Sammy Keyes and the Cold Hard Cash

by Wendelin Van Draanen

Since I’d hit the dead-guy jackpot, I’d done some really weird stuff.

  Desperate, almost.

  Besides being paranoid about my backpack, I’d lied to Grams, lied to Marissa, kinda lied to Casey, lied to Mrs. Wedgewood, lied to André…. Who hadn’t I lied to since I’d found the money?

  And talk about money making you do weird stuff—how much weirder can you get than sneaking around dressed up as an old lady?

  But, I told myself, I wasn’t addicted to the money. I didn’t have a problem with money. It’s not like I needed it.

  I just…liked it.

  I liked being able to slip money in Grams’ wallet or leave a present for Hudson on his porch.

  I liked being able to buy my own big salty pretzel at the mall or spring for the movies or Juicers.

  Was that so wrong?

  Marissa let out a deep, quiet breath. “You’re my rock, Sammy.” She rolled over. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  A minute later I could tell she’d fallen asleep. And I should have felt great about what she’d said, but I didn’t. How could I be her rock when I was keeping secrets from her and lying?

  I was, like, a fake rock.

  One of those phony movie boulders.

  And that’s when it hit me that I was living a double life. There was my secret life with money, and the normal one without.

  The awful thing being, I couldn’t see giving either of them up.

  TWENTY-THREE

  I might have drifted off thinking about life with money versus life with no money, only a thought flashed through my mind that jolted me totally awake.

  The Jackal’s picture!

  I’d been so detoured by Marissa’s call and Casey’s call and my mother with his father and all of that, that there’d been no place in my mental stew for what I was going to do with the Picture.

  But now here I was, wide-awake in the dark, wondering what I should do with it.

  And after a good fifteen minutes of thinking out different scenarios in my head, I finally decided that what I needed wasn’t some little image on a screen—what I needed was a real hold-in-my-hands picture.

  Now, I could have asked Marissa to print it for me in the morning, but I didn’t want to have to explain who the Jackal was or why I had a camera.

  Same thing with Hudson.

  Or anyone else I knew with a computer.

  And after spending about ten seconds running through all my printing choices, I snuck out of bed, picked up my backpack, and tiptoed down to Mrs. McKenze’s office.

  Five minutes later I discovered that her office computer required a password. So I tiptoed into Mikey’s room, told his fish, “Shhhh!” and booted up his computer.

  No password required!

  It took me about half an hour to figure out how to get the image of Rex-the-Jackal-Randolf from the camera to the computer and then crop it so it was mostly face and hardly any background. But when his sneaky mug was finally coming through the printer, I pumped my fist and whispered, “Yes!”

  When I was done, I shut everything off, hid all my stuff inside my backpack, and eased back into bed. I was awake for quite a while, though, thinking about ways I could use the picture to find out what was going on with the Jackal and the Sandman. And the plan I finally settled on involved freaking them out a little. Nothing major—just enough to get them to quit trying to track down the money.

  Anyway, the next morning when the phone rang, it felt like I’d just fallen asleep. Only there was light coming through the window. And Marissa was already up, her hair wet from a shower.

  “Hello?” she whispered into the phone.

  “I’m awake,” I mumbled, wrapping a pillow over my head.

  “Everything’s fine,” Marissa said into the phone. “Uh-huh…Uh-huh…Why?…That’s not very nice!…Fine. Whatever…. Okay! Fine!”

  After she hung up, I unwrapped the pillow and eyed her. “Let me guess. She’s on her way home with your dad and she wants me out of here.”

  Her jaw dropped. “How’d you know that?”

  I snorted and sat up. “Educated guess.”

  “I’m sorry, Sammy.”

  “No big deal. I’ve got a bunch of stuff to do before the pool party, anyway.”

  “Like what?”

  I laughed. “Like go home and sleep.”

  “I’m really sorry, Sammy!”

  So we made a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, and I took off. And I must’ve been on autopilot, because I was planning to go straight to the Heavenly Hotel to enact my little freak-out plan, only I wound up at Hudson’s.

