The Giant Smugglers (20 page)

The back door groaned, and a sliver of light jumped into the trailer. Charlie looked up, expecting his brother, but it was Wertzie who slipped inside. He eased the door shut so it didn't make a sound. Then he sat next to Charlie and the giant and watched Bruce Lee break a chair over someone's head.

“We're taking off in thirty,” he confided. “Juice Man will be back in fifteen—you might want to return his cord before he gets back. He's got a temper, that guy.”

“Cool,” Charlie said. He kind of liked Wertzie. He always seemed to have his act together, which was probably what bugged Tim. “How long until we get to … wherever it is we're going?”

“No one's told you? I guess if you're a smuggler, you should know the details. Grand Isle, Louisiana.” Wertzie reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wrinkled road map with a route highlighted in neon yellow. In the light of the movie projector, Charlie could see Wertzie trace a path with what was left of his index finger. “We ought to be down into Tennessee sometime tonight. And then we…”

Bruce interrupted. “Finger?”

Charlie gave the giant a “knock it off” look. He was curious about the missing digit, too, but you didn't just come out and ask a guy about something like that. Wertzie didn't seem to mind, though.

“Tim never tell you how he made me lose my finger?”

That one surprised Charlie. Mostly because Tim never shut up with his carnival stories and he wasn't likely to keep one about a guy losing a finger to himself. The boy shook his head, and Wertzie leaned in conspiratorially.

“This is about a year ago, okay? Juice Man and I are setting up the Gravitron and I bet him ten grand I can get the thing up and running in fifteen minutes or less. Usually takes thirty. Going for the new world record.”

“Ten thousand
dollars
?”

“When you got giant gold coming, that's chump change.” Wertzie grinned. “Call it a bet against future earnings. So I'm slamming the thing together superfast, Juice Man's money is as good as mine, when I get a call from Tim on my cell. I look down at my phone for one second, my fingers got caught trying to line up some bolt holes, and
snap
!”

Charlie cringed. He wouldn't wish a missing finger on anyone. “Dang.”

Bruce agreed. “Sucks.”

“Sucks is right. Your brother wanted an advance on his draw, which he knew I couldn't give him until the rides were ready to go.” Wertzie snorted in the darkness.

Charlie could tell the guy was still bitter. Who could blame him? It wasn't too much of a stretch to imagine Tim pestering the guy at just the wrong time. In fact, it was exactly the kind of thing Tim would do. “Does it hurt?”

“Only if you touch it,” Wertzie said with a wry smile, and Charlie couldn't tell if he was kidding or not. The carny pointed his nub at the map. “Anyways, like I was saying. Tennessee tonight, hit the top of Mississippi by morning, then Louisiana. That should get us into Grand Isle late tomorrow.” He cleared his throat. “Well. Most of us.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Bruce frowned at Wertzie.

“Look, it's out of my hands,” he said, holding up nine fingers as if to prove it wasn't his decision. “I don't think you two are any trouble back here, and I hate to see you split up.”

Charlie turned off the movie projector. “I'm going with Bruce,” he said. “End of story.”

“Yeah,” rumbled Bruce.

“Your brother thinks he knows what's best for everyone, I guess,” said Wertzie. “He's got someone coming down to get you…”

Charlie couldn't figure out how his mom could come get him, not with two jobs. The only person he could even think of was …

“DJ?”

“Yeah, that sounds right,” said Wertzie, handing the map to Charlie and pointing out a town right in the middle of Illinois. “DJ. Going to meet us at a truck stop in Bloomington or something.”

“No!” protested the giant. “Charlie stays!”

The boy's face turned red. “Can't you talk to him, Wertzie?”

“Already tried. But Tim's got his mind made up about what's best for your friend here. And what's best for you. If it was up to me, I'd just put you and the big guy on the Express. It could take you right back to Wisconsin after we dropped off Jumbo.”

“Put us on the what?”

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“Come on, man.”

“The Express. It's how Hank usually gets down south. See?” Wertzie took up the map again and showed Charlie and Bruce a second route, marked in light-blue highlighter. “It's the last railroad car on the line, a big, hollowed-out double-decker. Hank's personal ride, fixed up nicer than you'd guess from the outside. Plan B—if we ever get worried that someone's on to us, we just put the giants on the Express.”

