Before I even finished Reeling in the Years, I had a few ideas for oneshots, some of which I wished I had written as actual chapters in the story and others that don't neatly "fit" in the canon. For instance, this story is a little too silly for RITY's (fairly) serious tone. I'm not going to split hairs about whether it's "canon" or not, that's for nerds lol XD It just is what it is, and was not inspired by It's a Loud, Loud. Loud. Loud House though it does seem like it could have been. I plan to do more but they will not be in chronological order. You might see a chapter set in 1985 and then one set in 1923 - and I do plan on possibly touching on events before the main story. Idk about after, though. Probably not.
Lyrics to "Keep A-Knockin'" by Little Richard (1957)
August 1959
If Lincoln Loud had to sum up his Saturday morning in one word, it would be: Sun. The sun was so bright, and its light so hot, that he could almost believe the sky was going to explode like in that science fiction movie he and Clyde watched at the Palace theater. As soon as he stepped out the front door, his skin caught fire and sweat sprang to his brow. He was dressed in a thin striped T-shirt and a cottony pair of slacks, but neither one did much to keep him cool; he might as well have been wearing a parka.
Lincoln grabbed his red Schwinn from its place alongside the house, hopped on, and pedaled across the thirsty brown lawn, dead grass crunching beneath the tires like frost. He crossed the sidewalk, jumped the curb, and darted out in front of a baby blue Studebaker. Its brakes screeched and the driver laid on the horn.
Oops. Sorry.
Turning left, he followed the sidewalk to Main Street. A Ford with wooden slats for sides was backed up to the front door of the feed shop so Lincoln had to go around it. On the other side, a pair of old men sat in canned chairs outside the barber shop, one leaning on his cane and the other rolling a smelly homemade cigarette. "Don't break nothin'," the one leaning on the cane rasped as Lincoln passed.
"I won't, Mr. Ericken," Lincoln promised.
The chances of him falling off of his bike and breaking something...again...were pretty low, but now that he was thinking about it, he cautiously slowed his speed.
At the drug store, Lincoln parked his bike, hopped off, and went inside. A rack of paperback novels stood by the door, and Lincoln stopped to browse through them. The only one that looked halfway interesting was called Psycho. He had never seen it before and checked the copyright page to see if it was new or old.
1959.
Brand spankin' new.
Next, he scanned the selection of magazines: Science fiction, boys' adventure, and detective. The same things as always. The new issue of Fantastic Adventures was in and only ten cents. He checked the money in his pocket and counted it. He had two quarters and a two dollar bill that he got for his birthday last month.
That was enough.
He took the magazine, tucked it under his arm, and went to the rear of the store. He picked up a case of Pepsi, the glass bottles clinking as he carried them to the front. The pharmacist, a fat man in a bowtie and white jacket despite the heat, adjusted his glasses and gave the magazine a disapproving look. "Spacemen and aliens again," he said.
Lincoln didn't reply.
The pharmacist rang Lincoln's purchases up and Lincoln gave him both quarters, getting a dime back for change, which he pocketed. "Don't read too much of that stuff," the pharmacist said, "it'll rot your brain."
"Yes, sir," Lincoln replied.
Outside, he sat the pop in the bike's basket, rolled the magazine up, and shoved it into his back pocket. He climbed onto the bike and set off again, the hot air feeling good against his sweaty face.
At the end of Main Street, a green trestle bridge crossed the Royal River and turned into Route 10. Heavily wooded hills flanked the road on both sides, and long shadows lay across the asphalt. Outside of town, Lincoln hung a sharp right and followed a narrow trail to a field of tall, wavering grass overlooking a bend in the river. A single oak tree stood tall and proud like a fortress. In its boughs was a treehouse with three windows and a trap door. Wooden boards were nailed to the gnarled bark, forming a ladder, and a rope dangled down. Lincoln parked under it, tied it around the pop, and gave the rope a hearty tug. A moment later, it started to draw up. Lincoln climbed the ladder and pushed through the trap door.
"You're late," Ronnie Anne said.
