The Amazing Adventures of 4¢ Ned (Coinworld: Book Two)

by Benjamin Laskin

  Dinged and dazed, Pete dragged himself to the side of the road where he sat until he regained his bearings. He saw a sign that read “Gas 25 Miles,” and headed off in that direction. He figured that if he reached the gas station he‘d find a puddle to transact on somewhere, even if he had to use toilet water to do so.

  Twenty-five miles was a long way for something 0.750 inches in diameter to roll. Day turned to night, night to day, and then came more days and nights. He lost track of time and could think of little but the afternoon heat, the morning cold, and his sore rim. And then he came upon the trail of coin corpses.

  Pete Penny had often known despair in his life, but there was something about those smeared pennies baked into the asphalt that tested what remained of his reserves of hope and faith. The only thing that kept him going was the conjuring up of his friends’ faces back at Coin Island. He missed them terribly, and it pained him to think he was causing them to worry.

  Pete looked up to heaven and saw that two more vultures had joined the circling ring. Was it his imagination, or were the buzzards tracking him? He doubted that the scavengers would find him a tasty meal, but regardless, what a way to go.

  He crawled on, telling himself to take it one revolution at a time; that roll by roll and inch by inch he was that much closer to finding his way back to his friends.

  The wind whistled. Pete ignored it. The wind whistled louder and sharper. He stopped and looked about expecting to see flying dust, a dashing tumbleweed, or perhaps the whiffling branches of a desert sage. All was still—stifling hot and still. Pete shook his head and wrote it off as delirium.

  “Stop!”

  The answer wasn’t blowing in the wind. The answer was imbedded six inches behind him in the side of the highway.

  Pete rolled back. He leaned over and gaped at the coin staring up at him half-buried at a 45º angle in the black asphalt. The face was weather beaten, scarred, and teal with age. It belonged to a woman with a pleading eye that once twinkled with youth. Pete couldn’t be sure of her make, as the road had swallowed up half her face and the tarmac concealed her date, but to his astonishment, he was sure it was a silver dollar.

  How on earth did she get there? Had she suffered the same fate as the luckless pennies he had recently trundled past?

  “Didn’t anyone teach you that it isn’t nice to stare?”

  Startled, Pete backpedaled. “Huh? Oh, sorry, but considering where we are and your awful situation, could you blame me?”

  “You’re forgiven, sonny. Now, I don’t know what planet you’re from, but could you give an old lady a hand?”

  “I…ah…how? I don’t have a hand.”

  “Look,” she said, “as far as I know this could all be a dream. I’d pinch myself if I could, but am I talking to a standing, rolling penny, or aren’t I?”

  “You are. Pete Penny.”

  “Sadie Silver Dollar. You can’t tell from there, but I’m an 1879S Morgan Silver Dollar.”

  Pete bowed. “It’s an honor, Sadie.”

  “My friends, may they all rest in peace, called me Wrong Way Sadie.”

  “Those poor souls I saw down the road, they were your friends?”

  Sadie closed her eye in acknowledgment and nodded. A tiny, silvery tear rolled down her cheek, tracing a streak across her grime-covered face.

  “I’m sorry. What happened to you all?”

  “It was horrible. A massacre. There were many more than those you might have seen.”

  “But how?”

  “Really, penny, are you going to just stand there and ask me questions all day, or are you going to get me out of this guck?”

  “Oh, sorry. I…do you have any ideas?”

  She squinted at the sun. “We have a small window of opportunity. This is the hottest time of the day. The asphalt around me is soft. If you work fast, you can pry me lose.”

  Pete rolled up beside her and took a little hop. Indeed, the blacktop did feel spongy. He circled around Sadie and made some calculations.

  “I think if I slip underneath you I might be able to buck you free.”

  “Then buck away, buckaroo. We don’t have all day.”

  Pete fell onto his back and scooted beneath the silver dollar.

  “Nice eagle you got here,” he said. “You know, it’s times like this I wish I had a buffalo on my backside, but all I got is wheat.”

  “Friend, you’re a locomotive penny. Really, what have you to complain about? Now, show sister Sadie here what you can do.”

