Tall lights, massive cement bleachers, chain-link fencing, and the only patch of green grass for miles—it was a football stadium, all right, but it resembled a temple dedicated to the gods of football more than anything else.
Hung on the back of the stands above the parking lot was a huge sign that confirmed Melono’s suspicion.
Welcome to City Hall Stadium!
Home of the Lynchton Lilies.
“Lilies!” Melono exclaimed, “A town as rough as Lynchton and they call themselves the Lilies?”
They began to notice people pulling into the parking lot and heading toward the stadium. There was no frivolous chit-chatting among the crowd like one might expect; instead, a somber mood had fallen over all the faces in the gathering crowd outside the gates.
“I suspect now would be the time to change out of these shirts,” Notmie said, quickly stripping himself of his. “Where were those clothes Larry gave us?”
“In the trunk. Maybe you should put your shirt back on before you get out of the car,” Melono suggested. “You know what effect your chiseled abs have on the ladies, Notmie, and the people here seem to be more susceptible to the lure than most.”
“Maybe it’s because the people in this town have roughly the same shoe size as they have teeth,” Brodie suggested. Melono gave him a look that told him he wasn’t being very kind.
“What? It’s true! They aren’t the prettiest of folk, now are they?”
Melono tried to keep disapproving, but she realized how silly it would be to continue doing so. “Okay, you’re totally and completely right, Brodie. They haven’t got an ounce of intelligence, beauty, or even hygiene. Now let’s get focused on this auction. From the looks of it, we need to hurry if we want a good seat.”
Notmie and Melono changed shirts and the threesome headed toward the entrance of City Hall Stadium.
At first, no one seemed to notice the two unearthly beautiful cousins, leaving them alone as they approached the gate, but it wasn’t long until Notmie began to hear the excited whispers from those closest to them and began to see hungry glances from the locals. Catcalls followed.
“Hey, perdy lady!”
“Gonna gimme some o’ that?”
It was obvious that one particular guy couldn’t whistle, and therefore contented himself with hollering the words, “Whoot-woo!” as Melono passed.
“Sick,” she grumbled. “Do they actually think yelling things at me will get them anywhere?” She took a deep breath and regained composure. “Are they letting people into the stadium yet?”
The gates hadn’t been opened when they arrived, but were shortly thereafter. However, even then the crowd didn’t seem to be thinning at all.
“What’s taking so long?” Notmie complained, leaning from left to right, trying to get a glimpse of what the hold up might be.
“Who knows,” Melono replied, “it could be any number of things. I wouldn’t even bother guessing at this point.”
It wasn’t long until Melono caught sight of what was keeping the lines from flowing into the stadium.
“You got to be kidding me. This is just getting really strange.”
“What? What is it?” Brodie asked.
Melono shook her head in disbelief before pointing through the crowd, directing Brodie’s attention to what was happening up ahead.
“Why are they doing that?” Brodie wondered, mouth gaping.
Notmie bobbed up and down, left and right to try to see what Melono and Brodie were talking about. “What? I can’t see what’s happening!”
Brodie almost didn’t want to say it. Speaking about what was going on up ahead of them seemed nearly as sacrilegious as doing what was going on up ahead of them. “They’re all facing the scoreboard and bowing before they enter.”
“That’s something people do at church,” Melono protested quietly. “Who does that at a football stadium? The scoreboard is not an altar!” She shook her head slowly. “What are we getting ourselves into?”
Brodie shrugged. “No idea, Melono, but Larry told us we needed to do this. We need that money to have any chance of getting information from Sinclair Pontier, remember? Let’s just get this done.”
Melono was impressed by Brodie’s focus on the task ahead and followed suit, even bowing to the scoreboard when they got to the gate in an attempt to blend it.
There was a large homemade sign directing those with items they would like to have auctioned to a check-in table. Though the sign was spelled phonetically, Brodie was able to understand what it said:
Ockshun idums over thisaway
“This way,” he said, leading the others to the table.
