The Treasure Hunt Club

by Michael Scott Clifton

  Although Nick could see immediately that the over confidence part wasn’t going to be a problem, remaining on his feet and conscious would be problematic if Carter ever stopped pulling his punches. As for the one blow that Nick so desperately needed an opening to throw, unbeknownst to the others, he had supplied himself with an advantage to help with the force of the blow. He prayed fervently that he would get the opportunity to use it before Carter lost interest and put him down for good.

  Circling each other, the fight went on, with Carter providing almost all the damage to Nick. The minutes seemed to stretch into hours for Nick as he was pummeled relentlessly. Landing only a few awkward blows, Nick kept up the charade as best he could while looking for the opening he sought. Bleeding copiously from his mouth, his right eye almost swollen shut, and a goose egg-sized bruise on his left cheek, Nick was a pathetic sight. Twice, Mark tried to intervene to stop the fight, and both times, Nick had waved him emphatically off.

  Carter, sensing the end was near, now wore a disappointed expression on his face. Like a cat that had tired of playing with the mouse it had caught, Carter moved in for the kill and threw a double combination of a right jab to Nick’s jaw and a left jab to his stomach. Nick dropped like a rock to the hard asphalt.

  Gasping for breath, he tried to get back to his feet.

  “Nick, for the love of God, stay down!” Mark pleaded, tears in his eyes over the beating his friend was taking. Steve, his jaw clenched in anger, moved to interpose himself between Nick and Carter.

  “Stay … stay away!” Nick gasped. “Ma … Mark! Make him stay away!”

  With great reluctance, Mark held his arm up and blocked Steve’s progress. Together, they watched Nick stagger to his feet.

  Carter watched Nick struggle to stand up with a mixture of amusement and for the first time since he had known Nick, a grudging respect.

  Standing before Carter, swaying on his feet and his arms hanging limply by his side, Nick tried to focus his eyes on Carter. Grabbing a handful of Nick’s shirt, Carter held Nick stationary as he sized him up. As if searching for the best possible place on Nick’s face to land the final punch, Carter grimly studied him.

  With Carter roughly grasping Nick’s shirt with one hand and the other held casually by his side, Nick realized abruptly through the fog of pain that the moment he needed had finally arrived.

  Carter had left himself open.

  Nick’s right hand tightened into a hard fist. His knuckles turned white with the effort, and as he prepared to take his one, his only, and his best shot at Carter, memories suddenly flashed before his eyes.

  Carter booby-trapping his school locker.

  Carter dumping a bowl of mashed potatoes and gravy on his head in the cafeteria. Carter dunking him headfirst into a toilet in the locker room. These and so many other insults, humiliations, and embarrassments, all suffered at the hands of Carter Cannon, thundered through Nick’s mind. Then suddenly, there was one final memory—it was of Abby, of their fight, and her driving away while he simply stood and watched. Anger coursed through Nick, and adrenaline surged through his veins.

  With knees flexed and his weight distributed on the balls of his feet, Nick put every ounce of energy and strength into the right uppercut that rose from the fist clenched by his side. Like a freight train, his fist gathered speed as it rushed toward the vulnerable bottom part of Carter’s jaw so prominently displayed.

  Nick’s fist crashed into Carter’s jaw.

  As if watching the whole thing in slow motion, Nick saw Carter’s head snap back violently, his teeth giving an audible click as they smashed together from the force of the blow.

  Releasing Nick’s shirt, Carter staggered back. Standing for a moment, a look of vacant befuddlement on his face, Carter’s eyes seemed to focus and lose focus. Then they rolled back in his head, and Carter collapsed onto the ground, out cold.

  Nick stood gasping as he looked at Carter’s prone form lying on the hard, unyielding asphalt. Although he hurt in a dozen places and could barely stand himself, all he could think about was one thing.

  He had done it; he had knocked out Carter Cannon!

  He had finally faced his fears.

