Rick Boyer: Billingsgate Shoal

"Twenty-two ingots, that's well over five million in the gold bars alone."

"Charlie, I feel really dizzy."

We rummaged briefly through the rest of it. There were polyethylene file card cases filled with old coins. There were various historic relics in a big wooden box. There were pieces of scrimshaw and pewter. But mainly, there was the gold. In bars and coins, it sat there and glimmered in the beam of our flashlight.

"How we gonna carry this out?" he asked me.

"Wecan't. It's not ours."

"C'mon Doc. Listen, if we each take two bars we c-"

"No I'm serious, Joe. You're a cop; you know the rules."

"So? I'll quit being a cop. I'll retire, as you wisely suggested. Now listen, we'll just-"

"Now you listen, the last thing we want to do is screw this whole thing up by taking it illegally. By the laws of maritime salvage, this gold and treasure is the property of Walter Kincaid, deceased-or at least presumed deceased."

"Right. And then, it would gosto his next-of-kin, wife Laura-also deceased, and without relatives."

"So-and I've checked this-the treasure belongs, again by law of salvage, to whoever owns the house."

Joe was so dizzy he went topside for a breath of air while I tidied up the chamber and left it intact. We cranked the brickway shut behind us and re-puttied the seams with caulking seams with wood ashes, making them look astoundingly like mortar, placed new ashes in the bottom of the flue, swept up clean, and departed. I had the funny-shaped bit with me. "I wanna keep this key," I said.

I stumbled on the way out in the dark basement hallway. I limped all the way to the car. In my pocket were a dozen color prints of the treasure. I had taken them for a special reason.

We formed a syndicate for the sole and express purpose of purchasing the Kincaid residence and splitting the swag. Since the realtor was asking a cool four hundred-grand, a fairly hefty down payment would be required. We-Joe and Mary and I-figured that five thousand earnest money plus a hundred grand down payment would seal it up for us. But we had to move fast. Beside the three of us were Jim and Janice DeGroot, Tom Costello, and, at my insistence, Morris Abramson. Jim balked a bit at this. Who the hell was Morris Abramson and what part did he play in finding the treasure? After all, he said, another member meant another cut of the action. But I insisted. To maker our stand official, Mary suggested that if Jim didn't like the arrangement he could always pull out of the syndicate altogether.

Jim shut up right away.

Leave it to Mary to nail things down when they get a bit sticky. I figured that with Moe in on the deal some worthwhile cause would come out smelling like a rose. But when I called him he told me he had no spare money at all.

"Sony Doc, I gave my last bit of discretionary income to the Sisters of St. Jude. They run a halfway house for runaway girls. Try me in a month or so."

"It'll be too late you dummy. You know you're the stupidest Jew I've ever known?"

"You know you're the pushiest gentile I've ever known? And if there's one thing I cannot stand it's a pushy gentile-"

"Don't worry, Moe, you're in the syndicate."

Mary and I decided to cough up ten percent of our claim, which would, be the lion's share, to Moe. It soothed our consciences-made us feel a little less like outright thieves.

We sat in our living room and passed around the pictures. Everybody drooled and licked their lips. Especially DeGroot. If he could ever love anything even a tenth as much as he loves money, it hasn't been invented or discovered yet. The members of the syndicate were to split the proceeds of the treasure sale in portions and shares according to their contributions. As Chief Treasure Finder I reserved the right to invest, and claim, fifty percent in the Adams family's name. The name of the syndicate was coined by Mary: Golddiggers of Seventy-nine.

We all thought it was cute. But then we were going to be filthy rich; we would have thought a hammerhead shark was cute.

We decided that Jim DeGroot would be the buyer. My involvement, or even Joe's, would tip off everyone that the house had an unexpected attraction. Jim made his initial contact with the realtor and phoned us.

"Old man Kincaid made a codicil in his will before he arranged to disappear," he said. "As Laura told you, he left at the house to the Wheel-Lock Corporation, not to her. I betcha she and Schilling were surprised, and not too pleased, about that development, The board of directors of Wheel-Lock has decided to offer the house. for sale, as we know. However, they must meet and decide if the buyer is a good bet. Then they'll affix their OK to the buy and sell agreement?

"Sounds OK. Just hang in there and wave that cash around. We're waiting on pins and needles."

The only absent member of the syndicate was Moe. While I he wished the operation luck and success, he told me over the phone that the thought of money bored him.

"It's what you can do with it that's exciting, Doc. If I make anything let me know and I'll tell you where to send the check."

But Jim DeGroot returned to the domicile in bad spirits, and asked for large quantity of same.

"I can't believe it," he said, cradling his big paw around the frigid glass.

"Well what?"

"I just can't goddamn believe it.

"Well what?"

"The Hare Krishna."

"Yeah. The Hare Krishna what?"

"The goddamn, bald-headed, dip-shit Hare Krishna have bought the Kincaid place!"

"I can't believe it," we said in unison. "I just can't believe it."

And we couldn't.

"Know what they did? They put down two hundred thou in cold cash. A registered bank check from the Merchant's National. Cold cash."

"Jesus. All those shopping center handouts. All those flowers at Logan Airport… all that drum beating and chanting on the Common."

"I can't believe it," wailed Mary and Janet.

"The board of directors of Wheel-Lock met this rnorning. They are going to sell the company to an Arab consortium-"

"The Decline of the West…" I intoned.

"-and they looked at the offers the realtor presented to them. Ours was fine… but the Hare Kristna's was a good deal better."

"I can't stand it," said Joe.

There was a glum silence. I told the would-be syndicate to follow me. We arrived in my small, book-lined study in a few moments' time. I turned on the double brass student lamp.

"Do not despair, friends," I began.

"Can I have another drink?" asked Joe.

"… because as I look around me at the warm faces of friends and loved ones-"

'Are you going to the bar? Make mine a double, OK?"

"-I seem to see a new ray of hope."

"I'm gonna throw up."

"Mary, would you please remove that big green book from the shelf behind you?"

"Which one, Charlie?" '

"The Golden Bough, of course."

She removed the tome.

"Now stick your hand in behind the space."

She drew out a weighty hunk of Au. I directed her to place it on my desk, where we could all gaze at it.

Joe was indignant.

"Dammit, Charlie, I searched you after you'd sealed the place up, remember? It was a joke at the time… actually, you suggested it. I frisked you. You were clean."

I fondled the little darling on my leather-topped desk. I patted it… massaged it.

"I wanted you to search me, to determine I was absolutely free of any illegal metal. What you didn't know, my friend, is that I pulled a little prestidigitation while you were upstairs."

"I'm told that can cause blindness," said Janice.

"What happened?" asked Mary.

"When Joe went upstairs, and out, to clear his dizzy head, I slipped one of the ingots out of the tunnel and placed it in the cellar hallway right near the wall. When Joe came back after I'd cranked the doorway shut, I insisted he search me to make sure the treasure within was intact. But on the way back upstairs I accidentally-on-purpose stumbled, fell in the darkness, and slipped the piece of bullion into my coat. Limping on the way out helped disguise the fact that it is pretty damn heavy."