A Boy Called Duct Tape (8 page)

“After I tell him what I found in the river, he’ll work for us,” I said.

“Yeah, and we have the map, too,” Pia reminded.

“Let’s not talk about the map right now,” I said.

Pia shaded the sun from her eyes and looked over at me. “Why?”

“Uh, Monroe might not be as impressed with a one-dollar treasure map as we are,” Kiki said.

We went over to where Monroe stood cleaning the last gunk from the deer.

“It’s tomorrow,” I said with a slight quiver in my voice. Monroe was just as scary looking today as he had been the day before.

Sweat rolled down Monroe’s wide, flat face, and his T-shirt was soaked. He cleaned the blade of his knife on his baggy shorts, cut something loose from the poor animal’s stomach cavity, and discarded it with a flip of his wrist. The intestine flew through the air like some sort of flying snake, and landed in the tall grass not far from our bikes.

“So it is,” Monroe said, not even bothering to turn toward us. “And here you are.”

“And here we are,” Kiki said.

The crow was on the move now, and it let loose with a sharp
CAW
. I flinched and turned toward the bird as it swooped down on the piece of gut Monroe had tossed into the grass. Landing in the tall grass, the crow picked up the raw meat in its beak, then flew back to the tree branch and began to feast.

Monroe had sliced a chunk of flesh from the back of his hand, and his own blood mixed on the ground with that of the butchered deer.

“You’ve cut your hand, Mr. Huff,” Pia said, recoiling at the sight.

From behind his sunglasses, the Caveman looked at his hand with cool disinterest. “Appears so,” he said, opening a metal toolbox at his feet and rummaging around in it until he found a clean rag. He wrapped the rag around the cut on his hand, and looked at us for the first time, a grin dancing across his face.

“Did you ask yourselves the question?” Monroe said. “Will traveling deep inside the womb of Mother Cave bring you closer to the one true God?”

“Don’t know about that,” I said. “We just want to hire a guide.” It seemed to me that Monroe was playing games. I was tired of games. I was ready to get down to the business of finding more gold coins.

Monroe looked past me. “Morning, sweet pea.”

“Good morning, Mr. Huff,” Pia said, a half-smile on her face.

“What happened to your leg?”

“Car accident,” I said.

“I’m sorry, sweet pea.”

“That’s okay, it doesn’t hurt much anymore,” Pia replied.

“I’m happy to know that,” Monroe said.

“What’s a spelunker’s prayer?” Pia asked, reading Monroe’s bloodstained T-shirt.

“The eight most important words in the English language,” Monroe said with an apelike grin.

“What are they?”

“Dear Lord, help me find my way out.”

“Oh.”

“Can we talk?” I asked, the irritation coming through in my voice.

Monroe huffed, and tossed his knife into the metal box. “Sure, let’s talk.”

We went inside his one-room cabin. It was still as dark as a tomb.

Pushing his sunglasses back on his head, Monroe went to the sink and washed the blood from his arms. He wrapped a clean dishtowel around the cut on his hand as we crowded in on the tiny sofa.

The radio was still tuned to the classical music station out of Springfield. Pavarotti was about to sing something from “Rigoletto,” the announcer said.

It must be Pavarotti week,
I thought
, whoever that is.

Monroe walked over and turned the volume down, and then dropped into his rocking chair.

“Where’s your cat today?” Kiki asked, peering into the dark corners.

Sucking on his teeth, Monroe said, “I ate her for breakfast.”

I felt my Adam’s apple click in my throat, and a tiny whimper arose from Pia. Kiki’s eyes popped wide, and all the blood drained from her face.

“I can feel my heart beating, Pablo,” Pia said.

Monroe played the hoax for several seconds before breaking into laughter. “Gotcha!”

He whistled softly and the longhaired cat strolled out from under the bed. It paused to arch its back, and then bounced up onto Monroe’s lap, sniffing at the splotchy dishtowel wrapped around his hand.

“Well,” Kiki said, blowing out a big breath of air. “I believe we have ourselves a budding comedian.”

“I can still feel my heart beating,” Pia said, placing a hand over her chest.

I shook my head, a smile itching to get out.

“Who’s following you kids?” Monroe asked, his tone suddenly all business.