  Nick and Mark stood side by side in the now deserted warehouse lot. Carter’s men had picked up his unconscious form and loaded him, without a word, into one of the Suburbans before driving off. Steve and Kenneth, once they had determined Nick wasn’t seriously hurt and in need of immediate medical attention, had been practically delirious in their joy and congratulations of Nick knocking out Carter. They had left moments earlier, leaving Nick and Mark alone.

  “You took a big chance! A huge chance!” Mark admonished Nick. “Carter was right when he said you just might wake up in a hospital. If you hadn’t landed that lucky punch, well … who knows what would have happened?”

  Grinning through swollen and split lips, Nick said, “I told you I had a plan, and besides, that punch wasn’t so lucky. I had a little help!”

  Eyeing Nick suspiciously, Mark asked, “What do you mean?” “I’ve always had big hands, and when I handed you my coat and Steve my wallet and keys, I took this out of my pocket and held it concealed in my fist.” Holding his right hand out, Nick opened it.

  Mark’s eyes widened as he saw a roll of fifty-cent pieces tightly bound together in plastic. Nick had been holding them when he had knocked Carter out. Unlike brass knuckles that would have been impossible to conceal, the hidden roll of half dollars had provided Nick with the heft and extra solid weight to land a more devastating punch. Mark grinned as he realized that Nick had indeed planned ahead.

  Laughing, the two friends made their way to their cars. This chapter of their lives was finally over.

  It was time to go home.

  Chapter 38

  Hank was dusting off and rearranging some table lamps when he heard the pleasant tinkling of the door to his shop opening. Wiping his hands off with a rag from his back pocket, he hurried to the front of the store. It was a cold, blustery day, and he felt the blast of cold air from the open door long before he reached his destination. A tall, thin man in a beige down jacket was standing with his back to Hank by the store counter. There was something vaguely familiar about the man, even turned away as he was.

  As Hank opened his mouth to greet his customer, the man turned around, and Hank immediately recognized him.

  There was a sad expression on Nick’s face as he reached out and shook Hank’s hand.

  “Hello, Hank. Things don’t look much different than the last time I was here. Business been good?”

  Pumping Nick’s hand, Hank gave a hearty laugh. “Better than I expected, Nick. It keeps me pretty busy.”

  “That’s … that’s good, Hank. That’s real good.”

  The way Nick said this last statement and the peculiar look on his face caused Hank to pause and study Nick intently. It was then that he noticed the pale remnants of bruises around Nick’s eyes and cheeks.

  “What is it? What’s wrong, Nick?” Hank finally asked.

  Sighing heavily, Nick lifted a satchel he was carrying. Placing it on the counter, he took a thin book with a gray binding out of it and held it before him. Hank’s eyes widened as he saw it was The Book of Lost Treasures.

  “I came to give this back to you, Hank.”

  Speechless, Hank stared at the book for long moments. Finally, he said, “But … but the book belongs to you. You bought it fair and square along with the painting.”

  “Yes, I know, but I don’t want it anymore. So I am returning the book to its rightful owner!”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Nick,” Hank said with his jaw thrust forward obstinately. “The book belongs to you!”

  Tired of holding The Book of Lost Treasures, Nick placed it on the wooden counter next to the satchel. Turning back to face Hank, Nick squared his shoulders and gazed directly into the diminutive storeowner’s blue eyes.

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think about the book and all of the ci
rcumstances by which I acquired it. And you know what I think?” Pausing for just a moment, Hank finally asked pensively, “No, what do you think, Nick?”

  “I think it was no accident that I happened to find The Book of Lost Treasures. I think I was somehow … I don’t know … chosen to possess the book. Which, if true, would make you, Hank, some kind of … keeper of this book, some kind of arbiter, who decides who gets the book next.”

  “Nick, do you know how crazy you sound?” Hank asked with his arms spread helplessly.

  “You mean as crazy as an old, forgotten book that reveals maps to lost treasures, Hank?”

  Hank’s arms dropped to his side, and he made no attempt to respond. A resigned expression appeared on his face.

