The Giant Smugglers Page 19

  “Who dat?”

  “Charlie! There’s bad guys right on our tail!”

  “Band!” Parran pocketed his cell, spun on his heel, and addressed the musicians with a toothy smile. “Please retire to the rear of the float and play ‘Bon Ton Roulet’! With feeling, boys!”

  A slew of bodies marched into place, blocking the peepholes at the end of the float. Many were band members, but overweight tourists in shorts and sandals also joined them, attracted to the jazzy music. The Accelerton men tried to push their way through the party, but no matter which way they turned, swaying sousaphones pushed them backward.

  “Yeah!” shouted Bruce, laughing as a trombone slide poked one of the Accelerton guys in the side of the head.

  At the front of the King’s Court float, Parran popped the panel and the box rolled forward. Wheels folded out from beneath the crate, and the container rolled out onto the pier and aboard the hovercraft. Now that they were outside the float, Charlie got a real sense of how loud the music was. The band was blasting its Dixieland sound right at the Accelerton security guys, who couldn’t make their way through the throng of dancing sightseers and high-stepping musicians. As far as Charlie could tell, they couldn’t even see the Cajuns sliding the box onto the hovercraft.

  “Parran is the man!” he said to Bruce and started filming the next leg of their journey.

  “Yep!”

  When the case was secured onboard, Parran waved a handful of crisp twenty-dollar bills to the band members. The man with the parasol ran to the end of the pier, retrieved the cash, and raised it triumphantly to the musicians. A joyous cheer erupted, and the band rocked even harder. When the Accelerton security men finally broke through the multitude and sprinted down the pier, the hovercraft had already slipped away down the Mississippi.

  34

  The hovercraft hummed through the water at a good clip, but Charlie and Bruce were getting pretty sick of lying inside the box. In the giant’s case, that sickness was literal. The cramped space, the lack of fresh air, and the stale smell of swamp water combined to make his face turn green. He wasn’t used to traveling by boat, and the rocking waves were playing havoc with his stomach, full of red beans and rice.

  “We deserve all the gold after this,” Charlie griped.

  Bruce just moaned.

  Parran was at the front of the hovercraft with the two older guys, sharing a bottle of something that sounded, from all the hooting and back slapping, like it was full of good mood. The men leaned back in canvas lawn chairs, watching the sun turn orange as it touched the horizon.

  “Mighty appreciative dat you boys could help me out on short notice,” Parran said.

  “Yep yep!” said the second man, Lambert, cracking back the pop-top on an aluminum can.

  “We can put down the gaff hook anytime for the kind of money you talkin’,” laughed Benoit. “Plus we’re outta gator tags as it is. And nothing worse than goin’ back to fishin’.”

  “True dat. Alligator season should be longer,” agreed Parran. “A man can always use a new pair of boots.”

  “Yep yep!”

  “Those dummies that run the show are blinder than you, Parran. Gators everywhere in Louisiana!” Benoit raised his bottle. “Here’s to new boots!”

  From the holes in their box, Charlie and Bruce watched the two younger guys futz with fishing equipment—beat-up poles of all sizes, ratty-looking nets, and dangerous hooked sticks that Charlie surmised were used to land fish that were too big to get aboard any other way. The two had plenty of arguments about what line should go where, and they weren’t afraid of yelling and shoving to make their points.

  That’s why they didn’t notice the first time Bruce pushed up on the top of the box, anxious for a gulp or two of fresh air. Charlie punched him in the arm.

  “You want these guys to see you? We’re almost there!”

  “Don’t care,” he burped, raising the lid a couple of inches and sucking in as much fresh air as he could handle.

  The box rustling finally caught the attention of one of the young fishermen. “Hey, Dag,” said the one called Junior, eyeing the box with suspicion. “That box just moved.”

  “Yeah,” drawled Dag. “It’s called the boat rocking.”

  “I know what I saw. I’m having a look.”

  “Don’t need me to tell you,” said Dag. “That’s a dangerous game you playin’. If your pa catches you…”

  Junior approached the box with one of the hooks. “If there’s trouble in there, he’ll thank me. Just a peek.”

  “What do we do?” Charlie whispered. “Call Parran again?”

