The Giant Smugglers Read online

  “Just about,” nodded Stan the Statue Man. “He’s on his way to Grady’s Family Fun Park in Bloomington, about an hour from here. Kids love him; I think it’s the bow tie.”

  “Uh-huh, bow tie,” said Charlie, trying not to panic. Bruce had picked up Vanna Whitewall and was attempting to turn her upside down, just like he did with the girl in Tim’s pen! Charlie shook his head frantically whenever Stan the Statue Man’s attention was on the giant rabbit, trying to tell Bruce to knock it off. It wasn’t working. And then, as if it was happening in slow motion, Vanna’s winter sweater and skirt snapped off, revealing a fire-engine-red bikini. Bruce dove for cover as the clothes clanked against the pavement in a noisy clatter.

  “What the…?”

  Stan the Statue Man spun around. Bruce had ducked behind a carnival trailer and the giant lady was back in her standing position, posing in her summer bikini even as the front half of her ceramic sweater spun slowly on the asphalt. Passing cars honked their horns in appreciation. “That’s impossible!” shouted Stan. “There’s no way her clothes should just fall off like that! I fastened ’em myself!”

  “Weird,” agreed Charlie.

  Stan cursed and got back in his truck, working the crane to pick up the front half of the scuffed sweater and maneuver it back into place. Charlie whistled and walked backward slowly, disappearing into the shadows of the carnival trailers and then hustling back to the shielded spot where he and Bruce had been eating dinner. The giant was back, and so were Tiger and the Juice Man. They weren’t happy.

  “Half of downtown heard that skirt fall!” shouted Juice Man, shaking his meaty index finger up at Bruce. The giant gave him a sheepish smirk. “You think this is a joke? We’re trying to protect you, moron!”

  “And just where exactly were you?” Tiger turned to Charlie. She narrowed her eyes and Charlie felt himself squirm. “Why are you here if you’re not going to help us watch him?”

  “I was helping!” protested Charlie. “He snuck out to check out Vanna Whitewall…”

  “Vanna Whitewall?” asked Tiger. “Really?”

  “And I distracted the guy in the truck so he wouldn’t see Bruce.” He looked up at his giant friend. “Tell them!”

  “Bikini” was the giant’s cheerful response.

  “Now we’ve got to worry about two of them screwing this up. I am this close to getting my giant gold,” groused Juice Man, holding up his index finger and thumb to indicate just how close he was. He stomped off into the back of his generator truck and slammed the door. “Where’s Tim? I want the kid gone! Now!”

  “Tim’s with the Creep Castle. I’ll talk to him,” Tiger called after him. She didn’t disagree with the Juice Man, Charlie noted. “Meanwhile, you two stay here.” She looked up at Bruce, and the barbed tone of her voice made even the giant shrink a little. “You do anything stupid like that again—and you answer to me. Got it?”

  Bruce started to smile but thought better of it.

  Tiger left to find Tim, leaving Charlie and Bruce to hide once more in the shadows of the trailers. The boy plopped to the ground and leaned against the Gravitron. “I’m mad at you, too, if that means anything. You’re going to get me kicked out of here.” He picked up a handful of pebbles and threw them across the pavement. “And just so you know, not all girls’ clothes fall off when you turn them upside down.”

  Bruce shrugged. So far, experience had taught him otherwise.

  27

  Once the shop’s mechanics had finished rejiggering the Creep Castle’s suspension to accommodate extra weight, Tiger had sent Bruce and Charlie inside the trailer to wait. There wasn’t a lot to do. Aside from the calamity with Vanna Whitewall, giant smuggling had turned out to be a lot of sitting around.

  A voice outside the haunted house broke the monotony. When Charlie put an ear to the wall of the trailer, he could pick up bits of Tim’s side of a phone conversation with their mom.

  “… know I should have checked with you first but…”

  “… sorry, but we hardly get to see…”

  “… not going to miss more than a day or two…”

  “… really think it’s a good idea for someone to come all the way down…?”

  Bruce wasn’t interested, so he scoured the Castle for something to do. He started playing with Tim’s peekaboo pen, but Charlie grabbed it and shoved it in his pocket. “You don’t need any more bright ideas.” Instead, he poked through Tim’s box of crap for some way to pass the time. The only promising item was the musty movie projector, and there was no way to plug it in. Or was there?