  “The clues were always there, I just didn’t take the time to piece them all together. I was too busy trying to get rich using the book. I mean, the all too familiar way you described to me the legend of the book, some of the comments you made to me, and, of course, the convenient way you led me straight to the painting that held The Book of Lost Treasures!”

  Other than to lick his lips nervously, Hank made no response, instead preferring to hear Nick out.

  Continuing, Nick said, “But the kicker—the clincher, if you will—was the painting itself. The sailboat in the painting was named La Princesa Sirena, which is amazingly similar to La Princesa de las Sirenas, or Princess of the Mermaids, that was part of the legend concerning the book. Quite the coincidence, don’t you think? Or, more likely, the painting told a story you already knew by heart!”

  A grim smile covered Hank’s face as he asked, “What is it that you want, Nick?”

  “I’ve already told you, Hank. I want to give the book back!”

  “Everybody around town knows that you’ve suddenly come into a lot of money, Nick. I can only assume, as you say, that the book has somehow been responsible for this. Why would you want to give it back?”

  A loud thump came from the counter as Nick’s clenched fist struck it.

  “Because I don’t want it anymore!” he cried, his face suffused red with rage. “Because the cost of owning the book is more than I can bear! Because, because …” Nick’s voice tapered off as his anger rapidly drained away, leaving him feeling limp and empty.

  “Because you were right, Hank,” he finally managed to say in a low whisper. “Our most precious treasures are right before us, in plain sight, and I was too stupid, too greedy, and too blind to see it until it was too late.”

  Standing straight and with eyes blurry with unshed tears, Nick reached over to the counter, picked up The Book of Lost Treasures, and, once again, held it out before him.

  “So I’m asking you to please take the book back, Hank.”

  Hank eyed the book sadly for a moment before reaching up and taking it from Nick.

  Relieved, Nick said simply, “Thank you, Hank.” Giving Hank a farewell wave, Nick zipped up his coat, picked up the satchel, and turned to leave.

  Hank watched Nick as he walked toward the door. His eyes flicked onto the mysterious book he held before he looked up once again at Nick’s retreating back. Nodding to himself, as if he had come to some sort of conclusion, he cried out, “Nick, wait!”

  Surprised, Nick turned to see Hank running toward him as fast as his short legs could carry him.

  Puffing from the effort, Hank took a moment to catch his breath as he stopped before Nick. Puzzled, Nick looked down at Hank.

  Finally, looking up at Nick, Hank said, “Mind you, I’m not admitting anything concerning your outlandish theory about this … this book and its connection to me, but if the legend of The Book of Lost Treasures has any validity, I feel a duty to point out something to you that you might have missed.”

  Folding his arms across his chest, Nick said, “I’m listening.” Grinning, Hank’s blue eyes sparkled.

  “It occurred to me that part of the problem with the use of The Book of Lost Treasures is that it is misinterpreted!”

  “What do you mean?” Nick asked curiously, despite himself.

  “I mean a lost treasure doesn’t have to be money, jewelry, gold, or something of a tangible value! It can be something completely different, something that has value only to the heart!”

  For a moment, Nick stood stock still, as if his feet were rooted to the floor. The wave of realization of what Hank had said roared through his mind like a tsunami. His heart leaped, and a look of hope slowly grew across his face.

  Dropping the satchel, he asked, “May I borrow The Book of Lost Treasures one last time, Hank?”

  “Of course,” the diminutive shop owner said, chuckling.

  Taking the proffered book, Nick considered carefully for a brief moment. Then, without hesitation, he wrote something in the book. Light flared immediately from one of the pages, and Nick studied it intently. A smile creased his face as he handed the book back to Hank.

  “Thanks, Hank. I’ve … I’ve finally found what I’ve been searching for.”

  Hank studied Nick’s face intently before, finally, his own smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  “Yes. Yes, I can see that you have.”

