Capitol Theft

I glared at my editor. She glared at me.
"You butchered my article on the Vo-Tech, Kelly."
"I had to. Mrs. Ellis didn't like the way you wrote it."
"Mrs. Ellis can suck rocks."
Kelly threw her hands up in the air. "Terrific, Lou. You want to tell her that, or should I?" She picked up the school newspaper, and read from my article. "You wrote that each student in the farming program had to care for a sheep, and if it lives, they pass the grade. I don't think that's true."
"It was satire."
'I don't think you know what that means."
"You're being pretty mean for someone who wanted me to be your campaign manager when you ran for class president last year."
"We lost."
"Kelly, shit."
"Mrs. Ellis doesn't like the way you try to be a smart-ass. She just wants the straight facts She doesn't think you trying to be funny is worth running."
"Tell that to Dave Barry. The Morning Call runs him every day."
Kelly sighed. She folded up the paper. "You're in German III, right?"
"German II," I said. "I got held back a year because I gave the teacher an uncooked Easter egg."
"Are you going on that trip to Washington DC with the German class and the exchange students?"
"Yeah, assuming Reagan doesn't blow us all up by then."
"I want you to cover that. Seriously. I'll bring my camera and get some photos, and you write the article. Promise me you won't act stupid in front of the exchange students."
"I promise I won't get caught."
"Do you want the article, or not?"
I nodded.
"Yeah. I do."

Class trips would be a lot cooler without all the classmates.
The bus was pretty evenly split between the German exchange students and my American classmates. The German teacher in my school was very active, and planned all sorts of things like this. The Spanish teacher, by contrast, mostly talked about her days in Vietnam. So we were on a bus trip to Washington with a bunch of Germans, which may have been the most diverse experience of my life up to that point.
The trip so far had been rushed. We'd spent most of it on the bus, running behind schedule evidently, because we'd mainly been driving past things. We'd drive past a monument, and the guide would gesture at it, but we couldn't stop because we were in a big hurry to go drive past someplace else. The guide was a German named Zukov, and he seemed to be perpetually running behind schedule. Months later, I would see a TV show that had a character named Zukov as a KGB agent, and it would explain so much.
I clicked a photo of the Lincoln Memorial with my Polaroid. I wished Kline was here.
"Looking for ghosts, screwball?" asked one of the kids in an adjacent seat.
"You never know, Tim," I said. "A lot of Washington is said to be haunted."
"Man, don't tell anyone our fathers work in the same place," Tim said. "That's about all we have in common. You're so weird."
"You know," added Esther,"If you put this much effort into your school work----"
"If school work didn't suck, I might."
The German teacher stood up in front of the bus. "We'll be stopping for dinner," she said. "We're going to have an hour to eat, and then we'll be going to the motel."
"You gonna look for ghosts in the motel, screwy?" asked Tim.
Asshole. "And aliens," I said. "Washington has aliens hid all over the place."

Dinner was a buffet, and it was packed. You'd think a restaurant would plan to seat like sixty kids. Someone immediately spilled water all over the tablecloth, so several of us were sitting there eating off a wet table. All in all, I couldn't get out of there fast enough.
We got back on the bus. I filed back to my seat. It took me a minute to locate the seat---I was looking for my bag, the big blue one I'd carried on. But it wasn't there. It had disappeared.
I looked at Rod, the kid who had been sitting next to me. "You see my bag?"
"No, man," he said. "It was there when we went into the restaurant."
Kelly appeared in the aisle beside Rod as the bus started off. "Switch with me," she said. Rod shrugged and moved off, and she sat down next to me. "I'm gonna need you to get some photos when we unload at the motel. My camera's out of film, and I won't be able to buy more till tomorrow."
"Might be a problem there, Kelly," I said. "My camera was in my bag, and it's gone."
She frowned. "Someone took it?"
" I think so."
"You gotta tell the Frau."
"I think I kinda want to look into it myself," I said. "I don't want anyone looking in my bag but me."
"Why? What's in your bag?"
"Um. Well. My camera and notebook, a first aid kit, two knives, my whip, lockpicks, a couple of smoke bombs, and a flashlight."
"You just carry all this stuff around with you?"
"Who do you come to when you need a band-aid?"
"You," she admitted. "What're you gonna do?"
"Try to get it back myself," I said. "My dad gave me the bag for this trip; I think he got it from work. I don't think I want the Frau finding out I brought a whip along to Washington."
"You and Kline have been hanging out too long," she said. "We're reporters. You want me to ask a few questions, see if I can help?"
"Yeah. We both will."

