it’s worth a lot more.”

I had to bite my tongue.

“Kiki, how much do you think it’s worth?” Pia asked.

“Don’t say another word, Pia,” I grumbled. “It’ll probably be all over town by noon that we found the coin in James Creek. Can’t you keep a secret?”

“It sort of slipped out,” Pia said, looking down at her feet.

Kiki offered to buy everyone a cherry limeade, and we went into Lyda’s Café and found an empty booth. As we waited for our order, Pia removed the precious coin from her pocket and laid it on the table.

But something odd had happened to the coin.

“Ohmigosh!” Pia whispered, her eyes wide.

I looked at the coin. It looked strange. “What the heck?” I picked it up and examined it, and then in a loud voice said, “What happened to it?”

Several of Lyda’s customers looked over.

“What?” Kiki asked.

“This isn’t the twenty-dollar gold piece!” I blared, holding it out for Kiki to see. “It’s some old coin they gave away at last year’s Outlaw Days Festival. It isn’t worth a bucket of pig sweat!”

Kiki took the coin and read the inscription on it. “Outlaw Days 70th Anniversary. Jamesville, Missouri.” She looked at me, an anxious glint in her eyes “It’s a souvenir coin.”

“Blood switched coins!” I said, almost shouting.

“How?” Kiki asked.

Pia had held on for as long as she could, but the loss of the coin was more than she could bear, and she burst into tears, her face as sad as I had ever seen it.

“Ah, man,” I moaned. “He tricked us. I don’t know how, but he did.”

“That creep,” Kiki hissed.

I reached across the table and laid my hand on my sister’s shoulder. “I’ll get your coin back, Pia.”

“P-P-Promise?” she gasped between sobs, her face slick with tears.

“Promise,” I said, my jaw clenched.

I jumped up from the table, bolted out of the café, and dashed next door to the Blood Brothers pawnshop. I was ready to go to war, if necessary, to recover Pia’s coin.

But I was too late.

The door was locked and a sign in the window read:

SORRY, WE’RE CLOSED

I pressed my face against the glass door and peered inside. All the lights were out. I kicked the door in frustration. I thought I was going to be sick. I kicked the door again, harder this time.

We returned to the Blood Brothers Trading Store early the next morning on our dirt bikes. Kiki rode Pia’s bike, and Pia and me doubled up on my new Mongoose. The SORRY, WE’RE CLOSED sign was still in the window and all the lights were out inside.

I felt like a stupid fool for allowing Earl Blood to trick me so easily. I thought about going to the police, but who would Sheriff Hickman believe? It was an adult’s word against a kid’s. Besides, what proof did I have? None.

Licking our wounds, we entered Lyda’s Café and ordered cherry limeades. The frustration of losing the gold coin to Earl Blood had my brain spinning out of control. The same thought circled through my head
: I was tricked out of $6,250!

Kiki found a copy of the
Jamesville Times
in our booth. The front-page headline yelled:

RECORD CROWD EXPECTED FOR 71
^ST
OUTLAW DAYS FESTIVAL

“We should go,” Kiki said in a cheery voice. “It might make us forget about losing the coin.”

“
Losing
?” I said, arching my eyebrows.

“Okay, it might make us forget about being
swindled
,” Kiki said.

“Exactly.”

“What’s swindled?” Pia asked, slurping her cherry limeade through a straw.

“It’s sort of like being cheated,” Kiki said.

I knew I would never forget about being swindled. I would probably still be thinking about it when I was 40 years old. I tried to put it out of my mind, and gestured at the newspaper. “What’s the story have to say?”

Kiki snapped the wrinkles of the page and read aloud:

“‘
Saint or scoundrel? More than 130 years after his death from an assassin’s bullet, the people of Jamesville are still arguing the character of Jesse James. The debate will renew itself as the 71st annual Outlaw Days Festival begins today in the Jamesville city park.’”

“What’s a scoundrel?” Pia asked.

“A bad person,” I said.

“Like those Blood brothers?”

I nodded. “Yeah, like the Blood brothers—scoundrels
and
swindlers.”

“Good lead,” Kiki observed. “Saint or scoundrel? Clever.”

“What’s a lead?” Pia asked.

“Pia,” I said, my nerves on edge, “how many questions are you going ask?”

“A thousand.”

I let out a frustrated breath.

“It’s the first paragraph of a news story,” Kiki said. “Our newspaper in St. Louis is having a contest for kids to see who can write the best story about ‘My Summer Vacation Without A Computer.’ I’m going to write a story about my vacation in Jamesville. But I can’t go near a computer—no Facebook, no chat rooms, no computer at all.”

“What will you write about?” I asked.