Pulp! 2

Chapter 10

We drive into the old, dilapidated city of Cohoes which, geographically speaking, is positioned right on the spot where the Hudson River meets the Mohawk. We drive on past Cohoes Falls which are dry right now due to the damning of the river by the electric powerhouse located further upstream. We pass by the many signs that contain skull and cross bone warnings meant to dissuade idiots who might want to wander onto the riverbed since, according to the wording under the bones anyway, a good amount of water is released each evening.

WARNING!

UNEXPECTED RAPID FLOOD WATER RELEASES!

There’s even a barbed wire-topped fence that’s meant to prevent bystanders who visit the falls’ overlook from climbing down onto the riverbed.

Passing by the falls, we drive over the train tracks to Mohawk Street and an old hotel that looks like it was built two centuries ago. The five-story stone and wood structure is called The Harmony Hotel. That is, judging by the old sign that hangs outside the front stone steps leading up to the front glass and wood doors.

As we exit the Jeep, Edge takes on a skeptical expression. He lights a cigarette, blows out the initial hit of blue smoke.

“I don’t get it,” he says. “Why don’t we just go to the cemetery and dig up your great grandfather’s head right now. Then we’ll have our map. We can cut to the chase and be back at the bar by five this afternoon.”

“It’s not as simple as that, Edge,” Sarah explains, finger combing her long black hair. “First of all, we can’t just start digging up graves. We need permission, or at least, the cover of darkness if we’re going to act illegally. Plus, there are other things we need to know about the skull itself.”

“Like what?” Edge says.

“Like if it will explode as soon as we touch it,” she retorts.

Edge laughs. “You been reading too many Chase Baker novels,” he says.

She giggles. “You know anything about Schultz, Edge?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “He was a gangster, like Legs Diamond and Al Capone.”

“He was more than a gangster. He loved violence. He once cut a man’s heart out just because he didn’t like the guy. He also loved to play with booby-traps and explosives. He once set a time bomb underneath a flatbed truck that was delivering his homebrewed beer down to a speakeasy in New Jersey after he found out the driver was skimming off the top. The driver never knew what hit him.”

“Schultz sounds like a bad dude,” Rob says. “Down in Phoenicia, he’s kind of a local hero.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” she says. “And if the skull is the only map around that tells us the exact location of the treasure, makes sense it won’t be too easily accessed.”

“Nothing happened when it was transported to its new grave in St. Agnes,” I point out.

“Chalk that up to dumb luck, Chase,” she says. “We also need to find out what we might face if we do happen to find the treasure. What surprises wait for us there.” She heads up the stairs to the front door and turns back to us when she reaches the landing. “Well, what are you waiting for boys?”

As if on cue, the three of us glance at one another. Sure, it was Edge and my idea to leave the conference and come north to seek out our own “suspense” in the form of a search for legendary buried treasure. But why is it I have the feeling we’re no longer in charge of the search?