In this mystery, Sam had been hired to find out why several players on the Westport Warriors, a minor-league baseball team, had fallen ill. During his investigation, he learned that the team’s owner had racked up some serious gambling debts and had begun betting against his own team. Sam soon discovered that the owner had supplied his players with tainted chewing tobacco that produced temporary flu-like symptoms. When Sam shared his findings with local authorities, they refused to take action for fear that the owner might move the team to another community and baseball in Westport would be no more. Sam was on his own with no support. But he didn’t stop there. He took his evidence to the local newspaper, and following a series of scathing articles, the owner was brought to justice.
It seemed that Sam only knew one way of doing things. It didn’t seem to matter that he was alone and abandoned. And you know what? It didn’t matter to me either. My mind was made up.
CHAPTER 5
The Athens Grease Caper
By the time I made it to Eugene’s office, the streetlights had just gone on. I was trying to collect my thoughts so that I could explain to Eugene, in a concise manner, the details of the missing persons case that Sherman had presented us with. But instead I found myself trying to come up with believable scenarios so I could explain to my parents why I had arrived home late for dinner. Being grounded, which I was no stranger to, was troublesome. I didn’t really care how it might affect my social life. There wasn’t much to it to begin with. But I was worried about losing precious time to devote to this case. I had always prided myself on my abilities to solve a case in a timely manner. I owed it to the client. And even though Sherman wasn’t paying us by the day, it was a pattern that I wanted to maintain.
I parked my bike behind the building and climbed the stairs at the rear of the barbershop. The stairwell was dimly lit. There was one light, and it was flickering. But I had been to Eugene’s office so often in the past few weeks that I could have navigated those stairs in my sleep. When I reached the office door, I knocked twice, scraped my fingernails on the face of the door, and knocked three more times. It was the official password.
From the other side of the door, there was a faint voice. “Come in.”
I put my shoulder into the door to open it. This building was old, and most of its moving parts squeaked, rattled, or got stuck on a regular basis. When I stepped in, I found Eugene seated behind his desk.
“Charlie,” he said. “Good to see you. How’ve you been?”
“Fine,” I said. “When did you get back?”
“The day before yesterday,” he said. He rose from his chair and came over to greet me. “Is this a business or a social call?”
“A little of both, I guess.”
“Can I get you something to drink?” Eugene said.
I shook my head.
He pointed to a ratty, moth-eaten couch against the wall. “Sit down. Let’s catch up a little.”
I knew from experience that beneath the middle cushion on the couch was a nasty spring that had the ability to inflict bodily harm. I lowered myself onto a side cushion.
Eugene sat on the front edge of his desk. “So, what brings you here today?”
“Well, my grandmother suggested I stop by for a little advice.”
“Advice?” he said. “Regarding what?”
“We’ve taken on a new case,” I said.
Eugene smiled. “Really? Tell me about it.”
Right at that moment, I realized that another spring was trying to make its escape from the cushion directly under me. I slowly lifted myself off the couch.
“Do you remember Sherman? He was the big kid who was with us on the birdnapping case.”
“Oh, sure. He was the one that Olsen conned into stealing the birds, right?”
I nodded. “Well, believe it or not, Sherman is our new client.” I moved toward Eugene and sat down on a chair opposite the desk.
“Does he have some sort of problem?” Eugene asked.
“Yeah. His older brother has disappeared. He wants us to help find him.”
Eugene folded his arms. “Disappeared? Shouldn’t he be going to the police?”
“He already did,” I said. “You see, his brother is what you might call a habitual runaway. The cops have put in a lot of man-hours in the past trying to track him down.”
“One of those,” Eugene said. “I see. What have you uncovered so far?”
“Nothing really. We just started. But Gram wanted me to talk to you about missing persons cases in general. She says that they can seem pretty tame at first but after a while can get pretty wild.”
Eugene slid off the front of the desk, walked around it, and plopped down on the chair behind it.
“Almost cashed in my chips on a missing persons case,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yeah, they can be tough,” he said. “You just don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. It’s either a situation where somebody takes off and doesn’t want to be found, or it turns out that the person has disappeared against his or her will. It’s that second one that can get a little dicey.”
“I don’t know which one it is yet,” I said.
Eugene’s expression turned serious. “If it turns out to be the latter, I want you to stop what you’re doing and contact me immediately. You see, Charlie, it’s one thing to look for something you’ve lost—but it’s quite another to go looking for something and then to discover there’s someone out there trying to keep you from finding it. That’s when it gets dangerous.” Eugene leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “You got it?”
“Got it,” I said. I glanced at the clock on Eugene’s wall. There was no way I’d be able to make it home before dinner.
“I gotta get going,” I said. “I’m already gonna be late, and it’s not gonna be pleasant.”
Eugene turned to look out the window. “It’s dark outside. Did you ride your bike over here?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Come on. I’ll give you a ride home. You can toss your bike in the back of the car.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “That would be great.”
