“I’ll vouch for you,” Pete said. “She’ll bark but she won’t bite.”
“Thanks, buddy.” Kipp turned to the silver dollar. “Sadie, have you ever gained flight from the air?”
“We can do that?”
“It’s the easiest way of all. Once you’re up, Ernie just needs to start flapping his wings. Are you game?”
“Ernie’s an eagle, isn’t he?” She laughed unabashedly. “Get it? Eagle. Bird. Game.” She laughed some more.
Ernie didn’t appreciate the corny pun, and slapped a wing across his eye in embarrassment and shook his beak. A proud eagle, he didn’t like being lobbed in with birds hunted for sport or food.
“I hear you,” Kipp said. “Erasmus doesn’t like my ‘fowl’ puns either.”
“Hah!” Sadie laughed. “Good one!”
This time it was Erasmus who covered his face.
“Okay, you two,” Kipp said, “We’re going to take off and come back around to pick you up. Once airborne, I’ll let you go. But, Ernie, don’t unfurl your wings until I let go. After that, just keep your eye on my tail, got it?”
Ernie screeched his understanding and Sadie nodded.
Kipp bounded back onto the runway and sped off. In no time he was soaring. He circled back and deftly snatched up Sadie who screamed, “Weeee!”
Damian shook his head. “If we’re lucky, he’ll drop the cockamamie coin in the Colorado.”
“Aw, she’s a cutie,” Pete said. “Besides, if it weren’t for her and Ernie, there’s no telling where I’d be.”
“Come on,” Damian said. “Let’s go make that call.” He hopped back onto the runway and headed south.
“Hey,” Pete said, pulling up alongside the dime, “isn’t the CBS on level two?”
“There’s another one this way,” Damian answered. “It’s closer and has more privacy. It’s pretty noisy up there, what with the celebrating and all.”
“That’s one of the nice things about having so much space, I suppose,” Pete said, strolling down the hill with Damian.
“Coin Island is that small, huh?” Damian said.
“Compared to this base, anyway.”
A web of lightning draped the distance and another cannonade of thunder rocked the canyon walls. Pete glanced above. Clouds now shrouded the stars he and Kipp had been gazing at.
“How’s the weather there?” Damian asked in the way of small talk.
“It can be as unpredictable as here,” Pete answered.
“I’ve heard that said about New England. ‘Don’t like the weather? Wait ten minutes.’” He laughed and slid Pete a side glance to see if he was biting.
“I wouldn’t know,” Pete said. “It seems that would fit a lot of places I’ve been.”
Damian stifled a grunt and pointed down the hill with his chin. “This way. We’re almost there.”
The hill sloped towards Havasu Creek. To avoid stumbling, the coins bucked the rest of the way down. They pushed through some thrushes and pulled up beside the fast-flowing creek that fed into the Colorado River.
Pete glanced questioningly to Damian. “Here?”
“It works just as well as a reflecting pool, doesn’t it?”
“It can, but not at night and when it’s roiling like this.”
“I’ve used it on worse nights,” Damian said. “Give it a try. If you can’t get a connection then we’ll head back up. No biggie.”
Pete edged closer to the creek and peered in. He looked back at Damian.
“You want some privacy?” Damian said. “I’ll meet you up at the top of that last hill. Take your time.” Without waiting for a reply, Damian trundled away.
Pete watched the dime trudge back up the trail, shrugged, and turned back to the river. He gazed into the water, thought of Coin Island, and concentrated.
A 1943 steel penny charged out of the thrushes and smacked Pete from behind. Pete yelped and tumbled into the swift flowing creek.
“So long, sucker,” the penny snickered.
“My thoughts exactly,” came a menacing voice.
“Huh?”
The steely turned, saw a silvery blur, and then all was rushing water and icy cold.
11
memphis belle
November 1958 — Memphis, Tennessee
Chief Iron Tail and Camille Quarter looked out over downtown Memphis and the Mississippi River from a rafter of a giant red neon sign proclaiming the Peabody Hotel.