  Pete pressed up against the silver dollar and grunted. “Aargh…”

  Nothing.

  “C’mon, muscles,” Sadie said. “Harder.”

  Pete bucked up again and pushed with all his might. “Aargh…” He flopped back.

  “I felt something that time,” she said. “Don’t give up now.”

  “I felt something too, but it was me sinking into the asphalt. If I push any harder then we’ll both be stuck and those vultures circling above will have a feast.”

  “Oh, dear,” Sadie whimpered. “Please don’t give up, penny. If you can’t rescue me from this hell, no one can!”

  “Aw, don’t cry, ma’am. I won’t leave you. Let me think a minute. Hoom-bahda-buh, hoom-bahda-buh, hoom-bahda-buh…”

  “Penny? What on earth…?”

  “Chief Iron Tail’s thinking song.”

  “Who?”

  “A friend. A wise Indian nickel. A descendent of the great Coinim. Hoom-bahda-buh, hoom-bahda-buh…”

  “Penny, I hate to tell you this, but I think you’re in need of more help than I.”

  “I have an idea. It’s something I learned from The Greatest.”

  “Greatest what?”

  “A young boxer. Now hold on, this might hurt a little.”

  Pete took a deep breath, and still beneath the silver dollar, he began to buck furiously like a jackhammer, smacking the coin with rabbit punches.

  “Wh-wh-what are you—? … It’s w-w-wor-king! It’s w-w-wor-king!”

  Pete knocked the silver dollar until it was standing perpendicular, but Sadie was still stuck, and jackhammering wasn’t going to do anymore good.

  “Oh,” Sadie moaned. “Now what?”

  “Give me a second, would you?” Pete panted. “My noggin’s ringing.”

  He righted himself and circled Sadie, examining her predicament. He tapped his edge against her two sides and tested the condition of the asphalt.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Hoom-bahda-buh, hoom-bahda-buh…”

  Pete shook his head and started away.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  Pete didn’t answer.

  “You can’t just leave me here!”

  Pete stopped and dropped flat.

  Sadie observed the penny. He seemed to be quivering on the ground. “Penny,” she called, “are you okay?”

  Pete didn’t reply. He vibrated more, seemed to expand and contract, and his color changed from coffee to crimson.

  “Oh my goodness,” Sadie said. “You’re not going to explode or something, are you?”

  Done psyching himself up, Pete took off like a sprinter from the start and bolted bucking towards the silver dollar.

  Sadie shrieked.

  At full gallop, Pete launched himself towards the silver dollar and smacked her broadside. Sadie tumbled over twice, freed from her asphalt fetters and now face-up to the sky. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  Sadie looked about. “Penny? Penny, where’d you go?”

  After smacking into the silver dollar, Pete flew rebounding into the highway. There, a passing Greyhound mowed him over with its right front tire, and then its rear left. Dazed, he bucked drunken-like into the opposite lane. A Volkswagen van kicked him careening off the highway and into the desert, where he smashed into a boulder, and flopped heads-up.

  Pete shook the stars from his eye and did a quick body check to see if he was still in one piece. He saw some new dings and scratches, but at this
point in his career, they hardly mattered.

  “Get your kicks on Route 66,” he slurred, happy to have survived.

  He heard a strange sound and noticed a movement out the corner of his eye. He turned and saw a coiled rattlesnake, its head raised and its rattle clattering.

  Pete grimaced. “Jeepers creepers. Good snakey, good snakey…”

  The snake’s head swayed and its tongue flicked. Its oily black peepers stared down at Pete as if in deliberation.

  Pete began to edge away ever so slowly, but the snake reared preparing to strike, its rattle increasing in threat and intensity.

  Pete froze. What to do? What to do?

  If only he could fly out of there, blast off like a rocket.

  And then he remembered something. He remembered Deirdre’s first buck, the coiled burst of energy that shot her streaking into the stratosphere. It was a power that Chief Iron Tail called a coin’s “inner wampum,” an emotion-charged will deep within a coin’s core.

