Haven Collectibles was an irresistible mix of the kid’s world and what Denny considered the good part of the adult world. Denny stepped in, the chime above the door jingling in his arrival. Mr. Goetts looked up and smiled, waving him over. Enjoying the dimness created by the tinted-glass windows, the cool of the air-conditioned store, and the slightly dusty, somehow mysterious smell, he ambled over.
“How are you, young Denny? Did Billy like the X-wing?”
“I’m fine, Mr. Goetts. Yeah, he loved it—who wouldn’t, right?” Denny grinned.
“Indeed. What do you think of these?” He gestured toward some coins laid out on a piece of black velvet that he was about to put in the glass display case.
Denny moved closer and saw that they were all Buffalo Nickels. “Wow, those are cool!” Denny didn’t know enough about coins to collect them. He had a book that could hold every penny from 1909 until 1985 and had a few holes beyond that to write in the dates after ’85. Denny never understood that—did the people that made the book not know what years came next? Denny’s had plenty of holes left to fill but that was the extent of his collection. But he did know that the nickels Mr. Goetts was adding to the display case were something he wouldn’t mind collecting someday.
“Yes, they are… cool. I just received them in a shipment from down south.”
To Denny, “down south” could mean anything from Saugus to Florida, but it was interesting to think about how Mr. Goetts got all the coins and stamps he sold. The counters on this side of the store were filled with them. Why he had never thought to ask Mr. Goetts the last thousand times he’d been in the store was a mystery. “Where do you find them?”
“Sometimes there are trade shows in the bigger cities: Boston, Providence, Hartford, and New York of course. But you won’t get any deals there. I have people who keep their eyes open for me all over the place. Flea markets, yard sales, things like that. Sometimes you only get onesies and twosies, but sometimes, usually at an estate sale, you hit the jackpot. Part of the items are the former owner’s collections. Sometimes amateurish, sometime very substantial. This one was somewhere in between. However, this particular gentleman had an affinity for Buffalo Nickels and wheat-back pennies, which are always quick sellers. My contacts know what I’ll pay for them, so they get them as cheap as they can and sell them to me. And I sell them to the lovely residents of Haven and its surrounding towns. For a slight profit, of course.”
Denny nodded slowly. “So it’s their job to just go around to these yard sales and look for coins and stamps for you?” He wondered idly if there might be any such coins that found their way into the caves under the lake.
Mr. Goetts smiled. “Not their only job, I’m sure. But I certainly don’t have the time to do it myself. And I’m always looking for a deal, so if you should come across any interesting finds, you bring them to me first, eh?”
Denny blinked; it was like Mr. Goetts had read his thoughts. “Sure! Maybe I’d get enough for the Dracula model.”
Mr. Goetts laughed. “Maybe you would. Now go, I know what you came to see. But don’t forget to keep your eyes open.” He winked.
Denny made his way slowly to his real destination, taking in the rest of what the store had to offer. Aside from the coins and stamps in the glass counters that took up one side of the store, a set of shelves in the middle of the floor held a different set of treasures: elaborate kites; Lionel trains; small, hand-painted figurines of soldiers and cowboys; and several unmatched plates and cups with intricate designs. Denny moved to the other side of the middle aisle and glanced at the dizzying array of Testors paints that filled the shelf. It was a cursory glance at best; before he would need paint he would need something to paint. He turned slowly and couldn’t hold back a smile.
The entire wall was lined with shelves that contained every possible model you could think of. Every sports car, every airplane, every battleship (even Cousteau’s Calypso, another one Denny had his eye on), and of course every glow-in-the-dark Aurora monster model. Frankenstein, The Wolf Man, The Phantom of the Opera, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and next on Denny’s list, Dracula. Then his gaze caught another in the collection and he shuddered. The Creature from the Black Lagoon. Could something like that really be in the lake? A monster that came out and snatched kids? It seemed as unlikely as a vampire or a man that turns into a wolf. But wasn’t the Phantom of the Opera just a guy with a messed up face… like Paul? His mind began to wander and the good mood that had filled him since he walked away from the school evaporated. Hideous images of monsters and bleeding, suffering children filled his head. These faded and it was his father in a hospital bed, connected to machines that kept him alive, still dying. He mumbled his goodbye to Mr. Goetts and stumbled into the blinding light of the afternoon.
He craned his neck nervously in both directions, sure he would see Crawford, and even more sure that Crawford would see him. He felt dizzy, disoriented. Why had he decided to walk to town in the first place? He could be home, safe and sound, watching television, or reading. Doing anything besides waiting to get his ass kicked again. Shaking his head and cursing his own stupidity, he started walking quickly toward the ball fields. He thought he might still make it there in time to catch a ride home with Billy. The tilting angle of the sun offered a different opinion. With every step he expected to hear his name called and to hear the gang overtake him. He looked over his shoulder, hating himself a little every time he did it.
The streets seemed much less crowded than they had and Denny wondered if he’d been in Goetts’ store longer than he thought. It seemed closer to dinner time. No, his mind screamed, it’s late because you strolled here from school like you didn’t have a care in the world. This wasn’t the Great Oz voice that sometimes helped him out. This was another voice that liked to mock him and berate him for his weaknesses. This time it was right. He got to the fields and felt a gnawing begin in his gut. The park was empty, cast into shadow by a random cloud floating across the sky. It would be a long walk home.
He leaned against the tall chain-link fence for a few minutes, mentally mapping out the safest route home. Finally, he pushed himself away and turned to start the trek, and felt his luck run out. Heading in his direction, probably coming from the ice cream shop or the pizza place after all, were Crawford and Buddy. Denny turned quickly, his mind trying to calculate a new route home, but Tony Costa was coming from that side. They must have been watching for a while, giving Costa time to get around the other side, Denny thought, and now I’m screwed.
Without a second thought, he scrambled up the fence and jumped off the other side, breaking into a sprint as soon as his feet touched the ground. He heard the yells and the sound of the fence as the others climbed in pursuit. He waited for the panic to set in, but still he felt calm. He was scared, he knew they’d really mess him up this time, but it wasn’t the mind-numbing terror he expected. Maybe you’re not such a pussy after all, the Great Oz murmured. Denny actually grinned while he ran for his life; maybe I’m not. The healing cut on his face itched, as if objecting, but he ignored it.
He knew he couldn’t outrun them if they were close, but if he had enough distance and turned it into an endurance contest, he liked his chances. He dared a look behind him and saw his three pursuers about forty yards behind, spaced widely across the field. The gates leading to the street were at either corner; if he angled toward either of them, he would be helping close the gap with one of his pursuers, Buddy or Costa. Once Denny chose a direction, they would converge toward him. He kept his pace as he crossed the field. One thing was sure, he did not want to get caught here, on the empty fields with no one in sight to help. He hit the fence on the far side in full stride and launched himself over, barely keeping his balance when he hit the sidewalk. Now it was decision time. Buddy, the fastest of the gang, was coming from the far left, Crawford was following Denny’s own route, and Costa on the right.