His chin on his father’s shoulder, Adam looked at the two coins in his hand, and shot them a wink.
From upstairs, a voice sang out, “Monroe, Adam, come help with the groceries!”
Adam yelled back, “Coming, Mom!” He turned to his father. “Remember, Dad,” he said, handing him back the coin bracelet. “Beauty parlor.”
“Gotcha.” Mr. Stryker mussed his son’s floppy brown hair. “You go ahead. I’m just going to straighten up here a minute.”
“I can help.”
“That’s okay, son.” He glanced about the room and frowned at the cluttered shelves. “Maybe this weekend you can help me turn this dungeon into a real laboratory.” His eyes fell on the stalled-out alarm clock. “Do we have any batteries upstairs?”
“If not, I can take a battery from one of my toys.”
Mr. Stryker smiled. “That’s very nice of you, Adam, but there will be no need for that.”
“I don’t mind. I’m tired of most of them anyway. I want to be a scientist like you, Dad.” With that he stuffed Porter Penny and Quimby Quarter into the front pocket of his jeans, grabbed the stethoscope, and bounded up the staircase.
“Ned,” Hannah said, “let’s fly, else we could end up trapped in this pit for days.”
“Roger that. Wait until he turns off the light, and then beeline it out of here before he closes the hatch.”
Monroe Stryker blew out the candle and hung up the drill. He returned the tackle box to the shelf and set the brass candlestick back where he got it. He glanced at the dead clock.
“Quick, Hannah, behind the paint brush!”
Stryker stepped over to the clock and lifted it from the shelf. He unsnapped the back panel and dug out a Ray-O-Vac ‘C’ battery. On the way out of the room he dropped it into the paint can. He switched off the light and headed up the stairs.
“Now!” Ned said.
Hannah launched from the shelf and Emma Eagle spread her wings and took flight. They circled back, grabbed up Ned, and sped across the room and into the stairwell just as Monroe Stryker was bending down to throw shut the hatch. Emma Eagle soared between his legs and right under the man’s nose.
“What the—?” Stryker said, his head between his knees, watching the silvery disks race down the hallway. “You!”
Stryker spun and tore after the coins. Careening around the corner at the end of the hall he jerked to a halt a moment before bowling over his wife, who shrieked in surprise and dropped a package of toilet paper.
“Monroe! What are you doing! You nearly startled me to death!”
“Sorry, honey!” He picked up the toilet paper and handed it to his wife.
Groceries. The door…!
“Adam,” he shouted, “quick, close the door!”
“Monroe, what has gotten into you?”
“Nothing, honey,” he said, rushing through the den and towards the front door. He called back, “Love the hairdo!”
Hannah and Emma, Ned Nickel in tow, flew through the house looking for a way out. They heard the creak of a screen door opening and zipped towards it.
“There,” Ned cried, spotting Adam Stryker, a sack of groceries in his arms, wedging himself inside the house. “Hurry, before the screen closes!”
Emma Eagle thumped her wings and sped towards the opening. The coins pulled up before Adam’s surprised face and hovered.
“Hello, Adam,” Ned said, studying the boy’s eyes. Ned noted their color, a bleached blue, the color of a clear afternoon sky.
Adam didn’t hear him, nor could he tell that the nickel was searching his eyes for the man he might become. But Adam knew he wasn’t seeing things either. The nickel seemed interested in him. It didn’t hover purposeless like an insect, but hung suspended, as if pausing to consider him.
“Grab them, Adam!” his father yelled, as he charged towards the door.
The boy dropped the grocery bag, its contents spilling on the ground. He clapped at the coins as at a fly. At his feet, canned food and apples and oranges rolled, some into the house, and others bouncing down the steps into the front yard.
Emma Eagle dodged the boy’s smacking hands, flitting just out of reach.
Adam snatched at them a second and third time, but the spry half dollar teasingly evaded his clutches.
