Boomtown (27 page)

“What does it mean?”

Burton studied the note for a few more moments. “I think it says,
‘Tell no one about your journey to Change; when you come,
trust my friends.'”

I interrupted. “So whoever is writing the letter is telling someone about something that is hidden or secret or both. He wants this person to come to Boomtown—or
Change
—and trust the people who live here, or
lived
here. The letter is obviously very old.”

Burton nodded. “I think that's the gist of it so far. Then look at this:
‘Gift . . . repayment . . . father . . . lost son.
Then . . .
love
and honor . . . father . . . you
. . . and look! Look at the signature and the chop next to it! I
know
that signature.
It's Chang!
”

It was true. At the bottom of the scrap of paper, signed with a flourish, was the unmistakable signature of Chang. Burton read the letter and then read it again, making sure he'd gotten it right. The more he read it, the more excited he became.

He exclaimed, “This was written by Chang!
Our
Chang. It says he was a
father
! No one ever knew that. He lived his entire life as a bachelor, that's what everyone thought. But if this letter is
real
—and it sure
looks
like it's real—this was written by Chang to his
son
.”

Turning back to the Denk, Burton asked, “
Where
did you say you found this?”

“By the river. Below the factory. When I was fishing,”

Denk said.

“And it was just lying there?”

“In a tree. Caught on a branch.”

“You didn't see anyone? Any footprints, anything like that?” Burton was visibly eager for details.

“No.”

“What do you think, Arthur? Think it has anything to do with what's going on?”

“I suppose it could. The letter talks about something hidden, something that Chang knew about and nobody else. Something he wanted to keep secret until he wrote this letter. To his son, it suggests, who was living somewhere else, probably back in China where Chang was from. That would explain why no one knew about it.”

Jonny objected hastily. “But this letter was written a hundred years ago maybe. It wouldn't have anything to do with
now
.”

I answered him, “Why not? Our robber or robbers are obviously looking for something. They're
digging
for some-thing. Maybe it's this
hidden
thing, whatever it is, that Chang kept secret. It sounds like he kept a
lot
of things secret. He had a son, which may also mean he had a wife—nobody knew about them. Who can guess what else we don't know about?”

Burton sighed. “We still can't know if this has anything to do with the robberies. Are they connected? It doesn't tell who's been digging or where they've been digging or what they're looking for.”

Then Burton had an idea. He asked Denk, “Can you show us exactly where you found this? That would probably help a lot.”

Denk shrugged and banged through the front door. He told his oldest boy to watch the other kids and lurched down a trail to the riverbank. We followed behind and skirted the water until we came up on the backside of the fireworks factory. He pointed with a huge finger at a tree branch near the bank of the river. “Right there.”

Burton started to look around, and I joined him. Other than our own footprints, there really wasn't anything to see. It had rained so much recently that any signs would have been wiped out. Jonny tried to get us to go further down-river. He kept waving to us. But Burton wanted us to go in closer to the factory.

Just then he glanced down at his watch. “Rats! Look at the time! I completely forgot—we've got to get back to town right now.”

“Why? What's the rush?”

“It's 10:46! The bank is going to be robbed in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Excuse me?”

“The bank! At exactly 11:00. That's only fourteen minutes from now!”

I didn't get a chance to ask what he was yelling about because we were running back down the trail and chasing Burton on the way to his car. Denk easily kept pace with us through his long strides and was there to watch us leave. His children had finished feeding the animals and stood next to him. They looked so forlorn in their rubber boots and patched coats that I couldn't help but turn around and offer some help.

“Pardon me, Denk. Maybe you don't know about some of the programs we've got at the church. The ladies could help with some food. They could help with the children. We could have some men come out and work on your roof, that sort of thing. Maybe I could come back out and we could talk about it. Maybe tomorrow? How does that sound?”

Denk looked like he would grab my head off its shoulders. He could do it if he wanted to. Instead, with a loud grunt he spun on his heel and stomped back into the cabin with his children in tow. The door slammed with a bang and he was gone.

“Nerts, Preacher! Now what did you go and do
that
for?”

Burton cried angrily.

“What?”

“Denk goes and helps us with an important clue, and then you go and
insult
him!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Get in the car. We've got to get going.”

Jonny and I hopped in. Burton was steamed.

“What's the problem, Burt? I was just offering help. It's the Christian thing to do.”

“You think so? You really think so?”

“Of course I do. The man lost his wife. He's on his own trying to take care of seven children. I saw the way they live. They could use some help. That's all I was saying.”

“You
see
the way they live? You don't know
anything
about the way they live. Denk nearly killed himself with grief when his wife died. He had a baby not more than two months old. He had six other children and no wife to help him. He went off into the hills and didn't come back for five months. During that time, his children took care of each other—just like they always do. When he got back, he tried to keep on going—just like he'd always done.

“But . . .”

“Don't
‘but'
me! Keep your ‘buts' to yourself! That older girl in there, Freyja, she graduated as a straight-A student from high school. The older boy, he's tops in his senior class. All the rest of them kids, they're clothed, fed, schooled, and healthy.

“And their father, Denk, he might not be able to read, mostly because he doesn't want to—and he might not have a regular job, mostly because he doesn't need one—but he manages to take care of his family just fine. He hunts and fishes and lays traps. What he shoots, he keeps for food; what he traps, he sells the skins for money. He usually shoots or traps more than he needs; he gives that to Walter, who cuts it up and sells it for him here in Boomtown. He trades extra fish for supplies down at the Red Bird.