  “Sammy!” Hudson called from the porch as I clicked along the sidewalk. And since I couldn’t exactly say, Uh, sorry, I wasn’t really planning to visit, I turned up his walkway and said, “Hey, Hudson!” like I was totally glad he was out on his porch, stopping me from getting where I wanted to go.

  I plopped down in a chair next to him and eyed his hot tea and muffin. Maybe it was residual hunger from the day before, I don’t know, but even though I’d just eaten, my stomach was totally growling at the sight of Hudson’s blueberry muffin.

  “Where are my manners?” he asked, getting up and disappearing inside.

  “Where are mine?” I said with a laugh as I scooched his tea and muffin over to my side of the table.

  He was back outside a minute later. “Do you know anything about a gift that was left on my porch?”

  “A gift?” I asked all nonchalantly. “What kind of a gift?”

  “It’s a wonderful framed photograph.”

  I bit into what was now my muffin. “No card on it?”

  He laughed, “Yes, but it was from a ‘secret admirer.’”

  “Oh, Grams is gonna love that!” I said, ’cause Grams and Hudson have been on-again, off-again for almost a year.

  Hudson raised a bushy eyebrow my way. “Michael seemed to think it was from you. He said the e’s were just like your e’s but I told him you certainly didn’t have the means to buy a gift like that.” He took a bite of his muffin and grinned at me. “He suggested that maybe you stole it.”

  I snorted. “Oh, right,” I said, trying to act cool, even though the thing with the e’s had me in total shock. “Like I’d give you a stolen present?” I sat up a little. “Besides, I don’t steal stuff! Or play with matches!”

  “Matches?”

  “Never mind,” I grumbled, slouching back into my seat.

  He took a sip of tea. “I think it was probably the McKenzes. I wish they wouldn’t feel that they have to do something to thank me for having Mike here.”

  Now, it was one thing for him not to know who the present was from, but it kinda bugged me that he thought the McKenzes might have given it to him.

  They seem to think I steal, egg people on, and play with matches.

  So I said, “I kinda doubt it was the McKenzes. They’re in total crisis mode.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “I could tell there was something going on when I spoke with Mrs. McKenze last evening.” He dropped his voice a little. “While Mike’s still sleeping, could you give me a few details about their situation?” He looked over his shoulder toward the door. “That poor boy is the one in crisis mode.”

  I almost said, Why? ’Cause you won’t let him have Twinkies? But at the last minute I bit my tongue and whispered, “Because he doesn’t want to be here?”

  Hudson shook his head, but it wasn’t the usual calm wag back and forth. His head quivered, his eyes twitched, and thoughts just seemed to be sputtering around inside his head. “He told me some things last night—I just can’t imagine.”

  “Things?” I sat up a little straighter. “Like what things?”

  “Like how badly he’s teased at school.”

  I wanted to snort and say, For what? Being a whiny, tattling, annoying monster? but I could tell that Hudson really was upset. And even though I’d known Mikey for years and Hudson had only known him a couple of days, I didn’t want to come across as a know-it
-all jerk. So I just said, “For…?”

  “For being overweight! He broke down and cried last night, Sammy. He is terrified of school starting up again. It was heart-wrenching.”

  I kinda shrugged and nodded. “Kids can be really mean.” I pulled a little face. “Especially when someone’s a whiny tattletale.”

  “But…what came first? The name-calling or the whining? Nobody should be called Chunky Monkey, or Fatty McWide, or Chubby Cheese, or Blubber Butt, or the Flab-o-Matic, or Tub-o-Chub, or Lardo….” His voice trailed off as he shook his head.

  I just sat there a minute, blinking. “He told you all that?” But then I decided that Mikey was making stuff up for sympathy. You know, pulling an old guy’s chain.

  Mikey McKenze is the master of pulling people’s chains.

  Hudson let out a puffy-cheeked sigh. “What bothered me most was Jab-the-Flab.”

  “Jab-the-Flab? What’s that?”

  “At recess, kids poke him and run.” He shook his head. “And of course he can’t catch them. Recess must be a nightmare.”