She was sitting at an overturned wooden crate that served as a table. A Crown model transistor radio lay on its back beside a tin can playing ashtray, Rockin' Robin by Bobby Day filtering from the speaker. She wore a light blue blouse tucked into a pair of pants and a pair of white and black saddle shoes. Playing cards were fanned out in front of her and a cigarette jutted from her lips, smoking curling around her face. She looked like a bad seed, the kind who led men astray, and Lincoln couldn't contain a blush. "Sorry," he said. He went over, picked up her pack of Lucky Strikes, and shook one out. "I got distracted at the drugstore."
Clyde came over and sat across from Ronnie Anne, setting the pop on the table between them. He wore a short sleeve button up over a white T-shirt and jeans. He opened a bottle with a bottle opener and took a drink. "I've heard that before," he said.
Reaching into his back pocket, Lincoln whipped out the magazine. "Because of this," he said.
Clyde's face lit up and he reached for it. "Oh, boy, let me see."
"I get to read it first," Lincoln said and sat, "I bought it, after all." He struck a match, lit the cigarette, and inhaled deeply. Nicotine washed through him and he let out a contented sigh. He couldn't smoke at home because Mom or Dad might smell it and tan his hide. The only time he really got to do it was when he was hanging out with Ronnie Anne, because she always had a pack.
"You need to worry about your hand," Ronnie Anne said around the filter of her cigarette, "you're losing."
Clyde let out a deep sigh. "Because you're cheating."
"Oh, drop dead twice, I'm not cheating."
When Clyde tried to look under the table, Ronnie Anne kicked his leg.
Almost like she was hiding something.
Lincoln smirked and opened the magazine. She probably was cheating. She cheated at everything. Cards, Chinese checkers, even backgammon. Lincoln had stopped playing games with her long ago because he was tired of being taken to the cleaners.
The song ended and a commercial for Ovaltine came on, followed by the news. Lincoln was half listening until he heard "Royal Woods." He looked up and Clyde and Ronnie Anne were both staring at the radio. "...fell from the train somewhere between there and Elk Park. Anyone who may find it is asked to please alert the authorities."
"What are they talking about?" Lincoln asked.
"A bag of money fell on a train," Clyde said.
"Bag of money?" Lincoln asked. "What was it doing there?"
Ronnie Anne blew a plume of smoke. "Falling. He just told you that."
Huh.
"5000 dollars US," Clyde said.
Lincoln whistled. Boy oh boy that was a lot of money. It was more money than he'd probably ever have at one time. He tried to picture what it would look like laid out in front of him, but his mind balked. "Where did it fall?"
"Somewhere between here and Elk Park," Clyde said.
Elk Park was roughly five miles north as the crow flies. The railroad tracks linking it to Royal Woods are largely straight, but run through dense forest and marshy swampland.
Dropping her cigarette into the can, Ronnie Anne looked at her cards a moment. "You know," she said, "if someone happened along and found that money…"
"They'd be rich," Clyde said with a devious grin.
"Yes they would," Ronnie Anne said.
Lincoln looked between them, his heart starting to race. "You guys aren't thinking -?"
"Yes we are," Clyde said. "Come on, Linc. That's a lot of money. If we found it, no one would ever know."
Ronnie Anne kicked Lincoln's foot. "Imagine all the stuff you could buy with that money, lame-o."
God help him, he was. A new bike, records and comics, maybe his own TV set so that he didn't have to share with everyone else. Boy, if he had his own set, he wouldn't have to watch stupid football on Sundays or Lawrence Welk. Mom and Dad loved Lawrence Welk but Lincoln hated him. The guy was a square.
"You in?" Ronnie Ann asked.
Lincoln took a deep breath.
He couldn't believe he was saying this, but…
"I'm in."
Ten miles away, Bobby Santiago and his friends Blades and Daggy were cruising down a country highway in Bobby's coup. Daggy sat in the passenger seat, wearing an olive green cut off, black jeans, and motorcycle boots, and Blades was in the back, clad in jeans (with the cuffs rolled up), and a white T-shirt with a pack of cigarettes rolled up in one sleeve. Bobby, as always, wore his leather jacket. It was too goddamn hot for it today but it made him look cool, and looking cool was Bobby's number two priority.