“Following us?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

“Pablo Perez, you’d have to be blind not to know,” Monroe complained. “The thing is, they’re not real good at staying hidden.” Cradling the cat in his arm, he got up and went over to the window. He dropped his sunglasses over his eyes, pulled back the shabby curtain, and then peered outside. “I could almost hit them with a rock.” He glanced over his shoulder at us. “Come take a look.”

We got up and went over to where Monroe stood at the window.

“Look up in the ranger tower,” Monroe said, gesturing at the abandoned observation post, which rose above the forest canopy a quarter-mile away. The tower was silhouetted against the summer sky like the watch steeple of a medieval castle.

I spotted two dark figures moving about in the loft of the deserted structure. “I see them.”

“Looks like two men,” Kiki said, peering over my shoulder.

“Why would anyone be following you?” Monroe asked, dropping the curtain back into place and returning to his rocking chair. “They followed you here yesterday, too.” He pushed his sunglasses back up onto his head.

The three of us squeezed back onto the sofa.

“We had a coin,” I said. “I’ll bet those are the men who stole it.”

We had biked past the Blood Brothers Trading Store that morning. The SORRY, WE’RE CLOSED sign was still in the window. I had peeked inside, but the pawnshop was coal black.

“They must think we’ll lead them to more coins,” I said, my anger starting to boil at the thought of Earl Blood switching coins.

“What kind of coin?” Monroe asked, his rocking chair creaking beneath him.

Pia glanced at me and I gave her a nod. “A twenty-dollar gold piece, Mr. Huff,” she said.

“And …?” Monroe said.

“And we think it could be from the Jesse James treasure everyone talks about,” Kiki said.

I expected Monroe to throw back his head, slap his knee and burst into laughter. Then, as he was laughing, he’d get up with his best good-bye face and point towards the door. But he didn’t.

“Let’s see this twenty-dollar gold piece.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” I said. “We showed it to those men and they switched coins. They tricked us.”

“Who tricked you?”

“They’re called the Blood brothers,” I said. “They own a pawnshop in Jamesville.”

Monroe nodded. “Not to be trusted.”

“We know that now,” Kiki said in an edgy voice.

“Where’d this coin come from?” Monroe’s deep-set eyes swept over us.

I told Monroe the story of how I had found the coin at the bottom of the James Creek while Pia and I were swimming, and how I believed the coin had been washed out of Bear Mountain by the underground spring that feeds into Harper’s Hole.

Monroe listened quietly, nodding from time to time while stroking his cat, which was curled up on his lap.

I said we had a map showing a cave on the west side of Bear Mountain. The map charted a route through the cave to the Jesse James treasure. I told him the date on the coin and the date of the famous Jesse James train robbery outside Glendale, Missouri were the same. I said $20 gold coins were stolen in the robbery. I concluded my story by saying I believed the coin I found might have come from the Jesse James treasure. I could tell from Monroe’s eyes that he was interested in my wild tale.

It was the first time I had told the story from beginning to end, and it sounded believable. There was only one small problem … the map.

“Let’s see the map,” Monroe said.

I had no desire to show Monroe our one-dollar treasure map. It looked more like a toy map than a real map. Monroe would freak out when he saw it.

“We’ll show you the map when we get to Bear Mountain,” I said, trying to buy some time. “The map shows a cave entrance on the west side of Bear Mountain about halfway to the summit. The cave leads to the treasure.”

Monroe glared at me. “You say you had a coin, but it was stolen. You say you have a map, but you won’t show it to me.” He shook his head. “Pretty flimsy reason for poor old Monroe to go chasing shadows in the dark. Talk is cheap.”

“You’ll have to take our word for it,” I said, my stomach making some sort of weird nervous growl. “When we get to Bear Mountain I’ll show you the map.”

Monroe snorted. “Pia, do you promise to show me this map when we get to Bear Mountain?” He leaned forward in his rocking chair.

Pia had been chewing on the knuckle of her thumb. She pulled it away and said, “I promise.”

After a short pause, Monroe said, “Fair enough.”

“Then you’ll act as our guide?” Kiki asked, the words flying out of her mouth.

“For a price.”

I looked at Kiki, as if to say:
What’s a fair price?
Kiki shook her head and shrugged.

“How’s a third of the treasure sound, Monroe?” I asked in a polite tone.

Monroe considered it for a moment. “Half.”

“A third,” I said, an anxious lump swelling in my throat.

Monroe was silent for several seconds, and the words “Okay, half,” were on my tongue when Monroe said, “All right, a third, it is.”

I gave an anxious nod.