  For the first time in my entire life, I felt a strange wash of sympathy for Mikey.

  Jab-the-Flab?

  Not even he would make that up.

  “So,” Hudson was saying, “any insight would be very much appreciated.”

  I took a deep breath. “This is top-secret, okay? Mrs. McKenze doesn’t like other people knowing their business.”

  He nodded, so I gave a quick rundown of the situation, and when I was done, he just sat there, quiet. No philosophical thoughts, no musings; he just sat there, quiet.

  So I finally got up and said, “Sorry, Hudson, but I’ve got to go. I’ve got a million things to do before Brandon’s pool party this afternoon.”

  He snapped to. “A pool party? Well, enjoy yourself!”

  “Thanks!” And as I hit the sidewalk, I called, “Say hi to Mikey for me!”

  Which was weird.

  Never in my life had I wanted anyone to say hi to Mikey for me.

  Never.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  When I finally made it to the Heavenly Hotel, I plomped my backpack on the counter and got right to the point. “Hey, André. I have something that may interest you. The only catch is, you can’t ask me any questions.” I looked right at him. “Deal?”

  He pushed his cigar stub forward with his lips, then reeled it back in and clamped it between his front teeth. “Deal,” he said, looking a lot like a laughing camel.

  I pulled the picture of the Jackal from my backpack and slid it across the counter. “Look familiar?”

  “That’s him!” he said, and for the first time in the whole time I’ve known André, the cigar fell out of his mouth. He snatched it up and jabbed a finger at the picture. “That is definitely him!” He looked at me. “Where’d you get this? How’d you know? Who is he?”

  I pinched my lips, raised my eyebrows, and waited.

  “Oh yeah,” he said, looking totally dejected. “But how can you expect me not to ask questions?”

  I gave him a little smile. “That’s also a question.”

  He rolled his eyes, then said, “So now what? Which is also a question, I know, but you gotta be willing to answer that one…!”

  I laughed. “Now you call the police department and ask for Officer…make that Sergeant Borsch.”

  His forehead was suddenly all knotted up. “Wait a sec—isn’t he that jerk cop who gives you trouble everywhere you go?”

  I sort of shrugged and nodded. “Yeaaaaah…used to be.”

  “Whaddaya mean, used to be? I remember that cat. He’s one royal pain in the…uh, backside.”

  I nodded again. “Let’s just say we understand each other better now. He’s really not as incompetent, vindictive, and obnoxious as he comes across.” I gave a lopsided little smile. “He’s actually all right.”

  André shook his head. “Well, this is big news to me.” He chomped down on the cigar again and gave me the camel look. “And I’m not sure I believe it.”

  “The point is,” I said, tapping the picture, “you were duped by this guy, and you seemed pretty tweaked about it. I don’t know his name, but I’m pretty sure I know where he lives. If you don’t care who he is or what he took out of Buck Ritter’s room, that’s fine.” I started to pull the picture back. “I mean, what do I care?”

  André slapped the picture down. “No, okay. I just don’t really get how you got his picture or why you’re doing this.”

  I looked him in the eye. “You don’t treat me like a little kid, André. You’ve always been, you know, decent to me. Even nice. I mean, come on. You gave me a job, right?”

  “Are you saying this is costing me?”

  “No!”

  He just stood there, blinking across the counter at me, his cigar completely still.

  I just stood on the other side, looking straight at him, not twitching an eyelid.

  Finally his cheeks crinkled up a little and he said, “But why that Borsch guy? Why not—”

  “Who? Squeaky and the Chick? Look, I’ll give you the picture. All I’m asking is that Sergeant Borsch is the only person you talk to about it and that you don’t mention my name or how you got the picture.” I started to pull it back again. “If you don’t care, that’s fine. I’ll stay out of it.”

  André scratched his neck and muttered, “I haven’t quit kicking myself since it happened. I do not get duped. Ever.”

  I shoved the picture toward him. “So do something about it. I’ve also got information on someone he’s working with—”

  “He’s working with someone? Who? What are they up to?”

