by Lisa Howorth
“Sorry!” she whispered back.
Ivan answered, “We think it’s here! Come to the light!” I switched on the pen, pointing it at the floor. They tiptoed over.
“Shouldn’t one of us still stand guard?” I questioned. Simultaneously Max and Beatriz said, “Not me!” Nobody wanted to miss the Heist, or stand alone in the dark.
Ivan said, “If somebody comes, we separate, get out of here, jump on our bikes, and leave—don’t wait for anybody! There’s no point in all of us getting caught.”
The idea unnerved me, but I got the logic of it and said, “And if someone does get caught, nobody rats on anybody else, right?” We all agreed.
The four of us advanced together into the insect room, looking around as if there might be a neon sign illuminating the celebrity pirate vinegaroons. We went from case to case, following my penlight, looking for the prize. Halfway around the room, I cried, “Here it is! It’s this one!” We all crowded together. A placard on the exhibit case read PIRATE VINEGAROON; under this was its Latin name, UROPYGI PIRATA. The legend beneath told a shorter version of all the information we’d read in the papers. The words EXTREMELY POISONOUS stood out.
Peering into the case, Beatriz said, “There’s nothing in there but rocks!”
“They’re hiding,” Ivan said. “They’re reclusive.”
“Shine the light back here.” Max was looking all over, beneath and behind the exhibit case. “I don’t see any wires or plugs anywhere, so there must not be an alarm.”
“Let’s get our stuff on,” I said. Max took the book bag from around his neck, setting it on the floor. He handed Ivan Elena’s red gloves and gave each of us a mouse mattress tied with a rubber band. “Gah! I can’t believe we’re wearing these!” I said.
“Just let them hang around our necks till we need them,” Beatriz ordered.
Out came the goggles, too, and we put them on. With our burglar caps, we looked like we were operatives on a top-secret, dangerous mission. Which I guess we were.
“We actually need to be more worried about getting bitten than sprayed. The bite’s what makes you really sick,” Ivan pointed out.
“How are we going to get them to come out of the rocks?” Beatriz asked.
“Maybe if I shine my light, it’ll attract them, like bug zappers do?”
“Try it,” Max said. I did, and we waited. “Come out, you morons.”
“Do you think they could’ve killed each other?” I wondered.
Nothing stirred. “Rats!” Ivan said angrily. “Why didn’t we bring some beetles to attract them?”
“I know!” Max said. “The Hostess CupCakes!” He rummaged in the bag and drew the package out, unwrapped it, and broke off a cakey crumb. “When we break the case, I’ll toss this in. They’ll come out to investigate.”
Beatriz asked Ivan, “Where will you make the hole?”
“At the bottom-left corner, like this.” He traced his finger horizontally from the left side of the case to the right about three inches, and then down to the bottom the same length, and up the case frame. “I’ll have to cut a whole square.” He looked at his hand. “The hole needs to be small and tight so the girl can’t run up my arm while I catch the boy, and you guys have to tape it fast. Max, you should tear off a bunch of duct-tape strips and be ready with them.” Beatriz helped Max with the tape, the ripping sound echoing spookily around the room. He stuck the strips lightly to his arm.
We stood silently for a moment. Ivan drew a deep breath and said, “Okay. I’m going in. Gimme the glass cutter. You guys be ready with a pill bottle, cap, and tape.” He drew on Elena’s red gloves and Max handed him the cutter. I felt goose bumps all over. Beatriz crossed herself.
I shined the light on the spot. Ivan very slowly began rolling the blade of the cutter across the glass. It wasn’t making the white etched line Max said it was supposed to. “Put more pressure on it,” Max said. Ivan tried again, leaning in. No line. “Oh, no,” Max whispered. “I forgot! The wheel has to be lubricated. My dad puts oil on it.” Ivan drew back and spat a wad of saliva onto the wheel. He ran the cutter along the four sides of the square, and the lines appeared. He stepped back for a second, taking a deep breath. “You guys ready?” Turning the tool around, he tapped on the glass along the lines with the ball end, gently at first, then harder. The glass wouldn’t give. Frustrated, Ivan punched more forcefully, and the glass finally broke, but not cleanly. The square cutout fell back into the case, a few jagged pieces standing up from the frame like shark teeth. Ivan gingerly snapped them off. “Einstein!” Max whispered.
