Balloon Boy and the Porcupine Pals: Antihooliganism by Mort Gloss
Chapter 3 - Treasure Hunt
Balloon's Friends Persuade Him to
Locate Money and Give it to Them
"I told you, Balloon, it's not stealing if it doesn't belong to anyone. Stealing is when you take something that's owned by somebody else. This isn't stealing; it's more like finding," explained Tom, for the seventh time. Tom and Russ sat on Balloon's couch. It had been three days since Balloon revealed his abilities to them. Over that time, Tom and Russ had continued to test the merits of his new power, quizzing him on a broad range of topics: remote geography, historical facts, highly advanced math equations, astronomy, and any other subject captured in text books they could check out from the Midland library. In every instance, Balloon knew the answer to their question.
Tom and Russ decided it was time to test the true merits of Balloon's vast knowledge. "Tom's right, Balloon. It's not stealing. We just want you to tell us where we can find a lot of money that doesn't belong to anyone. It's like a treasure trove. You don't have to pay anybody back if you find it."
"Treasure Trove? What's that there video game place over to the mall got to do with findin' money?"
"No, treasure trove like finding treasure, you moron," said Tom. "I swear, Balloon, for a supergenius, you're still pretty dim." Both Tom and Russ had noticed something about Balloon's newfound intellect. He didn't always know the answer to everything; something had to be triggered. After a few days' observation, they understood Balloon had to actually venture a guess to discover the truth. It required an overt act on his part. At first, Tom was frustrated by Balloon's apparent inability to know things instantaneously. The tediousness of constantly reminding Balloon to guess annoyed him. Nevertheless, the more Tom thought about the gap between Balloon's usual idiocy and his omnipotent capabilities, he felt relieved Balloon wasn't always right. After all, he had to maintain at least a minimal superiority over his moronic friend. "Just guess where we can find a lot of money that doesn't belong to anybody. And then, just in case you're worried, you can guess whether it's legal to take the money under Texas law. If it's not, then we won't take the money."
"Serious, Balloon. It will be like a treasure hunt. Just like in Indiana Jones or National Treasure," argued Russ.
Balloon, who had continued to hesitate, became excited when Russ compared the money-grab to Indiana Jones. "Okay, let's git her done. Jist tell me what y'all want to know."
Russ articulated the question with the precision of a legal contract. "Where is the closest place Balloon, Tom Starley, and Russ Gibson can locate at least $1,000 in United States currency, which is legal for Balloon, Tom Starley, and Russ Gibson to discover and possess under the laws of the great state of Texas?"
Balloon screwed up his face as he processed the question. "South of Iraan...."
Tom was immediately crestfallen. "I can't believe it, Balloon. The only place in the whole world where we can find $1,000 cash is Iran? We'll never get there."
"Wait a second," said Russ. "Did you say Iran, or Ira-an?"
"Ira-an. Y'all know, that town jist south a Midland. The moneys is all sittin' south a her yonder, round about I-10 somewheres."
"Oh sweet," exclaimed Tom. "Let's go right now. Iraan is only about an hour and a half from here." Tom, moving toward the exit of Balloon's single-wide with excitement, opened the front door and jumped over the small, wooden porch. Russ followed closely behind.
"Let's take the Caddy; we may need a lot of trunk space to fit the money," said Russ. Russ and Tom's company owned a 1973 Cadillac Eldorado Coupe. It was creamy white, with silver paneling around the bumpers and grill. An outline of the state of Texas was engraved on its enormous hood. Each side, in bright red flaming letters, bore the name "Porcupine Pipe." It was the company's only real asset.
"What, you don't think Balloon's 1990 Geo Metro will do the trick?" laughed Tom. "Balloon, next time your mommy buys you a car, ask for one that can at least accelerate when you're inside it."
"Now now, Thomas. Balloon's parents were just trying to protect him from inflating gas prices. After all, it's hard to burn gas money when you can't even fit in the car," said Russ. "Don't worry, Balloon, the old Caddy can fit all of us-and the cash-just fine."
"Hey, y'all, I like that there Metro. Ever since I put them six by nines in there, she's been real good." Balloon opened the huge door of the Eldorado Coupe, moved the front seat forward, shifted his weight toward the back of the car, and plunged onto the creamy white leather bench. Ever since high school, Balloon had always been placed in the back seat of any vehicle the three happened to be riding in.
"With that pathetic music you listen to, you could plug speaker wire into a paper plate and it would sound the same. Seriously, Balloon, I don't know how you can stand that crap," said Tom, firing up the Coupe and pulling out of Balloon's weed-patch driveway.
"It is a universally known fact," added Russ, "that Certain Death is the worst band of all time. Every copy of that putrescent filth should be gathered together, strapped to a space rocket, and shot into the sun. Fortunately, Balloon is the only connoisseur of that drivel."
"Come on, y'all, it don't git none better than Certain Death. They gots some a the best music ever," protested Balloon, leaning forward from the middle of the back seat.
