by David Teague
“Sorry I left without telling you good game last night,” said Lourdes. “But if I miss the bus, I have to wait forty-five minutes for the next one.”
“That’s OK,” replied Oscar. “Nobody really expects you to say much. Wait. I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. It’s just—you usually don’t talk. You’re always kind of quiet in the dugout.”
“I know. But I wanted to congratulate you. And maybe ask how you hit your homer, since you haven’t gotten a single hit all season,” replied Lourdes.
“I, ah, yeah,” said Oscar. “It’s kind of hard to explain.”
“That’s OK,” said Lourdes. “I’m not in a hurry. I mean, I really admire people who don’t have any hope of succeeding, but try their best anyway. Like you.”
“Wow, thanks,” said Oscar, a little stung, but trying not to feel offended. He studied her face. She didn’t look like she meant to hurt his feelings.
“You’re welcome,” said Lourdes. “So. What’s your secret, Hank Aaron?”
“OK,” began Oscar, thinking fast about how he was going to explain that homer without revealing how badly he’d cheated to make it happen. “This is how it went down,” he went on. Then he paused. He found himself stuck. He could say he’d been practicing? But that wasn’t right. He could claim it had just been a colossal stroke of good luck? No luck about it, though. . . .
But then he got off the hook, in a really unfortunate way. Taser Tompkins chose that moment to lumber around the corner of Oscar’s house. Oscar was slightly glad to see Taser, because now he didn’t have to answer Lourdes’s question, but on the other hand, nobody ever fainted with joy when Taser Tompkins made the scene.
“Awww,” sneered Taser, looking them up and down. “Isn’t this sweet? Team bonding, or whatever.”
“What are you doing here?” asked Oscar. “How do you even know where I live?”
“Where else would a loser like you live?” shot back Taser, staring in contempt at the small houses and dented cars on Jennifer Street, which indeed must’ve looked pretty shabby compared to the mansionland he inhabited in West Mt. Etna.
“What do you want?” Oscar demanded.
“To show you what happens to people who make fun of me,” said Taser. “Robocop!” he called over his shoulder. “Bring those kumquats!”
Around the corner struggled Robocop Roberts, Taser’s faithful sidekick and backup pitcher. He lugged a bucket full of unripe tomatoes from Miss Ellington’s garden.
“Taser!” said Oscar. “Those are tomatoes. They’re still green. They belong to Miss Ellington. You shouldn’t have picked them!”
“Well, we did,” gloated Taser.
“They were important to Miss Ellington,” said Oscar. And to him, although he managed to keep himself from saying this. “And now they’re going to shrivel up and die.”
Robocop, always on the lookout for new and creative ways to hurt people, grinned nastily at the success he and Taser had achieved by robbing Miss Ellington, and Oscar realized that ripping the green tomatoes off the bushes must have been his idea.
Calmly, Robocop reached into the bucket and hurled a tomato at Oscar. As when Miss Ellington had thrown the watch at him, he had no time to think—only to react. And he surprised himself by popping his left hand up like a gold-glove first baseman and catching it without leaving so much as a bruise on the green flesh. Carefully, he set the tomato on the grass. Maybe if he put it on his windowsill to ripen later, it would be OK.
“Nice catch,” whispered Lourdes, sounding a little surprised. Oscar tipped an imaginary cap at her. He was surprised, too. But he had to save that tomato.
In the meantime, Taser had grabbed another tomato in each hand, and fired them both at Lourdes. She caught them like the champ that she was. Robocop let one fly at Oscar. In the blink of an eye, Oscar caught it in his left hand, and nabbed the next tomato in his right. Six seconds later, the bucket was empty and the tomatoes lined the grass at Oscar’s and Lourdes’s feet.
“Look,” said Lourdes. “All the kumquats are safe! Nice work, Oscar!” And then she whispered to Oscar, “I know they’re actually tomatoes. But I don’t want to confuse Taser.”
“Shut up!” cried Taser, clearly frustrated that the tomato plan had fallen flat. He leaped at Lourdes and twisted her arm behind her.
“You better let go of me,” warned Lourdes, “or you’ll regret it.”
“OK,” said Taser. He released Lourdes’s arm. And squeezed her skull. Oscar saw her knees wobble.