Monroe Stryker ran up and lunged for the coins, his foot landing on a can of Del Monte Fruit Cocktail. His other leg launched skywards and he crashed onto his back. He groaned and rubbed his head.
“Dad, are you okay?”
Spotting the coins, Mr. Stryker cried, “Behind you, Adam! The nickel! Catch that nickel!”
Adam whirled, but Hannah and Emma hovered out of the jumping boy’s reach.
“Can we go now, Four?” Hannah asked, irked by Ned’s game of cat and mouse.
“What about Porter and Quimby?”
“They’re in the kid’s pocket. There’s nothing we can do for them.”
“We don’t leave coins in the field.”
“They aren’t Raiders, Four. They’re civilian coins. Besides, Emma only has one free talon.”
“But you saw how brave they were. It kills me to abandon them to that maniac.”
“The boy has him. I don’t think he’s the savage his father is.”
“Not yet, you mean.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing. You’re right. Let’s go.”
Adam watched as the two silvery coins swept across the yard, darted through the tire swing, and passed out of view. He smiled in amazement and turned to his father, who was still on the floor.
“Dad, did you see that?!”
Monroe Stryker kicked away a can of Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup and staggered to his feet. He rubbed the back of his head and then threw open the screen door. The man caught the glimpse of a golden glint shoot through the tire swing, swoop up, and disappear across his neighbor’s rooftop. He thought there was something odd about what he saw, but blamed the smack of his head and the late afternoon light.
“I saw,” his father said. “And so did you.”
“Was that the four-cent nickel you told me about?”
“That was him, all right.”
“What was he doing here?”
“He must have followed me all the way from Riverside.”
“How far is that?”
Stryker thought about it. “You’re right, son. Too far. About fifty miles, and I was driving fast. He must have stowed away on my car!”
“That is a nifty nickel!”
“Even cleverer than I thought. We mustn’t underestimate them again.”
“What was that other coin, Dad? It had wings and everything!”
“That was a Walking Liberty half dollar. The wings belong to the eagle on its backside.”
“Really? Wow.”
“If you’re serious about joining me on this treasure hunt, Adam, you’ll need to learn everything you can about coins. You’ll have to become a numismatist.”
“A new-miss-tist?” he stuttered.
“Numismatist. That’s what you call a person who studies or collects coins.”
“Numismatist,” his son repeated, liking the sound of it.
He kneeled and began gathering the spilled groceries and putting them back into the torn sack. Adam paused and looked up at his father.
“You’re right, Dad. Nobody would ever believe me. Not Billy, and not even Stupid Stuart.”
Mrs. Stryker, sporting her beehive hairdo, strolled up and set hands on her ample hips. “What are you trouble-makers up to now?”
“Nothing, Mom,” Adam said guiltily, and then he enthused, “Nice nest, Mom! Maybe you’ll find an egg in there one day!”
Bonnie Stryker frowned and patted her hair. Monroe shoved an elbow into Adam’s shoulder.
“You’re the prettiest gal in Pasadena,” her husband assured her.
“And you’re the two nuttiest boys.” She bent and picked up a box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, the Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup,
and the Del Monte Fruit Cocktail. Holding them up she chirped, “Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes. Go wash up!” She glanced out the door. “And don’t forget those cans on the lawn.” She shook her head and pranced towards the kitchen, her high heels clicking on the linoleum floor.
Father and son picked up the rest of the groceries and tossed them into the split sack. Mr. Stryker gathered the bag into his arms and gazed thoughtfully into the distance.
“Where do you think they went, Dad? Do coins have a home?”
“A home?” he said, intrigued. He stroked his mustache in consideration.
“They can’t just be wandering around all over the place, can they?”
“What kind of a home do you think they’d have?” Mr. Stryker asked.
“I don’t know, but if there’s a Coinworld, and they’re as smart as you say, wouldn’t there be a coin city or town somewhere?”
“How would they build such a thing?”
“It wouldn’t look like ours, Dad. It would be like a beehive or anthill or something.”