Tom followed Balloon's trailer-lined road out to the main highway and headed south. "I agree, Balloon. They've definitely got some classic songs. Like 'Heavy Metal' for example; what a moving tribute! The lyrics still bring me chills: 'Heavy Metal, in my veins. Heavy metal, driving me insane....' That's some quality crap right there."
"You've neglected some of Certain Death's greatest musical achievements, Thomas," said Russ. "What about the sympathetic virtues of 'Suck Snot,' or the politically sensitive 'Hog-Tied?' Then, of course, there's my all time favorite: 'Path of the Mailman,' a touching tribute to Clifford C. Clavin, minor character in the '80s sitcom Cheers." Tom and Russ laughed hysterically.
"Y'all can say what ya want, but there's lots of folk who love Certain Death."
"Really? Name one other person that still listens to them," said Tom, challenging Balloon. "Come on, supergenius, I want to know."
Balloon was silent. He screwed up his brain, guessed how many people still liked Certain Death, and was shocked at the response that registered in his slow mind: one. He tried to hide his guess from Tom, but it was too late.
"That's what I thought, Balloon," said Tom. "Certain Death was an old heavy-metal fad that lasted about five minutes. Everyone who jumped on that bandwagon looks back with mixed feelings of shame and horror. You should upgrade to Poison, or better yet, Winger. They at least have a few fans left."
"Done matter what y'all think. Certain Death is the best band ever."
"You're fat," replied Tom.
The three continued their pointless arguments as the Cadillac heaved its way south of Midland. Balloon observed the cracked earth of west Texas as they traveled. He had rarely been outside the Permian Basin. Due to monetary deficiencies, his parents had never taken him on vacation when he was a child. As he got older, and his parents obtained more relative wealth, they took trips without him. So, at the age of 28, Balloon had never been further than 120 miles from Midland, Texas.
Tom's comments about Certain Death reminded Balloon of the longest trip he'd ever taken. Ten or so years earlier, he'd mustered up the money and courage to drive to the Lubbock, Texas fairgrounds. Certain Death, at this point on their fourth reunion tour, was putting on a show. The Lubbock county fair organizers had wedged the heavy metal performance between the pig competition and the evening rodeo. Prior to arriving, Balloon entertained fantasies of moshing, crowd surfing, and otherwise having a true head-banging experience. When he walked into the makeshift fairground arena, his hopes were immediately dashed. He was one of seven people in attendance. More than half the others had mistakenly thought "Certain Death" was some type of circus act, and left shortly after the onset of their first song. Balloon was further disappointed as the show
After the concert, which consisted of six songs, Balloon had rushed to meet his all-time hero, Certain Death's lead singer Tommy Rocket. Balloon eagerly held a copy of Certain Death's second album, Anthems of Torture, for Rocket's autograph. Rocket cursed his attempt, saying: "get your white trash out of my face, fatty." Balloon was extremely hurt, wondering what he had done to make Tommy Rocket hate him. After purchasing a corndog, he dejectedly walked to his car and drove home, crying himself all the way back to Midland. Upon his return, Tom mockingly inquired about the performance. Balloon had feebly reported that the concert was "awesome." As Tom drove south toward Iraan, Balloon contemplated the possibility of another Certain Death reunion concert. He felt a spark of excitement.
The musical berating over, the three traveled in silence for the remainder of the trip. Deserted industrial buildings and single-wide trailers informed them they were closing in on the city of Iraan. Upon reaching the heart of the dying town, Tom turned south.
"Alright, Balloon. Show me the money. Where do I go now?" inquired Tom.
"We gonna go down this fer a piece 'n then we takes the first right up yonder after Smith Canyon Road."
"Have you been here before, Balloon?" asked Russ, surprised Balloon knew the name of the country roads south of Iraan.
"Nah, Tommy asked where we was goin', so I jist asked ma head howta git there from here 'n spit out what she said. Ma head done told me to turn right up yonder past Smith Canyon Road. Maybe them other roads don't got no name."
"I'm sure if they did, your head would tell you," laughed Russ, amused by Balloon's third person reference to his own cranium. The treasure seekers continued a few more miles, passing Smith Canyon Road, and eventually reaching a dirt trail wide enough for the Caddy.
"Is this it?" asked Tom, already beginning to turn.
"I reckon so," answered Balloon. "Now we gotsta go all the way up yonder to the end of this here dirt road; then we pile out 'n walk a piece." Balloon pointed south toward I-10, in what appeared to be a field of parched earth and jagged brown weeds. Every three or four feet, large dead bushes dotted the landscape.
Tom drove the Cadillac to the end of the dirt road, which was littered with old kitchen appliances and broken down oil rig equipment. The three climbed out of the Coupe and began the trek southward.
"You lead the way, Balloon. We'll follow behind," said Russ.