  The lid of the box flipped up. Junior got a good look at what was inside and screamed at the top of his lungs, flailing backward to where Dag stood. It was only a second before he joined in the frightened yelling.

  “What the…?” Benoit and the other men rushed to the back of the hovercraft, just as Bruce stood and stretched his limbs into the sky, breathing in the fresh air. He craned his neck from side to side and it cracked loudly.

  “Let me guess,” Parran said, tapping his cane around the deck. “Somebody opened dat box.”

  “What in blazes is that thing?” screeched Benoit. “Skunk ape? You gone and caught yourself a skunk ape?”

  “Yep yep!”

  Charlie crawled out of the box just as Junior and Dag found some courage and cautiously approached Bruce with gaff hooks.

  “Get back in that box, skunk ape!” yelled Dag.

  “He ain’t no skunk ape,” said Parran. “And you boys need to settle down. I’m paying you good money.”

  “Hi,” said Bruce, flashing the Cajuns a smile that showed off his yellowed, crooked teeth.

  “The skunk ape can talk!” shouted Dag.

  “A deal’s a deal, Parran,” said Benoit, tentatively motioning for his boys to stand down. “But this here’s another thing altogether. You never said nothin’ about no monster.”

  “He’s not a skunk ape and he’s not a monster,” said Charlie.

  “Relax,” said Bruce, but it sounded vaguely like a threat as he motioned for the boys to drop their hooks. Dag and Junior let them fall to the deck and held up their hands in surrender.

  “This here’s what you call a friend,” Parran said calmly. “Dat’s all you need to know, and you don’t need to tell anyone what you seen.”

  “Forget that,” said Dag. He reached into his shorts and pulled out his phone. He held it up and started taking a video of Bruce. “No matter how much you payin’ us, I can get more sellin’ this on the Internets!”

  Someone fired a shot into the air and everyone, including Bruce, jumped and turned to the explosive sound. Parran stood still with a pearl-handled pistol pointed straight up into the air. “Here’s the thing. I’m a crack shot, but not like you think. I keep shooting this thing until it cracks somebody.” The blind man swung the gun around, and everyone on board the hovercraft ducked and weaved when it pointed their way. “Now, Benoit, I suggest your man here toss his phone over to my big friend.”

  “Do like the man says, Dag,” grumbled Benoit.

  Dag threw up his hands. “But Pa…”

  “Do it!”

  Dag reluctantly tossed the phone up in the air. “There you go, skunk ape.” The giant snatched it midflight.

  “Got it, big boy?” asked Parran.

  Bruce held the phone between his thumb and forefinger. “Yep.”

  “Then smash it up good.” Dag groaned a little at the sound of cracking metal and plastic, and the blind man cackled. “I’ll buy you a shiny new phone, don’t you worry. This ain’t no big thing. You boys know how important it is to keep secrets. Y’all got a few right here on this boat, am I right? I know your business is built on transportin’ contraband from time to time. Probably some on here right now—stuff you don’t need anybody knowin’ about?”

  Benoit and Dag exchanged awkward side glances.

  “You needn’t worry about me tellin’, and I’ll double your f
ee. We all in the smuggling business. You feelin’ me?”

  Lambert cleared his throat. “Yep yep.”

  “We ain’t seen nothin’,” mumbled Junior even as he stared up at the grinning giant. “Ain’t that right, Dag?”

  Junior elbowed Dag in the arm. “Right,” he said, shuffling his bare feet on the slick deck. Losing a phone was worth a guaranteed double payday. “Just takin’ a ride down the river, tryin’ to catch a few fish.”

  “Like you was sayin’, Parran—we carry the rare, valuable, and illegal,” said Benoit, who looked like he’d seen a ghost. “But this here creature’s something else entirely. I don’t want it on my boat. I’ll take your double fee, but ride’s over. Grand Isle’s just up ahead.”

  Benoit pointed to the shoreline, where Charlie could see the hint of the Century Wheel peeking above the piers along the beach front.

  Parran sighed. Waving his gun around wasn’t going to change Benoit’s mind. “What about my friends?”

  “I suggest they start swimmin’.”