Charlie squinted at the map in the pale light, noting the spot where the carnival's route crossed paths with the train's. It was in Bloomington, the same place Wertzie said DJ was coming to take Charlie back home.

Shouting from outside the trailer caused Wertzie to jump up and look out the back of the Creep Castle. It was Tiger and the mechanics, arguing over the final repair bill. “Never let a roughie negotiate money,” he sighed. “Better go take care of this before someone gets their wrist broke.”

Charlie hustled to the back door after Wertzie. “Come on, man!” he pleaded. “There's got to be something you can do.”

“Come on!” shouted the giant.

Wertzie turned back to them. “Family stuff is none of my business,” he said. “But the way I figure, Charlie, you got one obligation in this life: Do what's best for
you
.”

Wertzie ran off between the trailers, detouring around Stan the Statue Man's truck as it got ready to shove off. “I'll handle this, Tiger!” he shouted. “Don't hit anybody!”

 

28

Most of the carnival was well down the road, trailers already packed up for the night, driven by seasonal carnies who knew nothing about giants or gold hiding in the cabs. The Creep Castle, trailing two carnival SUVs, Juice Man's generator truck, and a handful of ride trailers, bounced down a lonely stretch of interstate in an effort to catch up. Only headlights pierced the lonely darkness. Besides the stragglers in the traveling show, the road was deserted of cars.

Inside the cab, Tim yawned and steadied the wheel. Tiger dozed in the seat beside him. The hour was late, even for a carny. He found an alt-rock station on the radio, which didn't seem to disturb Tiger's sleep. He tapped his finger on the steering wheel, then found the straw for the forty-ounce soda that rested in the holder between the seats. He'd need the caffeine to keep on keeping on for a few more hours.

As he tugged at the wrapper, he glanced in the rearview mirror. A lone headlight approached.

Soon a motorcycle had pulled within two car lengths. Tim didn't like having it in his blind spot, so he slowed, but the cycle didn't pass and maintained the same distance. Tim shoved the straw into his right cheek when something else caught his eye. The dim light on the belly of a helicopter glinted as it flew just above the treetops to the east, on a line even with the Creep Castle.

Then the motorcycle roared around the haunted house and pulled in front of it. The rider was dressed in black and had a stick strapped to his back.

Tim jostled Tiger.

“Not now,” she mumbled, pushing Tim's hand away.

Tim watched as the man on the motorcycle repositioned himself on the seat. “No, wake up. Something weird is going on.”

Tiger lifted her head and rubbed her eyes.

They watched as the man on the motorcycle pulled something from inside his jacket and jabbed it into his thigh. He let go of the device and it flew into the night. The cycle swerved for a moment.

“This,” observed Tim, “is not good.”

Then the man stood up on the seat of his speeding bike and launched himself high into the air.

They craned their necks as the man turned a backflip. A violent thump behind them indicated the man had landed atop the Creep Castle. His vacant motorcycle skidded off the road and crashed in a ditch. And the straw fell out of Tim's mouth.

“Holy crap and then some,” Tiger exclaimed, rolling down the passenger window and hoisting herself halfway out to get a better view.

The helicopter now hovered above the Creep Castle. Tiger squinted through the rushing wind at the man crouched atop the trailer, aiming his stick at the metal surface that protected the top of the haunted house. Blue light exploded from the end of his baton.

“He trying to unhook the trailer?”

“I wish,” said Tiger. “He's cutting a hole in the roof.”

A tube descended from the helicopter. Powder-blue mist billowed out the end and clouded Tim's view of the road. He caught a whiff, covered his mouth with his sleeve, and coughed. “That's some kind of knockout gas! He's going to put Bruce and Charlie to sleep, then come up here and take the wheel.”

“No he won't.” Tiger hoisted herself the rest of the way out of the window and sprang up on top of the cab.

Tim kept driving. To stop meant becoming sitting ducks for whatever other surprises might be in store for them.

The man in black was so busy stuffing the tube into the hole and pumping gas into the trailer that he didn't see Tiger until she was nearly upon him. He looked up and laughed. “Let me guess.
You're
the muscle?”

