The Camp Phoenix Caper

by John V. Madormo

  I thought about Josh. I started to wonder if this case would end up the same as Sam’s and what I would do if it did. Would Josh be happy to see me? Would he even know who I was? Would he agree to go with me? Would he want to leave the camp? I wasn’t necessarily suggesting that Colonel Culpepper was a kidnapper or anything. It’s just that something was odd about this whole arrangement. Why were there two completely different groups of kids here? How did someone actually make it from one side of the road to the other? I decided right then and there that my mission here would now be two-fold: I would somehow find a way to talk to Josh and try to convince him to leave, and I would also investigate the mysterious way that some kids made the transition from pauper to prince.

  CHAPTER 17

  The Prose and Cons Caper

  The line of new recruits snaked through the lobby of Repentance Hall. It was almost my turn to be processed by camp personnel. The friend, or rather acquaintance, I had made on the bus was directly in front of me. He was now first in line. When they called him, I intended to get close enough to the desk to listen in and find out what types of questions they were asking. Within a few seconds, one of the camp employees, also dressed in military garb, motioned the boy in front of me to proceed forward. As he approached the desk, I inched closer in order to overhear their conversation.

  “The name is Corporal Waters. Who are you?”

  The boy stared at his feet. “Evan…Evan Wright,” he said.

  “And what brings you here today?” the corporal said.

  He looked up. “Huh? What do you mean?”

  Corporal Waters shook his head disgustedly. “Why do all you guys come here with attitude?”

  “Wait a minute, sir,” Evan said. “I don’t understand the question. I’m not trying to cause a problem.”

  The corporal smiled, but it was anything but sincere. “What’d you do to get your keister thrown in jail?”

  “Oh,” Evan said. He looked at the floor again. He seemed embarrassed and a little ashamed. “I…I was arrested for stealing a car.”

  The corporal sat back in his chair and grinned. “A joyride, huh? And see where it got you. You kids’ll never learn.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Evan said. “You see, I didn’t know—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Corporal Waters said. He began mimicking a whiny teenager. “‘I didn’t know it was stolen, Officer.’ ‘I don’t know how those drugs got in there, Officer.’ ‘That’s not my knife, Officer.’” He made a face. “I’ve heard ’em all, kid. A few weeks here and you’ll start to take responsibility for your actions.” The corporal grabbed a towel from a tall pile on the desk in front of him and shoved it at Evan. Then he reached for a bar of soap.

  “Catch, kid,” he said as he tossed it to him.

  The soap slipped through Evan’s hands, hit the floor, and bounced away.

  “Nice grab.” Corporal Waters pointed to a hallway over his shoulder. “Room one fourteen,” he said. He looked in my direction. “Next.”

  Evan looked up at me as he retrieved the bar of soap. He seemed lost. He was probably right—he didn’t belong here.

  “Name?” the corporal said.

  “Char—” I froze. What was I doing? I couldn’t give him my real name. My plan was to get in and out of this place as quickly as possible and without being noticed.

  The corporal slammed his pen on the table. “The questions are gonna get tougher, kid.”

  “Chase…Chase Cunningham.” It was the first thing that popped into my head. I hoped Henry wouldn’t mind me borrowing his name, but I needed something fast.

  The corporal ran his finger down the page of names. “Cunningham…Cunningham…you’re not on my list,” he said.

  I repeated my initial story. “I just got arrested about an hour ago. They must still be processing the paperwork or something.”

  Corporal Waters leaned back in his chair and stared at me quizzically. It was almost as if he didn’t believe me. He seemed to think for a moment, and then he sighed.

  “All right. Chase, is it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So what brings you to our friendly abode?” he said.

  “I guess you might call it vandalism,” I said.

  “You guess?” the corporal said.

  “I spray-painted a police car. Only it wasn’t spray paint. And it wasn’t permanent. And—”

  The corporal rolled his eyes. “I know. I know. You’re just some mixed-up, misunderstood kid. Right?”

  “Well, not exactly,” I said. “You see—”

  “Spare me, kid.” He tossed a towel and bar of soap at me and pointed at the stairwell. “Room two twenty-two. Next.”

  Although I hated to pass up another chance to engage in sparkling conversation with Corporal Waters, I thought it best to go look for my room. And anyway, it was about time to begin my investigation of this place. I climbed the stairs leading to the second floor and soon came upon a long hallway with dozens of rooms on either side. The carpeting was faded and filled with what looked like cigarette burns. The lighting was dim, but I still managed to notice the walls were in desperate need of a paint job. The Ritz, this was not.

  Room 222 was near the end of the hallway. The door was open. I crept in slowly, not sure what I’d find. The first thing I noticed was the boarded-up window. It gave me sort of a claustrophobic feeling. The room was about eight feet square. A cot was pushed up against one wall. A beat-up dresser sat on the opposite wall. And that was about it. I opened up the top dresser drawer and placed my towel and soap inside. I was careful to keep them away from the spiderweb filled with dead bugs in the far-right corner of the drawer. Apparently this was going to be an adventure. I could see why the residents of Repentance Hall would want to keep their stay here as short as possible.

