Coinworld [Book Three]

by Benjamin Laskin

  Yellow shirt said, “Heck, I’d swap him my fat wife, bratty kids, and lousy friends in a heartbeat for all of this!”

  The others laughed and drained their drinks.

  “Another round?” Huxley said.

  “You betcha!” they answered.

  Huxley picked up an English handbell and gave it a ring.

  Seconds later an older, white-haired and well-dressed man in suit and bow tie appeared strolling down the garden path towards them. Under his arm he carried a silver serving tray.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Auden?”

  “Marshall, another round, please.”

  “Certainly. Anything else?”

  “Who’s hungry?” Huxley asked the group.

  Each man’s hand shot into the air.

  “What’s cooking in that big kitchen?” Huxley asked Marshall.

  “Not a problem, sir. Whatever you like.”

  “Surprise us, would you?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Auden,” the butler answered with a slight bow.

  Marshall picked up the men’s glasses and set them on his silver tray. He reached for an empty bowl. “More nuts, gentlemen?” he asked.

  “Fill ‘er up, Marshall,” said the pink-faced man. He turned to Huxley. “Even the nuts are the best I’ve ever had!”

  Huxley grinned and looked up at the butler. “Would you mind bringing some chips and dip with those nuts too?”

  “Not a problem, sir.”

  The butler smiled cordially, stepped down from the gazebo, and headed towards the mansion.

  The two men sitting next to Huxley Auden slapped him on his thin, bony shoulders in delight.

  Huxley smiled big and proud. He reached inside his sports coat. “Cigar, gentlemen?”

  The men clapped and rubbed their hands with glee. “You betcha!”

  Huxley Auden passed out the cigars. “My brother only smokes the best,” he boasted. “Cuban! Don’t ask me how he got ‘em, but what do we care!”

  The men chortled and lit up their stogies.

  The pink-faced man smiled big and expelled a satisfying puff of smoke. “This is the life!”

  Below the gazebo Franny sat on her throne and peppered the three guards beside her with questions about golf.

  Two of the guards, Colin and Clinton Quarters, ’55 and ’61 Washington eagle-backed quarters, enjoyed sharing their expertise with the beautiful Peace Dollar. Derek Dime, a torch-bearing ’51 Roosevelt, rolled his eye at their baloney. The quarters knew as much about golf as the four losers sitting above in the gazebo knew about gainful employment, he thought.

  Weary of their chatter, Derek said, “‘Scuse me, but The Six told us not to fraternize with the lady.”

  “Aw, c’mon, Derek,” Clinton Quarter grumbled, “you won’t squeal on us, will you?”

  “Yeah, dime,” Colin said. “How often do we get a little R & R, huh? The dollar isn’t going anywhere, and other than those four jerks in the gazebo, we haven’t had one human poking his nose around the garden.”

  “I don’t trust these guys,” Derek said. “They’re going to be sloshed soon and one of them might start snooping around or looking for a place to pee. I say we call a beetle sled over here and move the lady to a safer location.”

  Colin and Clinton looked at each other, frowned, and turned to Derek Dime.

  “If we do that,” Colin groused, “we won’t be able to watch the golf tournament. Look, I think that’s Arnold Palmer stepping up to the tee!”

  “You can still see plenty from the other side of the bushes,” the dime retorted. “I’m looking after all our tails. If anything were to happen to the silver dollar, The Six will have Dominique send all of us to the bottom of the Pacific.”

  “It’s okay, fellas,” Franny said to the quarters. “You know The Six’s temper, and I don’t want anyone getting hurt because of me.”

  “All right, all right,” Clinton said. “Get your torch over here and I’ll call maintenance to send over a sled.”

  The Roosevelt dime trundled over and gave Clinton his back.

  “Why don’t we just fly her over?” Colin asked.

  “And chance one of those guys in the gazebo spotting us?” Derek said, torching up. “Brilliant, Colin.”

  Derek got maintenance on the line and Clinton Quarter ordered a beetle transport over to “the princess.” The quarter ended the call and said, “A wagon and a couple of pennies are on their way. Ten minutes. There’s a work crew at the rose bush underpass. Last week’s rains washed it out and engineers are clearing the rubble.”