“Ha!” cried Robocop.
“Come on, Taser, she didn’t do anything!” pleaded Oscar.
“Yeah, but you did, and she’ll keep getting what’s coming to you until I find out what it was.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Oscar.
“Something’s not right,” said Taser.
“You’re no good,” said Robocop.
“You can’t even get a hit, much less smack a home run,” said Taser.
“Especially not off Taser,” said Robocop.
“You pulled some kind of fast one,” said Taser.
“What are they talking about, Oscar?” wheezed Lourdes.
“Shut up,” said Taser. “Oscar knows what we’re talking about.”
“I’m not going to shut up!” said Lourdes. “Let me go!”
Despite the dread rising in Oscar’s chest, he couldn’t help noticing that being attacked by Taser and Robocop had made Lourdes even more talkative than ever.
“Well?” Taser looked at Oscar as he wrapped his left arm around Lourdes’s throat and began squeezing with his right. Lourdes’s hand-to-hand combat tactics didn’t seem to be as finely honed as her baseball skills, although it was hard to say, since Taser wasn’t fighting fair, and she could barely stand on her left foot because of her smashed pinky toe. “I can’t breathe,” wheezed Lourdes.
“Good,” Taser said. “Maybe you’ll be quiet.”
Lourdes struggled against Taser.
Oscar tried to bean him with the empty tomato bucket but missed by a foot. “She didn’t do anything. Let her go!” demanded Oscar.
Taser ignored this demand, but in the meantime, Lourdes did a backbend, slipped from his grasp, and shook herself free.
“Pretty good,” Taser began. “For a—”
“Don’t say it!” cried Lourdes.
“For a—”
“I’m telling you—”
“Pretty good for a girl!” Taser sneered.
“Never, ever say that to me,” said Lourdes, balling her fists.
Robocop looked at her with his perfectly black eyes, enjoying her rage. “Don’t get all mad,” he jeered. “He was just paying you a compliment.”
Lourdes knocked Taser down like he was made of sticks. Leaping on top of him, her knee in his breadbasket, she drew her fist back and—
“Not good,” said a voice like a rat trap snapping. One of the men in black from Miss Ellington’s house materialized in Oscar’s yard. The small one. In a flash, his hand snaked out and trapped Lourdes’s fist. “No hitting. Use your words.”
“Who are you?” demanded Lourdes. “Let go of me!”
Oscar glanced over his shoulder to see the giant black car parked at the curb. The other man, the refrigerator-size one, sat behind the wheel.
“Who I am is not important,” said the man. “Let Mr. Manners up.”
Taser stood up and sidled next to Robocop. “All I said was—” he began to whine.
“I heard what you said,” replied the man in black. “And I think maybe it was not a sincere compliment.”
“No! I was trying to be nice!” protested Taser.
“Then you’re not very good at it,” said the man. “You and your friend scram. I need to have a conversation with my pal here. Oscar. That’s your name, right? Oscar?” The man draped his arm around Oscar.
Oscar nodded.
“I don’t have to scram,” objected Taser. “I don’t have to do what you say.”
The smal
l man in the suit walked back to Taser and cocked his forefinger against his thumb. He flicked Taser’s earlobe. “Ow!” cried Taser. “You can’t do that!”
“I believe I just did,” said the man. He leaned close to Taser and asked, “Are you a loose end?”
“Huh?” said Taser in bewilderment.
“Are you a complication?” a deep voice asked. The tall man had suddenly joined the conversation. He’d left the car running behind him with his door open, as if he wanted to be able to make a quick escape.
“Are we a what?” snapped Robocop.
“My partner and I don’t like loose ends,” the tall man said. “Or complications. Get out of here before we have to snip you right out of this caper. Snip snip.” He grabbed Taser by the shirt. He made a motion like scissors with his fingers, right in front of Taser’s nose.
Taser opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.
“What, no snappy comeback?” asked the small man.
“Come on, Taser,” said Robocop, dragging his friend down the sidewalk by his elbow and casting one last glance back at the group. “Let’s get out of here. These guys are losers.”
“We’re not done with you, Indigo,” muttered Taser darkly. “We’ll be back.”
“Let us know when you’re dropping by, and we’ll bake you a cake,” called the short man at Taser’s back.
