The Complete Screech Owls, Volume 3

by Roy MacGregor

  Nish, apparently, had even signed some autographs. But if Nish liked all the attention, Travis hated it. He was captain of the Screech Owls, and the Screech Owls were in tatters. Their lineup was as confused as a game of pick-up-sticks. They didn’t seem to have a coach. They had played the worst game of their lives against the Werewolves. And considering they had come out to Alberta to work on their “focus,” they were so out of focus as they headed onto the ice to face the Predators that some of the Owls had even forgotten what position Kelly Block had decided they now played.

  “I think I’m a goalie,” Jeremy joked. “The pads have my name on them, anyway.”

  Jeremy wasn’t even set to start this critical game. Block wanted to go with his Unit: Jenny in net, Sarah and Jesse on defence, and Lars, Andy, and Travis up front. All of them at positions they had never before played.

  “Let this experience bring us together,” Kelly Block had told them in the dressing room. “Let us use the crowd for energy. Let s show the world that the Screech Owls stand for the truth, not lies!”

  “What the heck did that mean?” Nish hissed to Travis as the Owls made their way down the corridor towards the ice surface.

  “I haven’t got a clue,” said Travis. “Maybe he saw the Albertosaurus, too.”

  “Mental Block seems awfully upbeat for a guy who’s about to embarrass himself in front of a full rink.”

  “Yeah, I know. He’s weird, that’s for sure.”

  Up ahead, Sarah turned around abruptly.

  “You guys see Data?”

  Travis said nothing. He knew Data hadn’t been on the bus. He knew Data was staying deliberately back at the camp, pretending to be “tired.” In fact, Data had told Travis he wanted to check around when no one else was there. For what, Travis didn’t know. Probably Data didn’t know, either. But Travis was still all for Data looking.

  “Data’s got too many brains to associate himself with this disaster,” said Nish.

  “You’re probably right,” said Travis.

  There was no more talking to be done. They were at the rink boards now, the noise of the crowd so loud they couldn’t hear each other. The crowd was not, however, cheering for hockey. They were cheering for celebrity. The Screech Owls were now world-famous. They had made CNN. They were on the supermarket tabloids.

  They were the kids who had seen the dinosaur!

  Just to be sure, Data had checked everywhere. He had rolled himself up the ramp into the kitchen and looked for signs of life–even a repairman or a cleaner. But there was no one. The cook must have gone to town for groceries. The Camp Victory parking lot was empty of vehicles. The Owls’ bus was at the rink. Kelly Block’s fancy 4x4 truck was missing. There was just Data–all alone.

  He had told Mr. Dillinger he didn’t feel well, but he’d known immediately that Mr. Dillinger wasn’t buying it. Mr. Dillinger didn’t argue with him, though. Data could tell by the look in Mr. Dillinger’s eyes that he was as upset as any of the players. This had turned into a hideous, awful experience. If Mr. Dillinger could have, he would have stayed back at the camp with Data and let Kelly Block have exactly what he wanted: total control of the team, the spotlight his alone.

  Data had grown deeply suspicious of Kelly Block. Block had ignored him and treated him like some sort of hanger-on, rather than as a real assistant coach, as Muck always treated him. Data seemed to be just a nuisance to Block, always in the way, so now he was out of the way. But he had no intention of lying in his room sulking.

  Because he had been largely ignored by Block, Data had found he could pretty much come and go as he wished. He had puzzled over the “psychological profiles” that Kelly Block had been so keen on. He had wondered about the “focus” sessions and the “envisioning” and “imaging” and whatever else was supposedly going on in the minds of his teammates as they struggled to remain the team that Muck Munro had so carefully built over the years.

  When Block had met with the six key players, the Unit, Data had tried to listen in by pulling his wheelchair right up to the door and putting his ear to the keyhole. But the drone of Kelly Block’s voice had been so low, Data couldn’t hear anything clearly and was no wiser about what Block was up to.

