Don Bruns - Too Much Stuff

“What are we waiting for, Skip?”

And that’s when the big fancy tour bus pulled out, moving onto the highway headed north.

“We were waiting for that,” I said. “James, can you follow the bus?”

He started the truck and drove up behind the bus staying with it for a couple of minutes.

“Still don’t know what the purpose of this trip is.” He kept his eyes on the vehicle in front of us.

“Can you pass him?”

“At this speed, yeah.”

I felt the truck pick up speed. Maybe two or three miles an hour.

“If that bus was going fifteen miles an hour faster, probably not.”

It would be a good thing when James got a new truck.

Flooring the gas pedal, we eased around the lumbering bus.

“Look up at the windows.”

Em and James glanced up at the row of windows.

“What do you see?”

“People. In every seat.” Em nodded.

“So they weren’t checking in.” James was confused.

“No, they were checking out. At eleven thirty p.m. The whole group.” I was confused.

“Something very strange about that operation.”

“They’re smuggling stuff,” James said. “Drugs. Drugs or gold.”

At seven o’clock in the morning the room phone rang. Em never budged, so I reached across her and grabbed the receiver.

“Hello.”

“Skip?”

“What?”

“This is Maria Sanko.”

“Maria, Maria, if we find those coins, I promise you that-”

“Skip, I have a friend who would like to talk with you.”

I was still working the cobwebs out of my head. We’d come back to Pelican Cove and probably drank a little too much red wine and beer. We were pumped up with the prospect of actually having found something. Then we tracked down Mrs. T. who was at Rumrunner’s bar, and when we got her on board with the gold fever, we drank some more. I think she bought the entire bar a round. James’s ex, Amy, was nowhere to be found.

I was a little fuzzy.

“Do you hear me?”

“Why does someone want to talk to me?”

“This gentleman is Bernard Blattner, a gentleman who is almost one hundred years old. He has some information he’d like to share with you.”

I was slowly waking up. I stretched the phone cord as it tightened over Em’s throat. She jerked up, awake and short of breath. Pulling the cord from her neck, she ducked under it and headed for the bathroom.

“Maria, I don’t understand.”

There was a long silence on the other end.

Finally, “Look, you and your partner have used me several times in the last couple of days.”

It was my turn to be silent.

“You’ve played plumbers, historians, and treasure hunters. And I’ve gone along with you, largely because I was sucked in on several of your ruses, but also because I find you both charming con men. I tend to have a soft spot for guys like you.”

I wondered if her husband, who lost the motorcycle in the divorce settlement, was one of those charming con men. She’d apparently outconned him. She now owned the Harley-Davidson.

“And what does he want to talk to us about?”

“Listen, I feel we had an unfortunate moment, and I’d like to help you guys out. Over the years I’ve sold a lot of property to Bernie. The gentleman has a lot of knowledge about Islamorada. He’s lived here all his life, and he may be able to help you find your hidden treasure.”

I hesitated and my heart jumped. “Our what?” How the hell did she know about the treasure?

“You know, your wrecker’s camp. The gold coins or whatever it is you’re looking for.”

“Maria,” I was thinking this through, “if this old guy has information why hasn’t he dug up the treasure himself?”

“No, no. He can give you some history about the wreckers, some idea of how it all worked. I thought it might be beneficial. That’s all. Unless, you’ve found what you’re looking for?”

“No. We haven’t.”

“I’m not trying to interfere, but if you guys want a little history, from someone who’s seen it all, then this might be your chance.”

I was suddenly wide awake. Someone who had actually survived the storm. One of the handful of people who’d been alive and stayed alive during the massive hurricane that blew away Flagler’s Folly. This is what we’d been waiting for. He may or may not have information, but this was a true survivor.

“Yeah. Sure. Of course. We’d love to talk to Mr. Blattner.”

“Okay then. I can have him visit you guys or you can-”

“This would be great. I owe you an apology. It’s just that-could he meet us here this morning sometime? If he’s not busy maybe.”

“Skip?”

“Yeah?”

“He’s ninety-nine years old. How busy do you think you’ll be at ninety-nine?”

“How about around ten?”

“Make it eleven. I don’t think his pacemaker starts till then.”

I smiled. We were going to talk to someone who had actually been there when that train blew off the track. When a twenty-foot tidal wave rose out of the ocean and tore the tracks from their foundations. When almost every building in the town was ripped from the ground and destroyed and when five hundred people were killed by an act of God. We were going to talk to someone who’d lived through it. I was excited and terrified at the same time.

We were sitting at a white, glass-topped table by the pool when I heard the roar. Looking out into the parking lot, I saw the Harley, a blur of shell dust rolling over the ground as Maria screeched to a halt.

Behind her, a slim, frail man with wispy-white hair pulled off his helmet and struggled to step off the bike.

Like a true lady, she walked around and helped him, waiting until he was steady and on his feet.

Shuffling his feet, the old man moved forward, seeing us as we stood around our table.

“Well, hello children.” His voice was dry and breathy and his old face pulled tight on his skull. It was the eyes that were still young. My grandmother used to call them smiling eyes. I’d always asked her how eyes could smile, and she’d just give me that look-the smiling eyes look.

James, Em, and I nodded politely.

I was surprised that Maria had come. And yet I don’t think I expected a ninety-nine-year-old man to drive himself. Still, riding with Maria Sanko? At my age I’d be petrified. The old guy must have had nerves of steel.

He reached out, shaking our hands as we introduced ourselves.

“Glad to meet all of you. As you may know, I almost didn’t make it here this morning.”

“Oh, my God.” Em reached out and took his withered hand. “What in the world happened?”

“Ms. Sanko was driving.”

His eyes sparkled and he barely kept his mouth from smiling.

“Mr. Blattner, we have some questions.” I didn’t want to discuss this in front of Maria, but it was our one chance to get all the information we could.

“Shoot.”

“You were here when the hurricane of thirty-five hit?”

“I was. Damndest storm I’ve ever seen.”

“You were-” James was fishing.

“I was twenty-four years old. I worked on the pineapple docks.”

“The boats came in from Cuba, right?” I was seeing it all in my mind.

“They did. Loaded with pineapples and limes. Most of the time they’d come in on freight cars, already loaded. It was my job to get those cars onto our spur tracks up to the main track and head ’em up to Miami.”

“So they were already packed in freight cars? All you had to do was get them on the tracks?”

“Well, it wasn’t as easy as that. Took four of us to get the car off the boat, down the dock, and to the spur.”

“Lots of physical work.”

“You bet.”