by Al Lamanda
“Hey, what’s that?” Mabel said and pointed into the pit.
“What?” Dudley said.
“That,” Mabel said and pointed to the Dodo nest.
“I don’t know,” Dudley said.
Mabel went down the ladder first, followed by Oscar, Dudley and Cody. They stood around the nest and stared at it in disbelief. For there in the nest was a partial skeleton of the Dodo Bird and with it…
“An egg,” Dudley said.
Mabel, Oscar and Cody huddled around Dudley as he spoke to Waldo Wallace on the command center phone. “Yes, sir, I believe the egg is capable of producing Dodo DNA,” Dudley said. He paused, listened and said, “I do understand what that means, Mr. Wallace. Instead of bringing home a Dodo skeleton, we’re bringing home what will become a perfect clone of a living Dodo Bird.”
“Ask him about the bonus,” Cody said in Dudley’s ear.
“Yes, sir, I did keep copious, detailed notes,” Dudley said. “A documentary on cloning a Dodo, yes I’m available. I don’t know about the others. I’ll ask.”
Dudley covered the phone and looked at Oscar, Mabel and Cody.
“Ask him about the bonus and how much for the documentary?” Cody said.
“We get the bonus and one million dollars divided four ways to film a documentary on cloning the egg,” Dudley said.
“Chicken feed,” Cody said.
“You know, I think I agree with him,” Oscar said, already thinking how many super models he could sleep with if he were suddenly rich and famous.
“We’re talking about a year of our lives at least,” Cody said. “It’s worth a million each if it’s worth a penny.”
“A year together,” Mabel said and looked lovingly at Oscar.
“He can afford it,” Cody said. “So why shouldn’t we be rewarded for only the biggest find in evolutionary history?”
“At least a year,” Mabel said and looked lovingly at Oscar.
Dudley nodded. “Okay, I’ll tell him,” he said and uncovered the phone.
5
Generally, what happens when the inheritance babies of very wealthy men grow up is they become involved with useless projects to give their spoiled empty lives some meaning. So was the case for Peter Pogo, Gilbert and Godfrey Gordon, identical twins, Nicole Westland and Kevin Clipper. As middle-aged men with far too much money and time on their hands, ten years ago they founded the Science Club of New York.
On paper, the Science Club of New York was an organization founded for the purpose of funding scientific expeditions around the world for the betterment of humankind, so said the letterhead on their official bone colored stationary that even had a watermark on the bottom left side of the page.
In reality, the club wasn’t a club at all, but a social gathering place for bored millionaires to whittle the time away as they dreamt of adventure in faraway lands. They spearheaded expeditions around the world, including the search for Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, the sightless turtle, the two-headed shark and a host of others. Usually the members of the expedition teams included themselves and a few hired scientists, a team of chefs and servants and a camera team to record and document the event.
Oh, they also spied upon the real scientific community so that they wouldn’t have to put in any real work to learn what new discoveries were being made around the world. In so much as they bribed anybody they could for information, it wasn’t all that difficult to learn of the Waldo Wallace expedition and plan one of their own.
Now, after eleven weeks of the hired help working hard, the club members spied on the Wallace expedition via the cell phone monitoring device they purchased on the black market upon arrival on Mauritius just for that purpose.
“Is it possible they’ve uncovered an actual Dodo egg?” Peter Pogo, leader of the club said, as he sipped a bloody Mary.
“It sounds it to me,” Nicole Wetland said as he too took a sip of his bloody Mary. Named after British royalty, Wetland was very touchy about being a man with a woman’s name, no matter high up the monarchy it represented.
“That’s it then,” Kevin Clipper said as he poured himself a bloody Mary.
“What’s it?” Gilbert Gordon said.
“It. The thing. This,” Clipper said.
“What’s he talking about?” Godfrey Gordon, Gilbert’s twin said.
“Our hunt for the Dodo is over,” Clipper said. “They beat us to it.”
“Say, what is a Dodo, anyway?” Gilbert said as he held his glass out for Godfrey to fill with bloody Mary.
“I want that egg,” Pogo said.
“It’s a bird,” Godfrey said.
