Sammy Keyes and the Hotel Thief Sammy Keyes

by Wendelin Van Draanen

  I just kind of smile and whisper, “How would a blind person know if his glasses were clean or not?”

  She whispers, “What?”

  “Sssh! Watch. Just watch.”

  Then it happens—Oscar stops.

  Now he doesn’t go racing over and snatch the money off the ground and then look around like anybody else would. He stops and stands there for a minute, thinking. Then, very slowly, like he’s stretching his back, he moves his head from side to side, and backs his cart up a little to turn onto the walkway. Then he kneels down like he’s going to tie his shoe, and when he stands back up the ten is gone.

  I look at Marissa and she looks at me and we’re both totally bug-eyed. Marissa mouths, “Now what?”

  Well, I don’t know, but I’m not going to tell her that. I just put my finger in front of my lips because the last thing I want is for ol’ Oscar to find us. I go back to watching him, and sure enough, he’s coming after the five. He moves forward a little, kneels down to tie his other shoe, and whoosh, there goes the five.

  I look over at Marissa and that’s when I notice it—the biggest, ugliest spider you’d ever want to see, climbing right up her sleeve.

  She must’ve seen me looking at her arm because the next thing you know she screams. Then she jumps up, slaps at herself like crazy, and screams some more.

  Who knows what happened to the spider. All I know is that Oscar the ice cream man was staring straight at Marissa, and when I stood up and looked at him, well, he knew right away that that money hadn’t come from God.

  And you’d think he’d just run away, but he didn’t. He stood there, kind of looking over one shoulder, then the other. And that’s when I realized that he wasn’t about to just let us go.

  Marissa’s still screaming about the spider so I grab her by the shoulders and shake her. “Marissa! Stop it! Run to the police station. Now!”

  I jump out from behind the hedge and I’m about to hop off the planter when Oscar grabs me by an ankle. Now this is no feeble grab—it’s like a tourniquet around my leg. And any second he’s going to yank me off the planter and I’m going to go splat! on the walkway, so I smack him with the sole of my other foot, right in the forehead.

  His head goes flying back and his glasses fall off, and as I break free, sure enough, there’s the face I saw through the binoculars. Only it’s looking a whole lot madder than the last time I saw it.

  I jump down and start running as fast as I can to the police station, but in the middle of running I realize that all Oscar has to do is get in a car and go, and no one’ll ever find him. Then for the rest of my life I’ll have to worry about where Oscar is and whether or not he’s on the lookout for me.

  So I circle back around to St. Mary’s, and I sneak up to the courtyard, and what do I see? Nothing. He’s gone, his glasses are gone, the cart’s gone…there’s no sign of him anywhere. Very carefully, I peek down Church Street. No ice cream man. Then I look down School Street. No ice cream man. I start running again, but now I’m not trying to get away from Oscar, I’m trying to find him.

  So I head over to the mall, and I wind up running around it—the whole thing. And before you know it I’m cutting across the dirt where the new mall parking lot’s going in, thinking that he’s already gone and there’s no way I’m ever going to catch him.

  Then these kids come tearing by on their bikes, chasing each other through the dirt. I watch them go, and then I notice their bike tracks. I stand there studying the tracks, and suddenly I’ve got a good idea where Oscar might be.

  So I start running again, but when I get to Maynard’s Market I decide that what I’ve got to do is call the police. I tear up to the counter all panting and dying for air. “T.J.! Can I use your phone? Please! It’s an emergency!”

  He’s holding the phone in one hand and lighting a cigarette with the other. “Can’t you see I’m using it?”

  “Please! It’s a matter of life and death.”

  He blows smoke out his nose like a dragon. “This ain’t a public phone—now beat it!”

  I slap the counter. “Then you call! Dial 911 and tell them the hotel thief’s on the corner of Broadway and Wesler!”

  “What?”

  I yell, “Call them! Now!” and then race out the door.

  I just knew there had to be a shortcut, so instead of running clear down to Wesler Street I turned down an alley. That was a mistake. It’s not like I’ve never been down an alley before. I’ve been down plenty of alleys—just none quite as scary as this one. The ground was slimy, like the sun never really got a chance to dry it out, and there were old metal garbage cans that smelled like sewage and were buzzing with flies.