  I decided to stretch out on the cot for a few minutes to think things through. I had to figure out a way to break away in order to talk to Josh. Since I had no idea what sort of schedule we’d be on at this place, it was hard to plan out anything. I closed my eyes for just a moment. The next thing I remembered was waking up to the sound of doors being slammed—one after another. Before long, a kid no more than eighteen, dressed in army garb and combat boots, appeared in the doorway. He had a handful of orange prison jumpsuits over his arm. He tossed one over to me.

  “Put this on,” he said. He grabbed the doorknob. “And keep this door closed at all times. Understand?” And with that, he pulled it shut.

  Well, it was nice to meet you too, I thought. One thing was for certain—people around here sure weren’t too friendly. I guess that was their tough love approach in action. I got up off the cot and changed into the jumpsuit. If I had ever wanted to know how it felt to be a convict, seeing myself in this outfit definitely answered that question. I had a little trouble zipping it up. The fit was snug. So, what else was new?

  I decided to look out into the hallway to see if it was clear. No time like the present to make my move. But when I turned the doorknob, I realized it was locked. Hey! What was going on here anyway? Doors aren’t supposed to lock from the outside. There was a mistake of some kind.

  I thought for a minute. And suddenly things began to make sense. There was no mistake. I wasn’t just a new member of the boot camp, I was a prisoner, and I suspected that every kid in this building was too. I examined the door more closely. When I realized that the hinges were on the outside of the door, then I knew for sure what was going on. If the hinges had been on the inside, an enterprising individual, with something as simple as a screwdriver, could just remove them and escape. Well, this was just great. If I couldn’t sneak around to ask a few questions and conduct an investigation, then what was the point of coming here in the first place?

  At that moment I needed some real inspiration—and I knew exactly how to get it. I picked up the pants I had tossed onto the floor, dug my hand into the front pocket, and pulled out the laminated business card that Gram had given me a few days earlier. I stared at
it. I was half expecting something magical to happen. But there was nothing. No bells or whistles or lights or anything. Right then I didn’t feel much like a successful private detective—and especially not like one who ran his own agency. I was getting sloppy. Lately I seemed to be making a series of bad decisions. Then I remembered what Gram told me when she handed me the card: “The next time you get into a jam, pull that card out of your pocket and take a gander. It just might open up a few doors for you someday.”

  What could she possibly mean by that? I took a second look at the card. It was actually kind of fun to look at. When Gram first gave it to me, I remembered that it made me feel important. But I wasn’t feeling very important right at that moment—or inspired for that matter. I slid the card into the front pocket of my jumpsuit and stared at the boarded-up window. Even though we were on the second floor, maybe that was a way out. I started pulling at the pieces of plywood, but they wouldn’t budge. The building itself might not have been well constructed, but whoever had nailed these boards to the window had done a professional job.

  I sat back down on the bed and sighed. And thought about Sam Solomon. Sam had gotten himself into jams like this all the time. I pulled the business card from my pocket again and stared at it. “You don’t deserve to call yourself a private detective,” I told myself. “You’re no Sam Solomon. You’re nothing but a fraud.” I tried to recall a time when Sam was totally baffled—when he had exhausted every conceivable idea. I couldn’t think of one. That sure would have helped me deal with these feelings of incompetence. And then all at once, as if someone had flipped a switch, I remembered something. How could I have been so dense? Episode #46—The Prose and Cons Caper.

  This particular case had Sam so frustrated that he actually considered hanging up his fedora. Sam had been hired by the warden of a maximum-security prison to uncover a leak. Apparently, some of the Mafia bosses housed in this institution were somehow still able to run their operations from inside the joint. Sam spent weeks investigating the case. At one point, he was ready to give up. He even considered closing his doors. Then he discovered that a volunteer English professor from a local community college who was teaching a creative-writing class to some of the prisoners was the actual leak. When the teacher collected assignments from his pupils at the end of each writing session, he was holding papers filled with marching orders from the Mafia bosses to their street crews.

  Had Sam given up and closed the agency, the mystery series would have ended right there. But like the fighter he was, he persevered and once again proved himself to be the master detective. Thinking about that case had suddenly awakened me. I felt rejuvenated and inspired. I knew that I would rebound the same way that Sam had. And then all at once, something clicked. It’s funny—when you find yourself on the lowest rung of the ladder—at that point of total despair—that’s when you find out what you’re really made of. I thought about my grandmother’s words and suddenly realized that her message had a literal meaning to it. “It just might open up a few doors for you someday.”

  I scooted over to the locked door and inserted the business card between the door and the frame. I could feel the card up against the latch. I knew that if I could push it really hard, I should be able to move the latch just enough to open the door. I pushed the card as hard as I could until I felt the latch move slightly. It was starting to slide back into the door. With one hand still holding the card in place, I grabbed doorknob and pushed. Nothing yet. My hand was starting to get sore. I knew I was running out of time. I decided to give it one last thrust. I leaned into the door and put my oversize body to work. Sometimes those extra pounds actually came in handy. And just when I was about to give up, I felt the card inch forward. I quickly grabbed the doorknob and pushed. Yes! It opened. I had done it.