“Throw in the cake, Max! Close to the hole, but not too close.” Max stepped forward and tossed in the crumb, quickly backing away.
More waiting. Ivan took off his jacket, saying, “If they come running out too fast, I’ll stuff the hole with this.” Then we saw movement in the rocks. I pointed the light so it wasn’t directly on the rocks. Purple claws slowly emerged, first one set from the left, then one from the right.
“Put on the mouse mattresses!” Beatriz cried. We pulled the Kotex pads up over our noses and mouths.
“There they are!” I exclaimed. The vinegaroons crept out, raising their claws high as they came forward. They were even more frightening than they were in the photos. Beatriz shuddered against me.
Ivan said excitedly, his voice muffled by the Kotex, “That’s the girl on the right! Look—her eggs hatched! There’re tons of them!” A crowd of wriggling babies piggybacked on the mother.
“Man!” said Max. “They look like tiny white squids!”
“Oh, the poor thing!” said Beatriz.
“We only want the boy,” I said firmly, hoping Ivan wasn’t still thinking of having a supply. “And he’s closest to the hole.”
“He needs to come closer,” Ivan said, tugging at his left glove.
The creatures advanced toward the cake, the male leading. Beatriz said, “Of course the boy’s going to hog the food.”
The male reached the cake, about three inches back. He snatched it in his pincers, then chomped it with his black, venom-packed fangs. The female continued forward.
“Ivan!” I cried. “Catch him before she gets close! Quick!”
Ivan seemed paralyzed. “Hurry, Ivan!” Max urged him. “Do you want me to do it?” He gave Ivan’s arm a nudge. The female kept advancing.
“I’m okay—I’m doing it. Stand right here to hand me the pill bottle, and be ready with the cap.” He slowly began putting his gloved left hand through the hole. The male vinegaroon dropped the crumb and waved his claws menacingly, poising his tail.
I could feel Beatriz shaking, or maybe it was me.
Just as Ivan’s hand neared the male, the female rushed forward, claws raised. “Ivan!” I cried. He seized the male and tried to withdraw his hand, but the hole was too small for his clenched fist. He dropped the vinegaroon, and the creature scuttled backward toward his mate. “Mierda!” Ivan cried. All his bravado evaporated. He was on the verge of tears.
“Look! I thought we might need this!” From her sweater, Beatriz drew a small green net, its wire handle bent to fit in her sweater pocket. Her voice trembling, she said, “I use it for my fish when I clean their tank. Do you want to try it?”
But Ivan was through. “No—you do it. Maybe your hands are smaller.” He took off the red gloves and Beatriz put them on, then bent the wire so that the net was at a right angle to its handle. Max and I exchanged a glance, and I know he was as relieved as I was that he and I were spared.
“Ready with the bottle and cap?” Beatriz asked me. I nodded, wanting badly to clutch my pants.
Beatriz extended her hand, holding the little net, until it passed through the square hole. She steadily moved toward the vinegaroons. They both raised their whiptails and sprayed. Beatriz gently flicked the female away, then rapidly dropped the net over the male. Slowly, slowly, sh
e dragged him along the gravelly bottom, then over to the edge of the hole. “Give me the bottle. Have the tape and paper bag ready.” She took the green bottle from me with her free hand and held it next to the trapped vinegaroon. With one swift move, she scooched him into the bottle, then snatched the cap from me and screwed it on. I held the paper bag open, and she dropped the pill bottle inside, then rolled the bag into a tight cigar. Max jumped over with the duct-tape strips he’d readied on his sleeve and quickly patched the hole. There was the sharp smell of vinegar.
“Get away from the case!” I said, backing off.
“Take this thing, Ivan!” Beatriz thrust the rolled-up bag at him and tore off Elena’s gloves.
We scurried to gather up our stuff, jamming everything into Max’s book bag. The Kotex pads were slipping down off our faces, and I all but shouted, “Hold your breath! Pull the caps over your faces!”
With the caps pulled over our goggles, we were blind, stumbling and bumping into each other. Someone fell heavily against me and crashed to the floor, crying “Mierda!” again. I yanked Ivan up and we slammed into a wall.
