Too Much Stuff

by Don Bruns

  “Mr. Blattner—”

  “Bernie.”

  “Mr. Blattner”—he couldn’t do Bernie—“where were you when the train blew off the tracks?”

  He smiled. “We had an old shack where we could take a break from the hot sun. We could go into the back room of the shack to, excuse me, ma’am”—he looked at Em—“relieve ourselves.”

  “That’s where you were?”

  “I was. But when the tidal wave broke, I believe I was running like the wind. That’s what I remember. I don’t know where I thought I was going, but I was running.”

  We all took a breath. The horrific storm scared me in the present. I couldn’t fathom how it must have been back in Bernie’s present.

  “Can we talk about what happened after the storm?” Em asked.

  “We can talk about anything you want to talk about, beautiful lady.” He gave her a wide smile, his crooked yellow teeth showing.

  “Did you get a look at the train?”

  “Oh, yes. Cars all over the place. Some of them were five hundred feet away from the track. Funny thing was, the engine never fell over. Heavy metal engine it was, and it never went down. Almost everything in the town, in the entire area, went down. But not old four forty-seven. Nope. Stood as a tribute to the strength of the railroad and I took that as a sign that we’d be back again.”

  “Didn’t happen, did it?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Blattner,” I started.

  “Bernie.”

  A ninety-nine-year-old guy was not Bernie. I had some respect for my elders.

  “There was a man from Miami on that train. He was in the finance department for the railroad.” I did not want to go there because up until now we seemed to be the only ones who knew about the gold. Well, not counting Stiffle, Markim, and Weezle.

  “Was he killed? Most of ’em were.”

  “He was the great-grandfather of the lady who hired us. Look, I know it’s a long shot, but it seems there were very few of you left. You might have run into this guy. He had ten small wooden crates and he was looking for a place and for someone to help him bury them.”

  He nodded. “Jackie Logan worked with me on the pineapple docks. Strappin’ young boy. We both worked with our hands, arms, backs, and legs. Couldn’t be in much better shape than we were back then.” He smiled and sat back, his mind drifting into nineteen thirty-five.

  “So this guy, Matthew Kriegel, he was looking for someone like you. A survivor who could do some heavy lifting and someone who might know the island.”

  Nodding and smiling, the old man folded his hands on the table.

  “We didn’t hurt for work for the next week. We collected bodies, with masks on our faces so we wouldn’t get sick. Boy Scouts from Miami come down, I believe, and helped.”

  James cleared his throat. “Do you remember anyone asking you to help bury some wooden boxes?”

  “This all has to do with the wrecking camp?” Maria looked confused, but that was to be expected. We’d made a game out of confusing her.

  “Then there was the cleanup of the train itself. And pickin’ up debris all over the island. We’d set up tents, unpack medical supplies when they got there, but it was a slow process, yes it was.”

  “But no wooden boxes? None that you can remember?”

  A white seagull with a black face hovered overhead, checking our table for a sign of food.

  “There was a guy.”

  “What guy?” I didn’t want to seem too anxious, but I was.

  “Offered to pay me and Jackie five dollars if we’d help him load some crates on a horse-drawn wagon. That I do remember. Those were good wages.”

  “Oh, my God.” James’s eyes were wide open. “So you do remember this guy. And you worked for him?”

  “Jackie and some of the Negroes took the job. Those crates were heavy, Jackie told me. And me, I was still employed by the railroad and I was cleaning out the cars, thinking we could salvage some of them.”

  “This guy, the one who employed Jackie—” I had to ask the question.

  “It was a long time ago, young man. I don’t remember everything because I think we were all in a state of shock. God all mighty, no one had ever seen that many dead people. Friends, a girl I had dated, my boss.”

  “Do you know where they took the crates?”

  “I remember he had a broken arm. Just hung loose by his side. And he wasn’t well. I believe he may have died of fever if it’s the same man. Some did.”

  Em finally spoke. “Bernie”—no respect for the old man—“you have a fantastic memory.”

  “It was a horrifying time, young lady. Something you can’t put out of your head, hard as you try.”

  “Bernie, did Jackie ever tell you where they buried the crates?”

  “I believe he did.”

  “Where?”

  “It comes back to me. All that death and destruction. Limbless bodies, animals dashed on the rocks, and corpses hanging high in the trees where the tidal wave washed ’em. And that odor. The stench of rotting flesh.”

  “Bernie?”

  “I never knew what was in those boxes, but he told me they buried the crates, the ones from the train that we never saw the insides of. They buried them in the old Pinder Methodist cemetery. Kind of fitting, don’t you think?”

  “And Jackie?”

  “Never saw him again after that. I did hear that he moved to South America and bought some plantation down there, but I never knew for sure.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  “Skip, we’re going to be rich.” James had dollar signs in his eyes. “Rich, I’m telling you.”

  “Don’t call me Rich.”

  He smiled. We sat in our room, waiting for Mary Trueblood to come in. I’d called and told her we had some big news.

  “James, we’re dealing with a cemetery plot. A place where they bury people. Souls are interred there. You realize this is not something we can just explore with no consequences?”