  Pete concentrated and called forth his wampum, which wasn’t difficult as he was so scared that every whisker in Abe Lincoln’s beard was standing on end.

  “Opa!” Pete exploded like a blasting cap and rocketed skyward. He whizzed higher and higher.

  Sadie, meanwhile, continued to wonder where he could have gone.

  “Penny?” she called. “Penny, where are you? You can’t just leave an old lady at the side of the road like this!”

  Pete crash landed back onto the highway. He bounced, tumbled, rolled, and was hit by an eastbound 1956 Buick Century Riviera, which spat him sliding across the road. He came to rest beside Sadie, who was looking the other way.

  Pete groaned, startling Sadie to a shriek.

  “Oh, grow up, penny,” Sadie scolded. “Don’t you know it’s not nice to sneak up on an old lady like that?!”

  “Sorry,” Pete moaned.

  “Now what do we do?”

  Pete righted himself and swayed, still woozy after his recent adventures. He stumbled a few rolls forwards and then backwards to regain his equilibrium.

  Sadie said, “For a bent coin, I must admit you’re very good on your rim.”

  “Thanks. Wait. Huh?” He looked down at the silver dollar. “You mean, you know about locomotion? You’ve seen it before?”

  “Once, but not in a penny.”

  “Where?” Pete asked with astonishment.

  “Right here on Highway 66. During its construction.”

  “But that was a long time ago.”

  “1938, anyway. What’s the date today?”

  “1958.”

  “Oh my. I feel like I’ve awoken from a coma.”

  “Sadie, are you sure you’ve seen such a thing before? Maybe, maybe you’re, well, imagining things.”

  “My memory is fine, Paul Penny.”

  “Pete. Pete Penny.”

  “My memory is perfect, Peter Paul Penny.”

  Pete wasn’t so sure about that, but come to think of it, the silver dollar wasn’t surprised to see him roll by. Normally, whenever a coin caught its first glimpse of locomotion its jaw dropped rattling onto its rim. Not so Sadie.

  “Who was this coin?”

  “A monster,” she spat.

  “Monster?”

  “Oh, he wasn’t ugly, no. On the contrary, he was exceedingly handsome. Bright, shiny, and newly minted. He was quite stuck on himself. A real prima donna.”

  “But a monster, really?”

  Sadie cast a thousand-yard stare and nodded as sure as the road was long. “Those poor pennies you saw, they were his doing.”

  Pete gasped. “A coin did that? A coin murdered them?”

  “How else do you think I got here?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, coins can find themselves in all sorts of unfortunate situations. I’ve known a few myself.”

  “I’m a silver dollar. Do you think a person would leave me behind? I don’t know about today, but I could buy a lot in 1938.”

  “You can still do pretty good,” Pete assured her.

  “Thank you, sweetie.” She smiled and batted her eyelashes.

  “Tell me more about this coin, Sadie.”

  “It was night. The construction crew had just laid the last stretch of blacktop and had set up a makeshift camp. There was nothing out this way, miles from nowhere, you know, and so a lot of the crew camped along the side of the road in tents. And with camping came drinking; and with drinking, card games. And with card games—”

  “Betting and coins,” Pete said. “But you said those coins I saw were killed by another coin, not people.”

  “The coins were sitting on the ground next to the people in small piles. And as none of the crew had much money, the stakes were small, mostly pennies. The people drank, laughed, and played their poker and whatnot, and so what do coins do at times like that?”

  “What they do at all times,” Pete answered, “yak and yammer.”

  “Right, only this time they were harassing the new kid in camp, the shiny nickel.”

  Pete felt a cold tingle run round his ring. “A nickel? Are you sure?”

  “Of course. A new face, Thomas Jefferson. They just started minting Jeffersons. Do they still?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hmm, well if they are anything like that fellow, then we’re in for a world of trouble.”

  “A 1938, you’re sure about that?”

  “That’s when they replaced the Indians and buffaloes, isn’t it?”

  Pete nodded, and he felt a little faint. “This nickel, was he a five-cent nickel?”