“Could be, Adam. Could be.”
“Yeah, and how did they know you were in Riverside?”
“They didn’t. But they know I’m investigating cases involving missing or stolen coins, and that I am onto them. They must have waited around to see if I’d show up.”
“And did they know you were in Memphis too?”
His father cocked his head in surprise. “How do you know about Memphis? You were too young to remember.”
“Mom told me. I saw the newspaper clipping in her scrapbook. There was a picture of you with a duck biting your nose. It was funny.”
“Not as funny as it looked,” Mr. Stryker grumbled.
“Were you really arrested, Dad?”
“It was all a big misunderstanding, Adam.”
“But it had to do with the nickel, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, but none of the clods who were there knew the real reason. Remember, Adam, people see what they’re ready to see; know what they’re prepared to know.”
“I know, and I saw, Dad.”
“Welcome to Coinworld, Adam. There’s no going back from here.”
Adam nodded, unsure if the portentous words signaled a good thing or a bad thing.
One hand on his father’s back, the other patching the ripped bag, the two Strykers entered the house.
“Dominique, darling, let them go.”
“I can catch them, Nicky. That half-dollar harpy is no match for my Erica.”
“Turn around. Go back.”
“But we’re so close.”
“Dominique,” he ordered.
“Yes, Six.”
The 1907 Saint-Gaudens $20 double eagle swerved and circled back towards the Stryker household. When they arrived they spotted Mrs. Stryker stepping out onto the porch. She shook her head and descended the three steps into the front yard. She bent down to pick up the items that her husband and son had forgotten.
“Head for the bird’s nest,” Nicolai said.
“Seriously? What does that lady have to do with anything?”
“It’s not her I’m interested in, darling,” Nicolai answered.
When Bonnie Stryker stood and reentered the house, she did not know that in her beehive hairdo nestled two priceless coins, and the beginning of her son’s remarkable future.
8
placebo effects
May 1964 — Coin Island
Hugh Stewards sat on the park bench overlooking Coin Island. He clicked his retractable ballpoint pen as if tapping Morse code. At his feet, Shadow, Hugh’s fifteen-year-old black Lab twitched his ear with the sound of each click. It was a sound the dog had heard a million times, and it bothered him no more than the patter of raindrops or the clinking of dishes.
Hugh put pen to yellow legal pad and began scribbling. When he arrived at the bottom of the page he wrote, ‘The End,’ smacked the tablet with his pen, and gave the instrument a dismissing click.
Shadow recognized that combination of sounds—time for a treat and a walk! He stood and set his head on Hugh’s knee.
Hugh stroked the dog’s soft fur. “What do you think, Shadow? Will this one sell?”
Shadow answered with a lick of Hugh’s hand.
“That’s what you said last time, and that story is still sitting in some editor’s slush pile.”
Shadow whimpered and sat in the receiving position.
“You get rewarded whether I do or not. What a deal.”
Hugh reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a biscuit. He tossed it to Shadow, who caught and devoured it within three crunch-filled seconds.
“All right, let’s see what our friends are up to today.”
He pulled a pair of binoculars and a camera with a telephoto lens from a canvas messenger bag, and then man and dog rose and strolled to the edge of the lake.
Hugh lifted his binoculars and focused them on the tiny scrap of land that was Coin Island. He saw little with all the spring grasses, weeds, and flowering bushes blocking his view, but Hugh Stewards wasn’t looking so much for something as he was the absence of something.
Yesterday he spied a cluster of coins on the northeastern edge of the island. Today they were gone. Years back he’d have thought that maybe a crow had plucked them up, or that someone had crossed the narrow channel that separated the island from the shore, stumbled upon the coins, and pocketed them.
Not these days. Now he knew.
He couldn’t explain the mystery, and even if he could, he wouldn’t tell anyone about it, including his wife, Katherine. Coin Island was Hugh Stewards’ little secret. He wished he could communicate that to the island’s inhabitants, but he didn’t know how.