Max yanked up his cap for a second, looking around, and said, “Everybody hold hands. We’re going back the way we came. Stay against the wall.”
We followed Sergeant Max’s directions like kindergarteners. I was between Beatriz and Ivan, our hands slick with sweat. Still blind, we spilled down the steps, groping along the basement hall. At the back door, we ripped off our goggles and caps, Beatriz’s braids tumbling out. “My head is boiled!”
Ivan whimpered, “I think I might’ve smushed him when I fell!”
We looked at each other in horror. I said, “We have to check him.”
Ivan withdrew the paper sack jammed in his pocket, opening it cautiously. The vinegar smell was overpowering. “Pew!” I said, an elbow over my face. Ivan held up the intact pill bottle, and I shined my light on it. In the limited space the vinegaroon had, he moved his claws.
“Graças a Deus!” Beatriz whispered.
“Let’s get the aitch outta here,” Max said urgently. “Put him on top of the junk in my book bag, so if something happens on the way home, I can just ditch it if I have to.” We threw in our headgear, placing the vinegaroon on top. Max said, “Just leave the mouse mattresses so they’ll think some girls stole the vinegaroon.”
Beatriz said huffily, “Some girl did steal it!”
“Let’s go.” I looked at the push bar of the door for a second and went cold. “You guys—what if we’re locked in, or the door sets off an alarm?”
Max cried impatiently, “Just do it!” I cranked the bar down slowly, pushing. It didn’t open. I looked back at everybody, all their mouths agape, eyes wide. My heart thundered in my ears. Max stepped up and leaned against the door, pushing the bar harder. It didn’t give. His face was dripping, and he stopped to wipe it on his sleeve.
“We didn’t think about fingerprints,” Ivan whispered.
“The FBI doesn’t keep kids’ fingerprints,” Max said. “Do they?” Then, heaving his whole weight against the door, he cranked the bar powerfully, grunting with the effort. The door opened. We froze, waiting for an alarm, but heard only our breathing.
“I knew the angels would look out for us!” Beatriz whispered.
“Let’s go!” said Max. We burst out the door and scrabbled around the corner to our bikes by the boxwood, hearing the door slam behind us. Max said, “We’ll ride back the way we came, but remember, if someone’s after us, split up!” We hopped on our bikes, quickly pedaling to the street.
With new energy fueled by fear and adrenaline, we zipped a couple blocks along Constitution Avenue, avoiding the streetlights. Suddenly there were headlights behind us. I looked back. “It’s Hampton’s truck!” I called out. Max was leading, and we veered off onto the Mall, where we stopped in the shadows behind a tree. The truck slowed down, but we couldn’t make out whether or not Hampton was looking our way.
Max said, “If he gets out and comes for us, I’m dumping the vinegaroon!” The truck came flush with us and stopped. “Damn!” I whispered, afraid I might wet my pants. “We’re doomed!”
A match flared in the blackness inside the cab. “He’s just lighting a cigarette, Advice Lady,” Max hissed at me. The truck rolled on by. We waited until it picked up speed and turned out of sight. Then we were off again.
The return trip seemed much faster. There were practically no cars at all, not even at DuPont Circle or the Taft Bridge. I desperately longed for my bed, or at least Max’s. I was still terrified, but felt less so with every block. Whizzing up Connecticut Avenue, closing in on Chevy Chase, we were traveling so fast I felt like I was having one of those flying dreams. I was just beginning to relish our triumph when there was a shriek, a whump, and a crash as Beatriz, riding ahead of me, flew into the air and came down with her bike on top of her, its wheels spinning. “Help!” she cried as I slammed to a stop where she lay on the edge of someone’s lawn.
“Beatriz!” I shouted, too loud.
Max and Ivan, far ahead, skidded to a stop. “What happened?” Max called. I was trying to pull the bike off her and help her up.
“Ow! Ow! Don’t pull on me! I’m stuck!” she said, crying a little. “The sidewalk—I hit that big hump.” Just behind her, a huge tree root heaved up the sidewalk. Max and Ivan had jumped it, or swerved around it in time. They came running back to help. We saw that one of her long braids was tangled in her front bike wheel, wound tightly around the center of the spokes. Max tried to work it free but got nowhere. Beatriz cried, “Guys—I’ll untangle it somehow! Go on!”