Tiger responded with a leap that planted her foot square in his chest.

The blow sent him sprawling onto his back, which for some reason put a wicked smile on his face. In an instant he kicked back up to his feet, a mean glint in his eye.

Tiger launched herself at the man once more, even as light posts whizzed by ten feet away. She wasn't about to let her larger opponent extend his arms. Tiger got in very close range, sending a furious flurry of Wing Chun–style punches and kicks to his midsection and neck. The attack would have made Bruce Lee proud.

Tim snuck glances through his tilted side-view mirror. The man easily deflected most of Tiger's blows, and the ones that connected seemed to have little effect. She'd beat up plenty of meatheads twice her size, but this guy was different.

She changed up tactics and tried to sweep his leg. Before she could connect, he was airborne. The miss left Tiger exposed, and he took full advantage of the opportunity, spinning deftly to kick her hard in the chin with the steel heel of his boot. She fell to the trailer top, unconscious.

“Not bad, roughie.” The man calmly removed a device from his belt and scanned the trailer with its WiVi app, making sure his intended victims were unconscious. He frowned at the readout, then tried again. Finally certain of what he saw, he replaced the device in disgust, pulled the tube from the hole, and shinnied up the conduit toward the helicopter.

Up in the driver's seat, Tim couldn't believe what he was seeing. “Tiger!” There was no sign of her. He watched the man reach the helicopter in uncanny time, and it flew away. Tim hit the turn signal and slowly pulled the Creep Castle off the road.

Tim parked the trailer, bailed out of the cab, and climbed atop the Creep Castle. There was Tiger, barely conscious, crumpled near the ragged hole that the man had cut. Tim rushed to her side and dropped to his knees. “Tiger! You all right?”

She opened her eyes and rubbed her tender jaw. “I don't think so. That guy almost kicked my face off. What happened after that?”

“The guy just split.” Tim helped Tiger down to the back of the Creep Castle and threw open the trailer doors. Gas billowed out, and Tim swatted it away from his eyes. “Charlie? You all right?”

There was no response. Tim coughed violently, with no choice but to let the gas clear. When the blue haze finally lifted, they stared into the trailer. Then Tim slammed the doors shut.

Wertzie had doubled back in one of the carnival's SUVs and skidded to a stop on the other side of the highway. He dashed across the four lanes. “What happened?” he asked. “Are Charlie and the giant all right?”

“They're gone,” Tim said.

“What? How can they be gone?”

“That dude must have seen the trailer was empty, and that's why he broke off. We got to find Charlie!”

Tiger worked her sore jaw. “At least the gold's still there.”

Tim wheeled to her. “Thanks for your concern!”

“You know I'm worried about your brother. I'm worried about the giant, too. But let's not kid ourselves—we're all doing this for the money.”

“Some of us more than others, apparently.”

“No one is getting any gold,” Wertzie reminded them, “if we don't deliver the giant. It's not one or the other.”

“That psycho knew the giant was with us. I don't know where Bruce and Charlie are, but that guy's not going to stop until he finds them.”

“So we'll find them first,” said Wertzie.

“Charlie's my brother,” said Tim. “I'll find him.”

 

29

The lack of streetlights along this particular dark stretch of Interstate 74 made it pretty much impossible for passing cars to get a good look at Bruce. When Stan the Statue Man's trailer of massive fiberglass mascots had pulled out of Peoria Plaza Tire, Charlie and Bruce had snuck out of the Creep Castle and stowed away, with the giant taking Vanna Whitewall's vacated spot.

Tiger's argument with the mechanics had turned out to be great luck—in Wertzie's rush to break up the scuffle, he'd left his map with Charlie. And using it, he made a plan: Piggyback on Stan the Statue Man's trailer to Grady's Family Fun Park in Bloomington, find the train with Hank's double-decker car, and ride the sucker to Grand Isle. He didn't expect the giant smugglers to check the Creep Castle until breakfast. By the time Tim and the rest of them put two and two together, Charlie and Bruce would be well on their way to Louisiana with no one to stop them. Maybe the smugglers would be worried, but it served Tim right for trying to send Charlie home. After all they'd been through, he wasn't about to ditch Bruce just because Tim said so.