“Don’t worry, I don’t tell them anything. I just ask questions.”
“So how did you figure it out?”
“I wasn’t sure until now, of course, but when I began hearing stories about a marvelous phantom penny—a penny who looked like he’d been through a garbage disposal and back—I began to have my suspicions.”
Ned glanced down at the parked car. Stryker must have talked himself into the house. They had a few minutes at least, he figured.
“Tell me more about this ‘phantom penny.’”
“The rumor is that three masked coins—two pennies and a cockeyed silver dollar—have been showing up wherever a gold coin has been in the news.”
“Masked?” Ned laughed. “What kind of mask?”
“Like Zorro or the Lone Ranger. A penny of steel and a penny of copper. The copper penny wears a red mask, the steely a black mask, and the silver dollar and her eagle, purple masks. You mean you haven’t seen him?”
“Only once, about a week after he almost drowned. Since then we’ve only communicated through flame. No visuals.”
“How’d you pull off that meeting?”
“Kipp Quarter. After Pete escaped near death at the hands of Damian Dime, Kipp hid the coins in Arizona’s Petrified Forest. Kipp contacted me and we arranged a rendezvous. It was then when we decided that Kipp should return to the Grand Canyon base where he could keep an eye on Damian. We didn’t want Damian to know what we knew.”
Hannah said, “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”
“Exactly.”
“When Darla heard that Pete had died, she was heartbroken,” Hannah said. “She doesn’t know either? That seems so cruel. The poor dime sobbed for a week.”
“It’s better this way,” Ned said regrettably. “But you were right about something else. Deirdre and the chief do know.”
“How’d they find out?”
“I told them. Between the chief’s visions and Deirdre’s uncanny smarts, I knew they’d find out eventually. If they learned the truth and that I was holding it back from them, there would’ve been hell to pay. It was Deirdre’s idea that Pete remained dead. She thought he could be more helpful dead than alive.”
“Poor Pete,” Hannah said. “What did he say when you broke the news to him that he was dead?”
“‘Story of my life.’”
Hannah chuckled. “I miss that pathetic penny, but I’m thrilled he’s still alive. I wish the others could know too.”
“One day, hopefully, but for now you’ve got to keep it to yourself. It’s just Kipp, Deirdre, the chief, me and you, okay?”
Hannah nodded. “That does explain you sneaking off now and then in search of a flame.”
“Sorry about the deception, but I’m glad you know now. It makes things a lot easier.”
“Yeah, well, don’t think you’re off the hook this easily, buster. I’m still offended that nobody thought they could trust me and that you all thought I’d be too stupid to figure it out.”
“Nobody thought you couldn’t be trusted, Hannah. Darla, Two Loons, Cody, Harper, Camille, or any of the others either. But if we told one, but not another, then eventually all their feelings would be hurt. Also, the more coins who knew, the greater the odds of blowing Pete’s cover.”
“And that you didn’t think I’d sniff out the plot?” Hannah said, fists to hips.
Ned never got over how great Hannah looked. As a beautiful and shapely, full-bodied 1921 Walking Liberty half dollar, she was far more expressive than the rest of the blinking, nodding heads one mostly encountered.
“We didn’t think you were stupid, Hannah. We thought we were too smart.”
“Good answer, chump change.”
Ned grinned. “These informants you spoke about, they don’t know Pete’s true identity, do they?”
“Not that I could tell, no. They think the phantom penny is some sort of crime fighter.”
Ned laughed. “Crime fighter?”
Hannah gave him a scouring glance to see if he knew anything about what she was telling him, but he looked genuinely surprised.
“That’s not part of his cover?” she asked.
“No,” he laughed. “His job is to find Franny for me. Deirdre Dime and the chief forbid me from looking for her, as you know. The Six is counting on that. But Nicolai wouldn’t see a dead penny coming.”
“Ohh…kay,” Hannah said. “Now I get it. So this is all about finding Franny.”