  Sadie laughed. “Really, Paul, are you okay? What a silly question. What other kind of nickel could there possibly be?”

  “Pete, Sadie. Pete.” He blew an exasperated and worry-wracked sigh. “Did you see it’s reverse side? Did you see five cents inscribed there?”

  “Nooo,” she answered, drawing out the word with her recollection. “Only his obverse. But really, Paul, anything other than five cents being there would be, well, preposterous. Paul? … Paul, maybe you should lie down. You’re looking a little…I don’t know that color. Maroon, maybe?”

  Pete flopped onto his wheat side. “Go on,” he said weakly.

  “As I was saying, the coins began teasing the nickel, on account he was foppish and stuck up. It was all in good fun. Coins like to tease, I’m sure you know that better than most.”

  Pete grimaced.

  “The nickel didn’t like it one bit. He became incensed. And the angrier it got, the more the others ribbed him. The nickel threatened the pennies and said he was going to kill them, which only drew more ridicule and laughter, of course. What was he going to do, glare them to death?”

  “But the nickel kept his word. How?”

  “Eventually, the construction crew either passed out or went to sleep, leaving a lot of the coins outside on the ground. It was dark and pennies blended into the landscape, so they were easy to forget, I suppose. That night while the construction crew slept, the nickel crept out and started shoving and frogmarching the coins towards the freshly laid tarmac. He lined them up in a row, and then one by one, he stomped down on their edges, shooting them into the moist asphalt like a squidger in a game of Tiddlywinks.”

  “They didn’t fight back?”

  “How? We couldn’t believe our eyes. Who had ever imagined such a thing possible?”

  “Right…go on.”

  “All night long the nickel kept up his killing spree. It was awful. I can still hear the screams. And he didn’t stop then. For days, whenever he saw his chance, he’d bump or nudge or ram a coin into that gooey asphalt. Eventually, he got me, even though I never said anything to him. He had gone totally mad.”

  “Did he ever say why he was doing it?”

  “No, he just kept repeating ‘e pluribus unum, e pluribus unum.’”

  Pete gasped. “No, it can’t be!”

  “You think I’d make up such a tale? And it wasn’t just what he said, but how he said it. He seethed the words
, chanting them like an incantation. It was so spooky!”

  Pete was back on his rim looking down at the silver dollar. “Did he…did he say anything else?”

  She thought for a moment, and then her eye widened. For the first time Pete noticed that Sadie was a cross-eyed Liberty silver dollar. He couldn’t tell where she was looking, but wherever it was, it was in horror.

  “I-I still don’t know what he meant by it,” she stammered. “But it was very eerie and I get the heebie-jeebies whenever I think of it.”

  Pete spun and dashed away with his own case of the willies. He was afraid to hear anymore.

  “Paul,” Sadie cried after him. “Paul, what’s the matter?!”

  Pete slid to a halt and slowly turned. He clamped down on his lower lip. No, no, whatever it was, he had to face it. He rolled back to the silver dollar.

  Sadie tsk-tsked him. “Really, my dear, you’re the oddest Lincoln I’ve ever known.”

  “What did the nickel say?”

  “Four.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “He intoned the word over and over in a deep haunting voice—four, four, four—like a curse.”

  Pete swallowed hard and asked in a dry whisper, “Did the nickel have a name?”

  “It was a long time ago. I don’t…Noah…Neil…Norris…Nick…”

  “Ned?” Pete rasped.

  “Ned!”

  Pete swooned and toppled over. He stared up at the circling vultures and muttered, “My best friend is Jekyll and Hyde?”

  “Paul dear? Paul, are you okay?”

  7

  cash flows

  October 1958 — Coin Island — Laughing Hawk Stadium and Training Center

  “Boy,” Darla said to Deirdre, “who’d ever have thought Ned had such a martial streak? Or such a temper.”

  Deirdre chuckled. “Sometimes I wonder if we ever really know The Four. He seems to become more unpredictable every year.”

  Darla nudged Deirdre and tossed an indicating glance towards the chief, who was standing on a nearby knoll looking down at the training field. He was nodding in approval.