  There was nothing more to be said, and the two men gripped hands one more time before Nick turned and with a stoic purpose walked out of the store.

  Cold air blew in as Nick opened the door, but Hank didn’t notice it.

  The warm glow he felt inside more than compensated for the chilly wind.

  Chapter 39

  Eighteen months later

  Nick sat in his car and studied the apartment on the first floor of the gated apartment complex. It was the latter part of May, and the temperature was already warm at ten o’clock in the morning as spring marched into summer. He had left Pleasant Mountain at five o’clock that morning to drive to Rowlett, a suburb east of Dal- las and just the other side of Lake Ray Hubbard. He had arrived at the apartment complex a little before seven o’clock and had been waiting and watching since. For the hundredth time, he rehearsed in his mind what he would say and how he would act as he worked up the courage to approach apartment number 154 and knock on the door. His heart hammering in his chest, a heavy sigh escaped from his lips as he gripped the door handle resolutely and opened the Jeep’s door and stepped out.

  It was a Saturday morning, and as such, many of those who occupied the apartment complex had taken the opportunity to sleep in. Nick’s lonely walk to number 154 was therefore observed by no one except a solitary mockingbird that chirped and whistled in a nearby live oak. Reaching the apartment’s door, Nick hesitated. Looking around, he saw two pots of red geraniums flanking the door along with a gaily-colored welcome mat set between them. Twice, he brought his hand up to knock, and twice, he instead let his hand fall to his side. Finally, jaw set and teeth gritted, he raised his hand and knocked firmly three times on the door.

  “Just a minute. Be right there!” a familiar voice called out from behind the door.

  Memories came flooding back into Nick’s mind at the sound of the voice, and it was only with great difficulty that he was able to push them aside. He needed a clear mind to do what he had come here to do.

  The door suddenly opened, and Abby stood facing Nick. “Yes, what do you—” The words caught in Abby’s throat as through widening eyes she saw Nick standing before her. Long moments passed as Nick and Abby stood looking at each other. Abby was dressed casually in a pink American Eagle T-shirt and beige shorts. Her long hair was piled haphazardly on top of her head, held there by a hair clip, and she was barefooted. Nick swallowed hard as he drank in the sight of her.

  Finally, Abby was able to clear her voice. “Nick! What … what are you doing here?”

  “I need to talk to you, Abby. May I come in?” Nick asked softly.

  Abby stood frozen for a few seconds. Finally, she moved aside to let Nick in. Shutting the door behind him, Abby, still holding the doorknob as if for support, slowly turned and looked at Nick. Finally letting go of the doorknob, she leaned against the
door and folded her arms across her chest.

  “I don’t hear from you or see you in what, a year, year and a half, and now you want to talk?” Abby asked incredulously, her face twisted in anger. “I … I don’t think this is a good idea. In fact, I would like you to leave! I should never have let you in!” Hot tears began to fill her eyes as she finished.

  “I deserve all of that … and more,” Nick managed to say through the lump that had risen in his throat. “But … I had a reason, Abby. If you’ll just hear me out, I swear I’ll never bother you again.”

  Wiping the angry tears from her eyes, Abby was forming a retort when she saw the expression on Nick’s face. He had the desperate look about him of a drowning man trying to make one last grab at a life preserver that was just out of reach. Forcing herself to reign in her emotions, she finally man- aged to still her rapid breathing.

  “Okay, Nick. Say what you came here to say … but it won’t change anything between us!”

  Nick nodded gratefully and took a moment to look around the apartment while he composed himself. Papers to be graded were piled haphazardly on a table in the small kitchen, evidence of Abby’s student teaching at a nearby elementary. She would make a great teacher, he knew. She loved kids and had the heart for it. With great difficulty, he turned back to her.

  “I … I need to show you something. But … in order to do that, I need you to come back to Pleasant Mountain with me.”

  Her jaw dropping in surprise, Abby managed to sputter, “What? Go back to Pleasant Mountain? With you? No! Not in a thousand years!”