“Find Franny and we find Nicolai Nickel, hopefully before the six-center finds me.”
“But if you were going to send Pete on such a dangerous mission,” Hannah argued, “couldn’t you have sent him with more capable coinage? From what I’ve been able to tell, those Keystone coins he travels with are kookier than a drunken kopek. Why didn’t you choose Kipp Quarter? He already knew the truth.”
“Because he had to stick with Darla at the Grand Canyon base, otherwise Damian Dime would have become suspicious.”
“Right, well then, Cody or Camille would have been good. I’m sure either one of the quarters would have volunteered for the mission.”
“We considered that, of course, but Cody was already assigned to monitoring The Hugh, and besides, their absence would have been too conspicuous. Faking one death was tough enough. If you recall, after the Memphis debacle, morale was already in the gutter. And then came the news about Pete’s demise. It took months to recover from those setbacks.”
“I just don’t think we should have put Pete in that kind of danger without anyone having his back. That zany silver dollar and her equally gnat-brained eagle couldn’t protect a rusty washer.”
“Sadie and Ernie risked their lives to save Pete at the falls. I’ll take courage over brains every time. Besides, choosing them wasn’t my decision; that was Pete’s.”
“That silly steely too?”
“Maybe he didn’t choose them exactly,” Ned admitted. “The steely’s name is Lenny. He was one of Damian’s lackeys. He’s the one who shoved Pete into the river. Pete saved his metallic butt. Now Lenny worships the guy. When I met him at the Petrified Forest, I saw Lenny follow Pete around like a puppy. It was hilarious, even touching. But yeah, between him and Sadie Silver Dollar, Pete has his hands full.”
“So why did Pete pick them? We could have trained someone new for the job, couldn’t we have?”
“There was no time for that, and Pete’s a softy. He felt bad for them. Sadie cries at the mere thought of Pete leaving her, and losing Lenny would be like losing your own shadow.”
“Sheesh.”
They heard the slamming of a door and saw Monroe Stryker head towards his car.
“I don’t like that smirk on his face,” Hannah said.
“I don’t like that wallet in his hand,” Ned added. “Let’s go. Aim for the back bumper.”
Hannah Half Dollar hopped from the chimney, and her eagle, Emma, quickly attained flight. They grabbed up Ned and swooped down towards the car. The coins stowed themselves behind the coupe’s license plate.
6
bombs and psalms
Pasadena, California — Later that day…
Monroe Stryker pulled into the cracked driveway of his drab suburban home on a street of equally tired-looking and formulaic residences. Bland aluminum siding wrapped the house, and its yard contained a single elm tree with a tire swing hanging over a spotty lawn of brown, desiccated grass.
The motor running, he got out of the coupe, lifted the door to the garage, got back in, and inched the vehicle into the garage’s crammed cavern. He grabbed his wallet from the seat, and careful not to bang the door into a child’s bicycle, he extricated himself from the car. Squeezing sideways between piles of junk along the garage’s walls, he entered the house.
Hannah Half Dollar, with Ned in tow, followed the man inside. She kept low behind him, just above his belt line so that he wouldn’t spot them. If the man turned, she’d swing with him.
Stryker called out, “Adam,
are you home?”
No one answered.
Stryker entered the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He peeked into some foil-wrapped plates and bowls, frowned, and shut the door. He looked about and spotted a bowl of fruit. After shoving aside a brown banana and a wrinkled orange, he picked out an apple, took a bite, and exited the room with it.
“Adam?”
He proceeded to the back of the house, passing through a den furnished with threadbare sofas and chairs and a black-and-white Zenith TV, and then into a hallway lined with family photos on the walls.
Hannah and Ned followed closely behind, keeping at waist level.
Stryker strolled past a bathroom and two bedrooms to the end of the hall, stepped onto a small throw rug, and slid it back with his foot, exposing a metal hatch. He bent down, twisted a latch, and lifted the lid.