  Parran tapped his way to the crate. “End of the line, boys,” he said. “You know how to swim, Bruce?”

  “Yep,” said Bruce, insulted. Of course he knew how to swim.

  “Then I suggest you be on your way, quick as you can now.”

  Bruce launched the crate into the water and, seeing it was sea-worthy, tossed Charlie inside.

  “Hey!” shouted the boy as he bounced down in the box. “Take it easy! I can swim, too, you know.”

  The giant took one last look at Benoit and did a massive cannonball off the side of the craft, soaking the crew that had just kicked him off their boat. Then, using the wooden box as a kickboard, he began flipping his feet toward shore.

  The hovercraft rose, and in an instant it zipped away in the opposite direction.

  “I gotcha this far, boys,” hollered Parran. “Good luck the rest of the way!”

  35

  Charlie held on tight as the box skittered across the water. Bruce’s powerful kicking was better than an outboard motor—they neared the shore of Grand Isle in no time. Despite the spray of water in his face, the boy could make out the outline of the darkened carnival that had been set up on the sandy shore. The gold was within their reach at last.

  When their makeshift boat bottomed out, Bruce plucked Charlie out of the box, which they abandoned in the muck. They walked the hundred yards through the shallow gulf water between them and the lonely beach.

  “I think we made it, dude.”

  “Made it,” the giant replied, a look of triumph on his face.

  They didn’t see a soul as they walked the sand toward the carnival rides that were silhouetted in what remained of a scarlet sunset. Charlie wasn’t exactly sure where to find the giant smugglers and the gold, but the Creep Castle seemed a good place to start, even though the carnival looked deserted. Charlie scanned the beach for signs of life. On the waterfront, just across the beach from the rides, a huge crane towered over a long pier, probably to load the huge ship moored there. Farther down the beach, a run-down snack shop sat at the end of a rickety, shorter dock. Where was everybody?

  “Wertzie?”

  Bruce pointed to the carny, who was standing in the shadows at the front of the nearest pier.

  “Yeah!” shouted Charlie, happy to see the guy again. They really had made it. “Wertzie! We’re here!”

  He and Bruce ran the rest of the way, and Wertzie’s face lit up at the sight of them. “Charlie! I knew you guys could do it!” He looked past them down the beach. “Wait a minute. Where’s your brother?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Wertzie’s face fell. “We hoped he was with you.” He hesitated. “I hate to say this, Charlie, but he stole the gold.”

  The revelation was like a punch in the giant’s gut. “Gold!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Gone without a trace. It’s supposed to be up there.” Wertzie nodded over his shoulder at the crane and huge ship. “Bruce was supposed to leave on that ship with the giants’ gold,” he explained. “But Tim has taken his ticket, so to speak.”

  The boy was stunned: Tim was a lot of things, but Charlie never thought he could be a thief. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Oh, you can believe it,” called a chubby man who emerged from the ship. He hurried down the pier to meet them, looking up at Bruce. He stopped halfway to take in the giant, hands trembling with excitement. “Remarkable! Simply remarkable!”

  “Who?” asked Bruce.

  “That’s Mr. Barton,” said Wertzie. The carny pulled a gun from the back of his pants and grabbed Charlie around the neck. He pressed the pistol against the boy’s temple. Bruce roared at Wertzie, but that just made him push the gun harder into Charlie’s hair. “Back off, Stretch,” he warned.

  “Don’t listen to him,” shouted Charlie. “Smash him, Bruce!”

  But the giant had just seen how dangerous guns were back on the boat. He glowered at Wertzie, then at Barton, but didn’t attack.

  “Your brother won’t answer my phone calls,” said Wertzie. “Would you mind giving him a buzz and letting him know you’re here?”

  “Forget it,” snapped Charlie.

  “Fine,” said Wertzie, releasing the tension on Charlie’s neck just enough to grab the phone from his pocket. “I’ll do it.” Wertzie found Tim’s number and pressed the screen. It only rang once.

  “Charlie?” came Tim’s voice over the tinny speaker.

  “I got your brother at the carnival,” shouted Wertzie. “And if you don’t show up with the gold in fifteen minutes, he starts losing fingers!”