"I didn't say ghosts are definitely real," I said. "I just said that considering we have a First Lady who consults with psychics, I think you're being a little harsh."
I was standing outside our motel room door with a couple of the other guys. We'd been through a pillowfight and some crank calls on the motel phone, and now we were standing outside on the walkway, chatting. We couldn't stray far past the door, because some of the German students had tried to sneak out and get alcohol, seeing no reason they couldn't drink like they did at home. So the chaperones had set up guards to keep everyone in the motel.
Esther came running down the walkway to us. "Did you guys see anyone come out of my room?" she asked. "Someone went in while I was out getting a soda, and stole the money I had in my purse!"
"Bet it was one of the Germans!" said one of the other guys. "None of us Northern Lehigh kdis would do something like that."
"You got robbed, too?" I said. "Someone took all my stuff."
"From your room?"
"No, off the bus."
She frowned. "That's weird," she said. "How could anyone just walk off the bus with your bag? You'd think someone would notice."
"You'd think," I agreed. "Just like you'd think someone would notice someone busting into your room."
"It didn't look like they broke the lock or anything," said Esther.
"Really?"
"I'm going to go find Frau Hicks," she said. "I need to report this!"
"Wait," I said. "I have an idea. Let's get Kelly. And which room is Tim in?"

I pounded on the door to Tim's motel room. "Open up! Police!"
He opened the door and stared at me. "What're you doing, weirdo?"
"Only my friends get to call me a weirdo, Tim. Let's have it. Everything."
"What're you talking about?"
Kelly and Esther were standing behind me, Kelly taking occasional notes. "Esther's money and all my stuff. Let's go. Now."
He made a face. "You're nuts. I don't know anything about any money."
"Me, too, but in my case it's just in business math class," I said. "You started by stealing all my stuff, and then you used my lockpicks to get into Esther's room and steal her money."
"Got a statement for the record?" Kelly asked him.
"You're crazy."
"No," I said. "I'm not. I realized that your dad a mine work in the same place. He brought me the bag to use for this trip, one of his old work bags. And so did your dad. You took mine off the bus, and nobody noticed because our bags look the same."
Esther was staring at me. "Now you're good at paying attention?"
"I don't know if you did it on purpose or not, but when you opened it up and found all my stuff, you used my picks to get into Esther's room and steal her money. These motel locks are not the most secure I've ever seen; I could open one with a popsicle stick."
"You can't prove any of this," he said.
"Don't have to," I told him. "Here's how it's gonna go down. You either give everything back, right now, or else I go to the Frau and tell her money was stolen, and ask her to search your room."
"You're not going to let the Frau find your knives and whip," he said.
"How did you know there were knives and a whip in the bag?" asked Kelly.
He went pale. I said,"I'm happy to have her search. See, I don't have weapons in my room. You do."
He scowled at me, then turned and walked into his room. He came back and handed me my bag, then gave Esther a folded wad of money.
"There," he said. "Now leave me alone."
"Quote for the school paper?" I asked.
He slammed the door in my face.
"Thank you, Lou," said Esther.
"You guys get a good night's sleep, now," I said. "Tomorrow morning we gotta drive past the Washington Monument."
Esther shook her head. "If only you could learn German as well as you get in trouble."
I smiled. "Nicht war?"

Black Rock

Lou, age six.....
"....Your great-grandmother bought this farm when she first brought her family to America," my grandmother told me. "When your grandfather grew up, he bought it from her. He was training to be a priest, but he left the seminary to marry me, and worked on this farm."
I sat on the couch, listening to her talk about the past. I was staying overnight at my grandparents' house, and a storm was going on outside. It was like a couple of years ago, when a hurricane had flooded the river and trapped us inside the house for days.
She said,"There were Indians here, long ago. We still find arrowheads around the property, and there's an Indian altar at the top of the mountain, where they used to do their ceremonies."
"I want to go see it," I said.
My grandmother smiled. "Well, not tonight for sure. Maybe your grandfather will walk you out to it sometime. And when you're older, you can go explore."
"I like that!"
"You're going to be an explorer. I can tell already. You're going to grow up to have adventures," she said.

Lou, now.
I took three steps and leaped, just narrowly avoiding getting hit by the oncoming train.
I landed in the grass, rolling. A moment later, my friend C Squared landed next to me. The train thundered past.
"Seriously?" I said. "You heard these tracks were haunted?"
"Sure," he said. "They say some guy got killed on them a long time ago."
I stood up, brushing myself off. "Come on, man. Who's gonna get run over by an oncoming train?"
"Well, we almost did."
"Let's get out of here."
We ran to the nearby Ford Escort, a tiny red car that looked like someone had hit the side with a rake. Kline looked up at us as we jumped in.
"No ghosts?
"Nothing," I said. "Let's get home."
He started the car and pulled out, heading back for Slatington. Kline said,"So what now? You guys gonna come back and look again over the weekend?"
I shook my head. "I need a break. I'm gonna stay overnight with my cousin in Phoenixville, and go on out to my grandfather's farm. Black Rock. There's a story of an old Indian altar that I'd like to look into."
"Sounds cool," said Kline.
"I'll bring you back a photo."
"Bring me one of your cousin, too," he said. "She's cute."
"Kline. For fuck's sake."

