Don Bruns - Too Much Stuff

I know, it sounds absolutely crazy, but James is always half serious about his business ideas. Myself, I didn’t want to travel the world with a butter knife, cutting and smoothing lifeless sand into art forms.

It was eight o’clock when James and I ran the yellow tape from a pole by the building to a pole by the ocean, effectively cordoning off our section of the beach and the little cemetery.

At nine, the dump truck pulled up followed by a flatbed truck with a backhoe loader on the back. I have to admit I got a chill. Funded by Mrs. Trueblood, Maria Sanko had gotten us everything we needed.

Em, Maria, and James watched the perimeter. I supervised the dumping of a load of sand. After we’d created a mountain of the silicate and dirt, I helped the two drivers roll the tractor off the flatbed.

As advertised, the machine had a backhoe on the rear, and a bucket loader on the front. You could dig up the wooden crates with the hoe, then lift them into the truck with the front-end loader. Pretty cool.

The driver of that vehicle reached over to the passenger seat and pulled out my metal detector. The JW Fishers metal detector.

I was convinced we’d be stopped. There was no way that anyone was going to allow us to dig up ten wooden crates and then load them on a truck. We were crazy to think that Maria Sanko had a good plan. It was a terrible plan. And on top of terrible, there was a great chance that the crates would be rotted, so we’d be faced with everyone seeing that there were crates of gold bars surrounding the old cemetery.

If there was any gold. Hell, I’d probably found a metal casket that had been buried in the last seventy-five years. This was a bad idea, a very bad idea and I-

“Hey, kid, where do you want me to start digging?”

I didn’t want him to start digging at all. I was ready to call the whole thing off. Of all the hare-brained schemes-

“Here.”

I walked off the spot where the metal detector had gone off.

“Man, be careful.”

“We’re going to scrape away one layer at a time. Inches. I understand the sensitivity of what you’re doing. You’ve got some ancient wooden cases and you don’t want to destroy them.”

A very cool operator.

While he scraped, I swept the detector ahead. Nothing. Farther. Nothing. So possibly Mrs. T. had spent a lot of money on a project that was not going to produce anything. I swept farther ahead and there it was. The sound came out of nowhere and scared the crap out of me. I actually jumped. The siren was loud in my ear and very fast. Woooo, woooo, wooo, wooo. I felt a chill up my spine.

Clenching my teeth to keep from grinning, I fanned it length-ways and it stayed loud for over a foot, then tapered off.

Two possible miniature coffins. I glanced up at the windows facing the cemetery plot. They were dark. Behind the black glass could have been the eyes of two private detectives, watching our every move, but I could see nothing.

“Kid.” The driver was motioning to me.

“Yeah?” I was anxious to find the next one.

“There’s a wooden crate. Just like you said. Do you want me to work around it and put it in the truck? Time to decide.”

There was no question.

“Yeah. Dig it up.”

“Tell you what, just a point I should make.”

“What’s that?”

“If this is bodies we’re diggin’ up, there’s a pretty stiff penalty for that.”

“These crates aren’t that big.”

“I probably shouldn’t admit to this,” he paused, “but I actually done that before. Dug up a body. Just don’t ask why.”

He pushed the backhoe into the earth, pried up the wooden box, then turned around and lifted it with the front loader. It looked right. Pretty much the dimensions that were outlined in Matthew Kriegel’s letter. And hopefully there was two hundred pounds of gold inside. We’d know soon enough.

They came up one after another. Box after box and I was ready to scream. James and Em left their posts periodically to run over and see the wooden crates.

“Team, we’ve got to make sure no one gets close to this site.” Maria would motion for them to go back and guard the borders.

“Don’t know what’s in these that you want, but the boxes are well preserved.” The dump truck driver stood there, puffing on a cigarette.

I was in awe as I ran the detector over another box buried about five feet below the surface. The boxes were in great shape.

“Silicate.” Maria Sanko had walked up and heard his comment.

I pulled out my earplug. “What’s that?”

“Sand is made of silicate. It’s the prime ingredient of beach sand.”

“And?”

“Under the right circumstances it gets into wood and literally petrifies it. Silicate is probably what has preserved the wood.”

The lady was a fount of knowledge.

After five boxes we huddled together, high-fiving and slapping each other on the back. The two drivers must have thought we were crazy.

“Guys, here’s my new idea.”

Her original idea had been a winner, so we were eager to hear the latest.

“Let’s have Hank fill in the holes with fresh sand. I’m simply going to tell Diego that we had to push the sculpture back one night. Something came up and we need another evening.”

I pointed to the truck, loaded now with five identical wood containers, metal banding strapping the lids on tight. “But we’ve already got five of them in the truck. Why not go for-”

Softly, she said. “We’re not sure what’s in those boxes. And we can’t be sure until we get to a more private location. We’re taking them to this warehouse that I rent and we’ll see if we’re on the right track.”

The evening air had cooled, and Em shivered. I put my arm around her, and looked at James.

“Sure. Maybe we’ve pushed our luck enough for one night.”

No one had bothered us. No one had come to watch the two sculptors at their task. Thank God.

“Then it’s agreed? We’ve gotten this far, let’s not tempt fate.”

Everyone nodded their heads as our two drivers stood off to the side.

“If we have success,”-even in the dark I could see the gleam in Maria’s eye-“we will ask to come back tomorrow night. I don’t think your banker will argue about spending the money for one more evening of digging.”

“Damn,” James whispered. “This is so much worse than waiting for Christmas.”

James, Em, and I headed for our box truck. Maria got into the dump truck to give the driver directions and to make sure that he followed them. Right now we couldn’t trust anyone.

Our guy with the backhoe smoothed the old and new sand from our pile into the craters we’d created.

“They were heavy.” James kept his eyes on the road, following Maria and the wooden crates. “I tried just lifting a corner of one. I’d bet on two hundred pounds. Ladies and gentlemen, I think we’ve struck gold.”

Em grabbed my thigh and squeezed. “I think there’s one heck of a chance. I mean, it was just too perfect.”

“We should have loaded them all.” I wished we’d taken that risk.

“Skip,” she nudged me, “if there’s something else in those crates, the remains of someone’s pet, or god forbid a small child, we’d have had to bring all ten caskets back and rebury them.”

“Yeah. Well-”

“Dude, we’re gonna be rich. I can feel it this time.”

I felt it too. There was electricity in the air. Everything pointed to our really having found the mother lode.

“We’re buying a new truck, partner.”

“Agreed.”

“And quitting those horseshit jobs we’ve got.”

“Amen.”

“And you’re going to buy me some expensive jewelry, and not those crappy sea-creature jewels. Got it?” Em punched my shoulder.