How do you like that? What a stroke of luck. I had made the tortured decision to continue on without my friends, knowing that I’d probably be late and face certain death when I got home. But it was all going to work out. I couldn’t believe it.
Eugene’s car was parked in the alley behind the building. It was one in a million. To my knowledge he was the only person in town, other than the funeral director, who drove a hearse. It was a black 1966 Cadillac in mint condition. I had only been in his car one other time, but I’d felt a little odd when I rode in it. People looked at you funny. It was almost as if they were expecting to see a dead guy in the back. I remember Eugene telling me one time that he had gotten a real deal on this particular vehicle. He explained that since the hearse is the lead car in a funeral procession, it has to drive slowly enough for everyone else to follow. And most of the time, the trips from the funeral home to the church and then to the cemetery were relatively short. He said it was like buying a car from a little old lady who only took it out on Sundays—short trips and low mileage.
We tossed my bike in the back and were off. We probably could have fit a dozen bikes back there. Unlike Grandma, Eugene was a really safe driver. He never went over the speed limit and seemed to obey all traffic signs and signals. But my guess is that since he has enjoyed a pretty colorful past, he has probably been in his share of high-speed chases. I was more than content to enjoy a nice, safe, uneventful ride home.
On the way back I found myself thinking about the news conference we had stopped at on our way over to Eugene’s. I was interested to see if the rash of robberies by teenagers would decline. And I couldn’t help but wonder what this boot camp, as one of the reporters had described it, was really like. Was it like being in the army or something? I couldn’t imagine teenage offenders getting too excited about being sent there. But then again, a
nything was probably better than sitting in jail.
“Eugene, can I ask you something?” I said.
“Sure.”
“Have you heard of Colonel Harvard Culpepper?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Don’t get me started.”
“Really? You know about the guy?” I asked.
“What I know about him, I don’t like. Does that answer your question?”
I wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction. The colonel, from what I could tell, seemed like a decent enough sort of fellow. After all, anybody who’s willing to rehabilitate a bunch of teenage lawbreakers couldn’t be all bad, right?
“What don’t you like about him?” I asked.
“I don’t trust him. First of all, he calls himself a colonel. The man never spent a day of his life in the military. To those of us who served, it’s an outrage.”
“Then why does he do that?” I asked.
“Because he belongs to some play army. They get all dressed up and pretend to be soldiers—just the way you probably did when you were a kid. Except you knew it was playing.”
I hadn’t seen Eugene quite this emotional before. I didn’t want to set him off any further, but I wanted to know more about this guy.
“There was a press conference today and this colonel was there,” I said. “Did you see it?”
“I listened to it on the radio.”
“One of the reporters asked him if he was in…I think he called it a paramilitary organization…and he said no.”
Eugene immediately pulled the car over and turned off the engine.
I thought for a minute I was in trouble.
“Charlie, you know me. You know what I do. And you should have some idea of the kinds of sources I have and some of the information I’m privy to. And they tell me that Culpepper is indeed in a paramilitary group. A lot of folks in these outfits are anti-government. They play with real guns. They’re dangerous. And I have no idea what our mayor is thinking by allowing this crackpot to take these young people to his compound.”
“So, why do you think this is all happening?” I said.
“It’s pretty simple,” Eugene said. “There’s an election in a couple of months. All this crime is the worst thing for an incumbent mayor. Makes it look like he can’t run the city. So what does he do? He calls a press conference to tell the voters that he’s come up with a new way to combat the problem. The only problem is that it’s the wrong way.”
Eugene sighed, started the car back up, and pulled the hearse into traffic.
“What do you think the mayor should have done?” I said.
“That’s the million-dollar question. No one knows. Our justice system isn’t perfect, but it’s the best we’ve got. The important thing is—don’t panic. Be patient. Just sit back and let the system work. But, of course, when you’re running for office, there’s no time for that.”
I felt as though I had learned more about politics in the last five minutes than I had in a year of social studies classes. This was good stuff. And it made a lot of sense.
“Charlie, why are you so interested in this Culpepper character anyway?”
I asked myself the same question. If it hadn’t been for Gram, I was doubtful that we’d even be having this discussion.
“Well, Gram seems to think that we—you know, me and Henry and Scarlett—should try to help solve this rash of robberies in the area. She thought it could be our next case. So when we stumbled upon that press conference today, it all seemed to be kind of connected.”
Eugene put his finger to his lips. He was in deep thought.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “I thought you told me you already have a case? The missing persons one.”
Eugene made a sharp turn at the corner. I could see my house in the distance.
“We do,” I said. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t really think we’ll get involved in this robbery business. But it is pretty interesting stuff.”
“That it is,” Eugene said. He pulled up in front of the house and looked at his watch. “Unless I’m mistaken, you’re right on time for dinner.”
“Thanks a lot, Eugene,” I said. “You saved me from house arrest.”