  “Hey, look,” the pink-faced man said. “Something’s going on over there.”

  The others raised their binoculars and trained them on the golf course. They saw Arnold Palmer swinging his club at the air as if swatting away a bat. The golfer’s caddy joined in and soon cameramen rushed up to film the footage.

  “I can’t tell what’s going on,” the man in the purple shirt said. “Hux, you got a radio?”

  Huxley Auden pulled out a handheld GE transistor radio from the pocket of his sport coat and tuned to the live broadcast of the golf tournament on one of the local channels.

  “…If that’s not the darnedest thing, ladies and gentlemen,” the tinny voice of the announcer said. “It looks like some sort of insects or tiny birds are hassling Mr. Palmer. I’m told they keep snatching away his tees!” The announcer laughed. “The King’s not happy about it either. What do you think, Chris?”

  “I think whatever they are, they snapped Palmer’s concentration.”

  “Look, there! Some silvery thing just nabbed another tee from the caddy’s bag!” The announcer laughed uproariously. “Okay, well, whatever they were, they seem to have moved on. Chris, have you ever seen that before?”

  “No, Vance, can’t say that I have.”

  “Well, let’s see what effect the interruption had on Mr. Palmer. He’s teeing up. He’s looking around. He’s shaking his head, and now he’s getting ready. And here’s the swing… Oh, boy. That’s a nasty slice. The ball is headed straight for the big sand trap.”

  “The one nicknamed Satan’s Sand Trap, Vance?”

  “That’s the one, Chris.”

  “Poof! And there it sits,” Announcer Chris said.

  “And Mr. Palmer doesn’t look too pleased about it either!” Announcer Vance chortled. “Whoa! The King just banged his club on the ground and whipped it down the fairway!”

  Paco and Parker, two Lincoln Memorial pennies, returned to the rose bush underpass with their Tinkertoy-made beetle-drawn wagon. Just as they were about to scoop up a rim-full of muddy sand and flick it into the wagon, their foreman, a ’57 Roosevelt dime rolled up and ordered them to stop.

  “What’s the matter, boss?” asked Paco Penny.

  “Yeah,” grumbled Parker. “What did we do now?”

  “Relax,” the foreman said. “We have a yellow alert at the gazebo. Nothing serious, but I need you pennies to head over there to tote the princess away.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” Paco said, “but I don’t know if her highness is gonna wanna flop down on that.” He indicated the sludge-covered playing card that served as the floor of the wagon.

  The foreman glanced at the filthy Jack of Hearts. “Yo, brainiacs, just flip it over. Come on, I’ll help you. We’re in a hurry here.”

  Paco and Parker exchanged why-didn’t-we-think-of-that looks, and after some clumsy maneuvering the three coins turned over the card.

  “Not much improvement,” Paco said.

  “It’ll do,” the foreman assured them. “Now, get going.”

  The dime bucked off and the two pennies led the lumbering beetle and its cart in the direction of the gazebo.

  When they rounded the first bend two coins leapt out in front of them.

  “Halt!” said a copper penny in a red mask.

  “This is a hold up,” said a black-masked steel penny.

  Paco and Parker exchanged baffled looks, and then bust out laughing.

  �
�What’s so funny?” snarled the steel penny.

  “One,” Parker Penny said, “you Lincolns look ridiculous. And two, what are you going to steal from us? Our wallets?” Paco and Parker laughed some more.

  “We’re taking the beetle,” the grungy copper penny in the black mask said.

  Paco looked at the big black horned beetle. “Bruce? You want my Bruce? You can’t have him!”

  “And the wagon,” the steel penny said menacingly.

  “Yeah?” Parker growled back. “You and what spare change?”

  From out of the foliage on the other side of the path came the answer, “Thirty-nine cents worth.”

  The two pennies swung their heads and saw a shiny nickel buck out from behind a batch of dandelions and onto the path. A moment later he was joined by a ’23 Mercury dime and a 1950 Washington quarter. The dime twisted and waved her hatchet-like fasces at the stunned pennies. The quarter held a blue wooden golf tee clutched in its eagle’s claw. The eagle smacked the tee’s head threateningly on the ground like a club.