"Do you need anything?" my cousin asked. I was sitting on the couch at her place, my sleeping bag next to me.
I shook my head. "No. No, I'm okay. Thanks, Marci."
"So what are you attempting here?" she asked, sitting down beside me.
"A long time ago, when I was little, my grandmother told me about an Indian altar on top of the mountain," I said. "I'm gonna hike up there, and see if I can find it."
"Can she give you some idea where it is?" Marci asked. Marci is on my mom's side of the family, and that grandmother was on my dad's.
I shook my head. "She's not too coherent these days. It can be hard to get through to her."
"I'm sorry."
"It's been happening for a long time. When I was little, she used to be a really good grandmother."
"How come you're going out after this thing?"
"I needed to get out of Slatington for the weekend. I needed a break."
"Why are you so into this stuff all of a sudden?"
"I been into this most of my life, Marci."
"Yeah, I remember you watching Raiders of the Lost Ark fourteen times. But lately, it's like you're obsessed with this stuff. We've all noticed. All of a sudden, you're always out looking for something, some dangerous thing to get yourself killed."
"I made some lifestyle changes," I said. I handed her my thermos. "And I'll tell you all about it sometime. So fill this with coffee in the morning, and give me a lift to Black Rock. Okay?"

I hiked up though the forest and over the mountain. It was about nine in the morning, and I was well on my way.
I stopped, sitting down on a rock. I set down my pack for a rest, got out my thermos, and drank some coffee while I looked down over the river.
The Schuylkill River, where there was said to be a water monster. I could see my grandfather's old farmhouse, and the meadow in front of it. The barns across the property, and the pond in the background. I drank my coffee and looked it over from high up.
After a while, I packed everything back away, put my pack back on, and started walking again.

It was about ten AM when I came across the ruins of the old clubhouse.
It had been my father's. I stopped and looked it over, walking around the exterior. A couple of walls remained, and a little bit of the roof---It looked to have been constructed of boards, almost certainly stolen ones. Weather and time had done their damage; I could see it had been a clubhouse, but it wasn't much of a shelter anymore.
I'd known my dad and his best friend Clint had built something like this up here. He'd told me about it. I'd never seen it before.
My father had a secret place in the woods. A place to come and hide with his best friend. Someplace that has parents never knew about.
My father was like me once.
It was a surprising thought. My father had been my age once, had done stuff like me. I had known it in some logical sense, but it hadn't really sunk in until I saw that ruined clubhouse in the woods.

Not far after, I got to the field.
The neighboring property, behind my grandfather's farm and up the mountain, was owned by a man named Jim Kirk. Seriously. I was at the edge of one of his fields, and I had the option to either skirt around the edge, or cut right across it, which would save me some time.
I started walking across it. In the summer, it would be potatoes or something, but right now it was just a wide, empty field.
I was about halfway across when I heard the dog begin to bark.
It was in the barnyard, in the distance at the edge of the field, maybe six hundred yards away. I could see it---It was a big one, dark-colored, and running across the barnyard toward me.
I felt a moment of terror. I was out in the open, like a bug on a plate. There was no way I could outrun this dog; it was way faster than I was. If it was in a mood to bite---And it sounded really pissed off---There wasn't a whole lot I could do about it. There were no trees to climb anywhere near me; I was far from the edge of the field.
I turned and bolted.
I got out my whip as I ran. I needed obstacles. I couldn't outrun the dog, but if I could get to the tree line I stood a chance. I raced for the edge of the field, not turning to check, hearing the dog bark angrily as it came in my direction.
It was one long, stressful run---Probably it seemed longer than it really was----But I made it to the tree line with the dog still a good distance away. I dashed into the forest, dodging and zigzagging, and put some trees and logs in between me and the dog.
I kept running, and then slowed down. I couldn't hear it. Chances were it had lost interest once I was thoroughly out of sight. I had trouble picturing your average farm dog stalking me silently through the woods like a Chupacabra.
I slowed down to walk, breathing heavily. After a while, I got my breath, and I was again just walking pleasantly on the mountain, on the edge, with a visible cliff ahead.
That meant I had to be near the top, east of my grandfather's house, far above the river.
Another minute of walking, and my feet shot out from under me.
I slid, landing on my back. In the fallen leaves, I slid down the slope in a lying position, heading directly for the cliff.
I reached up as I slid under a fallen limb, grabbing it and hanging on. It held, and I clung to it, my feet dangling over the edge of the cliff.
Slowly, I pulled myself back up, gripping onto the limb. I crawled along it, struggling until I got to a good place, stood up, and went back uphill and to the top of the mountain.
And I found it. There it was.
It had to be the altar. It couldn't be anything else. It was a large, flat black stone, maybe four feet by three feet, sticking out of the ground by several inches. Clearly, it hadn't shaped this way on its own; someone had worked it. This was it---This was the Indian altar.
It may very well have not been actually an altar; by calling it that, my family was making the same mistake a lot of archaeologists make. They'd confused an unknown function with a religious function, which happens to the best of us. But, looking at it, I realized something else, too.
This thing had been here for centuries. It had been here longer than my entire family. And, given the color, it was very likely that this was where the family farm, Black Rock, had gotten its name.
I sat on the edge of the rock, looking out over the river.

Late that afternoon, with the sun just beginning to go down, Marci picked me up.
"How's it going?" she asked as I got in the car.
"Pretty good," I said. "I had a good hike."
"You find what you were looking for?"
I smiled.
"Yeah," I said. "I think I did."
She pulled the car out, and we headed toward home.