  And I was slipping along the dirt, trying to stay up on the edge where the ground was a little bit drier, when this gigantic dog comes charging up to the fence, snapping and growling and barking, trying to crash through the pickets.

  My heart was already pumping pretty good, but the second that dog popped up it exploded. I jumped back, slipped, and landed flat in the mud. I tried to calm myself down, but really, all I wanted was to get out of there.

  I knew I was close because I could see the back of the Heavenly Hotel. So I decided to climb the wall. And it probably wouldn’t have been that hard, only my high-tops were caked with mud and I kept slipping. By now there’s a whole chorus of dogs barking up and down the alley, sounding like they’re all going to break out at the same time and eat me alive, and I’m really starting to panic.

  I look around real fast and roll one of those stinky garbage cans over to the wall and then flip it upside down. I climb on top of it and look over the wall and there’s the old pepper tree, bent over, all by itself in the middle of the empty lot. Trouble is, I can’t see past the tree’s branches to tell if he’s there or not.

  So I climb over the wall and circle around the back side of the tree as quietly as I can. My heart’s going a million miles an hour and I’m barely breathing, and when I peek past the branches what I see is a man with long blond hair and a goatee, hunched over an ice cream cart, looking in a mirror.

  It’s Oscar, all right. And in his new disguise I did recognize him, only not as the ice cream man or the hotel thief, but as the guy who’d stopped to talk to André the day Marissa and I had gone to see Gina.

  He starts changing his shirt, and that’s when I decide that I don’t need to see any more. What I need is the police.

  Trouble is, as I stepped away from the tree I snapped a twig and the newly blond ice cream man freezes with his shirt half off. Then he looks over his shoulder, right through the branches, right at me.

  For a second we both just stared at each other, but then he took a quick look around and came charging after me.

  I wasn’t about to try any more shortcuts. No way! I ran straight to Wesler Street and headed toward Broadway with ol’ Blondie right behind me. And when I got down to Broadway I turned the corner and nearly crashed into a lady with three lavender poodles coming out of the Pup Parlor. I danced around them and tangled them up pretty good, so by the time Oscar got there they were going every which way, trying to knock him to the ground.

  I raced across the street, dodging cars and jamming traffic, but when I looked over my shoulder, he was still after me and gaining.

  Now I’m heading for the police station by way of the mall because I figure if I can make it to the mall, Oscar’ll stop chasing me. There are just too many people at the mall. And since the fastest way to the mall is through the parking structure, I decide to cut through that.

  So I go charging up this grassy slope between the sidewalk and the parking lot, but the sprinklers must have been on earlier because the grass is all wet and I wind up slipping and falling.

  Oscar’s charging at me, only about fifty feet away. And there’s the side entrance to the mall, straight through the parking structure, about a hundred and fifty feet away. I scramble back to my feet but it’s easy to see—I’m never going to make it.

  I run down the
hill and into the parking lot, calling, “Help!” as I work my way between cars. But I don’t see anybody, and then I remember how many people had come to Heather’s rescue when I’d tackled her by the escalator: Zero. So I quit calling for help and started looking for a place to hide.

  First I crouched behind one car, then another. But no matter where I moved I was still exposed on three sides. Then I saw a Dumpster in a corner against a wall, so I crawled over and squeezed behind it.

  And I’ve just crouched down, hugging my knees real close, when Oscar runs by. And I’m about to breathe a sigh of relief when I hear him stop and come walking back.

  My heart’s already slamming against my chest and my lips are all dry and there’s sweat dripping down my face, but I practically turn inside out when I hear a noise inside the Dumpster.

  The noise happens again, and that’s when I realize there’s something inside the Dumpster. Something alive. Oscar hears it too, because he walks right up to the Dumpster, looks in the top, and laughs. “You’re history, girl.”

  I hold real still and watch his feet go back and forth along the ground. Then it happens again—that noise. Oscar leans over and gets halfway inside, looking for me.