Opened on Union Avenue in 1925, the hotel with its Italian Renaissance architecture and terra cotta detailing was the crown jewel of Memphis. The Skyline Roof and ballroom, upon which rose the massive iconic sign, had been drawing some of America’s greatest musical talent for decades. US Presidents, Hollywood stars, the most famous athletes of the day, and movers and shakers of all stripes were a common sight at the historic grand hotel.
The hotel was soon to host the South’s largest coin show, and according to Coin Island intelligence, one Charles Nesbitt would be looking to sell Franny, his prized Peace Dollar.
At their side stood new recruit and commander-in-training, Donovan Dime. A 1956 Roosevelt dime, and so bearing a torch on his reverse side, Donovan was the chief and Camille’s fire-bearer and communications officer.
Donovan’s torch flickered. “A message coming in, Chief.” He turned and gave the chief his back.
Chief Iron Tail stared into Donovan’s torch. The flame was too small to carry a visual, but the audio came in loud and clear. As maintaining eye contact with the flame was necessary to hear transmitted voices, Camille looked on over the chief’s shoulder.
“Chief, do you read me?”
“I read you, Two Loons. Do you have a make on the car?”
“A black and yellow Ford taxi, number 406. It just turned onto Union Avenue and ought to be pulling up in front of the hotel any minute.”
“Good. Are Hannah and The Four with you?”
“We’re here,” Ned said.
“You only have one shot at this, Four. If he gets into the hotel without you on him, we’ll never find the guy.”
“Roger that, Chief.”
“You know what needs doing. We’ll keep our channel open and wait for Dylan’s contact.”
“Wilco.”
“Good luck, Four. Out.”
Donovan doused his flame and faced Camille and the chief. “So far, so good.”
The chief grunted. He never liked counting his pennies before they were minted.
Camille said, “I hope Mr. Nesbitt is wearing lots of pockets.”
On another rooftop down Union Avenue, Ned Nickel addressed his fellow Raiders: Brave Two Loons, Leo Lincoln, half dollars Hannah and Harper, Darla Dime, a ’53 Roosevelt dime named Dylan who handled torch communications, and some seven dollars in loose change—the most recent graduates of the coin officers program.
“Okay, everyone,” Ned said. “This is the real deal. This is what all your training has led up to. Once Hannah, Dylan, and I make landing, you know where to go and what you have to do. Hopefully, things will go off without a hitch, but experience suggests otherwise.”
The coins nodded in grim determination.
“Darla, you and your team stay put up here until the chief makes contact and gives you further orders. If he needs you, you and your squadron of eagles have to answer his call ASAP.”
“Understood, Four.”
“Two Loons, I want your team patrolling the ground outside the hotel. Harper, I want you and your guys to sneak into the hotel’s lobby and report in if you see anything unusual. Keep low and out of view. Don’t do anything conspicuous unless you absolutely must.”
“Understood, Four,” Harper Half Dollar replied.
A Lincoln on lookout shouted, “The taxi’s pulling up!”
Without waiting for an order, Hannah sped off across the rooftop, and Emma spread her eagle wings and obtained flight. The half dollar circled around, snatched up Ned and Dylan Dime, and then zoomed towards the taxi pulling up in front o
f the Peabody Hotel.
Charles Nesbitt, a large man in a white suit and black bow tie, bleached Porkpie straw hat, and wire frame glasses, exited the taxi. In one hand he held a polished wood cane, and in the other he gripped a leather briefcase. The driver hopped out and popped the trunk as a bellboy rushed forward to help with the luggage.
Mr. Nesbitt called to the bellboy, “Careful with that stuff, friend. It’s fragile.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hannah Half Dollar flew towards Mr. Nesbitt and took aim. If she missed her target she would have to fly around for a second try, something the glittering coin knew would attract attention.
“Don’t go for the pants pocket,” Ned warned her. “He could end up handing us off to the bellboy.”
“Roger that.”
Dylan Dime said, “What about the luggage? That’ll get us into his room.”
“There’s too much action around it. Shoot for the breast pocket of his jacket. The handkerchief is just for show, and we’ll be able to hear what’s going on.”