After getting Lori Loud to neck with him.
Bobby drove with one hand and took swigs from a bottle of beer with the other. Wind blew through the open windows and Little Richard shouted at the top of his lungs from the radio.
Keep a knockin', but you can't come in.
Keep a knockin', but you can't come in,
Come back tomorrow night and try again.
Wheeeew!
"Come on, Bobby," Blades said pitifully, "please?"
Bobby's eyes went to the rearview mirror. Noticing he had his attention, Blades stuck out his bottom lip and made a puppy dog face. Bobby looked back to the road, reached out, and turned the radio up.
You said you love me, but you can't come in.
You said you love me, but you can't come in.
"Please?" Blades said louder.
Flashing, Bobby spun around, and the car swerved. Daggy cried out in fear and braced for impact, but Bobby corrected without looking. "I said no," Bobby said. "I don't need Daggy's old man breathin' down my neck."
"He's not my old man," Daggy said, offended.
Bobby turned back around. "Honorary old man then."
Daggy's stepfather was the sheriff of Royal County and probably the biggest square Bobby had ever personally met. He had a way of always being around when you least wanted to see him. Drinking alcohol? Hola, Bobby. Drag racing? Make way, Bobby, coming through. Parking with Lori on Lovers' Lane? What'cha doin' in there, Bobby? It was enough to drive someone crazier than a shithouse rat. "The last time you did it, I got grounded for a month. I'm lucky my old man's not around or he woulda beat my ass."
Lowering his head, Blades sighed.
The song ended and the news came on. Bobby was just about to change the station but stopped. "Authorities say that a bag containing 5000 dollars fell from a northbound train between Royal Woods and Elk Park this morning. The train was carrying several thousand dollars to be deposited at the First National Bank of Chippewa Falls. Anyone with information is urged to contact the police. Now, back to those hot hits."
Tallahassee Lassie by Freddie Cannon started to play, but Bobby cut it off. "Didja assholes hear that? 5000 greenbacks."
"I never seen that much money," Blades said.
"I did once," Daggy said. "But that was at the bank."
Bobby took a swig of beer. "If we find that money, we can keep it and split it three ways. One for you, one for Dag, and three for me."
"I think your math's wrong," Blades said.
"Yeah," Bobby said, "my math's wrong." He plopped a cigarette into his mouth and lit it. "Hang on." He spun the wheel and the tires screamed across the pavement. The car swung around and let out a long, low vroom as Bobby stepped on the gas.
In the back, Blades said, "Please?"
Bobby thought for a moment. "You know what? I'm in a good mood now. Go 'head."
A sickly grin spread across Blades's face. He picked up a wooden baseball bat from the seat, knelt on the seat, and leaned out the window. The wind blew through his greased hair, and for a moment he simply enjoyed it like a dog on his way to being put down. He spotted a mailbox and tensed. As the car roared past, he swing the bat, and the mailbox exploded into a million pieces. "GOT'CHA!" he screamed.
Yeah, Bobby thought, and soon, we're gonna get somethin' else.
The money.
Bobby's and Lincoln's groups weren't alone in their plans to take the money for themselves. The news spread through Royal Woods like wildfire: Old women chattered about it on the party line, men passed it along at the barber shop and the hardware store, and kids excitedly told their parents. At Flip's Drive-In Restaurant, Flip leaned against the counter and read the paper. Some Doo-Wop group was in jail for drugs and hookers. No surprise there. That damn rock and roll was turning kids into mad dog killers. It gets in your head.
When he heard the news break on the radio, Flip's eyes widened and the paper dropped from his hands. 5000 dollars? He could retire on that and never have to come back to this dump again.
He had to get it.
Standing up tall and straight, Flip bellowed, "Alright, everyone out. We're closed."
The diners all looked at him. "I want my sandwich," someone said.