  I stuck my head out into the hallway. It was clear. It was time to sneak out and look for Josh. I didn’t know how much time I had before someone from the camp came strolling by. I was just about to close the door behind me when I suddenly thought of something. If I closed this door, how would I be able to get back in? Based on how the latch was slanted, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to use the business card to open the door from the outside. What I really needed right at that moment was a piece of tape. Then I could put it over the latch to keep it from locking the door behind me. But there wasn’t any tape. I scooted back into the room and began rummaging through the dresser drawers. They were empty. Now what? How could I possibly keep that door unlocked?

  Then it hit me. I opened the top drawer and grabbed the bar of soap that the corporal had given me. I broke off a corner of the bar and started jamming it into the hole where the latch would go. I kept breaking off little pieces until I had completely filled the hole. I closed the door to see if it would work. Eureka! I had done it—again. The door now opened and closed with ease.

  I closed the door behind me and tiptoed down the hallway. It was pretty quiet. I made my way down the stairs to the first floor. I immediately spotted a boot camp employee stationed at the main door. I wasn’t expecting that. I needed to find another exit—and quick. I casually walked down the first-floor hallway. It was best to look as if I belonged there. I was hoping there was another door somewhere in that direction.

  When I reached the end of the hall, I noticed a second exit—but I also noticed a second guard. Now what? These folks certainly didn’t want any of their guests—or rather, inmates—vacating the premises. Right at that moment, I was really missing Henry. He and I had tackled problems like this in the past. Whenever we found ourselves in a similar situation, one of us would manage to create a diversion while the other slipped by undetected. We had done it countless times. What I really needed right now was an accomplice. But who? Who did I know at this place besides Josh? I couldn’t very well try to recruit a complete stranger. I didn’t know anything about these kids. And what I did know was a little scary. Most of the kids here wouldn’t be in the circle of friends my parents would want for me.

  Wait a minute. What about that Evan kid? The one I sat with on the bus. He didn’t seem like a hardened criminal or anything. He kept saying that he didn’t belong here. I wondered if I could trust him. It was worth a shot. Maybe I could tell him that I’d help him escape from this place if he joined forces with me. It might just work. I remembered that Corporal Waters had given him room one fourteen. I decided to pay a little visit to one Mr. Evan Wright.

  His room was on the other end of the hallway. I examined the door before knocking. It was just like mine—locked from the outside. I wondered if he knew he was a captive of the colonel. I knocked lightly.

  “Pssst, Evan,” I whispered. “Are you in there?”

  Seconds later I heard a weak voice from the other side. “Yeah, who is it?”

  “It’s me. I met you on the bus. Remember? We sat together.”

  “What do you want?” he said.

  “I gotta talk to you,” I said. “It’s important. Can I come in?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think we’re supposed to let anybody else in our rooms.”

  This kid wasn’t making it easy. How could I convince him that I was one of the good guys?

  “Have you tried opening this door yet?” I asked.

  “No. Why?”

  “Because you’re locked in. That’s why.” I heard him turn the knob. He pushed and pulled at it with no luck.

  “Hey, what’s going on here?” he said.

  “If you haven’t noticed it yet—we’re prisoners,” I said. “And if you’d like to get out of this place, I can help. But you gotta let me in first.”

  “Well, how can I let you in if the door’s locked?”

  “Listen,” I said. “Look down at your feet. I’m sending something your way.” I pulled the business card from my pocket and slid it under the door. For a few seconds, I heard nothing. “Did you find it?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Who’s this Charlie Collier guy?”

  “That’s me. I’m Charlie
Collier.” I kept glancing down the hallway, fearful that someone might see me.

  “You’re a private detective? I don’t believe it. You’re just a kid…like me,” he said.

  “If you let me in, I’ll explain everything.”

  “But how?” he said.

  He seemed skeptical, but I was confident that I could convince him to cooperate. At least, I hoped so. “I want you to slide that card between the edge of the door and the frame—right where the latch is. Can you do that?” Within a few seconds I could hear the card being inserted and pushed up against the latch.

  “Nothing’s happening,” he said.

  “You gotta push really hard. You have to force the latch back into the door. Tell you what—you push the card and I’ll pull from this end.” Right at that moment I heard voices. They were coming from the exit at the end of the hallway. “Hurry, Evan,” I said. “Push…as hard as you can.” The voices were getting louder. At any moment, someone was sure to turn the corner and show his face—and if he spotted me, I was a dead duck.

  “It’s moving a little,” he said.

  I put my foot up against the door frame and yanked. I’d pull this thing off its hinges if I had to. “Push,” I said. My voice was strained. C’mon, Evan, you can do this.

  And then suddenly, the door gave way. I fell backward onto my butt. I didn’t waste time getting to my feet. I scampered into his room on all fours and pulled the door closed behind me. I sat up against the back of the door and let out a long sigh.

  CHAPTER 18

  The Rack on Tour Caper

  Evan was staring down at me. He appeared confused. “I don’t understand what’s going on here,” he said. “Why are we locked up?”

  I got to my feet. “If you’ve been following the news lately, you know that this Colonel Culpepper character made a deal with the city. He’s supposedly trying to rehabilitate us.”