  “I’ll be right back,” Charlie said, cracking open the back of the Castle and checking to see if the coast was clear. Tim and Tiger were gone now.

  “Go with you!”

  “Dude,” Charlie sighed, “I mean right back. Like ten seconds. Just hang here, okay?”

  Charlie slipped out the back, taking care to not make a sound when his tennis shoes hit the asphalt. He wasn’t Bruce, but he could be sneaky, too, when he wanted to be. The narrow alleys between the carnival trailers were lit only by the moonlight, and the Juice Man’s generator truck was parked just a couple down from the Creep Castle.

  Charlie eased the back of the electric truck open and snuck inside. Two gasoline-powered generators hummed, providing the juice for charging power tools needed for assembling carnival rides. Atop the Juice Man’s workstation sat a gizmo that Charlie guessed was a GPS device—it looked like the one in DJ’s Hummer, except a lot more sophisticated. A digital map placed them squarely in Peoria. A surprising number of gas tanks, labeled Helium, were stacked in the back. For the Juice Man’s advertising blimp, Charlie guessed. He grabbed a long orange extension cord that was coiled on a hook, plugged one end into a generator, and unspooled the cord back into the Creep Castle.

  Bruce laughed when he saw what Charlie was up to. “Trouble!”

  “Not me, dude,” said the boy. “You’re the one who always gets busted.” He plugged in the film projector and a brilliant blue square of light hit the back of the trailer.

  Bruce Lee whirred to life once more. His alter ego, Bruce the giant, broke into hysterics every time the martial arts master smacked a young student on the head, admonishing him for taking his eyes off his opponent.

  The back door groaned, and a sliver of light jumped into the trailer. Charlie looked up, expecting his brother, but it was Wertzie who slipped inside. He eased the door shut so it didn’t make a sound. Then he sat next to Charlie and the giant and watched Bruce Lee break a chair over someone’s head.

  “We’re taking off in thirty,” he confided. “Juice Man will be back in fifteen—you might want to return his cord before he gets back. He’s got a temper, that guy.”

  “Cool,” Charlie said. He kind of liked Wertzie. He always seemed to have his act together, which was probably what bugged Tim. “How long until we get to … wherever it is we’re going?”

  “No one’s told you? I guess if you’re a smuggler, you should know the details. Grand Isle, Louisiana.” Wertzie reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wrinkled road map with a route highlighted in neon yellow. In the light of the movie projector, Charlie could see Wertzie trace a path with what was left of his index finger. “We ought to be down into Tennessee sometime tonight. And then we…”

  Bruce interrupted. “Finger?”

  Charlie gave the giant a “knock it off” look. He was curious about the missing digit, too, but you didn’t just come out and ask a guy about something like that. Wertzie didn’t seem to mind, though.

  “Tim never tell you how he made me lose my finger?”

  That one surprised Charlie. Mostly because Tim never shut up with his carnival stories and he wasn’t likely to keep one about a guy losing a finger to himself. The boy shook his head, and Wertzie leaned in conspiratorially.

  “This is about a year ago, okay? Juice Man and I are setting up the Gravitron and I bet him ten grand I can get the thing up and running in fifteen minutes or less.
Usually takes thirty. Going for the new world record.”

  “Ten thousand dollars?”

  “When you got giant gold coming, that’s chump change.” Wertzie grinned. “Call it a bet against future earnings. So I’m slamming the thing together superfast, Juice Man’s money is as good as mine, when I get a call from Tim on my cell. I look down at my phone for one second, my fingers got caught trying to line up some bolt holes, and snap!”

  Charlie cringed. He wouldn’t wish a missing finger on anyone. “Dang.”

  Bruce agreed. “Sucks.”

  “Sucks is right. Your brother wanted an advance on his draw, which he knew I couldn’t give him until the rides were ready to go.” Wertzie snorted in the darkness.

  Charlie could tell the guy was still bitter. Who could blame him? It wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine Tim pestering the guy at just the wrong time. In fact, it was exactly the kind of thing Tim would do. “Does it hurt?”