Flip reached under the counter and brought out a shotgun, which he racked for effect. Cha-cha. "Here it is. Still hungry?"
"Alright! Jeez, Flip, put that thing away."
Everyone got up and beat feet. When he was alone, Flip changed the OPEN sign to CLOSED and rushed out the back door. He climbed into his battered 1941 Ford pick-up truck and gunned the engine. "Money, here I come."
At the high school, Principal Strickland, the second biggest square in the world behind Daggy's stepdad, sat at his desk, looking conflicted. He had a lot of work to do in preparation of the coming school year...but 5000 dollars was 5000 dollars.
He finally got up and fast-walked to the parking lot.
On the other side of town, Lori, Leni, and their friend Beverly were parked on a grassy embankment overlooking the river. They had been cruising aimlessly through town for much of the morning and had parked here to talk. Lori was leaning against the front end of the car with her arms crossed, Leni was trying to make friends with a bird perched in a tree, and Beverely paced nervously back and forth. She was stressed because she liked a guy but he hadn't asked her out yet. She was thinking of asking him and Lori was trying to convince her to wait. The radio was on and they heard the news break. "5000 dollars," Lori said, tasting the words as though they were exotic and new. She did not believe in stealing, but if she found that money, she could buy her own car.
"I bet he'd ask me to go steady if I had five thousand dollars," Beverely said.
"He would," Lori said.
They looked at each other, then scrambled to get in the car. "Leni, come on!" Lori called from the passenger seat.
Leni looked over her shoulder. "But me and Mr., Flappy -"
"Forget the bird!"
Leni looked at her new friend and sighed. "I'll see you later, Mr. Flappy." She bounded over and got into the back seat. "Where are we going?"
"To find that money," Lori said.
Lincoln, Clyde, and Ronnie Anne picked up the tracks on the north bank of the Royal River, where tall pine trees towered into the sky and tall grass stirred in the hot breeze. They walked down the center of the tracks, Ronnie Anne in the middle and Lincoln on the far end. Animals moved in the forest, and a few times, Lincoln swore he heard movement too big to belong to any critter. "We split it down the middle," Ronnie Anne said. "And we don't tell anyone. Don't buy a bunch of stuff or else your folks will know."
"I'm going to put mine in the bank." Clyde said. "Then I'll never have to work a day in my life."
Twigs snapped just beyond the tree line, and Lincoln's heartbeat sped up. "Guys, I think there's someone in there."
"You're just hearing things," Ronnie Anne said.
At that exact moment, a man in rags emerged from the forest. Ronnie Anne squealed and Lincoln's heart dropped into his stomach. Clyde adjusted his glasses and gasped. "A tramp," he said.
The hobo stumbled over and held out his hand to Lincoln. "Change?"
In Lincoln's pocket, the money burned. "Uh...no, I don't have anything. Sorry."
Looking disappointed, the hobo started to turn away. "Aren't you going to ask me?" Clyde asked.
"I don't talk to niggers," the hobo said.
Clyde hung his head. "Oh...okay."
Beside him, Ronnie Anne's face darkened, and Lincoln's stomach twisted in dread. If there was one thing she hated, it was when someone hurt or insulted one of her friends. One time, a guy pushed Lincoln down on the way home from school, and Ronnie Anne retaliated by grabbing a branch and chasing him for three blocks while yelling in Spanish. There was no telling what she was going to do now, but Lincoln knew she was, indeed, going to do something, and that it would probably cause them more problems than they could handle. "Hey, at least that nigger has a home," she said. "What do you have? A stick fort in the woods?"
The bum opened his mouth to reply but she cut him off. "I bet you don't even have that. You probably sleep under old newspaper and drink up all the money people give you. I know you do. I can smell the booze from here. You're a dirty drunk and it's your fault that you're a bum, no one else's."
For a moment, the hobo looked at her...then he started to cry. He wheeled around and sprinted off into the woods. Clyde and Lincoln both looked at her...then they all laughed. "That was mean," Clyde said.
