Free A Boy Called Duct Tape by Christopher Cloud

Pavarotti was about to sing something from “Rigoletto,” the announcer said.
    It must be Pavarotti week, I thought , whoever that is.
    Monroe walked over and turned the volume down, and then dropped into his rocking chair.
    “Where’s your cat today?” Kiki asked, peering into the dark corners.
    Sucking on his teeth, Monroe said, “I ate her for breakfast.”
    I felt my Adam’s apple click in my throat, and a tiny whimper arose from Pia. Kiki’s eyes popped wide, and all the blood drained from her face.
    “I can feel my heart beating, Pablo,” Pia said.
    Monroe played the hoax for several seconds before breaking into laughter. “Gotcha!”
    He whistled softly and the longhaired cat strolled out from under the bed. It paused to arch its back, and then bounced up onto Monroe’s lap, sniffing at the splotchy dishtowel wrapped around his hand.
    “Well,” Kiki said, blowing out a big breath of air. “I believe we have ourselves a budding comedian.”
    “I can still feel my heart beating,” Pia said, placing a hand over her chest.
    I shook my head, a smile itching to get out.
    “Who’s following you kids?” Monroe asked, his tone suddenly all business.
    “Following us?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
    “Pablo Perez, you’d have to be blind not to know,” Monroe complained. “The thing is, they’re not real good at staying hidden.” Cradling the cat in his arm, he got up and went over to the window. He dropped his sunglasses over his eyes, pulled back the shabby curtain, and then peered outside. “I could almost hit them with a rock.” He glanced over his shoulder at us. “Come take a look.”
    We got up and went over to where Monroe stood at the window.
    “Look up in the ranger tower,” Monroe said, gesturing at the abandoned observation post, which rose above the forest canopy a quarter-mile away. The tower was silhouetted against the summer sky like the watch steeple of a medieval castle.
    I spotted two dark figures moving about in the loft of the deserted structure. “I see them.”
    “Looks like two men,” Kiki said, peering over my shoulder.
    “Why would anyone be following you?” Monroe asked, dropping the curtain back into place and returning to his rocking chair. “They followed you here yesterday, too.” He pushed his sunglasses back up onto his head.
    The three of us squeezed back onto the sofa.
    “We had a coin,” I said. “I’ll bet those are the men who stole it.”
    We had biked past the Blood Brothers Trading Store that morning. The SORRY, WE’RE CLOSED sign was still in the window. I had peeked inside, but the pawnshop was coal black.
    “They must think we’ll lead them to more coins,” I said, my anger starting to boil at the thought of Earl Blood switching coins.
    “What kind of coin?” Monroe asked, his rocking chair creaking beneath him.
    Pia glanced at me and I gave her a nod. “A twenty-dollar gold piece, Mr. Huff,” she said.
    “And …?” Monroe said.
    “And we think it could be from the Jesse James treasure everyone talks about,” Kiki said.
    I expected Monroe to throw back his head, slap his knee and burst into laughter. Then, as he was laughing, he’d get up with his best good-bye face and point towards the door. But he didn’t.
    “Let’s see this twenty-dollar gold piece.”
    “That’s what I’m saying,” I said. “We showed it to those men and they switched coins. They tricked us.”
    “Who tricked you?”
    “They’re called the Blood brothers,” I said. “They own a pawnshop in Jamesville.”
    Monroe nodded. “Not to be trusted.”
    “We know that now,” Kiki said in an edgy voice.
    “Where’d this coin come from?” Monroe’s deep-set eyes swept over us.
    I told Monroe the story of how I had found the coin at the bottom of the James Creek while Pia and I were swimming, and how I believed the coin had been washed out of Bear Mountain by the underground spring that feeds into Harper’s Hole.
    Monroe listened quietly, nodding