“Hey, I might need your help one of these days,” he said. “I can’t afford to have one of my best associates grounded by his parents.” Eugene smiled.
This guy was the best. He helped me get my bike out of the back of the car and waved as he drove off. I thought just how fortunate I was to have somebody like Eugene, and my grandmother for that matter, as mentors. Not everyone was lucky enough to have somebody as wise as these folks at his beck and call. I knew I could learn a ton from them. Heck, I already had. As I walked my bike into the garage, my thoughts drifted to Sam Solomon and Episode #20—The Athens Grease Caper. I wasn’t the only one who had someone looking out for him—someone with the right advice at the right moment. So did Sam.
For years the ace detective would have dinner every night at the Olympiad, a Greek restaurant on Chicago’s north side. He was especially fond of the owner, George Kostopoulos, a wise old sage. In this episode, Sam met up with an informant at the restaurant who was supplying him with details on a gun-smuggling ring. Sam was to pose as an interested buyer. Later that night, George told his friend that he had a bad feeling about Sam’s informant and warned him that he might be falling into a trap. The next day Sam took George’s advice and observed the gun smugglers from a distance before meeting up with them. And as you might guess, Sam spotted his informant in the company of the smugglers. George was right—and probably saved his friend’s life. It was sure nice to be in similar company.
CHAPTER 6
The Unfriendly Fire Caper
At school the next day, Sherman spotted me on the playground at recess.
“Charlie,” he called out. Sherman ran over and surveyed the area. He apparently didn’t want our conversation to be overheard. “So how goes the hunt for my brother?”
It was always nice to be able to tell the client that you were making progress—even slight progress. But in this case, we had accomplished little to nothing. I didn’t want to mislead him into thinking that we were hot on Josh’s trail, but I didn’t want him to get discouraged either.
“To tell you the truth, Sherman, it’s a slow go. But don’t worry, we’re only in the initial stages of the investigation. Tomorrow’s Saturday. We’ll make some headway then.”
“Did you talk to any of those people whose names I gave you?”
Right at that moment, I really wanted to lie to him, but it just wasn’t the way I conducted business.
“Not yet,” I said. “But we plan on talking to both of them first thing in the morning.” I really didn’t know if that was going to happen, but I needed to give Sherman something.
“Okay,” he said. “Thanks. Be sure to let me know if I can help. My mom’s getting real worried about Josh.”
“Tell her not to worry. We should have something soon.”
Sherman nodded and walked away.
I didn’t want to have another conversation with him without having news of some kind. He was the client—granted, a nonpaying client—but a client nonetheless. And we had given him our word that we would do our best to not only track down his brother, but to bring him home.
I scanned the playground for Henry and Scarlett. I spotted Scarlett in her usual clique of popular girls. That group always intimidated me. As much as I wanted them to notice me, I was always afraid that one of them might crack a fat joke, and I didn’t know if I had the courage to smile through it. I decided to take a chance.
“Hey, Scarlett, you got a minute?”
She appeared slightly annoyed but managed to break away from her friends to join me.
“Yes?” she said in a rather impatient tone.
“We need to do a little work after school on the Joshua Doyle case. I thought we could plan out our course of action for the weekend. Are you free?”
Scarlett sighed. She reached
into her pocket and pulled out one of those elastic things and started putting her hair into a ponytail.
“Do we have to talk about this now?” she said.
I was beginning to think that Henry might have been right all along about taking on a new associate.
“Well…,” I said.
“I mean—am I on the clock twenty-four hours a day or what? I do have a social life, you know. Oh, that’s right, you wouldn’t know anything about that.”
Scarlett of late was becoming a real Jekyll and Hyde. Whenever she was around her friends, she treated me like some annoyance in her life, but when she was working on a case with us, she was more than civil—even friendly—well, maybe not friendly. But she at least wasn’t rude, unless she was talking to Henry, that is.
“I’ll talk to you after school. Okay?” she said.
“I just wanted to give you a heads-up. That’s all.”
She flashed one of those phony beauty pageant smiles and left.
I didn’t bump into her again until eighth period—Mrs. Jansen’s science class. We made eye contact, but no words were spoken. Sometimes I just didn’t get her. I knew I’d never run around with her circle of friends. I didn’t want to. I wasn’t trying to crash the party. I just wanted to be able to have an occasional business conversation with her. That was it. Was that too much to ask?
I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Henry.
“Hey, so what happened last night? Are you grounded or what?” he said.
I shook my head and smiled. “Grounded? For what?”
“For what? You had to have gotten home late,” he said. “I barely made it.”
“I went over to Eugene’s. We had a nice conversation,” I said. “And then I went home. No big deal.”
Henry seemed to know there was more to the story. “And your parents didn’t jump all over you?”
“They tried,” I said. “But I set them straight. I told them that since I was the proprietor of my own private detective agency, I was old enough to make my own decisions. And old enough to set my own curfew.” I grinned and sat down at my desk.
The Camp Phoenix Caper Page 5