"Eh, he deserved it," Ronnie Anne said. They began to walk again. "I would have given some change if he wasn't a fartknocker."
They tracks curved to the left, and on the other side of the bend, a train appeared in the distance, smoke belching from its single funnel. They got to one side and let it pass. "Keep your eyes open," Ronnie Anne said. "If it really fell like they're saying, it should be right on the tracks."
"What else would have happened to it?" Lincoln asked.
"I dunno. Maybe someone threw it off and someone else picked it up."
Clyde blinked. "Like a heist?"
"Exactly," Ronnie Anne said.
Soon, the forest gave way to swamp. Bullfrogs croaked from grassy hillocks and bugs swarmed the air. They stopped at a rock to rest, and Lincoln wished they'd brought one of the pops with them. "How much farther?" Clyde asked. "My feet are starting to hurt."
"Couple miles," Ronnie Anne said. She was perched on the rock with her shoes off; she massaged her feet and winced in pain.
"What if we don't find it?" Lincoln asked.
Ronnie Anne was quiet for a moment. "Then we double back." She put her shoes back on, tied them, and jumped off the rock. "Let's go."
Three miles south, Beverely pulled her car up to a railroad crossing and cut the engine. Lori threw open her door and climbed out. She walked up to the track, held her hand up to her forehead, and scanned the area for the money while Leni and Beverely combed the sides of the road. She didn't see anything. What would it even look like? The radio said it was a bag of money, so she was picturing a burlap sack with dollar signs on it. Maybe it didn't have the dollar signs but it had to be in a burlap sack, right? What else would they carry money in? Paper bags?
When Leni called out from behind her, Lori's heart jumped into her throat. "I FOUND IT!"
Hallelujah!
Lori and Beverely both ran over to where Leni stood bent over. "Where?" Lori ejaculated.
Beaming proudly, Leni turned and held up a single coin.
Lori's face fell into a hard glower. "Leni...that's a nickel."
"I know," Leni said with breathless wonder, "we're rich. What are you going to do with your share, Lori?"
Shaking her head, Lori said, "We don't have time for this, we have to -"
A car pulled up behind them.
Lori recognized it at once.
Bobby.
Her stomach fluttered and she smiled. She bounced over to the driver side door and leaned in. "Hey," she said.
"Hey," Bobby replied happily. "What are you doing here?"
She twirled a strand of her blonde hair around her index finger. "Oh, nothing, just looking for that money they were talking about on the news."
Bobby's smile faltered.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Uh, nothing, just…"
In the passenger seat, Daggy grinned. "We're looking for the money too."
Bobby shot him a dirty look and Lori missed a beat. "You are?"
For a moment, she and Bobby stared at each other...then Bobby punched the gas and the coupe took off like a rocket. He swerved around Beverely's car and zipped over the tracks so fast that the back tires left the ground. "You bastard!" Lori screamed. She ran after the coupe and shook her fist. She jumped into the car. "Come on! We can't let them get that money!"
Leni and Beverely got in and Beverely hit the gas; the back tires spun, screamed, and smoked, and the engine made a guttural sound. Lori held on and peered into the distance, looking for Bobby's car. She caught a flash of movement in the rearview mirror, and suddenly, a dinged and dented pick-up truck pulled alongside them, smoke pouring from the exhaust. She turned her head and the driver looked at her. "Flip?" she asked. "What are you doing?"
"That money's mine," he said. He jerked the wheel to the left and hit the front end of Beverely's car, almost knocking it off the road. The girls all screamed and Beverely fought for control of the wheel.
Looking around for a weapon, Lori took off one of her shoes, leaned out the window, and threw it. It sailed through the open driver side window and clocked Flip in the face, whipping his head to one side and making him swerve. "Get lost, old man, that money belongs to us."
Flip growled and sped up. "Go!" Lori screamed.
The car surged forward and kept pace with the truck. Lori was about to throw her other shoe when sirens rose behind them. She twisted around and her heart sank. "Uh-oh, we got trouble."
Daggy's stepfather, the sheriff of Royal County, was right on their tail in a black and white cruiser with gold writing on the side.