  “Only if you touch it,” Wertzie said with a wry smile, and Charlie couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not. The carny pointed his nub at the map. “Anyways, like I was saying. Tennessee tonight, hit the top of Mississippi by morning, then Louisiana. That should get us into Grand Isle late tomorrow.” He cleared his throat. “Well. Most of us.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Bruce frowned at Wertzie.

  “Look, it’s out of my hands,” he said, holding up nine fingers as if to prove it wasn’t his decision. “I don’t think you two are any trouble back here, and I hate to see you split up.”

  Charlie turned off the movie projector. “I’m going with Bruce,” he said. “End of story.”

  “Yeah,” rumbled Bruce.

  “Your brother thinks he knows what’s best for everyone, I guess,” said Wertzie. “He’s got someone coming down to get you…”

  Charlie couldn’t figure out how his mom could come get him, not with two jobs. The only person he could even think of was …

  “DJ?”

  “Yeah, that sounds right,” said Wertzie, handing the map to Charlie and pointing out a town right in the middle of Illinois. “DJ. Going to meet us at a truck stop in Bloomington or something.”

  “No!” protested the giant. “Charlie stays!”

  The boy’s face turned red. “Can’t you talk to him, Wertzie?”

  “Already tried. But Tim’s got his mind made up about what’s best for your friend here. And what’s best for you. If it was up to me, I’d just put you and the big guy on the Express. It could take you right back to Wisconsin after we dropped off Jumbo.”

  “Put us on the what?”

  “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

  “Come on, man.”

  “The Express. It’s how Hank usually gets down south. See?” Wertzie took up the map again and showed Charlie and Bruce a second route, marked in light-blue highlighter. “It’s the last railroad car on the line, a big, hollowed-out double-decker. Hank’s personal ride, fixed up nicer than you’d guess from the outside. Plan B—if we ever get worried that someone’s on to us, we just put the giants on the Express.”

  Charlie squinted at the map in the pale light, noting the spot where the carnival’s route crossed paths with the train’s. It was in Bloomington, the same place Wertzie said DJ was coming to take Charlie back home.

  Shouting from outside the trailer caused Wertzie to jump up and look out the back of the Creep Castle. It was Tiger and the mechanics, arguing over the final repair bill. “Never let a roughie negotiate money,” he sighed. “Better go take care of this before someone gets their wrist broke.”

  Charlie hustled to the back door after Wertzie. “Come on, man!” he pleaded. “There’s got to be something you can do.”

  “Come on!” shouted the giant.

  Wertzie turned back to them. “Family stuff is none of my business,” he said. “But the way I figure, Charlie, you got one obligation in this life: Do what’s best for you.”

  Wertzie ran off between the trailers, detouring around Stan the Statue Man’s truck as it got ready to shove off. “I’ll handle this, Tiger!” he shouted. “Don’t hit anybody!”

  28

  Most of the carnival was well down the road, trailers already packed up for the night, driven by seasonal carnies who knew nothing about giants or gold hiding in the cabs. The Creep Castle, trailing two carnival SUVs, Juice Man’s generator truck, and a handful of ride trailers, bounced down a lonely stretch of interstate in an effort to catch up. Only headlights pierced the lonely darkness. Besides the stragglers in the traveling show, the road was deserted of cars.

  Inside the cab, Tim yawned and steadied the wheel. Tiger dozed in the seat beside him. The hour was late, even for a carny. He found an alt-rock station on the radio, which didn’t seem to disturb Tiger’s sleep. He tapped his finger on the steering wheel, then found the straw for the forty-ounce soda that rested in the holder between the seats. He’d need the caffeine to keep on keeping on for a few more hours.

  As he tugged at the wrapper, he glanced in the rearview mirror. A lone headlight approached.

  Soon a motorcycle had pulled within two car lengths. Tim didn’t like having it in his blind spot, so he slowed, but the cycle didn’t pass and maintained the same distance. Tim shoved the straw into his right cheek when something else caught his eye. The dim light on the belly of a helicopter glinted as it flew just above the treetops to the east, on a line even with the Creep Castle.