  Paco Penny said, “You said thirty-nine cents. I’m counting forty.”

  The nickel grinned and turned slowly around.

  “The Four!” Parker Penny exclaimed. “Buck for it, Paco!”

  The two pennies took off in a mad dash down the path.

  Not wanting the pennies to alert the rest of the base that it had been infiltrated, Ned and Kipp Quarter chased after them.

  Darla Dime stared trembling at Pete Penny, and then sprinted over to him. She bowled him over and smothered him with teary-eyed kisses.

  “Oh, Pete, you’re alive! You cruel, stupid, adorable penny. I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”

  “Wow, Wheatman,” Lenny said, “you never told me you’re such a stud. From now on, I’m taking notes!”

  Ned rolled zipping down the path after the two fleeing pennies, and then launched himself flipping into the air. He slammed down on top of Paco, driving the penny headfirst into the ground. Ned stomped onto the penny’s edge, popped him into the air, twirled, and smacked the penny. Paco soared through the air and landed with a splash four feet off the ground inside the garden’s birdbath.

  Kipp, meanwhile, had caught up with Parker Penny. He swung his golf tee at the penny’s bottom edge, and knocked his rim out from under him. He stamped on Parker’s rim, teed him up, and then Erasmus Eagle swatted the penny with the fat end of the golf tee as Kipp hollered, “Fore!”

  Parker Penny flew tumbling higher and higher, and then disappeared into the branches of a pine tree where he landed inside a bird nest.

  Kipp tossed away the tee and looked to see how Ned was doing. He saw The Four looking on, nodding in approval.

  Ned said, “Now that’s what I call a birdie.”

  The two coins chuckled and hustled back to the others.

  22

  smoke signals

  Ned, Kipp, and Darla hopped into the cart, and Pete and Lenny covered them with a couple of leaves. Whistling the “Colonel Bogey March” from “The Bridge on the River Kwai,” the two pennies led Bruce the beetle laboring down the dirt path and towards the gazebo.

  When they arrived at the gazebo, Pete and Lenny leaned slightly forward, their heads bowed looking at the ground.

  “Rim-breaking work,” Clinton Quarter remarked. “For what it’s worth, fellas,” he said to the two pennies, “you construction guys don’t get enough credit around here.”

  Pete and Lenny nodded, but said nothing.

  “Okay,” Derek Dime said, “back the wagon up to the throne and we’ll nudge the princess inside. Chop, chop.”

  The pennies maneuvered the beetle into position and the two quarters hopped onto Franny’s stone pedestal.

  Colin asked, “Just the princess, or the jewelry box too?”

  “The cart is kinda dirty and has leaves in it,” Clinton added.

  “Then the whole thing,” Derek said. “That’s easiest, anyway. Yo, pennies, clear those leaves out of there, would you?”

  The pennies balked.

  “You guys deaf?” the dime said. “Move it.”

  Pete and Lenny shambled to the back of the cart, hopped up, kicked off the leaves, and jumped back down.

  Dime-sized Derek was too short to peer inside and didn’t see the three coins lying flat and heads-up.

  Quarters Colin and Clinton, who were standing on the stone pedestal, had no such problem.

  Detecting bewilderment in the quarters’ faces, Derek Dime barked, “What are you waiting for? We don’t have all day.”

  “Um, there’s three dead coins in there,” Clinton said.

  “What? Dead…?”

  Derek hopped to peer into the wagon and caught a glimpse of the coins. He turned to the two pennies who were still bowed to the ground.

  “Yo, pennies, what are you operating here, a hearse? Do you think the princess is going to lie down on top of a corpse?”

  “No,” said a voice from inside the cart, “but you might.”

  “Huh?”

  The three coins sprang from the wagon and onto the ground.

  “Ned!” Franny cried.

  “You know him?” Derek Dime said, flummoxed.

  Clinton Quarter said to Colin, “Is that who I think it is?”

  “Oh, Ned,” Franny said, “I knew you’d come. I never doubted it!”

  “What’s going on here?” Derek demanded. “I’ve never seen you coins before. And pennies, what’s with the masks?”

  “Wheatman and Steelman to you, pal,” Lenny said.

  “Who?”

  “The Masked Mintage, baby!” Lenny crowed.