  He was almost certain, however, that none of the six players in that room had said a word back–and that just didn’t seem right.

  From the kitchen area, Data made his way around to the office. He tried the door to Kelly Block’s inner office and found it locked. He pulled and rattled, but it would not give.

  Data had no idea whether it would work, but he had seen a hundred television shows where an actor had sneaked into a locked room by sliding a credit card past the bolt of a locked door and turning the handle. He didn’t have a credit card, but he did have his student card, and it was wrapped in plastic hard enough that it felt like a credit card. If the lock was a deadbolt, though, he wouldn’t have a chance.

  Carefully, Data slipped the card in between the door frame and the lock. He worked it down, then up, then down again, and felt it rest against something hard.

  He pushed, pushed again, and felt something give way. He pushed again, harder, and turned the handle at the same time.

  He was in!

  “We’ve got to do something!”

  Travis heard the anxiety in Sarah’s voice, but could not even look up to see her expression. He was beat, exhausted. His heart was pounding wildly and his breathing felt as if someone had stuffed his lungs with cotton balls, leaving no room for oxygen.

  He kept his head down, the sweat dripping off his forehead and into his eyes. He flipped up the mask, plucked the towel from around his neck–thank heavens Mr. Dillinger was still here!–and wiped his face.

  When he finally looked up, Sarah was still staring at him, challenging. “Travis!” she said. “It’s up to us!”

  Travis nodded. He knew. The Predators had moved immediately in front when Fahd, on for the power play, had tried to get a little too fancy in his own end and attempted to beat the forecheck. He’d lost the puck–“It stuck in a wet spot!” Fahd claimed, near tears–and the checker had been left alone with Jenny in goal, who got a piece of his sharp shot but had the puck dribble down her back and in when she flopped back in desperation.

  The Owls were going nowhere. They couldn’t mount a breakout, they couldn’t hang on to the puck in the Predators’ end, they couldn’t send the quick skaters, like Dmitri, off on fast breaks, because, of course, skaters like Dmitri and Sarah were now playing defence.

  All they could do was try to hold the Predators at bay. So long as they played one-on-one checking hockey–sticking close to their opposite numbers on the Prince Albert team–they could just manage to stay in the game. Sarah, of course, was probably the finest checking centre Travis had ever seen at peewee level. Now, on defence, she seemed uncertain where she should be, but she never left her check.

  Early in the second period, the Predators went ahead by a second goal when Nish, playing centre, tried to hit Wilson breaking up left wing but had his pass knocked out of the air by a pinching Predator defender. The Predator threw a cross-ice pass to a teammate just circling behind Jenny, and the teammate tipped the puck in the far side.

  Predators 2, Owls 0.

  “Chemistry!” Kelly Block kept yelling. “Chemistry!”

  “Biology!” Nish mumbled back. “History! Math! Recess!”

  Travis was giggling on the bench when Block suddenly leaned low over his shoulder and, for once, said something that made sense.

  “I’m going to try moving Sarah up front,” he said. “I want you to switch over to left, and I’ll try Dmitri on right.”

  What a phony! Travis thought. Here’s this guy pretending he’s just come up with his own new line combination. But all he was doing was putting back the original first line–Muck’s line!

  “Let’s do it!” Sarah shouted as she leapt over the boards with new energy.

  “Yes!” shouted Dmitri, who hardly ever shouted anything.


  For Travis, it was like putting on his old sneakers after a painful Sunday morning in church shoes. From the moment they lined up for the faceoff, he felt as if he had found his game again. Sarah waiting for the puck to drop, her skates stuttering back and forth. Dmitri with his stick blade flat on the ice, poised to break. And back on defence, Nish, the former centre.

  Sarah took the puck before it could even strike the ice. The linesman jumped back and Sarah used him as a shield while she circled quickly, throwing off the Predators’ centre. She fired the puck hard off the left boards.