The man descended four cement steps and fumbled for a switch with his apple-holding hand. A naked incandescent bulb lit the remainder of the staircase. He turned and climbed back up the steps, Hannah revolving with him.
The home’s previous owner installed the chamber during the height of the Russian nuclear scare, intending to use it as a bomb shelter. He was the only person on the block to do so, but for Monroe Stryker it was the secret addition that sealed the deal. He wasn’t afraid of nuclear war, but he liked his privacy and no other homes he could afford had a basement.
Stryker closed the hatch and then continued ten steps down the narrow corridor to a dark room. When he reached the bottom he hit another switch, revealing a windowless chamber.
The square-shaped, 12-by-12 foot cavity contained a single wooden table and one hard-backed chair on a concrete floor. A long, standing workbench stood against one wall, and beneath it a bedroom dresser. Above the workbench ran two sets of shelves separated by a perforated tool panel. The shelves and peg boards continued around the room, and attached with hooks to the peg board dangled different pliers, hammers, screw drivers, saws, drill bits, and an assortment of other tools that a handyman or hobbyist might need.
Stryker proceeded directly to the workbench. He tossed his apple core into an empty paint can that doubled as a waste bin, flicked on a switch to a desk lamp, and withdrew his wallet from his back pocket.
Hannah flew Ned to the top shelf on a wall that allowed them to spy on the man from the side. They flipped upright and rolled between a brass candlestick and a red Hills Bros. coffee tin, which they assumed held spare nails, screws, and bolts. Hannah Half Dollar, who was taller, peered over Ned’s shoulder.
Stryker unzipped the wallet’s coin compartment and pinched up the penny and quarter he pilfered from Mr. Sterling. He placed them on the workbench and reached for a magnifying glass hanging from the pegboard. He held the lens over the coins and began to examine them.
Hannah whispered. “Are those coins he’s looking at?”
“Porter Penny and Quimby Quarter.”
“You know them?” Hannah said with surprise.
“I met them under Seymour Sterling’s cushion during the raid.” Ned chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking how many times that has happened. Have you ever wondered how much money in America is out of circulation because it’s lost under millions and millions of cushions?”
“I can honestly say the thought never occurred to me, Ned.”
“I think about such things. Imagine if all that lost change suddenly reentered the marketplace. I think it would provide a big boost to the economy. Why, I think—”
“Ned,” Hannah interrupted, “why would Stryker want them? Were the coins valuable?”
“A 1959 penny and a ’58 quarter.”
“That’s common coinage. What interest could the man possibly have in them?”
“Maybe they were just missing from his collection. Not all coins have to be old.”
“I don’t know, Ned. This room gives me the creeps. It’s like a dungeon, and it smells of—”
Ned sneezed. “Dust?”
“Death.”
Ned looked around. He saw no torture racks, whips or chains, or corpses suspended from the ceiling.
“Relax, Hannah. The room is too small to hide any bodies. It’s just a little workshop.”
“A little workshop of horrors,” Hannah said. “And who said anything about people?”
Stryker pushed the penny aside and focused on the larger quarter. He turned it over and peered closer, scratching at the quarter’s eagle with his thumbnail. He frowned, flipped it back over, and reached for a feathered pen.
Holding the magnifying glass over the coin with one hand, with the other he placed the tip of the feather under George Washington’s chin. “Coochy-coochy coo,” he sang.
“Is he tickling the quarter?” Hannah said, flabbergasted.
“It sure looks like it.”
“But that’s torture! I’ve never met a coin who wasn’t ticklish. The man really is onto us.”
“Coochy-coochy coo, I see you,” Stryker sang again.
“The fiend,” Hannah said. “Have you ever seen such cruelty?”
“Actually, I’ve seen a lot worse than tickling, Hannah.”
“Yeah, but the person did it out of ignorance. This man is doing it on purpose!”
“He’s trying to cross over to Coinworld. He’s trying to wring the truth out of the poor quarter.”