  I frowned. “André, those are questions.” Then I grumbled, “I don’t know what they’re up to, okay?” I took a deep breath. “Look, I’ll tell you what I know, but you have to promise to leave me out of it. You talk only to Sergeant Borsch, and you never mention me.” I leveled a look at him. “Do we have a deal or not?”

  He frowned at me a minute, then muttered, “Deal.”

  For insurance, I stuck my hand out.

  He hesitated, then shook it.

  “Okay,” I said, lowering my voice—not that anyone else was around, I just automatically lowered my voice. “I’m pretty sure they both live across the street in the Senior Highrise. The manager there knows everybody. His name’s Vince Garnucci. Get Sergeant Borsch to show him this picture and he should be able to tell him who he is.”

  André gave a short, quick nod. “Vince Garnucci. Got it.”

  I pointed to the picture. “This guy’s friend lives in apartment four-two-seven. Tell Sergeant Borsch that he should knock four times, then two times.”

  “What’s that? Some kinda secret knock?”

  I leveled a look at him. “Just make sure you tell him to do it.”

  “But—”

  “André! We have a deal.”

  “Right,” he said, but from the look in his eye, I could tell he wasn’t sure if he’d made a deal with me or some shifty stranger.

  After I left the Heavenly, I went up the street to the Pup Parlor. Meg and Vera were already busy sudsing up a Boston terrier when I jangled through the door.

  “Sammy!” they both called. Then Meg said, “Holly’ll be glad to see you.” She shut off the spray nozzle and lowered her voice. “I think she’s nervous about that pool party today. I’m afraid she’ll decide not to go.”

  I headed for the stairs. “Don’t worry—she’s going!”

  So I jetted up to the apartment, calling, “Hey, Hollister!” as I looked around for her.

  She stuck her nose out of her bedroom. “Hollister? What’s that about?”

  I chuckled. “I don’t know—it just came out.” I headed over to her room. “I thought we should come up with a game plan for today.”

  “Uh…”

  “You’re going,” I said, ’cause I could see she was wavering with doubt.

  “But I don’t really know any—”

  “You’re going!” I e
dged past her and into her bedroom. “Let’s see your suit.”

  Holly’s room is like a little cottage getaway. There are quilts hanging on the wall, little stuffed bunnies and bears arranged like cheerful friends on her cute white dresser, a dish of potpourri next to a little white alarm clock on her nightstand…. Her room always looks perfect. No socks kicking around, no magazines tossed on the floor, no pinned-up posters…. Maybe it’s because Holly used to be homeless and now really values her room. Or maybe she’s just tidy. I mean, I don’t have my own room, but I know if I did, it would be a complete disaster. That’s how it was back when I lived with good ol’ Lady Lana, and if I ever get let loose in another room of my own, I’m sure that’s how it’ll be again.

  So maybe Holly’s tidy and I’m a slob.

  Or maybe I’ve just never had it bad enough.

  Whatever. The point is, for a girl who used to get her dinners from trash cans, Holly keeps her room incredibly neat. And when I asked to see her suit, she went to her closet and there it was, on a hanger.

  “Cool!” I said, ’cause it was this sparkly blue with just a hint of green—like the ocean—and it was a one-piece. “I really like that!” The tags were still on it, though, which seemed to me like she was leaving her options open to return it. So before she could stop me, I snapped them off and said, “No backing out—I’ll come get you a little before noon, okay?”

  “Are you changing there?”

  “Nah. I just wear my suit under my clothes, bring a towel and sunblock, and go for it.”

  “We’re riding skateboards, right?”

  I nodded.

  “So…do you bring a backpack?”

  “Uh, yeah.” But all of a sudden I was wondering what exactly I was going to do about my backpack.

  Or more precisely, about the money.

  I sure didn’t want to leave it in my backpack and worry about it while I was playing water hoops!

  That would totally ruin the fun.

  And I sure didn’t want to leave it somewhere Grams could find it.

  That would totally ruin everything!

  So…what was I going to do about the money?

  “Sammy?” Holly was asking.

  “Huh?”

  “Man, you just totally spaced.”