“In other words, they don't live in a fancy house or have any fancy things, but they're getting by. They're doing just fine under the circumstances, same as they always have.”

I didn't know what to say. I mumbled something like, “I was just trying to help.”

“Yeah, sure, just trying to help. Well, next time you can help by minding your own business. Sometimes
that's
the Christian thing to do!”

I spent the rest of the drive with my mouth shut, staring out the window and wondering if I would ever understand the people who lived in Boomtown. Just when I thought I was getting it figured out, something like this would happen and I'd have to start all over again. Maybe I preached about mercy every Sunday, but it was pretty clear—I didn't under-stand it very well.

But in a few minutes, I had something else to think about. We sped around a corner and screeched to a halt in front of the bank. Burton jumped out and ran around the cruiser.

“C'mon, Reverend! Jonny! It's 11:02.
Let's move it!
”

We got out and stood on the sidewalk next to Burton's car. “What's going on, anyway? How do you know the bank's being robbed?”

“Because it's
Monday
. The bank is
always
robbed on Monday at 11:00 a.m. Same as always, right on schedule.”

“But why . . .”

Before I could say anything else the front door of the bank flew open and a man came bursting through it with a bag of money in his left hand and a gun in his right. He looked about sixty-five years old, wearing a jean jacket, a red flannel shirt, gloves, and a black stocking hat and glasses. He didn't seem the least bit surprised to see the police car sitting there or Burton with his gun drawn or the other ten people who'd been standing by waiting for him to come out. The old man threw the bag on the ground, glanced at his watch, and looked at Sheriff Ernie with disgust.

“You're
late
! It's
two minutes
after eleven. I been standing in the lobby of the bank waiting for you!”

“Hey, I'm sorry, Frank. We got tied up down at Denk's place. Really, I'm sorry.”

“Well, don't let it happen again.” He stood there with his hands on his hips. “So, you gonna arrest me or ain'tcha?”

“Sure 'nough. Just hold your horses. I got the handcuffs right here.”

Burton put his gun back in his holster and walked over to the bank robber.

“Burton! Aren't you going to take his gun?” I shouted, pointing at the black revolver still in his hand.

“Oh, right, sorry. I forgot.” He reached out to take it and then stopped. “Hey, Frank, that's not your usual gun, is it? The other one's smaller, if I remember right.”

“I got my favorite down at Guenther's Gun Corral. Gettin' the sights realigned and the pistol grip recovered. This is my backup piece. Nothin' to worry about, though. It ain't loaded or nothin', same as always.”

He pulled the trigger just to prove it.
Bang!
The gun went off and the spectators screamed. Burton jumped back. Jonny ducked behind the car. I felt the bullet whiz just past my right ear. I think it missed my head by a few centimeters. I didn't have a ruler handy so I could measure it. Not that it mattered; I stumbled backward, tripped over my feet, and plopped on the sidewalk. Just over my shoulder, the bullet put a perfectly round hole through the “O” in the No Parking sign.

“Frank, I thought you said it wasn't loaded! Now I'm going to have to arrest you for real!” Burton said.

“It
wasn't
loaded!” the robber insisted, looking at the smoking pistol. “At least, I didn't
think
it was.”

He shrugged his shoulders, handed the gun to Burton, put his arms out, and let the sheriff cuff his hands. Then he apologized to me. “Sorry 'bout that, Reverend. Nothin' personal.”

I was flat on my backside and leaning against the car and clutching my chest. I counted my buttons—was this the third or the
fourth
time I'd nearly been killed? I couldn't remember. I watched Burton open the car door and deposit Frank in the backseat. Then he came over, stooped down, and asked if I was okay.

“You sure are a lucky buck there, Arthur! What's that? Four times now I declare! You must have one tough guardian angel!”

“My guardian angel is going to put in a two weeks' notice and ask for a transfer. I can't believe this! Who ever thought being a preacher could be this dangerous?”

Burton and Jonny helped me to my feet and tried to brush off some of the mud. “Wow, Dad! Look at the parking sign. That coulda been you.”

The crowd had grown to about fifty by this time. People came running at the sound of the gunshot. Others came out of the bank to see what had happened. The initial shock was wearing off, and I was starting to get upset.

“Can you please tell me what
that
was all about?” I asked Burton.

“Sure 'nough, Reverend,” Burton explained. “You see that feller over there in my backseat? That's none other than Frank Cavenaugh. Maybe you heard of him, Frankie the Banker? Made a name for himself about twenty years ago.”

“Sure, I remember hearing about that. He robbed about thirty banks before they caught him, isn't that right?”

“That's him! He's the one who came to Boomtown twenty years ago and robbed this very same bank—he's the reason I was made sheriff! He finally got himself arrested doing a job down south of here. He got convicted down there, served fifteen years in the state penitentiary, then got released four years ago with time off for good behavior. He's been living here ever since.”

“But why
here
?”

“Frank tells me that when he robbed the bank here in Boomtown, he really liked the place. Nice people and all. He went away for fifteen years, but when he got out, he came back here. The folks were glad to have him. He's what you call a local celebrity, the only man to ever commit a major crime in Boomtown. They let him ride in the Fourth of July parade. And he teaches classes at the library on firearms safety.”