“The bird is an egg?” Gilbert said.
“No, the egg is an egg,” Godfrey said.
“And I want it,” Pogo said.
“So that’s what we’ve been looking for,” Gilbert said. “I was wondering.”
“I must have that egg,” Pogo said.
“Unless we find one of our own, I don’t see how that’s possible,” Clipper said. “I mean, we’ve had all these sweaty men digging for weeks now and all we’ve managed to find is some useless pottery and a few broken baskets.”
“Do you understand what it means to return home with that egg?” Pogo said.
Gilbert, Godfrey, Nicole and Kevin stared at Pogo.
“Not really, no,” Kevin finally said.
“Why, it’s the cover of Time, Newsweek and Science Monthly,” Pogo said. “It’s the Nobel Prize for science. It’s the…”
“I’m not writing anything,” Godfrey said.
“No, that’s the Pulitzer,” Pogo said.
“You can pull whatever you want, I’m still not writing anything,” Godfrey said.
“I don’t think he means writing,” Gilbert said. “I think he means something else.”
“Well, why can’t he say what he means and quit all this talking in code,” Godfrey said.
“Nobel Prize is code?” Clipper said.
“Like in that movie about the Navajo Indians talking code to the Germans,” Godfrey said.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Gilbert said. “What Germans? We’re on some stupid island somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.”
“Indian Ocean,” Pogo said. “Off the coast of…”
“The Germans couldn’t understand Navajo, so the…”
“Gentlemen, please,” Pogo said. “What I’m trying to tell you is that this egg may be the most important scientific find in history. With it a clone of a bird extinct for three hundred years could be hatched and whoever hatches that bird will go down in history and not just history, but books, documentaries, the Nobel and maybe even a movie and book deal.”
“What about Oprah?” Gilbert said. “Could we go on Oprah?”
“I like Ellen better,” Godfrey said. “She does that little dance. Besides, Oprah is off the air unless you count that other stuff she does.”
“I think I’m following you here,” Wetland said. “Except that we don’t have the egg, they do.”
“No egg, no glory,” Clipper said.
“And no Ellen,” Godfrey added. “And no little dance.”
“No, listen to me,” Pogo said. “This is far too important a discovery to leave it to those four idiots. They have no concept of what it means to be wealthy. They simply would not appreciate it the way that we do. No, we will have that egg.”
“How?” Clipper said.
“Nick, you drive to town and buy four bottles of the finest wine you can find,” Pogo said. “Take the chef with you and instruct him to buy the most expensive meats for the island’s best native dish. Kevin, you go to town and pick up some sleeping medicine, preferable in liquid form. We will give those four a night to remember.”
“But, how do we get the egg?” Gilbert said.
“We steal it, you half a moron,” Pogo said. “Once they drink the wine laced with sleeping medicine.”
“How do we get them to drink the wine?” Godfrey said.
“We invit
e them to dinner, you other half of a moron,” Pogo said. “Now go to town while I invite them to dinner. Gentlemen, I want that egg. I need that egg. I will have that egg or my name isn’t Pogo.”
“But, your name is Pogo,” Gilbert said.
“Go!” Pogo shouted. “In another month is Christmas and we will give the world a gift. The Dodo Bird.”
“I thought it was an egg,” Gilbert said.
“Tonight, it’s an egg,” Pogo said. “Tomorrow, it’s the world.”
ONE
Lee Gavin stared out the bay window of his sister-in-law’s ranch style, Jersey home at the gently falling snow. A lifelong, career criminal, Gavin specialized in planning the details of jobs brought to him by others. Unfortunately, the others usually meant his brother-in-law, Ian Nelson, also a career criminal and also a career idiot in the works.
The gently falling snow was falling a bit less gently now as Gavin turned to look at the eight foot tall Christmas tree in the corner of the room. Joseph, Jason, Jacob, Justin and Johnny, his five nephews, were decorating the tree. Joseph, named for his father was the eldest at fifteen. Johnny, named for nobody Gavin could think of, was the youngest at a mere six. They seemed to be enjoying the ritual of stringing lights and hanging balls from branches, except for Joseph, who appeared transfixed upon something else.