“Allow us to introduce ourselves,” said the short man. “I am Mr. Skerritt.”
“And I am Mr. Llimb,” said the tall one.
“Could we see some ID?” asked Lourdes.
They both fumbled in their jacket pockets and produced laminated security badges.
SMILEY INVESTIGATIVE AGENCY INC., read the badges. ESTABLISHED 1957.
“OK,” said Oscar, although he didn’t feel totally convinced.
“All right,” said Lourdes, sounding none too reassured herself.
“One hundred percent legitimate,” said Mr. Llimb as he put his badge back in his pocket. “I made it myself!”
“That’s not funny,” said Lourdes.
“It’s not supposed to be,” said Mr. Llimb.
“And now we would like to ask Oscar some questions,” said Mr. Skerritt.
“Don’t let me stop you,” said Lourdes.
“The questions are about a delicate issue that we prefer to keep to ourselves,” added Mr. Skerritt. “So if we could respectfully ask you to leave?”
“Leave?” repeated Lourdes.
“Yes,” said Mr. Skerritt.
“Do I have to?” protested Lourdes. She seemed surprisingly interested in what the upcoming conversation might hold, for someone who had barely spoken a word in the whole year Oscar had known her. “Oscar?”
“I guess it would be better if you did what these guys ask,” said Oscar, remembering the ear flick and the pretend scissors.
Lourdes shrugged, as if she didn’t like being disinvited, but OK, whatever, it didn’t bother her a whole lot.
Mr. Llimb and Mr. Skerritt waited for her to climb on her bicycle and ride away down the front sidewalk.
And then, turning to Oscar, Mr. Skerritt asked, “All right, Oscar Indigo, what do you know about a watch?”
Oscar noticed that, in the sky, over their fedoras, a jetliner flew. Its contrail stretched out behind it in a zigzag that reached over the horizon, and as he watched, it banked sharply out of a zig and began a zag in the other direction. Which seemed odd.
“What watch?” Oscar asked.
“A watch we’ve been chasing for a few days now,” said Mr. Llimb. “Knocking on doors. Following leads. Hoping for a break.”
“I don’t think I have the watch you’re after,” said Oscar.
“With a red button on top to stop time?” said Mr. Skerritt.
“According to our sources, someone pushed it last night,” added Mr. Llimb. “This occurrence is believed to have taken place in Mt. Etna. Possibly near the baseball diamond. We heard you had a really remarkable performance on the field last night. So we thought we’d ask you about it.”
“Tell us the truth, Oscar,” said Mr. Skerritt. “We’re professionals. If you don’t tell us, we’ll find out anyway.”
Oscar paused. A part of him had expected someone to come asking about the watch. And he was ready. “I think I put it in my sock drawer,” said Oscar, even though he knew it was in the bread box.
“Not there,” said Mr. Llimb. “I checked.”
“You searched my house?” cried Oscar.
“Just doing our jobs,” said Mr. Llimb.
“Maybe I put it under my pillow,” murmured Oscar.
“Nope,” said Mr. Llimb.
“Did you miss the part where he said to tell the truth?” interrupted Mr. Skerritt.
“OK,” sighed Oscar. “It’s in the bread box.”
“Negative,” said Mr. Llimb. “Not there, either.”
“What?” said Oscar. “That’s where I put it. Fifteen minutes ago. I swear!”
“It’s not there now,” said Mr. Llimb.
“Then something really strange is going on,” said Oscar.
“Couldn’t agree more,” said Mr. Llimb. He turned toward the car. “If you’ll come with us. There’s somebody who’d like to talk to you.”
Mr. Skerritt must’ve seen the alarm on Oscar’s face. He flashed his badge again. “Nothing to worry about. Just think of yourself as our guest.”
“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” said Mr. Llimb, slowing his giant automobile as they approached the edge of town, the two men in front, Oscar in the back. Three blocks ahead, a Mt. Etna police cruiser sat at the curb.
“Should we put him in the trunk?” said Mr. Skerritt. He turned to glance over the seat. “You mind riding in the trunk, Oscar? Just until we get out of town? So Mr. Llimb doesn’t have to answer any awkward questions?” He pointed at the police car pulling out into traffic.