A scraggly-haired woman missing a few crucial teeth first took notice of them as they approached. She flashed Notmie a smile that sent a shockwave of shivers down every spine within a thirty-yard radius. In fact, Melono hadn’t even seen the woman’s smile, but felt it all the same, whirling around with a slight “Who the hell…?” as she raised her arm, ready to strike whichever creep she just felt run his hand down her back.
“Hows are y’alls todays?” The old woman spoke in a shrill, cracking voice.
“We’re, uh, we’re fine, hows—I mean, how are you?” Brodie tried his hardest not to look at her teeth, but it was like trying not to look at a dying man—his eyes were naturally drawn to it by morbid fascination.
“Yas gots yerselfs some nice handy merch’ndise, sos I sees.”
Notmie and Melono exchanged questioning looks over the excess of s’s tacked onto her words. They’d heard some weird dialects in their days growing up in Texas, but nothing quite like this.
“Hands me yas shirts and I’lls sees whats I can gets yas for its.”
“Does she mean an appraisal?” Melono asked.
Brodie shrugged. Melono and Notmie both handed the shirts to the woman.
“Yas trying to bambards me? I said ‘shirts,’ not “shirtses.’ One ats a times.”
Melono handed over her Liar shirt first and the woman looked it over.
“Startin’ bids ats ten thousands dollar.”
“That’s all? Those are real rubies! Look at them! They’re HUGE! That’s got to start at thirty thousand.”
“No ma’ams, that theres shirts no more’n ten thousands, ands I’s bein’ gen’rous.”
“Fine.” Melono folded her arms and stepped back from the table. “Your turn, Notmie.”
Notmie stepped forward and held up the shirt.
Without even grabbing it, she said, “Hmmm… I sees. Nows, this, yes, this heres is a nice piece o’ works. I’d says startin’ bid’s ’round ’bout sixty thousands dollar.”
“What!” Melono erupted. “How is mine worth fifty thousand dollars less than his?”
“Oh,” the woman gave a flirty smile to Notmie, “was I supposed to be appraisin’s his shirts? I thought yas was talkin’ ’bout his smile.” She winked at Notmie who forced a slightly sickened smile, which he had intended to be polite rather than anything even resembling flirtatious.
“Yeahs, that’s the smiles I was talkin’ ’bout.” She broke into a fit of giggles that mutated into a fit of hacking coughs.
Once she caught her breath again, she turned to Notmie.
“Nows hands me that shirts an’ I’lls sees whats I can dos for y’all.”
Notmie handed over the shirt, trying to avoid any skin-to-skin contact in the exchanging process.
She wrenched her eyes off of Notmie to examine the shirt. “Well, of justs raws materialses, I’d say it’s worth abouts five thousands, but because the craftmanships, nots to mention the wearers, I’d say twenty thousands.”
“Whoa, that’s the starting bid?” Brodie couldn’t believe she was serious.
She shot a sharp look at Brodie. “Yas doubtin’ mys intellegences, boy? Yas thinkin’ I don’ts knows how ta appraise nothin’? Lemme tells ya, Is been appraisin’ things since longs befores you was born! Nows if you don’t like tha startin’ bid, y’alls can leave without nothin
’!”
“No, no,” Notmie stepped in, “that’s a fine bid.” He gave her his cheesiest smile and added, “Thank you, ma’am, you… er… you have a beautiful smile. We’ll just be seeing you.”
She grinned at them and held out three numbered signs for them to use for the bidding. Notmie took them from her and the three walked away from the table as Notmie choked back the vomit that was threatening to erupt from his mouth after having given such an untrue comment. Never in his life had he given a less true compliment than the one he just dished out.
They tried to keep as low of a profile as possible as they made their way through the crowd and to a comfortable seat in the bleachers. The seats were already nearly full, though the stadium had only been opened less than ten minutes. Apparently, the Lynchtonians had this process down to an art and knew the most direct route to their favorite spots.
The trio settled into a nice place at about the mid-field line without being the least bit aware of who was around them.
That quickly changed.
“Ooooooo! Look at those mighty fine gentlemen in front of us!” came a girl’s voice.