“Too dangerous,” Hannah said. “I’d be flying in right under his nose. I have a better idea.”
Hannah swooped and dove towards the sidewalk. Skimming the pavement she flew towards the man’s shoes, and then dove into the cuff of his left pant leg.
Once inside the cuff, the three coins spread out to make sure they didn’t jingle and draw attention to themselves.
“Good thinking, Hannah,” Ned congratulated. “You’re the best for a reason. Sorry for doubting you.”
“I don’t think he’ll be running anywhere, so we ought to be safe.”
Mr. Nesbitt followed the bellboy into the hotel’s sprawling lobby. He pointed with his cane towards the lobby’s ornate travertine marble fountain with its large bouquet of exotic flowers on top. Upon approaching the fountain, he saw that inside paddled five mallard ducks: four hens and a drake.
Mr. Nesbitt laughed and asked the bellboy a few questions about the fountain.
The bellboy explained that it was one of the hotel’s many attractions. He said that every day at 11 a.m. the “Duckmaster” led the ducks down the elevator to the lobby where they marched waddling through the crowd on a red carpet to the tune of John Philip Sousa’s “King Cotton March.” At 5 p.m. the ceremony was reversed, and the ducks returned to the roof.
The bellboy told him that the custom began in the 1930s. The General Manager at the time had returned from a weekend hunting trip, and he and his equally sauced buddies thought it comical to leave their live English Call Duck decoys in the hotel fountain. The custom stuck.
The jovial numismatist laughed again and complimented the bellboy for being “a ‘fountain’ of information.” He hooked his cane onto his other arm, dipped his hand into his pocket, and came up with a silver dollar and two half dollars to tip the smiling bellboy.
The two continued to the reception counter where Mr. Nesbitt checked in. Shortly, a porter in a red uniform grabbed up two bags and informed Mr. Nesbitt that the rest of his luggage would be up soon. He led the guest to the elevator, pushed ‘10,’ and escorted the gentlemen to his junior suite.
The porter unlocked the door, gave the guest a brief tour of the suite and its amenities, and then handed Mr. Nesbitt his key.
“Thank you, my good man,” Nesbitt said, setting his briefcase on a bench at the foot of the bed. “Say, I’m here for the coin convention. Can you tell me where it’s being held?”
“That would be the Tennessee Exhibit Hall, sir. Second floor.”
“I could use a hand getting my cases and things down there in the morning. Could you make sure someone stops by at say, six-thirty?”
“No problem at all, sir.”
“Good, good.” Nesbitt smiled and dunked his hand into his front pocket and out came another tip, which included two silver dollars, a Franklin half dollar, and two shiny quarters. The porter thanked him, gave a slight bow, and said the rest of his things would be up right away. He told the man that he was on duty till midnight, and that if Mr. Nesbitt needed anything at all, “Just ask for Donald.”
“Good call on the pocket warning, Ned,” Hannah said. “No telling where one of those tips might have taken us.”
The numismatist went directly to the room’s wet bar and cracked the label on a bottle of Scotch. He poured three-fingers into a tumbler and walked to the window. Mr. Nesbitt smiled in satisfaction at the view, and then strolled into the parlor. He sipped his Scotch and took a seat on one of the comfy chairs.
“Get ready,” Ned said. “I think this is where we get off.”
The man threw his legs up and onto the coffee table. Halfway up, Ned, Hannah, and Dylan tumbled out from his pants cuff and onto the carpeted floor. The carpet blunted the sound, but taking no chances, the three bucked up and rolled under the sofa to the wall.
Minutes later they heard a knock at the door.
Mr. Nesbitt got up to answer it. Outside stood the porter with his luggage. The guest directed him to place his belongings in the bedroom.
Ned and the others followed, hugging the walls. They darted from chair leg to chair leg, table leg to table leg, and then took cover behind the bedroom’s window curtain.
Charles Nesbitt thanked the porter, tipped him with more shiny coins, and unpacked his things. He placed some of the bags on the bed and slid the wrapped display cases underneath it and out of the way. He set a second leather brief case on a bench at the foot of the bed.