  “We’re dealing with the property around the cemetery, amigo. Around the cemetery. Not in it. Em made a good point. There’s a big difference. This is on the beach, amigo. Ten crates of gold. Oh, my God, Skip. Over forty million dollars’ worth of precious metal. Not only will we get two million, but our company will be mentioned everywhere. Think about it. The publicity will be overwhelming.”

  He was practically foaming at the mouth.

  “Skip, I think there’s a very good chance you’ve found it.” Em was smiling a very wide smile.

  “Have you guys lost all your senses? There’s no guarantee that—”

  “Amigo. Did you not hear the old man?”

  I had.

  “Let me ask you two something.” I was now the voice of reason. “Have you ever thought about how we’re going to dig it up and remove it from a five-star resort? Have you?” I heard myself getting louder. “Under the scrutiny of guards every twenty minutes, not to mention people watching from their windows? People in the pool, on the beach. You guys are acting a little crazy, you know? What do you want to do, just pull a bulldozer up and start tearing up the beach?”

  Like that would ever happen.

  “Whatever it takes, buddy.” James was lit up like a Christmas tree.

  “Skip,” Em was not far behind him. She had always been the voice of reason. Not any more. So it seemed a little strange to me that I was asking for some sanity. “Maybe we go to the authorities. We get Mrs. T. to admit to them we’ve found buried treasure. We get our money, the state of Florida gets theirs, and Mrs. T. still comes out a multimillionaire.”

  That was a concept I hadn’t considered.

  “But what if the Methodist church says it’s theirs?” My thought.

  “Point well taken,” James said.

  “What if Cheeca Lodge says it is theirs?” My thought.

  “Another point to Skip,” Em said.

  “And what if the town of Islamorada says it’s theirs?”

  There was a knock
at the door. Mrs. T. had finally arrived.

  “We’ve got some pretty exciting news about the lost treasure,” I said as I opened the door.

  Maria Sanko stood at the entrance, her face in a knot of anger.

  From the back of the room, James said, “Oh, shit.”

  “Suppose you tell me what was in those crates. You’ve been yanking my chain since we met, boys, and you,” she pointed to Em who was sitting on the bed, “the three of you must think I’m pretty stupid.”

  “Look, Maria,” I started the explanation, “we’re working for someone. We have an employer. If it was just us, we’d work with you, but we have to explain everything to—”

  “To whom?” Mrs. T. walked up behind Maria.

  “You two may as well come in.” They entered and stood in front of us, both of them with arms folded across their chests.

  “Have a seat.” There was one place on the bed, and Maria sat down on the floor.

  I told Mrs. T. about Mr. Blattner and what he’d said. Then I told her that Maria suspected we were being less than truthful in our explanation.

  “Do you want to tell her what we’re doing?”

  Mrs. T. suddenly looked very tired. She’d been carrying the weight of this story for over six months and right now, when we could smell victory, she was facing all kinds of problems.

  “Oh, hell. She might as well know the whole story. But if she wants a cut for bringing in the old man—”

  “We really should give her something,” Em said, “latecomer that she is.”

  Mrs. T. gave her a death stare. “One hundred thousand. If, if we find all ten crates. And if we don’t, we give her—” she paused, looking exasperated, “we give her our undying gratitude. Okay?”

  Maria nodded. It was probably better than she expected. Yet here was a lady who got her husband’s motorcycle in a divorce settlement. She could probably get a lot more out of Mrs. T. if she wanted to.

  “Done.”

  “Maria, make yourself worth one hundred thousand dollars. Tell us how to get ten crates of gold out of that resort with no one interfering.” I was anxious to get a different take on the situation.

  Maria smiled. “Ah, a challenge.”

  “Yeah.” I smiled back at her. “And keep in mind that there are two other treasure hunters who are looking for the same gold. Dangerous dudes, I might add.”

  Without a pause she said, “You know what I’d do?”

  James rolled his eyes back in his head. “No.”

  And she proceeded to tell us.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  “You know, eventually we all have to get back to our day jobs. Especially if this doesn’t work out.”

  We grabbed some burgers across the street at the Ocean View. Sitting out back on picnic tables we looked over the bay.

  “If we’re due a break, and I believe we are,” James drummed his fingers on the rough tabletop, “Maria had a brilliant idea.”

  “Don’t hide what you’re doing.” Em took a bite from her sandwich and sat back, obviously impressed with Maria’s savvy.

  “Exactly,” he said. “Do everything in plain sight. If you’re blatant about it, people accept it. It’s when you sneak around like we’ve been doing, that’s when you get caught.”

  “Do you think she can pull it off within twenty-four hours?” I asked. I had serious reservations.

  “That cash incentive that Mrs. T. offered should motivate her.”

  “I can’t believe that people are that gullible.” Em shook her pretty head, her golden hair swishing across her face. Maybe I just had gold on the brain.

  “She hasn’t pulled it off yet.” Maria seemed a little too cocky. A little too sure of herself.

  “No, she hasn’t pulled it off yet, but I’m betting on her, Skip.”

  “What surprised me was that Mrs. T. agreed to fund the project.”

