Don Bruns - Too Much Stuff

“So there would be no way of detecting any gold?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know much about metal detectors, but I would guess there are some devices that can find gold. Especially if there’s that much down there. Ten crates should set a detector off, I would think.”

I was still skeptical. Ten crates of gold? Boated out to the rocks? It was a little too much to hope for.

Mrs. T. came down the steps.

“I cannot impress enough on you that we need to be very quiet about this. Even when you’re talking among yourselves. If there’s a chance that our property still exists, I don’t want anyone getting wind of our expedition.”

“We aren’t going to say anything to-”

“Mr. Lessor. You admitted to telling your employer where you were going.”

He quieted down.

“Mr. Moore, you not only told your lady friend where you were, but you invited her to join us.”

She was right. Neither of us kept a secret very well.

“If we are to keep this project to ourselves, then you will have to measure every word you speak.”

“What’s the project?” Bobbie walked over, eyeing our empty drinks.

James looked at Mrs. T. and rolled his eyes.

“Just a little history thing we’re working on,” Em said.

Bobbie pointed at the empty drink glasses, then motioned toward the male bartender, busily mixing a drink on the other side.

“Did Scotty get you?”

Without missing a beat James looked her in the eyes and said, “Nobody gets us Bobbie. That’s the problem.”

She looked puzzled as she walked away to wait on a heavy-set older couple. Probably in their late thirties.

“So you’re lookin’ for coins?”

The wizened old man looked like he was straight out of central casting. He had fine white hair tied back in a ponytail, and his brown leathery skin threatening to crack at the creases. A short shoot of hair stuck out from his chin; a beard that had never really taken off.

“Yeah. Coins.” James nodded.

“Lots of people find coins. I swear there’s still millions of dollars to be had, right offen these shores.”

“You think?”

I frowned at James. Don’t be a smart-ass. The idea was not to draw any attention to our mission.

“Yes, sir.” His voice was high pitched, and I decided he reminded me of old Ben Gunn from Treasure Island . Gunn was the pirate they left behind on the island to guard the treasure. A crazy old loon.

“From Gasparilla to Bowlegs, them pirates were a burying bunch of thugs. And if it weren’t the pirates, then it were them wreckers who’d scavenge all sorts of riches off them distressed ships that ran up on the rocks.” His eyes were wide open and his animated speech told me that he had a passion for the stories. “And they buried their treasures. ’Twas the only way to keep ’em safe.”

“We think there are coins off the coast, maybe a quarter of a mile. So, we wanted to know if you’ve got a metal detector that works under water.”

He stroked his stubby beard, and stared at the two of us. “We’ll get to that in a minute.”

Em and Mrs. T. were back at the resort. Four of us descending on a small one-man shop like this seemed a little much to take.

“Now you’ll be needin’ a small boat.”

He stepped around the worn plank-wood counter and motioned for us to follow. We went through the main room with an air compressor and tanks to a dark backroom that smelled of grease, gasoline, and oil. He pulled on a rope, and a garage door opened onto some old gray wooden docks and the bright blue Florida sky.

What had once been white paint peeled from the old boards and several of the docks leaned as if pushed by a giant wave or wind. I was reminded what waves and wind can do in the Keys.

Five small boats floated in the water as we walked out onto the rotting wood. A seagull lazily lifted off a post and landed on a dock forty feet away. The old man stepped up to a bobbing dinghy, big enough for four people and a couple of extra tanks and that was about it.

“Said you just needed maybe a quarter of a mile, right?”

“Yeah.”

“This would do the trick.”

James gave it a suspect glance. “It doesn’t leak, does it?”

“Leak?” He almost shrieked the word. “Good Lord, son, I personally check each boat when it comes in.”

James bit his tongue and kept quiet.

Sun beat down on the bleached wood and I inhaled the odor of rotting seaweed and washed up marine life. I hadn’t been diving since college, and most of the training took place in a safe pool. This was going to be an experience.

“Now, you boys can obviously go somewhere else, but you’re gonna pay a lot more. I’ll make ya a really good offer. We’ll do this boat-nothin’ fancy you understand-then we’ll rent you the mask, the tank, and all the divin’ gear and then you want a metal detector, am I right?”

“And you rent those too?”

“Well, I have one here. I’ll let you rent it, although I can’t speak to its ability.”

“Never tried it?” I asked.

“No. You see, I found it. Sort of.”

“Found it?”

“Came back in one of my boats. Must have belonged to this guy who rented the boat. I had to hire a kid to take me to the boat, ’cause the diver left it about a mile out.”

“I don’t understand. Somebody rented a boat from you, then just left the boat and the metal detector a mile offshore?”

“Didn’t exactly just leave it. This guy ran out of oxygen and died out there.”

“Oh, shit.” I turned to James. “Do not say anything about that to Em. Or anybody. You got that? She’ll freak.”

“Trust me, pard, I got it.”

“So, you got yourself a boat, diving gear, and the dead guy’s metal detector.”

“How much?”

“How long?”

“Half a day.” I figured we weren’t going to dig it up and bring it home the first trip out. We just needed to see if there were crates of gold. Then we could make our plans on how to haul it out. One thing at a time.

“Three hundred fifty dollars. Payable in advance on account of-”

“Yeah,” James said, “you pretty much told us. On account of-”

We’d decided on the next morning. Go out at seven thirty before the scheduled dives and plan on coming in between ten thirty and one in the afternoon.

“James, you’re driving the boat, right?”

“I am.”

“Em, you’re kind of the lookout. If things get strange, if someone shows up who looks like there might be trouble, you’re going to figure out how to get rid of them.”

“And if I can’t?”

“I don’t have the answer, but for God’s sake don’t leave me down there by myself.”

We sat in Mrs. T.’s room, sharing a pepperoni and mushroom pizza from Boardwalk Pizza. When James heard that Boardwalk Pizza was right in front of the sheriff’s office, he almost refused to eat it. But the pizza was pretty good, and again, the lady was paying.

“My question is this.” Mrs. T. sipped from a can of caffeine-free diet Pepsi. “How are you going to know if there’s gold down there? We’ve already discussed the fact that it may be overgrown with coral. Lots of coral and seaweed. So even if you’re lucky enough to actually find the spot, how will you be able to tell through the coral and everything else?”

I had the answer.

“Skeeter has a JW Fishers Pulse eight K metal detector.”

“Skeeter?”

“Skeeter,” said James.

“And just what exactly is a Fisher Pulse thing?” She threw her hands up, obviously confused. I understood.

James grabbed at the last piece of pepperoni and mushroom.

“We looked it up on the Internet.”