  Kipp Quarter said, “We’re taking the Peace Dollar. You can back off nice and easy, or you can back off with your heads up your tail-sides.”

  “Oh, boy,” Clinton said. “The Six is going to kill us.”

  “No, he’s not,” Derek said. “He’s going to pin a medal on us!”

  He whipped around, and turning his torch to high, blasted it at the invaders like a flamethrower.

  The coins dove out of the way and the torch blazed into the Tinkertoy cart, setting it aflame.

  “Uh-oh,” Clinton said.

  “Get them!” Derek hollered.

  Colin and Clinton leapt from the stone pedestal onto Kipp Quarter and tackled him to the ground.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” Lenny said, and charged at the quarters. He barreled into Colin and rammed him into the burning wagon.

  Ned bounded onto the stone and over to Franny. “We’re going to get you out of here, and this time I’m not losing you!” He let out a sharp whistle, calling for Hannah and Sadie Silver Dollar. He looked up at the cloudless sky, but they were nowhere to be seen.

  In the gazebo, Marshall returned with his silver tray and handed each man an attractively-adorned plate of big juicy hamburgers and fries.

  Marshall sniffed at the air. “Anyone else smell smoke?” he asked.

  The men held up their cigars and waved them in the air.

  “Cuban smoke, you dummy,” Huxley laughed.

  Marshall frowned and pursed his thin lips in consternation. “I don’t recall them smelling like that.”

  The others put their sniffers to the breeze, exchanged shrugs, and reached for their fries.

  Marshall shook his head and walked away.

  Outnumbered, and not much of a brawler to begin with, Derek Dime wheeled back towards the lavender bush. Although the majority of the bullion base’s air force and troops were in Reno to capture The Four, the dime knew that two squadrons of gold eagles remained behind to keep an eye out for trespassers. Unable to speak into his own torch and call for backup, Derek Dime could still send up smoke signals, which he did.

  Kipp bucked Clinton from on top of him, but instead of rushing back at Kipp, the eagle-backed quarter fled off in a roll.

  Darla jumped in front of the fleeing coin to block his escape, but she was no match for the quarter’s size and momentum. He bowled her over and kept rolling.


  “Hey!” Pete yelled, and chased after Clinton.

  Furious at the sight of Darla getting trampled upon, Pete also knew that if the Washington quarter gained flight he’d be a lot more dangerous in the air than on the ground. Just as the quarter was lifting off, Pete shot forth a wheat stalk, lassoed the eagle’s talon, and yanked Clinton back to earth.

  Pete circled the coin, unreeling his wheat stock as he rolled. He spooled it about the quarter, binding the wings of Clinton’s eagle to the coin’s obverse side, immobilizing him. Pete released his stock and left the quarter flopping on the ground.

  Lambent, blue flames crept across the playing card inside the wagon, adding more tinder to the fire. The flames spread quickly and engulfed the cart.

  Lenny and Colin continued to exchange blows. The much bigger quarter spun Lenny around and pinned him against the burning wagon’s wooden Tinkertoy wheel.

  Colin pressed Lenny against the smoking wheel and the steely felt the furnace’s heat on his face. Orange, flaming tongues licked at his edges.

  Bruce the beetle felt the heat of the fire too. He bucked in protest, and then out of desperation to distance himself from the burning wagon, he dragged it forward.

  Lenny slipped from the wheel and both coins fell to the ground. Lenny sprang on top of the quarter and began butting him with his steel head.

  “Take this, quarter!” Lenny cried, beating the quarter unconscious.

  Ned glanced below and saw that if the beetle wasn’t unharnessed quickly it would be swallowed up by the inferno and roasted alive.

  “Kipp!” he cried, “the beetle!”

  Kipp raced over to the beetle and ordered Erasmus to gnaw at the twine that hitched the beetle to the wagon. The eagle screeched its understanding and started chomping and sawing at the string with his beak.

  Panicked by the encroaching flames, Bruce tried to bolt again. He tugged frantically at his harness and jerked the wagon into a clump of dried turf at the base of the gazebo. The wagon’s flames spilled onto the grass and set it ablaze. Seconds later, the fire began to edge up the gazebo’s wooden frame.