  “Again,” Em pointed her index finger at me, “it’s not a lot of money considering the payout. Skip, for a profit of even ten million dollars you would spend at least ten percent. Forty million means she could commit up to four million dollars. I’ll bet she hasn’t committed five thousand dollars. I’ll guarantee this lady hasn’t even come close to that amount.”

  She’d poured about two thousand dollars into our account and maybe she’d fronted Weezle and Markim. Not a lot considering what the reward might be.

  “If she gets her money, she stole it for a song. As for Maria Sanko, the girl has a lot of moxie.” Em smiled.

  “Moxie?”

  “You know what it means.”

  “I’ve never heard you use that word.”

  “Well,” Em looked at James, “moxie is my middle name.”

  “Wait,” he said. “I know this one.” He studied the water for a moment as a sailboat drifted across our horizon. “Parker Posey in Party Girl. I’m right, aren’t I? Ninety-five, ninety-six?”

  “I loved that movie. Always remembered the quote.”

  I should have been proud of her, but somehow she was invading our turf. Movie quotes were for me and James.

  We drove back to Cheeca Lodge, telling the uniformed gate attendant we wanted to see the cemetery.

  “We’re getting a lot of action on the old place.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “You’re the third people today. I’ll go a month and not have anyone ask to see the old graveyard.”

  “Three people?”

  “Yeah. Some single guy, then two people actually asked if there was a room that overlooked the place. I checked it out. Nobody has ever, ever asked for a room with a view of the cemetery. At least as far as we can tell.”

  “Really?”

  “They asked for a view of the plot. Seems they have family that traces back to this piece of property.”

  “No kidding?” James said.

  Handing us a pass, the gate attendant pointed us in the direction of the Methodist property.

  It was mid-afternoon and the temperature was up in the mid-eighties as the valet drove off in James’s truck.

  Standing outside the fence, I gazed at the angel who had watched over the little graveyard during the worst storm in history. There she stood, surrounded by the beauty and the opulence of one of the finest resorts in the Florida Keys. The pool, ocean, suites, bar, and restaurants were just a stone’s throw away.

  “This is the spot.” I walked it off. “There could be another nine boxes that surround the cemetery. They wouldn’t have interfered with the bodies, being fifteen feet away from the picket fence, but chances are no one would mess with them.”

  “This evening we’ll know for sure.”

  Maria had phoned Em. Everything was a go and the plan would go into action in the next three hours. In less than two hours, Maria Sanko had received the blessing of the hotel to dig up a portion of their precious beach and explore its suitability for sand sculptures. And they had no knowledge of what the real purpose was. The woman was a miracle worker.

  Pacing the circumference of the cemetery, I happened to look up at the main resort building, directly to the west. Drapes in one of the bottom floor windows were open and there were two faces staring out at us.

  I froze, realizing someone was watching. Someone was aware that we had an interest beyond the history of the dead bodies.

  I froze, recognizing those faces. Markim and Weezle.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  “Dude, you’ve got to be wrong.”

  “It was them, James. No question.”

  “I checked at the desk. No such persons.”

  “Look, they were there.”

  “She looked it up. The desk clerk said absolutely no one has checked into that room yet.”

  Closing my eyes, I pictured those two faces, staring intently at the three of us. As soon as I looked up, they disappeared. Either they ducked out of sight or vacated the room.

  “James, it’s never that hard to get into a vacant room. The maid is in there and you walk in and ask if she can come b
ack later, or you catch a door when someone walks out and you grab the handle before it closes all the way.”

  “It’s that dark side of you, partner. That’s what intrigues me. That you think about things like that.”

  I glanced at my cell phone and saw it was almost time for Maria to arrive. Glancing up, I saw her coming out of the lodge with a guy about our age.

  “Skip, James, Emily, this is Diego. He’s in charge of special events here at the hotel.”

  He shook our hands. “I am delighted that you two want to do a practice session here. I understand your benefactress will pay us one thousand dollars for this evening.”

  We both just nodded our heads.

  “You must be very good sculptors.”

  “Up and comers,” Maria said. “They’ve won some contests in Europe, right boys?”

  We nodded again.

  She laid a hand on his arm. Surveying the beach, she looked up and down, then back at the cemetery.

  “Diego, do you know anything about sand?”

  “No.”

  I saw a look of relief on her face. “Good. I mean, let me tell you a little bit about what we’re looking for and why the boys decided to use your beach to work on their project.”

  She bent down and picked up a small pinch of sand.

  “We’re looking for very small grain size. Maybe point one to point three millimeter grain size. And, we’re looking for sand with sediment still intact. You see, clay particles and other sediment help the sand pack hard. That’s what we’re looking for.”

  “Is that what we have?”

  She shook her head. “Hard to tell. We’re going to be bringing a dump truck load of similar sand and a small backhoe loader. We may mix our sand with your sand. It should give us a stronger bond, better packing.”

  “A truck and backhoe? On our beach? You didn’t say anything about a truck and a backhoe.”

  Maria smiled and shook her head. “Diego, please. Understand that that’s why we’re coming in later, so we can do this in relative privacy. No one will be on the beach at that hour and—”

  “A dump truck? And a backhoe?”