The rag on Monroe’s hand had become saturated with blood, and he got up, set the cat on the floor, and went to the sink. He removed the bloody dishtowel and ran water over the cut.

“I’ve heard stories about a Jesse James treasure,” Monroe said. “Those stories have been going around for years. Only one small hitch.” He opened a drawer under the kitchen counter. He found a clean towel and made a second bandage. “Actually, it’s a big hitch.”

“What?” I asked.

“There are no caves in Bear Mountain.”

“How do you know?” Kiki asked, scooting to the edge of the sofa, and hanging on Monroe’s every word.

“I know because I’m on a first-name basis with every rock, tree, and blade of grass in Ozark County,” Monroe said. “No caves in Bear Mountain.” He came back over and stood by the wood-burning stove, tightening the homemade bandage. “None.”

“But the map shows a cave,” I said. “On the west side of Bear Mountain about halfway to the summit.”

“I’ll be real interested in seeing this map of yours,” Monroe said, his eyes pinched together in suspicion.

“You’ll see it,” Kiki confirmed.

“Honest, Mr. Huff,” Pia said. “Like Pablo said, we’ll show you the map when we get to Bear Mountain. It’s a really cool map that we bought for—”

“Pia!” I barked. “Please don’t say another word.”

Pia cringed. “Oh, sorry.”

Monroe looked at my nine-year-old sister, a strange smile spreading across his face. “Do you know what I like about caves, sweet pea?”

“No, sir,” Pia replied faintly.

“It’s not the silence, although silence is divine,” Monroe began. “Not a word, nor a whisper, only the melody of dripping water, the ghostly gurgle and splash of a rippling stream, the quiet roar of a waterfall, and the distant cry of bats in the dark.”

A rush of wind blew over the cabin, moaning, and an icy chill arched up my spine.

“Nor is it the darkness that I cherish, for heaven knows I do worship those places totally absent of light,” Monroe continued. “The complete blackness is my blessing. It renews my world. I am in the belly of Mother Cave waiting once again to be reborn, without light and helpless.”

Kiki and I traded a fidgety glance. Monroe was one scary dude.

“Nor is it the coolness that draws me again and again to the bowels of creation,” Monroe said. “For I am a man who loathes heat. The cool air of the cave is my sanctuary.” Eyes closed, he sucked in a mighty breath through his nose. “No, it’s none of these things that bring me back to my caves.” A soft, guttural laugh rolled out of his mouth and his eyes popped open with a frightful suddenness. “It’s the smell.”

“The smell?” Pia asked in a timid voice.

“Yes, sweet pea, the smell,” Monroe said, opening his nostrils and sucking in a big breath. “The odor of Mother Cave is magnificent. Wet earth mixed with dry dust. The ammonia smell of bat urine. The stink of guano. The decaying bodies of spiders and beetles and cave rats. Tiny carcasses radiating that wonderful smell of death.”

I snatched a glimpse of Pia. Her eyes were as big as $20 gold coins.

“Ah, the smell of Mother Cave,” Monroe said. “To me it has the aroma of perfume—I am seduced by it. The cave is a woman and her smells bring me back for more of her sweet love.”

Complete silence.

“So,” Monroe said, his daydream at an end. “Are we ready for this grand adventure? Are we ready to traipse through fresh bat guano, to wade in icy, waist-deep water, to crawl belly-down through mud in a place where the sun never shines, the moon never rises?”

“We’re ready,” I said.

“And the sweet pea,” Monroe asked. “Is she in or out?”

“You’ve seen her leg. You’ve seen her walk,” I said. “What do you think?” It had not occurred to me until that moment that Pia might be incapable of exploring a cave. Swimming in Harper’s Hole was one thing, but an underground hike—and it might be an overnighter—was something else. I wasn’t sure she could make it.

“It’s not the leg I’ve judged,” Monroe said. “It’s the heart. She has plenty of that.”

I looked at Pia, who pleaded with her eyes. I nodded. “She’s in.”

“Yes!” Pia cried, raising both hands above her head.

“Good for you,” Kiki said, giving Pia a fist bump.

“Is anyone claustrophobic?” Monroe asked.

We shook our heads.

“How about nyctaphobic?”

“What’s that?” Kiki asked, looking unsure.

A smile brightened Monroe’s face. “A fear of the dark.”

Very
funny
, I thought, a wormy chill running up between my shoulders.