  Travis knew his play. He was back in his own world now. As soon as he saw Sarah look at the boards, he took off, bolting around the Predators’ defender at the blueline and picking the puck up as it bounced off the boards on the other side of the flailing player.

  He had it on his stick now–puck, stick, hands, arms, body, legs, skates, all in familiar territory for the first time in two games. He didn’t even need to look to know what Dmitri would be doing.

  Flipping the puck high, Travis lobbed it past the outstretched glove hand of the remaining defence. The Predators’ player was wisely trying to stay between Travis and Dmitri to block the shot, but when Travis flipped the puck the defender fell for the bait and tried to knock it out of the air. To do so required stopping, and stopping ended his backward progress. Dmitri was already past him, the puck slapping onto the ice and into the embrace of his stick blade.

  Dmitri was in alone, and Travis already knew exactly what would happen. The shoulder fake, the move to the backhand, the goalie going down to protect the post, the puck flying high and hard over the goaltender’s shoulder, the water bottle flying.

  Predators 2, Owls 1.

  Data stared at the bookcase, his mind racing.

  Kelly Block must have had a thousand books in his office. Most were on psychology and sports psychology and motivation, but here was an entire bookcase devoted to a single, unexpected topic.

  Hypnosis!

  Data scanned the titles. Stage Hypnotism: Mass Illusion. Hypnosis and the Control of Fantasy. You Can Control the Minds of Others. Triggering Minds: The Art of Suggestive Hypnotism….

  And on the bottom shelf there were at least a dozen videos, all devoted to the art of hypnotism. There was hypnotism for psychologists, hypnotism for therapists, even hypnotism for circus performers.

  Data moved to the filing cabinet. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he was starting to believe that whatever Kelly Block had been doing was even more wrong. He didn’t like snooping–but he liked even less what had been happening to his friends. And if the only way to correct a terrible wrong was to do something just slightly wrong, and which hurt no one, then Data felt, on balance, he would be right.

  The filing cabinet was locked. He tried the desk drawers. Nothing. He tried the pen drawer. Nothing. He picked a small wooden box off the desk and rattled it. There were keys inside.

  Data had difficulty manoeuvring. His right arm was almost as good as new but he still couldn’t do much with the other one. It took him more than ten minutes, but he finally found the right key and got the drawer open. He had to reach up and grab files at random, lifting them high enough to read what they were.

  “CORRESPONDENCE”

  “GUARANTEES.”

  “REPAIR WORK, COMPLETED.”

  “REPAIR WORK, SCHEDULED.”

  He was getting nowhere fast. He selected a lower drawer.

  He could see these files. His eyes moved quickly, trying to take everything in at once.

  “RESERVATIONS.”

  He pulled the file out and glanced quickly at the record. The Owls were the only team to come to Camp Victory so far this year. That explained the musty smell they had detected when they first arrived. It was only March, however.

  But there were hardly any bookings for the months to come. A couple in June, three in July, then more blank spaces.

  Data looked at the previous year’s bookings. More blank spaces.

  He put the file back and searched for another that had caught his eye. “FINANCIAL STATEMENT.”

  He pulled out the file and opened it. Why hadn’t he paid more attention in business class? The statement, stamped by a local accounting firm, made very little sense, but Data knew just enough to come to a quick conclusion.

  Camp Victory was losing money–big time.

  He selected another file. “BANKS.”

  The letters enclosed were far more easy to interpret. Some were registered letters. Some read like legal documents. Camp Victory was on the verge of being declared bankrupt. Kelly Block had been given huge loans–hundreds of thousands of dollars–and the banks wanted their money back.

  Data was about to close the drawer when a file he hadn’t noticed caught his attention.

  “CAMP DINOSAUR BUSINESS PLAN.”

  He plucked the file out, placed it on his lap, and opened it.