Notmie heard it, but had gotten used to hearing comments like that a long time ago.
Brodie, however, had his attention snagged by one simple word.
Turning to Melono, he whispered, “Gentle men?”
“Yeah, I noticed that too…” Melono wondered what the odds were that they’d both heard wrong. Or perhaps these girls were like everyone else in the town and just didn’t quite grasp modern English.
Brodie wasn’t going to risk it; he had to capitalize on this opportunity.
“Excuse me, ladies,” he began, turning to face the voices he had heard behind him. He was stunned silent when he was met with two tan-faced, blonde-haired, slim yet busty girls about his age, and with a full set of teeth, staring back at him.
“Holy mother of pearl…”
The girls giggled at his astonishment.
“What were you about to say?” the one wearing red asked.
“I–I was I about to say something?”
“Yes,” said the one wearing blue. “You said ‘Excuse me, ladies’ then you stopped talking.”
“Oh. Yes. Yes, right. I was about to say that I thought I heard you say ‘gentlemen’ but what I think you mean is ‘gentle man ’ as in referring to just one man: him.” He pointed to Notmie.
“No, silly.” The one in blue giggled again. “We think both of you are good lookin’.”
Brodie’s mouth dropped open at the statement.
“Aww,” began the girl in red, “look how cute the caped one is with his mouth hangin’ open like that! I like him best.”
“What the hell?” Brodie asked, baffled by the direction this conversation had just taken.
Notmie finally caught onto the commotion and turned around to see what was going on.
“He’s a cutie pie too,” said the girl in blue, eyeing Notmie. “I’ll take him.”
Notmie looked the girls up and down and appeared to lose interest, turning back around in his seat to face the field.
Brodie switched into flirtation mode. “So, ladies, you mind me asking your names?”
They giggled and played with their hair.
The one in blue spoke first. “Francine,” she turned to the one in red, “and this is Paris.”
Brodie’s mood changed instantly as he heard the names.
“Aww… HELL no. No, no, no, no…”
“What? What’s wrong?” asked Paris.
“Paris? France-ine? Those are seriously your names? You–you… nothing. There’s nothing wrong with you. But we need to stop talking now and never speak to each other again.”
The girls looked at Brodie, puzzled, but before they could respond, a voice boomed over the speakers. “Welcome guys and gals. Here we are again. Y’all ready to get this thing started?”
The crowd roared with applause.
“Is this a rock concert or an auction?” Melono asked the others. They were too befuddled by the enthusiasm of the surrounding crowd to give much of a response.
They could just see the figure standing at midfield whose voice was coming through the speakers.
“First item up for bid is this lovely, hand-crafted wallet. Starting price at forty dollars.”
He began his practiced auctioneer speech as the numbered signs flew up in the air from all around the stands.
“One hundred and fifty, hundedanfity, hundedanfity, hundedanfity, can I see one hundred and fifty? One hundred and fifty! Hundred and sixty, can I see one hundred and sixty? Hundedansixy, hundedansixy, a hundred and sixty to the gentleman in the back. Hundred and seventy, come on with your bids, lookin’ for a hundred and seventy…”
“A hundred and seventy for that piece of crap!” Notmie said, looking at Brodie and Melono. “Imagine what we’ll get for ours!”
Three hours and one hundred and fifty-two items later, Notmie, Brodie, and Melono’s enthusiasm was beginning to wan, though the rest of the crowd was still just as attentive as ever.
“This is ridiculous,” Notmie whined. “They must all be auctioning off everything they own! They’re all going to break even in the end anyway, with all this buying and selling, so why don’t they just trade things? It would be much faster than this big to-do!” He shifted in his seat, rubbing his buttocks with his hand and grimacing. “How can they all sit here for so long? My booty is killing me!”
Melono felt for him. Her butt was hurting her, too. She tried her best to console Notmie, hoping it might take her mind off her own discomfort. “Remember, these people have had practice at this sort of thing.”
“True, but this is still a miraculous attention span for anyone to have,” Brodie added.