Gavin traced Joseph’s line of sight to that something else, which was Muffie-Jo, Ian’s blond bombshell wife. Seated on the sofa, the image of a young Dolly Parton, Muffie-Jo possessed the identical bubbly personality and dare he think, the empty headedness of the famed country singer. Mix a heart of gold, a head of lead, breasts the size of cantaloupes, shake not stir and you had Muffie-Jo.
“Joe, the lights,” Jason said.
Eyes locked on Muffie-Jo’s breasts, Joseph blindly strung lights upon branches.
Gavin glanced at his watch, then returned to the bay window. Jeeze, the gently falling snow was coming straight down now and starting to stick. Ian was late and out there driving around somewhere. Knowing Ian that somewhere could be anywhere. Christmas Eve and he was his usual late self.
Gavin turned to look at Muffie-Jo. If she was at all worried, it didn’t show as she polished her nails with an emery board and blew massive bubbles with bubble gum. Seated alongside Muffie-Jo were Patience, Gavin’s very pregnant wife and her older sister Prudence.
A nurse for fourteen years or so, Patience took life as it came, for married to Gavin there was very little choice. You took it or you didn’t. In mid conversation, Patience and Prudence froze with their mouths open as Muffie-Jo suddenly burst a giant bubble and gum went flying into her blond tresses.
Gavin returned to the bay window. The snow was coming down slanted now and he couldn’t see across the street despite the powerful streetlamps and flood light. Where the hell was Ian?
“Hold still,” Prudence said.
Gavin turned around. Prudence was picking gum from Muffie-Jo’s hair like monkeys in a zoo picking off fleas.
“That hurts,” Muffie-Jo said.
“Want me to cut it out?” Patience said.
“Don’t you dare,” Muffie-Jo said. “I’m like Samsonite without my hair.”
“Luggage?” Prudence said.
Joseph Bartholomew, known to Gavin and Ian as Joba, and Prudence’s husband of nineteen years entered the living room carrying a tray of eggnog and cups. “Eggnog is ready,” he said, his eyes locking in on Muffie-Jo’s breasts.
“How nice,” Prudence said, cold as ice water. “Why don’t you go help the boys with the tree.”
Joba didn’t budge and a slight bit of drool appeared on the corner of his mouth.
“That wasn’t a question,” Prudence said.
“Maybe Margaret-Josephine would like some eggnog?” Joba said.
“Maybe Margaret-Josephine would, but you’re not giving it to her,” Prudence said. “Go help the boys.”
Joba sighed and shuffled over to the tree. “They’re really something else, dad,” Joseph whispered to his father.
Joba slung his arm around his son’s shoulder. “Son, some things are just beyond a man’s reach,” Joba whispered. “And those two are one of them.”
Gavin turned back to the window. The snow was pounding down now. It was an absolute blizzard out there. Maybe he should call Ian on his cell phone and find out where he was, is, or on his way to, because with Ian that could be anywhere.
Patience was suddenly by Gavin’s side with a cup of eggnog. “He’s never on time, Lee,” Patience said as she gave the eggnog to Gavin. “It’s his trademark, you know that. He probably found one more old lady with her life savings just begging to be ripped off and forgot the time.”
Gavin looked at Patience’s stomach. “How are you doing?”
“Another two months and I’ll be doing a lot better,” Patience said.
“Has it been that hard on you, the baby?”
“At least I have breasts now,” Patience quipped at her lack of.
Gavin looked at Patience’s very flat chest. “Where are you hiding them?” he said.
“Hey, watch it buster,” Patience said. “Would you rather that?” she said and cocked an eye toward Muffie-Jo.
Gavin turned his head. Prudence was struggling with a large comb in Muffie-Jo’s hair, yanking on a gum-laced tuff as Muffie-Jo tried to sip eggnog. “Hold still,” Prudence said.
“That hurts,” Muffie-Jo complained. “Can’t I wash it out?”
“With what, turpentine?” Prudence said.
“Is that a new brand?”
“Yes, Muffie-Jo, it’s a new brand,” Prudence said and yanked the comb.