  “This is a business plan for a new Alberta tourist enterprise to be known as Camp Dinosaur,” the opening paragraph began. “It is based on an anticipated surge in international tourism, attracted to the most renowned dinosaur grounds in the world: the Drumheller Badlands. Camp Dinosaur, with an initial startup investment of $5 million, will capitalize on increased interest in the Badlands and the Royal Tyrrell Museum, and will feature expeditions into the dinosaur grounds in search of fossils and prehistoric evidence. The Jurassic Park theory of the possibility of restoring dinosaur life will be a central theme to this ambitious and easily realized project. An initial share offering of…”

  Data had seen enough.

  Now he knew.

  In the third period, Kelly Block began throwing Travis’s line out on every second shift, his “chemistry” theories forgotten, as most of the team were back in their original positions. They were almost the Screech Owls again. All they needed now was Muck Munro behind the bench and Kelly Block out of their lives and, just as importantly, out of their minds.

  Fahd, of all people, scored the equalizer when he picked up a loose puck in the opposition’s end after Derek had squeezed a Predator out of the play. Fahd had meant to pass over to Wilson, pinching in off the far defence, but the puck had glanced the wrong way off Fahd’s stick, catching everyone, especially the Predators’ goaltender, off guard. With the goalie committed, all she could do was look back helplessly as she slid out towards Wilson, and the puck drifted in over the line.

  “We’re going to have to do it,” Sarah said as the seconds ticked down.

  Travis nodded. He knew their line would be on in the final moments.

  They changed on the fly, Kelly Block worried now that he’d never get the whistle he was hoping for in the Predators’ end. Sarah hit the ice first, racing back into her own end as Nish circled behind the Screech Owls’ net with the puck. Nish saw Sarah coming, and dropped the puck for her. He then “pic-ed” the first incoming checker to give Sarah free space up the side.

  Travis leapt for the ice as Simon lunged to get off. He hit the ice in full motion, and flew cross-ice, Sarah hitting him with a perfect pass just onside, and Travis cut for the Predators’ blueline.

  He used the boards to get clear of the first check, but the defence had him lined up perfectly, so he stopped hard and circled. Sarah was flying over centre, with Dmitri now on the ice and charging down his off wing. Travis faked the pass, losing one of the defenders.

  Nish was coming late. Travis just dropped the puck so it was on side, barely inside the Predators’ blueline, and skated hard for the remaining defender, forcing him to shift sideways in the hopes of beating Nish to the puck. But Nish was already there.

  Nish picked up the drop pass in full flight. He had a clear route to the net, the Predators’ goaltender skittering out to cut off the angle.

  Nish raised his stick for the hard slapper.

  The goalie went down on his pads, glove ready.

  Nish dropped his stick, and danced sideways, skirting the helpless goaltender and lofting the puck easily into the wide-o
pen net.

  Screech Owls 3, Predators 2.

  Data was sweating. He knew he would need the files as evidence, particularly the business plan that revealed that Camp Victory was about to be transformed into a dinosaur adventure camp where tourists would scour the Badlands in search of fossils–perhaps even hoping to find proof that dinosaurs hadn’t all died out a hundred million years ago. He had the business-plan file, and the bank file, and the reservations file. He would need them all.

  He was worried sick he’d be caught. This was break and enter. This was stealing.

  But what about Kelly Block? Data still wasn’t sure what he had been up to, but he knew, in his heart, that Block had done something to his friends. Something wrong. And he knew that Block was behind this whole mad rush to Drumheller to see if there really was a live dinosaur hiding out among the Badlands.

  He wheeled outside and carefully shut the door, listening to the lock click back in place.

  He turned, the files on his lap, and began steering his chair out towards the front door.

  He would go to his cabin, he figured, and there he would hide the files.

  Just as Data was about to reach the door he heard a sound outside.

  He stopped so hard the files spilled to the floor. He scrambled to pick them up, leaning far out of his wheelchair to reach the papers that had slid across the polished hardwood.

  It was a car door slamming!

  Data’s heart was pounding. He had the last of the files gathered up, but nowhere to hide them or, for that matter, himself. He would have to bluff his way past whoever had just pulled into the parking area.