  “Don’t give it to him!” shouted Charlie, but Wertzie had already hung up.

  Barton took a tentative step toward Bruce. “Hey there, fella,” he coaxed. “How about you come with me? This doesn’t have to be difficult.”

  Bruce lowered his face to Barton’s and grunted through bared teeth. The bespectacled scientist rocked backward on the splintery dock.

  Wertzie dragged a flailing Charlie across the sand toward the carnival, gun still to his head. “Let’s go, Lawson.”

  Bruce clenched his fists and raised his arms in the air. “No!”

  “Hey,” someone yelled from high above the giant. “I’m ready for you this time.”

  Bruce looked up to see the Stick balancing on top of the crane, at least half a dozen weapons strapped to his back. He thrust hypodermic needles into both thighs and dropped the plungers. His eyes bulged and the muscles flexed under his skintight black suit. Then, with a twirl of his namesake, the Stick leaped off the crane.

  36

  Bruce swung a furious fist through the dark, but the Stick contorted his body as he fell, dodging the blow. He landed on the giant’s left thigh, using it as a springboard to launch himself onto Bruce’s shoulder in the blink of an eye. The end of the man’s stick glowed blue with an ominous, electric hum.

  “Bruce!”

  Charlie’s shouts faded into the distance as Wertzie dragged him behind the carnival trailers, but not before he saw the Stick jab his pulsing weapon into the side of the giant’s neck. Bruce howled in pain as a jolt of electricity sent him reeling. But unlike Giant Fitz, the shock did not knock him unconscious. Like a man stung by a bee, the giant slapped at his attacker. The Stick used a lock of Bruce’s long hair like a vine to swing clear, but the giant’s flailing fist found him. The glancing blow sent the man spinning to the ground.

  “Remarkable!” shouted Barton, who pulled out a phone to document the fight for posterity. He established a satellite connection with Gretchen Gourmand so she could witness their triumph. “What you’re seeing cannot begin to convey how incredible a giant is in person!”

  The sting in his neck enraged Bruce. He charged down the dusky beach toward the Stick, who simply stood and waited, letting the giant get close. Then a tremendous flash of blue light from the end of his weapon blinded Bruce. The giant stumbled, hands over his eyes, and fell face-forward into th
e sand. The Stick reached over his shoulder and retrieved a new weapon from his arsenal.

  “Brilliant,” exclaimed Barton, chasing the action to make sure he caught every moment of the encounter. “We were right to hire the Stick—the giant is five times his size and he hasn’t backed off an inch!”

  A small box in the top of Barton’s screen showed Gourmand conceding the point but not satisfied. “Enough playing with it,” she warned through Barton’s phone. “Finish the job and get him aboard the ship! I want that creature in international waters as quickly as possible!”

  Bruce tried to clear his vision as the Stick gave his new weapon a hard shake. It extended into a much longer staff. He heaved the javelin at Bruce and halfway there, a burst from its back end propelled the weapon like a rocket. The lead tip crackled with an electrifying cobalt glow.

  The angry giant’s reflexes were too quick for the intended finishing blow. He backhanded the missile right out of the air, sending it to explode over the ship in a blue blaze.

  “That’s not good,” wheezed Barton.

  Gourmand slapped the camera lens. “Finish him!”

  The shout caught Bruce’s attention, who wheeled to snatch up the scientist. The giant lifted the thrashing man to eye level and roared in his face.

  “Put me down!”

  Bruce turned toward the gulf and wound up like a baseball pitcher ready to bring the heat.

  “Not like that!”

  With a whirling heave, the giant flung Barton far out over the boat and into dark, deep waters.

  Barton’s voice trailed off in the distance as he flew through the night. “I can’t swiiiiiiiiiiiim…!”

  Bruce spun back around. It was time to focus his fury on the Stick.

  37

  Wertzie peeked around the corner of the Pick-a-Duck game, trying to stay out of sight while watching for Tim’s return with the missing gold. He checked the time on his phone and ground his teeth. “I gave your idiot brother fifteen minutes, and he’s used about fourteen already. He better show!”

  “Why are you doing this?” asked Charlie. “That guy’s going to hurt Bruce!”