“Gah! What do we do?” I panicked and couldn’t think.
“We can’t just leave her!” Max said.
Then Ivan, looking grim, pulled his pocketknife out. Opening the blade, he bent close to her. He said, very deliberately, “Beatriz. I have to. Or we’ll all get caught. I’m so sorry.”
Beatriz looked horrified.
I didn’t understand and cried, “Ivan! What…what are you doing?” I had an insane vision of Ivan slashing her throat so we could get away.
Max squawked, “What’s wrong with you, Ivan?”
When Ivan grasped the tangled braid and said, “It’s got to go,” Max and I heaved huge sighs of relief.
But Beatriz wasn’t relieved, pleading, “Not my hair! My parents will murder me!”
Ivan repeated, “I’m sorry! We’ll think of something to tell your mom!” Lights came on in the house at the back of the lawn.
Ivan sawed and hacked at the braid just below her ear. Then he yanked hard, and her head bounced as it was freed from the spokes. He handed Beatriz the dead braid as Max jerked her bike up. “Your bike’s fine! Quick! We gotta go!”
I asked her, “Can you ride okay?”
“I think so.” But she didn’t sound sure. “My knee hurts.”
I got behind Beatriz to be sure nothing else happened to her. As we pedaled off, a man’s angry voice came from the house: “Who’s out there?”
Max led us across Connecticut, and we vanished into the shadows of a side street. We circled back to the Avalon—the home stretch—and in a few minutes we were back on Connors Lane, cruising to Max’s.
* * *
—
Safely under the climbing maple, we were shell-shocked and shaking. The enormity of what we’d accomplished hadn’t set in.
Beatriz thought she was only a little sore. “My kneesocks kept my legs from getting too scraped.” But she did have a raw place speckled with sidewalk crud on her knee.
“Why didn’t your angels see that bump?” Max taunted.
We all looked at Beatriz, with her one braid hanging sadly. Ivan asked her, “Don’t you think I should cut off your other braid?”
She thought for a second and said miserably, “You might as well. I’ll put my cap back on to sneak b
ack into my house, but what am I gonna tell them in the morning?” She was ready to cry.
“Why don’t you tell them that you saw a picture of a really cute Girl Scout in Seventeen with a short haircut, and that they called her the ‘New American Girl,’ and you just wanted to look more American?” I suggested, having seen that exact feature in Liz’s latest copy of Seventeen.
Beatriz said, “I don’t think my parents want me to look more American.”
Max offered, “Tell them it’s too hot and way too much trouble to have long hair, and that you’d rather spend more time on your cataclysm.”
“It’s catechism. A cataclysm is like when the Russians blow us up,” Beatriz corrected, issuing a snuffly laugh. “I know—I’ll tell them I’ll go to confession, too. I hope they don’t punish me by not letting me go to the Fiesta.”
Ivan whipped out his trusty knife and, with trembling hands, chopped off the other braid, giving it to Beatriz. “Wow,” she whispered. “My head feels so light!”
“I hope you get inside okay,” I said. “Don’t forget to wash the charcoal off.”
“Okay,” she said, smiling. “What an adventure!” She rode back down the lane.
“Uhh…my head feels light, too.” Ivan sat down, then lay back in the dirt. “My chest hurts.”
“Ivan!” I was afraid for him. “We have to get you into bed!” Max and I fanned him frantically with our hands. His white face practically glowed in the dark.
After a few minutes, he said, “I think I’m okay now.” We helped him up the tree, but he was pretty weak.
We tiptoed fast to the bathroom, where we all took elephantine pees, then we stripped down and quietly got in a cold shower, rinsing the charcoal off. In Max’s bedroom the clock said 1:07. Max turned on the fan to obscure any noise. I’d never been so exhausted in my life—well, maybe after I drowned. Ivan seemed rejuvenated—a little—by the shower, but sat on the floor. Max whispered joyfully, “You guys—we did it! Are we not the three coolest cats in the world?”
“Re-mark-able! We heisted the vinegaroon!” We were suddenly jubilant, and Max and I performed a silent victory dance, like naked cavemen after a kill. Ivan only watched, grinning. Then we all put on our underpants and threw ourselves onto Max’s bed.