Darn it. They couldn't pull over. If they did -
Without warning, the cruiser whipped around the car and screamed past. Daggy's stepdad turned his head to look at them and Lori gulped. "If you touch my money, you're under arrest," he said.
Then he was gone.
"I never thought I'd say this," Lori said, "but ignore that cop."
Elsewhere, Rita and Lynn Loud Sr. followed Route 220 in Lynn's green Packard, Rita holding her purse in her lap and Lynn gripping the wheel. A line of cars and trucks came up behind them, fighting for position. Harold Greene, the butcher, was run off the road and went into a ditch, and George Connors, the physical education teacher, cut off a car carrying a bunch of college kids. They were all on a madcap dash to find the money and none of them were willing to share. "Goodness, someone's going to get hurt," Rita gasped.
When Mr. Grouse pulled up beside them in his 1935 Buick, Rita's eyes narrowed. She reached into her purse, pulled out a .38, and aimed it at him. He screamed, jerked the wheel, and hit a tree, the front end of the car crumpling in a shower of breaking glass and twisting metal. In the rearview, he shook his fist. "Damn you, Loud woman!"
"See?" Rita asked her husband.
A car full of Klansmen in full robes took Mr. Grouse's place, and the driver favored her with a stern look, his eyes steely behind the ragged holes of his hood. Thinking fast, Rita pointed, "Look, a Negro darting a white woman!"
The driver whipped his head around to see where she was pointing, and Lynn slammed into the car, sending it off a bridge and into a creek.
Ahead, the highway bent around a curve. Two state police cars were parked across the road, lights flashing. Lynn narrowed his eyes and floored it. The cops waved him off, then, seeing the onslaught of vehicles heading at them, dove out of the way. Lynn hit the cars right where their front bumpers met, and both were knocked aside.
Nothing was going to stop him from getting that money.
He needed it.
Just like everyone else in town.
Lincoln, Clyde, and Ronnie Anne walked down the middle of the tracks, looking left, right, front, and center. They found all sorts of junk, but not the bag of money. They were getting close to the Elk Park town limits and Lincoln was beginning to despair. At first, he was against taking the money because they might get in trouble, but as the day wore on and he gave the matter more thought, he realized that he wanted it just as badly as anyone else. He wouldn't spend all of his share on himself, though; he'd give his dad to pay bills and stuff. But he'd spend most of it and he would have a lot of fun doing it.
"We're going to have to spread out," Ronnie Anne said. "Clyde, you go left, Lincoln, right. I'll stay on the tracks."
On both the left and right, sparse pine forests fell away from the railroad, the ground blanketed in dead, brown pine needles from seasons past. Farther up, the forest grew thicker and the vegetation more snarled. If Lincoln was a betting man - and he usually was - he'd say the money was in there.
The tracks bent to the right and Lincoln spotted four boys walking toward them. One was fat and dressed in a striped shirt like his, another was lanky with glasses, and one looked slightly older than the rest. Taller at least. They all wore knapsacks and looked like they had been walking for a while. Lincoln, Clyde, and Ronnie Anne met them and they all stopped. "Hey," one of the boys greeted.
"Hey," Ronnie Anne said. "Where are you guys going?"
"We're going to see a dead body," Glasses said.
Oh.
Ew.
"What about you?" the older boy asked.
"We're going to steal 5000 dollars."
The older boy looked taken aback. "Oh."
For a long, awkward moment, they just stood there, facing each other, a group of thieves and a group of ghouls, then the older boys said, "Uh...good luck."
"You too," Clyde said.
The groups passed each other, and when Lincoln looked back, he caught the fat doing the same. "What a bunch of weirdos," Ronnie Anne said. "Who wants to see a dead body? That's gross. They've read too many EC Comics. We're lucky they didn't turn us into bodies."