“Quimby,” Porter Penny called to his friend. “Hold on! Don’t give in! If he sees you laughing, we’re done for!”
Quimby couldn’t answer as long as the magnifying glass was over him. Clearly the collector was looking for the slightest movement. The quarter bit his lip and tried to distract his mind. He thought about baseball.
“I know you’re in there,” Stryker said. “Don’t make me come and get you, quarter.”
“Oh, Ned,” Hannah said, “what kind of madness have we stumbled into? What could he possibly be talking about? Does he think we’re possessed by some demon or something?”
“Could be. To his mind, it might be the only way he can explain us. But if so, that’s a good thing.”
“Good?” Hannah said, incredulous. “What’s good about it? He’s threatening the quarter with something worse than tickling.”
“It means he hasn’t totally crossed over. He knows, but he doesn’t believe.”
“But clearly he believes,” Hannah said, “otherwise he wouldn’t be doing this.”
“He believes coins can move. He believes they can think and act, but he thinks it comes from without, not from within. He thinks something or someone is animating us. It’s the last barrier to fully understanding that Coinworld is real, and once that happens all hell could break loose.”
Hannah gulped. “Hell?”
“With total belief he could see the unseeable, know the unknowable, and do the impossible.”
“How do you know that?” Hannah asked. “No one has ever seen it happen before.”
“The chief told me. The Coinim spoke of such a possibility in one of his visions.”
“Why didn’t he inform the rest of us?”
“He didn’t see the need to.”
“Then why did he tell you?”
“‘Cuz I’m The Four, I guess. He thought it was something I should know.”
Monroe Stryker set aside the feathered pen and magnifying glass and glared at the quarter. He tapped his fingers on the workbench in thought, and then dragged the penny beside his friend and leaned in close. He smiled menacingly at the terrified coins.
“This is far from over, boys.”
Stryker walked across the room and retrieved an old fishing tackle box from one of the shelves. He returned to the work table and flipped it open.
“Quimby,” Porter said uneasily. “Wh-what’s he going to do to us?”
“I don’t know, but what could be worse than tickling?”
“I’m glad it was you and not me,” Porter confessed. “My tickle threshold is zilch. He’d have had me giggling like a
baby.”
“I nearly bit through my lip.”
“I don’t know what will happen next, but just know that I have a whole new respect for you, Quimby. You really took it like a man. I’m sure that somewhere George Washington is smiling.”
“Thanks, pal. Coming from you, it means a lot to me.”
The two coins exchanged nervous grins and returned their gazes to the mad collector. They saw the man withdraw a small disk-shaped device with two tubes connected to earpieces.
“What’s that thing?” Porter asked.
“I saw one once at a doctor’s office. It’s called a stethoscope.”
“It looks harmless enough. What’s it used for?”
“See that gizmo at the end? The doctor placed it against the chest of the patient.”
“What for?”
“To listen to the man’s heart.”
A beat passed, and then the two coins swung their heads and stared at each other with dread. “Listen?” they croaked.
“Ned,” Hannah asked urgently, “do we have hearts?”
“Not one that beats. But I don’t think that’s what he’s counting on.”
Stryker inserted the stethoscope’s earpieces and placed the instrument’s resonator over the penny. He listened.
“Porter,” Quimby said, “if you can hear me, don’t say anything. Play dead!”
The collector reached for an X-acto knife and slipped the blade underneath the resonator. He poked at the coin and continued listening. After a minute of probing, he grunted and removed the resonator.
“Porter, are you okay?” Quimby asked.
“You can put an eye out with that stick! Luckily, all I lost was a few of Abe’s whiskers. How long is this maniac going to keep this up?”
“Hopefully he’ll tire soon. Just keep playing dead.”
Stryker turned to the tackle box again, ferreted inside, and withdrew a pair of tweezers. He set the tweezers on the desk, opened a dresser drawer under the workbench, and pulled out a candle.
Coinworld [Book Three] Page 5