"If'n y'all says so. I jist wish I had me a whip, or at least one of them there fancy hats," complained Balloon.
"Don't worry, when we get the sweet cash, you can buy yourself a whip and call yourself Indiana Fatty," said Tom, softening his regularly vindictive tone as best he could.
"Yeah, I reckon that'd be real good," said Balloon, stupidly imagining himself wielding a whip in order to fend off attacking snakes and bandits.
The companions walked nearly a mile, often stopping so Balloon could put his abilities to work and decipher the proper trajectory toward their goal. Eventually, they found their way to an old abandoned pump jack, surrounded by thick, thorny weeds.
"This is it, y'all," announced Balloon. "I reckon that there treasure's stuck down in the middle a that big ol' weed yonder."
"Lead the charge, Balloon. We're right behind you," said Tom, hoping he could persuade Balloon to dig around in the thorns so he didn't have to. Balloon walked a few more steps, stooped down, and began working through the thick, sharp shafts of the gnarled weed. After receiving over a dozen cuts to his fleshy arms for his efforts, Balloon finally pulled out a large, black duffel bag. The bag was equipped with a four-number combination lock.
"Uh oh, boys. This here's a bad deal," heaved Balloon, exhausted from the excavation work. "Whatever's in there ain't sposed to come out."
"So why do we care?" inquired Russ.
"'Cause, we ain't gots the combo. And this here plasticky stuff's gonna be awful hard to cut through," explained Balloon.
"Wow, you're right, Balloon. If only there was a way we could figure out the combination," said Tom, almost surprised by Balloon's obliviousness. Balloon nodded his head in agreement. "Balloon, get a clue, man. You can figure out the combination. You can figure out anything. Guess the stupid numbers."
"Oh ya, you's right on, Tommy. Should we git her done here, or y'all thinkin' we should go back yonder to my place first?" asked Balloon.
Russ was too curious to wait. "I say we check it out now. Nobody's around. This place is just as good as any."
"But whatta 'bout thems... bandits?" said Balloon, pronouncing the last word so quietly Tom and Russ could barely hear him.
"I think we'll make it," said Tom, his eyes meeting Russ' in a moment of secret laughter. "Alright Balloon, what's the combo?"
"Okay, if'n y'all is sure they ain't no bandits round about," said Balloon, leerily peering over his shoulder. "That there combo is 4594."
Tom hurriedly clicked the numbers into their appropriate places, pulled the lock, and looked inside the large bag. Russ and Balloon watched him with anticipation. Tom pulled his head up, a wild look of amazement and fear on his face.
"Uhh... guys, there may be a bit more here than $1,000," said Tom.
Russ stepped closer to the bag. "Well, that's good. How much is there?"
"Well, I'm not sure, but it looks like the whole bag is full of these," replied Tom. As he spoke, he presented two large, compressed stacks of hundred dollar bills from the bag. "It's got to be in the hundreds of thousands. Balloon, what's the exact dollar amount in here?"
Balloon, still on the lookout for bandits, asked himself the same question and instantly knew the answer. "$6,500,000," said Balloon, not quite sure how to pronounce the dollar amount.
Neither Tom nor Russ said a word. They were dumbfounded. In an instant, they had been transformed from refurbished pipe peddlers into millionaires. Balloon interrupted their shock and awe with his continued concerns about bad guys. "Y'all, I reckon we oughtta git outta here. I gots a feelin' them bandits is gonna be makin' a push for that there rich stuff."
"You don't need to worry, Balloon; there's nobody for miles around," said Russ, regaining his composure. "I do think we should get out of here though. Let's load up the cash and take it back to the city. Hey Balloon, tell us a place we can keep the cash so nobody will ever find it."
"Uhh... alrighty." Balloon crumpled up his face and spit out the answer. "Inside the heliopause," he said, pronouncing the phrase more as a question than a definite response.
"Great," smiled Tom. "Where the deuce is the heliopause?"
"The heliopause is outside the solar system, comprising the blurred boundary between the heliosphere and the interstellar gas beyond the outer planets," explained Balloon's mouth. Balloon himself had no clue what he was saying.
"Well good, let's remember that if we ever find ourselves in the heliopause," laughed Russ. "Let me try again. Where can we hide the money so that Tom Starley, Russ Gibson, and Balloon won't lose possession of it during their mortal lives?"
"Under ma bed," answered Balloon.
Tom slapped Balloon on the shoulder. "Excellent. To your mommy's trailer we go, Balloon. Let's get the cash in the Coupe."
The three worked together to transport the heavy bag of cash back to the Cadillac, stashing it in the Coupe's expansive trunk. As Tom drove away from the site of their treasure trove, Balloon anxiously watched through the back window, worried bandits would spring out of the weeds at any moment to claim the money. The bandits, however, weren't going to be springing out of anything. Their decomposing bodies lay scattered among the dry weeds and windswept trash, just a few yards beyond the spot where Balloon located their former treasure.