  Leaning on the wall right above me is the Dumpster lid. And I know it’s heavy because I’ve lifted one before—just a few inches to throw trash away. And there’s Oscar, digging through the Dumpster saying, “Where are you, you little brat? I know you’re in here!” So I take a deep breath, stand up, and yank down on the lid as hard as I can. And when the lid clanks closed, Oscar’s pinned inside with his legs sticking out.

  Cuss words start echoing around inside that Dumpster, and even though I’m holding the lid down as hard as I can, I know that any second he’s going to bust loose.

  Giving up would’ve been like trying to get away from an angry yellow jacket—it’s just not something you can do, even in high-tops. You’re better off just staying where you are and trying to swat it down. So I pull myself up on top of the Dumpster and sit on the edge. But Oscar bucks around even harder and you can tell—he’s going to be able to push the lid open, even with me on it.

  So I stand up on the lid and start jumping up and down like a jackhammer. The lid’s clanging like crazy and I’m yelling, “Help! Help! Somebody, help!”

  And I’m up there for what feels like days, bouncing on the Dumpster, yelling at the top of my lungs, hearing the ice cream man spew out words I didn’t even know existed, when who comes charging around the corner?

  The Borsch-man.

  I never thought there’d come a day when I’d be happy to see Officer Borsch, but let me tell you, I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to see anyone in my whole life. He takes one look at me bouncing on the Dumpster, puts a hand on his holster, and says, “Come off of there.”

  I sit down and start to slide off the front when Marissa comes running around the corner with Tall ’n’ Skinny. She yells, “Sammy!” Then when she sees what’s going on she starts jumping up and down. “You caught him! You caught him!”

  Officer Borsch tells Tall ’n’ Skinny, “Chad, get the lid.” He motions Marissa and me back. “Move back…now!”

  We back up, all right. About two inches. And we watch Tall ’n’ Skinny prop up the lid while Officer Borsch stands back with his feet spread and his gun drawn. And Oscar’s in the middle of pulling himself out of the Dumpster when a mangy orange alley cat comes streaking across his back and hits the ground running.

  When Oscar gets out, he’s looking like the Man from Planet Slime. His wig’s all crooked and has spaghetti and lettuce smashed in it, his back is covered with dirt and rust from the lid, and there’s a tea bag dangling from one shoulder.

  Officer Borsch shouts, “Spread your hands out against the wall! Move it!” then comes in from behind and kicks Oscar’s ankles apart. And while Tall ’n’ Skinny frisks him, Officer Borsch hollers out his rights and before you know it Oscar the ice cream man is wrapped up in handcuffs and on his way to jail.

  And Marissa and I are coming along for the ride.

  NINETEEN

  The first thing Tall ’n’ Skinny wanted to do was call “our” parents. Marissa was quick: “They’re gone for a few days on business.”

  Tall ’n’ Skinny frowned. “Do you have a number where you can reach them?”

  “Uh, no. They usually just call in at night.”

  “Don’t they have a pager?”

  Marissa shook her head.

  “Hmmm.”

  You could tell he was going to keep asking questions until he found a way to talk to somebody, so I asked, “Would you like me to call my grandmother?”

  He tugged on his mustache and nodded. “I think that would be a good idea.”

  So I called Grams and gave her a rough sketch of what was going on. Then I handed Tall ’n’ Skinny the phone and while he was talking to her, I discovered that Tall ’n’ Skinny has a name. It’s Sergeant Jacobson. I kind of uncovered the nameplate on his desk. I also found a picture of his daughter, who’s probably just a little younger than I am. In the picture she’s holding this snake and it looks like she’s about to use it as a jump rope.

  Anyhow, after Sergeant Jacobson got off the phone, he brought us sodas and then opened up this big tin of M&Ms and said, “Help yourself.” Then he made some phone calls and pretty soon he says to us, “They’ll have that ice cream cart picked up shortly, and we’ve got a team at the Heavenly now, questioning the manager.”

  After that, he starts filling out a bunch of forms. When he gets to the part about how come Marissa and I have different last names when we’re sisters, well, I’m sweating it out pretty good. I kind of look down and say, “My mom ran off when I was pretty young. I’m Marissa’s foster sister.” He didn’t ask me any more questions about it so I guess he believed me, and I didn’t feel bad about lying because it’s not that far from the truth.