Ned turned to Dylan Dime. “Call the chief. And careful you don’t light the curtain on fire.”
Dylan nodded, backed up, and said, “Flame on!” He offered Ned the torch on his back.
“Chief?”
“I read you, Four.”
“Tenth floor, room 1009. We’re in the bedroom.”
“Roger that, Four. Over and out.”
Dylan doused his flame and faced the others. “Now what?”
“We wait,” Ned answered.
Dylan said, “How are we going to get Charles out of here?”
“What time is it?” Ned asked.
Hannah peeked around the edge of the curtain and spotted a clock on the wall. “One-thirty.”
Ned said, “We hope that Charles is hungry and doesn’t order room service.”
Two Loons split his team into two, each consisting of two pennies, a nickel, one torch-bearing Roosevelt dime, and two Washington quarters. His squad patrolled near the entrance of the hotel, and the other unit, led by Leo Lincoln, was charged with policing the back exits and keeping an eye on the sky.
Rather than creeping along the walls of the hotel, the coins bucked stealthily on the street-side of the sidewalk where there was more places to hide. Whenever anyone approached too closely, the coins hustled for cover behind planters, streetlamps, fireplugs, or parking meters. If they had to, they could hop down onto the street and hug the curb until the coast was clear.
The sidewalk was swept clean, so when Two Loons’ team stumbled upon a conspicuous-looking Bazooka Joe comic on the ground below one of the planters, Two Loons ordered the others to halt. He approached the bubblegum comic warily, and half expecting to find a penny underneath, he flicked it over with his rim.
Clear.
A breeze blew Bazooka Joe and his gang into the street.
Two Loons looked at the others and shrugged. “Yeah, I feel kinda dumb, but you can never be too careful. Let’s go.”
The coins bucked on down the curb.
On the edge of the planter above, a penny on lookout hopped down inside where a dime was waiting.
“I spotted them,” he said excitedly. “Contact the boss.”
The dime turned and ignited his flame.
“Sir, do you read me?”
“I read you, penny.”
“I spotted a coin patrol heading east on Union in front of the hotel.”
“How much?”
“Sixty-seven cents.”
“Follow them, but keep a safe distance.”
“I didn
’t see The Four,” the penny said.
“He’s already inside. We spotted him landing in the collector’s pants cuff. Two coins from our lobby team hitched a ride on the porter’s luggage and got off on the tenth floor outside the collector’s door. What you saw is probably part of the getaway. Keep an eye on them and let me know if they do anything conspicuous.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Over.”
“Douse it, Dirk,” Nicolai Nickel said to his torchbearer.
Dirk Dime withdrew his flame.
Nicolai turned and saw his double eagle fly down the long hallway towards him. The graceful $20 gold piece kept to the corner where the wall met the ceiling. She alighted on the arm of the chandelier beside Nicolai and folded her wings.
“Dominique, my dear, these elegant environs suit you.”
Dominique Double Eagle smiled, nostalgia in her golden eye. “I so agree. Do you know I spent many years on the desk of the manager here?”
“You don’t say?”
Dominique nodded. “The manager at the time used me as a paperweight in his office and often took me for strolls in his shirt pocket. It was a long time ago now, and I can see the place could use some sprucing up, but it’s still quite nice. Of course, back then I didn’t have Erica to fly me around.”
Nicolai smiled and nodded, as if to say, you’re welcome.
Dominique turned on her rim and kissed Nicolai Nickel on the forehead.
“What did you learn in your reconnoitering?” he asked. “Did you spot Iron Tail?”
“No, I didn’t see him. But I saw some of the others. You’re right, Nicolai, you and The Four could be twins! He’s your spitting image. I mean, except for your values, of course.”
“We are brothers, Dominique. Soul brothers. But he doesn’t know that yet. Soon, very soon he shall.”
“But why wait? We are so close now. If I am within range I can snatch him up before he knows what happened.”
“We are quite outnumbered here, my dear. Iron Tail has Raider Special Forces posted all over the premises.”
Coinworld [Book Two] Page 12