  Then the motorcycle roared around the haunted house and pulled in front of it. The rider was dressed in black and had a stick strapped to his back.

  Tim jostled Tiger.

  “Not now,” she mumbled, pushing Tim’s hand away.

  Tim watched as the man on the motorcycle repositioned himself on the seat. “No, wake up. Something weird is going on.”

  Tiger lifted her head and rubbed her eyes.

  They watched as the man on the motorcycle pulled something from inside his jacket and jabbed it into his thigh. He let go of the device and it flew into the night. The cycle swerved for a moment.

  “This,” observed Tim, “is not good.”

  Then the man stood up on the seat of his speeding bike and launched himself high into the air.

  They craned their necks as the man turned a backflip. A violent thump behind them indicated the man had landed atop the Creep Castle. His vacant motorcycle skidded off the road and crashed in a ditch. And the straw fell out of Tim’s mouth.

  “Holy crap and then some,” Tiger exclaimed, rolling down the passenger window and hoisting herself halfway out to get a better view.

  The helicopter now hovered above the Creep Castle. Tiger squinted through the rushing wind at the man crouched atop the trailer, aiming his stick at the metal surface that protected the top of the haunted house. Blue light exploded from the end of his baton.

  “He trying to unhook the trailer?”

  “I wish,” said Tiger. “He’s cutting a hole in the roof.”

  A tube descended from the helicopter. Powder-blue mist billowed out the end and clouded Tim’s view of the road. He caught a whiff, covered his mouth with his sleeve, and coughed. “That’s some kind of knockout gas! He’s going to put Bruce and Charlie to sleep, then come up here and take the wheel.”

  “No he won’t.” Tiger hoisted herself the rest of the way out of the window and sprang up on top of the cab.

  Tim kept driving. To stop meant becoming sitting ducks for whatever other surprises might be in store for them.

  The man in black was so busy stuffing the tube into the hole and pumping gas into the trailer that he didn’t see Tiger until she was nearly upon him. He looked up and laughed. “Let me guess. You’re the muscle?”

  Tiger responded with a leap that planted her foot square in his chest.

  The blow sent him sprawling onto his back, which for some reason put a wicked smile on his face. In an instant he kicked back up to his feet, a mean glint in his eye.

  Tiger launched h
erself at the man once more, even as light posts whizzed by ten feet away. She wasn’t about to let her larger opponent extend his arms. Tiger got in very close range, sending a furious flurry of Wing Chun–style punches and kicks to his midsection and neck. The attack would have made Bruce Lee proud.

  Tim snuck glances through his tilted side-view mirror. The man easily deflected most of Tiger’s blows, and the ones that connected seemed to have little effect. She’d beat up plenty of meatheads twice her size, but this guy was different.

  She changed up tactics and tried to sweep his leg. Before she could connect, he was airborne. The miss left Tiger exposed, and he took full advantage of the opportunity, spinning deftly to kick her hard in the chin with the steel heel of his boot. She fell to the trailer top, unconscious.

  “Not bad, roughie.” The man calmly removed a device from his belt and scanned the trailer with its WiVi app, making sure his intended victims were unconscious. He frowned at the readout, then tried again. Finally certain of what he saw, he replaced the device in disgust, pulled the tube from the hole, and shinnied up the conduit toward the helicopter.

  Up in the driver’s seat, Tim couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Tiger!” There was no sign of her. He watched the man reach the helicopter in uncanny time, and it flew away. Tim hit the turn signal and slowly pulled the Creep Castle off the road.

  Tim parked the trailer, bailed out of the cab, and climbed atop the Creep Castle. There was Tiger, barely conscious, crumpled near the ragged hole that the man had cut. Tim rushed to her side and dropped to his knees. “Tiger! You all right?”

  She opened her eyes and rubbed her tender jaw. “I don’t think so. That guy almost kicked my face off. What happened after that?”

  “The guy just split.” Tim helped Tiger down to the back of the Creep Castle and threw open the trailer doors. Gas billowed out, and Tim swatted it away from his eyes. “Charlie? You all right?”

  There was no response. Tim coughed violently, with no choice but to let the gas clear. When the blue haze finally lifted, they stared into the trailer. Then Tim slammed the doors shut.