After meeting the boys, Lincoln, Clyde, and Ronnie Anne split up. Lincoln fought his way through tangled underbrush along the east side of the tracks while Clyde did the same on the west. Thorns and briers tore at his naked arms and snagged on his clothes. He ducked his head and winced as a thorn sliced across his cheek. He felt the warm trickle of blood and hissed through his teeth at the red hot stinging. He finally managed to come out the other side, where the trees were spaced fairly far apart and the vegetation wasn't as tightly packed. The sun dappled Royal River flashed through the trees on his left and to his right, he caught glimpses of Ronnie Anne through the foliage. She smoked a cigarette and whistled what sounded like Red River Rock by Johnny and the Hurricanes, but it was hard to tell since she could barely carry a tune.
Lincoln ducked around a tree and tripped over a rock. Heart in throat, he sprawled face first onto the ground, his hands absorbing most of the impact. Pain burst in his knees and a sharp exhalation was forced from his throat.
Darn it.
He was getting really tired of this.
He pushed himself up and carried.
As tired of it as he was...he wanted that money.
Bobby's coupe roared along Route 8, the engine purring like a big cat and the wheels singing like slaves on the pavement. He drowned another gulp of beer and glanced at Daggy, who was buried in the folds of a giant map. "C'mon," Bobby spat, "where am I goin'?"
"Hold on," Daggy said. He fought his way out of the map, turned to one side, and tried his level best to fold it back up. Bobby sighed and shook his head. He turned away just as Flip pulled up next to him. Bobby blinked in surprise. "Flip?"
Sneering, Flip jerked the wheel and his front bumper met Bobby's. Bobby screamed and held tight on the wheel. "What are you doing?" Bobby yelled. "You gave me this car!"
"Now I'm takin' it away," Flip said. He jerked the wheel again, but this time, Bobby was ready and did the same. The two metal beasts clanged and scraped, each trying to upset the balance of the other. "That money's mine, Santiago!" Flip grated. His arms strained as he tried to keep the truck steady.
Bobby's arms did the same as he tried to keep the coupe from crashing. "Not on your life, pops."
In the passenger seat, Daggy pulled out a switchblade and hit a lever; the blade popped up like a snap. He waved it back and forth. "Plenty more where that come from, old man," he said.
The blade came close to Bobby's face. "Get that fuckin' think away from me," he yelled. He twisted his heads around. "Blades, do your thing!"
Blades' eyes lit up. He grabbed the bat, half-climbed out the window, and yelled YEEEEE-HAAAAW! He brought the back around in a deadly arc and smashed out Flip's taillight.
"You little shithead!" Flip screamed. "When I get my hands on you, you're dead!"
Still screaming, Blades slammed the bat onto the truck from every angle, denting the dents and knocking off flecks of rust like red rain. Bobby hit the gas in an attempt to speed off, but Flip kept pace. "You don't need that money," Bobby yelled. "You're old and gonna be dead soon. I have my whole life ahead of me."
"Not when I get done with you," Flip said.
Blades laughed and pounded the truck; Daggy waved the knife in an intricate zigzag pattern. "Yeah, you like that? Huh? YOU LIKE THAT!"
They were so caught up in their battle that they didn't see the four way intersection approaching, didn't see a thousand cars, trucks, and motorcycles converging on it from every direction. At the last minute, Bobby and Flip turned their heads...and both screamed in terror.
Every car and truck in Royal Woods barreled toward one another, destined to meet at that crossroads. Lori slammed her hands onto the dashboard and screamed; Rita covered her face with her purse; and Principal Strickland glared as though he could scare the other cars off like they were one of his students.
CRAAAAAAASH!
Tires, glass, and people flew through the air. Blades was launched fifty feet and came down in a field, the bat sticking out of the ground next to him; a flaming engine block sheared off the top of Lynn Sr.'s Packard; and Flip's truck rolled three times. Somehow, it landed on its feet and looked even better than it had going in. The rest of the cars formed a massive pile of ruin and misery that managed to look like every picture of destruction from WWII combined.
When the dust settled, Beverely popped out of the wreckage. "My car!" she wailed.
Leni appeared next to her, panic in her eyes. "My nickel!"