“Can’t you just show the policeman your badges?” asked Oscar.
“The trunk is better for avoiding questions,” said Mr. Skerritt.
“It’s the most comfortable trunk you ever saw in your life,” said Mr. Llimb. “I promise. Very spacious, and we put air holes in it for oxygen circulation and everything.”
Ahead, the police car turned left and disappeared around a corner.
“Oh,” said Mr. Skerritt. “Look at that. Never mind. Hit it, Mr. Llimb.”
Mr. Llimb accelerated smoothly out of town.
Oscar managed to ride silently for a few miles. But soon, his nerves got the better of him. “Where are we going?” he asked. “What’s happening? Who are you guys?”
“Like they say in the moving pictures,” replied Mr. Llimb, “we’re taking you for a ride.” He seemed to think this would make Oscar feel better.
“What he means,” elaborated Mr. Skerritt, fishing a small, tattered notebook from the depths of his large black suit and consulting it, “is we’ve been asked to transport you in relative comfort and safety to an unspecified location on Pickwick Island, Delaware. Unspecified to you, I mean. To us, it’s specified. We know where we’re going.”
“You probably said enough, Mr. Skerritt,” observed Mr. Llimb. “Where did this cat come from?”
“What cat?” asked Mr. Skerritt.
“This orange cat. The one hiding under my seat,” said Mr. Llimb.
Mr. Skerritt reached into the deep, dark footwell of the Cadillac in front of Mr. Llimb and pulled out—
“Dr. Soul?” cried Oscar. Dr. Soul slipped from Mr. Skerritt’s grasp, leaped onto Mr. Llimb’s shoulder, and catapulted himself over the seat. Mr. Llimb never took his eyes off the road ahead.
“He must’ve climbed in when I left my door open,” said Mr. Llimb.
Dr. Soul rubbed his bony skull against Oscar’s knee. He gave Oscar a stare. The stare said, That’s right. I came along to keep you safe. Because obviously you need help with that.
“Thank you,” said Oscar to Dr. Soul.
Somebody sneezed, very softly. “Bless you, Oscar,” said
Mr. Llimb and Mr. Skerritt in unison.
Which was strange, since Oscar hadn’t sneezed. And if neither Mr. Llimb nor Mr. Skerritt had done it, then—
Another muffled sneeze.
“Bless you again,” said Mr. Llimb and Mr. Skerritt.
“But I didn’t sneeze,” said Oscar.
Mr. Llimb looked at him curiously in the rearview mirror. Slowly, he brought the car to a halt on the shoulder of the road.
“Ah-chooo,” they heard again.
“Is that coming from the trunk?” said Oscar.
“And while you were talking to Oscar in his yard, I opened the lid and jumped in. There were airholes and everything. It was actually pretty comfortable,” said Lourdes as Mr. Llimb, who had found her hiding in the trunk, pulled back onto the highway.
“But why?” asked Mr. Llimb. “Usually, people do everything they can to avoid our trunk.”
“Because I asked if I could come,” said Lourdes. “And you told me I couldn’t.”
“Gotta admire your spirit,” said Mr. Skerritt. “If not your decision-making.”
“Now that I’m here, where are we going?” asked Lourdes.
“Everything will be explained in due time,” replied Mr. Llimb, accelerating to ninety-four to pass an ice cream truck blaring “Mary Had a Little Lamb” from the candy-striped speaker on its fudge ripple roof. “Hang on to your cabooses!”
He sawed at the giant black wheel of the Cadillac until its nose pointed down a faded dirt road overrun by all manner of weed and vine. “We’re taking a shortcut through the woods!”
“Look. Does that tree have tentacles?” asked Lourdes, startled, as they entered the forest.
“Where?” asked Oscar.
“The one back there,” said Lourdes, “behind the Wawa station.”
“Probably just your imagination, Lourdes,” said Oscar. But it hadn’t been. Briefly, he’d also glimpsed the tentacles waving in the summer breeze.
Oscar always tried his best to see a bright side in every situation, but for now, he was stumped. This felt downright scary.
Rogue Wave
“We’re here!” sang out Mr. Skerritt as Mr. Llimb wrestled the Cadillac to a halt in the sandy parking lot of Pickwick Island State Seashore.