On the rare occasion when he sighted some coins in the open, they always seemed to know he had spotted them, whereupon they froze and played dead. He could train his sight on them for an hour, but they always waited him out. It saddened Hugh that after all these years the coins still didn’t trust him.
Three tiny eagles flew over his shoulder. Shadow noticed them first and let out an attention-getting yap.
Well, maybe they didn’t completely distrust him. Certain coins—eagle-backed quarters, half dollars, and silver dollars—were not afraid of him. They took off and landed in plain sight. He wondered why that was. Maybe they had no choice? Knew he couldn’t catch them? Or maybe it was just their way of teasing him. He preferred the latter possibility.
Another oddity that amused him was how the tiny, silvery eagles rarely landed empty-clawed. They typically flew in strolling string or leather straps, or lugging marbles, shards of glass, or other small knickknacks. Every sighting brought a smile to his face. What did they do with all that junk?
Hugh lifted his camera with its telephoto lens and snapped a series of pictures. He’d develop them the next time he sold one of his articles or pulp stories and had earned a little money.
To most eyes, the photos would all look the same, but not to his. Hugh Stewards was looking for details others would neither see nor expect; things that only his magnifying glass might expose, like the small stone wall that ran along the island’s perimeter and its little towers placed every few feet apart, all of which was mostly hidden from view by tall grass, weeds or a bush.
That’s where the lapse of time came in. The fortifications emerged slowly. Only with the change of seasons and the distance of months could such things be noticed, and none of them by the casual eye. Hugh couldn’t imagine what such defenses could be for, if that was indeed what they were. A person could step over them with ease, and wouldn’t likely notice he had done so. Nor would the walls hold back the smallest of rodents.
Hugh thought that he might solve the mystery by crossing over to the island for a closer look, but he didn’t dare do so. He feared scaring the coins away, never to be seen again. Like insects, they might just pick up and move to a safer location, and he certainly didn’t want that, and neither did Shadow.
Cody Quarter, Harper Half
Dollar, Brave Two Loons, Deirdre Dime, and Chief Iron Tail rolled across the rampart on the island’s southern wall, and halted. The coins peered over the parapet at The Hugh and his dog, Shadow. They watched as man and dog played catch with a tennis ball; The Hugh throwing the ball and Shadow retrieving and dropping it back at his master’s feet.
Cody, who had the responsibility of keeping an eye on The Hugh man for the past five years, said, “You see? It’s a miracle.”
“And you have no explanation?” the chief asked.
“None.”
“You don’t, but he must.”
“He thinks it’s us.”
“Us? That’s crazy. It must be some new medication they’re on.”
Cody shook his head. “He stopped taking them a long time ago now. The dog too.”
“Weird. What about the wife? Surely she’s noticed. She must have some idea.”
“She thinks it’s the physical therapy.”
“What’s wrong with that explanation? Makes sense to me.”
“Nothing, except for the fact he never goes to the sessions. Instead, he comes here.”
“We’re his therapy?” Two Loons asked, perplexed.
“In a way, yeah.”
Harper Half Dollar said, “When The Hugh tossed Cody and me onto this island way back when, the guy could barely walk, and neither could the dog. I recall that the veterinarian only gave the dog another year, max, and The Hugh was never supposed to walk without his cane again.”
“Whatever the reason,” Deirdre said, “I’m happy for them.”
“You’re director of Coin Intelligence,” Two Loons said, “don’t you have an explanation?”
“Not a rational one, no.”
“I’m listening,” Harper said. “What are you thinking under that winged Phrygian cap of yours?”
“I’m thinking that what The Hugh believes is right.”
“But we didn’t do anything,” Two Loons said. “I mean, except for sending Cody to spy on the guy.”
The chief, who had been nodding thoughtfully, grunted.
The Amazing Adventures of 4¢ Ned (Coinworld: Book Three) Page 7