“Ouch,” Muffie-Jo said and spilled eggnog down her shirt.
“Maybe you better go help them,” Gavin said.
“Pru, you have a scissors anywhere?” Patience said as she walked toward the sofa.
Joba came up beside Gavin.
“Boy, it’s really coming down out there,” Joba said.
“I see it,” Gavin said.
“It’s so white,” Joba said.
“It’s snow,” Gavin said.
“I can’t even see the street, it’s so white,” Joba said. “Blinding white, that snow is. Blinding.”
“I’m not going to worry until it turns a different color,” Gavin said.
“I could go check in and see if there have been any accidents?” Joba said. A twenty-year veteran of the Jersey State Police, Joba usually held Ian, and Gavin too, for that matter in high disdain, but this was Christmas Eve so he let things slide.
“Maybe that would ease Muffie-Jo’s mind,” Gavin said.
Joba looked at Muffie-Jo. Prudence was straddling her legs while yanking the comb through Muffie-Jo’s golden locks. Holding Muffie-Jo by the shoulders, Patience said, “Pull harder, Pru.”
“Is Muffie-Jo…?” Joba said.
“Always,” Gavin said.
From outside the house, there was a sudden screech of brakes, followed by a loud crash, followed by a car door slamming shut.
“I can’t see anything,” Joba said. “You?”
“I don’t have to,” Gavin said as the doorbell rang.
A moment later, the front door opened with a bang, whirling snow blew in, followed by Ian dressed as Santa Claus, beard and all, complete with large sack slung over his shoulder. He closed the door with his foot, shook off the snow and announced, “Boy oh boy, it’s cold out there.”
Muffie-Jo giggled and jumped off the couch to greet Ian. “Baby, you look like…like…Santa,” she said.
“That’s because I’m dressed like Santa,” Ian said.
Patience and Prudence exchanged glances. “Oh no he didn’t,” Prudence said.
“I think he did,” Patience said.
Ian set the large sack down on the floor. “Something smells good. Man, I’m starving,” he said.
“Why are you dressed like that?” Joba said.
“I’d like to know that one myself,” Gavin said.
Muffie-
Jo squeezed the pillows inside Ian’s suit. “You look funny as a fat Santa.”
“No such thing as a skinny Santa, sweetie,” Ian said.
“What’s in the sack?” Joba said.
“I’d like to know that myself,” Gavin said.
“Christmas gifts, what else?” Ian said.
“For?” Joba said.
“Everybody,” Ian said.
“Really?” Gavin said. “You sprung for gifts?”
“How sweet,” Muffie-Jo said.
“Lee, help me out of this suit,” Ian said. “In the bedroom.”
“Take your wet boots off first, buster,” Joba said. “That’s a twenty three dollar a square yard rug I got in there.”
Ian removed his boots. “Happy now?”
“Delirious,” Joba said.
“Muffie-Jo, why don’t you and the boys put the gifts under the tree?” Ian said.
Muffie-Jo grabbed the heavy sack. “Come on, boys, give me a hand,” she said.
Like a shot, Joseph was by her side. “I’ll help you Aunt Margaret.”
“Aren’t you sweet,” Muffie-Jo said.
Leering like a leech, Joseph helped Muffie-Jo bring the sack to the tree.
“Like father like son,” Prudence said.
“Lee, come on,” Ian said and walked to a bedroom off the kitchen.
Gavin followed Ian into the bedroom. “You put the stupid thing on by yourself, why can’t you take it off?” Gavin said.
“Close the door,” Ian said.
“Why?”
“I don’t want the girls to hear.”
“The girls or the cop you have for a brother-in-law?”
“Both.”
Gavin closed the door and watched as Ian slipped pillows out from the red Santa shirt. “I got a score,” Ian said. “A really sweet deal. Sweet.”
“No.”
“But, I haven’t…”
“Still no.”
“Told you what it is yet.”
“Even more still no.”
“Would you just listen for a minute?”
“Ian, my wife, your sister is giving birth in a few months,” Gavin said. “I’d like to be a free man to see my child grow up if it’s all the same to you.”