  Then he asks to hear the story. The whole story. He even wants to hear the part he’d already heard that first night at the Heavenly Hotel. So I tell him, and when I get to the part about going on the roof of the mall and how I’d seen Oscar sitting all by himself, buffing his glasses, he says, “You were on the roof of the mall?”

  Marissa looks at me like, I told you it was against the law! but I just nod and tell Sergeant Jacobson how I hadn’t thought anything of Oscar buffing his glasses at the time, but that later I started thinking that it’s just not something a blind man would worry about doing.

  “You could see him cleaning his glasses from the roof of the mall?”

  “Through binoculars, sir.”

  He shakes his head and laughs. “Those binoculars again.” Then he says, “I should start carrying a pair. Of course I’ve never even thought to go up on the mall roof....”

  Marissa kind of wiggles in her seat. “I’ve been up there too! It’s really cool. You can see everything!”

  Sergeant Jacobson tugs on his mustache a little. “Did you see all this through binoculars, too?”

  I jump in and say, “Oh no, sir. I saw that before. Marissa went up with me today, and that’s when I figured out where the napkins came from.”

  “The napkins?”

  “You know, the Double Dynamo napkins? Like the one we found at the Heavenly Hotel?”

  “What napkin did you find at the Heavenly Hotel?”

  Well, I’m figuring out in a hurry that Marissa didn’t have time to tell him anything about napkins, and that Officer Borsch never said a word about it, either. “You know—the napkin with the writing on it? The one that matched the napkin that was left under Mrs. Graybill’s door?”

  He throws up his hands. “What? Wait a minute. Slow down.” He leans forward and asks, “What note?”

  Now let me tell you, in my stomach there’s this giggle that’s just dying to get out. I slap it down and say, “Didn’t Officer Borsch tell you any of this?”

  “Noooo.…”

  I shake my head. “I guess he really did think I was maki
ng it all up. I mean, he said he thought I’d forged it, but I figured maybe he was just in a bad mood.”

  Sergeant Jacobson’s eyes pinch closed and he leans back in his chair like all of a sudden he’s got a splitting headache. “And why would Officer Borsch think you’d forged it? What was written on the napkin?”

  “HH four twenty-three. You know—Heavenly Hotel, room four twenty-three. Gina’s room?”

  He nods. “All right...and why did Officer Borsch think you’d forged it?”

  So I tell him about the note that was left under Mrs. Graybill’s door and how Mrs. Graybill thought I had written it. Then I tell him how when I’d found the napkin rolled up on the hotel fire escape I’d given it to Officer Borsch right away to prove that the thief had left the note under Mrs. Graybill’s door.

  Sergeant Jacobson twists a few hairs of his mustache. “And Officer Borsch didn’t believe you?”

  I shake my head. “No, sir. Like I said, he accused me of writing both notes.”

  He bites the inside of his cheek for a minute, then says, “Will you excuse me? I’ll be right back.”

  Well, he’s not leaving to shake more creamer in his coffee. He’s off to have a little chat with Officer Borsch. And while he’s gone Marissa and I dig into those M&Ms. You wouldn’t believe how many we ate. By the time Sergeant Jacobson came back we’d chomped down so many that even Mikey would’ve been proud.

  Sergeant Jacobson has the napkins with him and he flattens them out on his desk. “Just from looking at it right now, I’d say the handwriting matches.” He flips them over. “And they’re both Double Dynamos.” He looks at me. “So you noticed the napkins matched and you noticed him cleaning his glasses—was there anything else?”

  “Well, yes, sir. Sort of. See, Gina had told us that she had been talking with some friend of hers out in front of Maynard’s. She didn’t know her friend was in town and she wound up telling her where she was staying and how she had to go to the bank to start an account because she didn’t like carrying around so much money. She told me she didn’t remember anyone listening to their conversation, but you don’t think of Oscar as being an eavesdropper. I mean, everybody knows he’s blind and almost deaf. He’s always bending his ear and acting like he wants you to speak up, so that’s what everyone does. And when he’s around, people don’t quit talking about whatever they’re talking about—they just figure he can’t hear them anyway.