Pulp! 2

Chapter 9

I spot several sets of double-tracks that run under the tall pines. Makes sense too since this would be a great place for ATV trailblazers and 4x4 off-road fans.

“Where the hell we going?” Edge says, poking his bald head back between the bucket seats. “We could get lost out here, and eventually be forced to eat one another.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Edge,” Sarah says. “We’re in Rensselaer County.” She’s got her eyes on her smartphone and what I’m guessing is a GPS app. “Just keep going straight, Rob. Within a mile, you’re going to run into a county road. Take a left on it, and it will lead you directly into the city of Troy, and from there we can cross the bridge into Albany.”

We take it slow but steady along one of the two tracks, veering between the trees like a linebacker between tacklers until we make it out onto the narrow country road.

“Gotta love GPS,” comments a smiling Sarah. “I don’t remember what we did without it.”

Rob hooks a left, and suddenly, we’re back on our way into Albany via Troy. Naturally, I’m keeping one eye on the road and the other in the side-view mirror should our Russian friends show their faces again. But I have a distinct feeling they’re going to be busy for a while. That’s when something dawns on me.

“Sarah,” I say, glancing into the back. “Why don’t we do the Russians a favor and report their little stuck-in-the-mud situation to the police?”

“You really wanna get the cops involved?” she poses, squinting her eyes. “The Sergeys might spill the beans about our going after the Dutch Schultz treasure and then we’ll be out of business even before we start digging around.”

“Guess I should have thought of that,” Edge says. “Excellent plot point.”

Rob turns to me while driving. “Lady knows what she’s talking about, dude,” he says, extending his right hand, making a fist. “Give me the rock anyway.”

I do it, even if I do think contacting the cops is the right thing to do. After all, the Sergeys have been trying to kill me all morning.

The Albany skyline is once more visible beyond the Hudson River as we crest a hill.

“Where to now?” Rob asks.

“We’re not actually going to Albany quite yet,” Sarah says.

“We’re not?” Edge says.

“What Edge said,” I add.

“We’re going to Cohoes,” she says. Then, leaning into Rob. “Go north on Route 787. It will take us right into the heart of Cohoes.”

Rob pulls onto the highway and heads north as directed.

“What’s so special about Cohoes?” I say.

“It’s where Dutch Schultz murdered the man who was stealing from his personal treasure trove, and why Schultz decided once and for all to bury it. And it’s also where someone very special to me witnessed the murder first hand.”

“Who is that?” I say.

“My great grandfather Willy’s little boy,” she says.