Over the speaker: “Next item up, a lovely ruby-studded T-shirt spelling out liar on the front…”
Melono straightened in her seat to get a better look at it over the heads in the crowd. “Hey! There it is! There’s my shirt! Y’all ready?”
“Starting bid at ten thousand dollars.”
“I still think that’s way too low,” Melono grumbled.
They sat and watched the amount double, triple, and keep on going.
When the auctioneer announced the final selling bid, it was Notmie, Melono, and Brodie who were standing and cheering.
Notmie clutched Brodie by the shoulders and began to shake him. “Forty thousand! Did you hear that?! The shirt went for forty thousand!”
“Y-y-y-e-e-e-s-s-s-s, N-n-o-o-o-t-m-i-e-e-e.” Brodie grabbed Notmie’s hands, ripping them from his shoulders. “I heard! Release me!”
“Can you believe it? Forty thousand for that old piece o’ junk! Amazing!”
“Shhh! Hush up, Notmie. Your shirt’s up.” Melono pointed to midfield, and Notmie fell silent.
The numbers seemed to soar from the starting bid, and before they knew it, it was already up to forty thousand… where it stopped.
“I’ve got forty thousand, can I hear forty-two? Forty-two?” Someone tentatively put up a hand at the auctioneer’s request, but Melono knew that at this rate they would never get to the golden number of sixty thousand.
She turned to Notmie. “You! You have to go down there! If they see your face then they’ll be more inclined to bid higher! Get down there!” She shoved him to his feet and toward the stairs leading down to the field.
What am I doing? he thought as he trudged down the bleachers. Perhaps Melono’s right. This could possibly put us over the top and then we could go find Sinclair and get this riddle solved.
Unfortunately, his mind then wandered to the riddle itself. There were still pieces missing and he knew he had all the tools to figure things out… if only he tried hard enough. Suddenly a misty idea began taking shape in his mind… could it be? He never found out if it could, as his legs collapsed under the weight of his thoughts and he went tumbling down the stairs and onto the field.
The auctioneer spotted Notmie facedown in the grass and paus
ed mid-sentence. A gasp rose from the crowd as they too saw Notmie’s beautiful backside.
“What is all this about?” the auctioneer demanded.
Notmie stood, dusted the grass off his pants and walked over to the microphone. Reaching for it, the auctioneer yanked it out of his reach. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“That’s my shirt.”
“Okay, but all the rules clearly state that once you enter an item into an auction you can’t have it back.”
“I don’t want it back.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I…” Notmie honestly didn’t know what he was going to do. He had no game plan whatsoever. “I just came to tell everyone what a fine article of clothing this is.” He shot his most charming smile at the audience. There was a collective swoon among the females (and a good portion of the males).
“Let me get this right, you came all the way down here to indorse your item?”
“Yeah, I suppose so. And who wouldn’t with an item such as this?”—another smile; more swoons—“I’ve personally been wearing this shirt for the past two months and it’s never done me wrong. These are genuine diamonds, too, absolutely one hundred percent diamond. And handcrafted. All these diamonds were individually placed by trained, er… diamond placers… to spell out fraud. Do you realize how many child laborers were spared because of that?”
“This is highly unorthodox!” the auctioneer spoke, though he too seemed to prize this shirt far more now than he had before Notmie’s smooth entrance.
Notmie wouldn’t give up. The shirt had to pull sixty thousand dollars or this was the end of the road for them. “It is! It’s very unorthodox… just like this shirt,” he said, though he didn’t know what “unorthodox” meant. “Normally a shirt like this would cost over one hundred thousand dollars, but no! You can get it for much cheaper than that. It’s definitely worth more than—what is it now? Forty-five thousand? Pfff, that’s nowhere near what this work of art deserves, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Auctionman?”
“Er… well, sure, I guess.”
“CASE CLOSED!” Notmie yelled, throwing his fist in the air. “Let’s get on with the bidding!”
The auctioneer did just that and the numbers began to soar again.
The Fraud Page 21