Bobby crawled out of his overturned coupe and laid on the ground, his chest rising and falling. He was covered in grease, scratches, and oil. He spotted Daggy lying unconscious in the distance, and his heart jumped. He would never say this out loud, but he liked his friends and, y'know, kinda sorta, um, cared aout them. He got up, staggered over, and bent, grabbing Daggy's shirt in both hands. "Dag," he said and shook, "say a few syllables."
"Did we get the money?" Daggy muttered.
"No," Bobby said, relieved, "we didn't."
"Damn."
Bobby helped him to his feet. "C'mon, let's get Blades and scram."
They hobbled off to collect their friend.
Lincoln had been working through heavy brush like a jungle explorer for nearly fifteen minutes when he came across it.
He was walking along an embankment 500 feet from the tracks and sweeping the ground with his eyes, ready to send up the alarm the moment he saw something. He found a few interesting rocks, some pop tops, and an Indian arrowhead, but those things were all junk; he only cared about the money. As he walked, his mind wandered and he started to think of all the things he would do with his portion. Boy, he'd have Pez and comics for life. Anytime he wanted a hamburger from Flip's, he could just go get it. If he wanted to see a movie, he didn't have to worry about asking Dad or saving his allowance. It would be great.
"Find anything?" Ronnie Anne called.
"Not yet!" Lincoln yelled.
Honestly, he was starting to think that he never would.
But five minutes later, he did.
His foot kicked something and he stumbled, almost falling again. He thought it was a rock, and losing his cool, he reared back his foot to kick it, but froze instead.
It wasn't a rock.
Or a log.
It was an arm.
Lincoln's blood ran cold and he started sputtering. "G-G-G-GUYS!"
In a second, Clyde and Ronnie Anne were there. "Didja find it?" Clyde asked excitedly. "How much -" he saw what it was and his face dropped. "What's that?"
The color drained from Ronnie Anne's face, and suddenly the fire and defiance that defined her character were gone. "Is that…?"
Lincoln reached out and pushed aside a bushel of vegetation.
A boy, slightly older than them, lay on his back, his eyes open and clouded, seeming to stare unto heaven. His arms were thrown out on either side of him and his legs were spread, feet pointing in either direction. Part of his head was gone, and slick brain matter showed through. His lips were slightly parted, and flies buzzed in and out of his mouth, The sickly-sweet smell of decomposition found Lincoln's nose and his stomach turned. Clyde spun around and puked on his shoes, and Ronnie Anne started to cry. She grabbed hold of Lincoln and squeezed him for comfort and protection. Lincoln simply gazed down into the boy's eyes. He had never seen a dead body before, and peering into its soightless eyes disturbed him so deeply that he couldn't go on looking, but couldn't look away either.
Letting the bush fall closed over the body, Lincoln held Ronnie Anne. "What do we do?" Clyde asked thickly.
"We tell the cops," Lincoln said. His voice was numb and shaky. "Come on." He led Ronnie Anne away and Clyde followed, head down.
Suddenly, the money didn't matter as much. If you want to be corny about it, you could say that they had discovered that the real treasure is life itself. Or you could just say that they saw a corpse and got freaked out. Really, it's up to you.
But one thing was for certain.
Lincoln didn't think about that 5000 dollars for a long, long time afterward.
Six miles south, a group of boys stood on the river bank, the land sloping up to the train tracks behind them. A burlap sack with a dollar sign on it lay before them, its top tied with a drawstring. The fat one prodded it with his foot and the older one rubbed the back of his gritty neck. "This isn't a dead body," Glasses said disgustedly.
"Our coming of age story is ruined," the fat one said.
Glasses picked the bag up and slung it into the river with all his might. It came down with a splash and sank without a trace. He put his hands on his hips and looked like he wanted to punch something.
"You guys wanna go shove firecrackers up cats' asses?" the older boy asked.
They considered for a moment. "Alright," Glasses said.
"Let's go,' Fatboy replied.
And that's the story of how 5000 dollars disappeared near Royal Woods and was never seen again.
THE END.