In class, Slurpee would rock back and forth in his desk, making heavy, snorting sounds, and Ms. Kowalski constantly had to tell him to be quiet.
Slurpee lived at 711 Laclede Street, so Axel nicknamed him “Slurpee” because of his 7-Eleven address. Before that, Lonnie used to call him Renfield, after the mental patient in Dracula, but a lot of kids didn’t get the reference.
Slurpee hated his real name, so it didn’t matter to him which nickname he was given. “I don’t care what they call me, as long as they don’t forget to call me for supper,” he would joke.
Slurpee hadn’t gone to the Martex Paper Company to find something to read. The piles of paper products included lots of porn magazines, Slurpee’s favorite type of literature.
He looked up at the barbed wire that spiraled across the top of the tall fence, wondering if he could climb over it without getting cut.
“Hey, Slurpee!” Axel shouted. “You’ll never get in there that way.”
He turned around, not surprised to see Axel and Lonnie, because they had run into each other at the paper company before. Tugging at gate, Slurpee said, “They got the door locked.”
“Yeah, they do that when they close the place,” Axel said. “But we know another way to get in.”
Lonnie wished Axel hadn’t mentioned anything about their secret entrance. He was the one who had discovered it, and Axel should have left it up to him to decide if he wanted Slurpee to know where it was.
Slurpee wiped away streaks of sweat that had trickled from his bald head down to his pimply face. He turned to Lonnie and nudged his chin. “Wassup?”
Lonnie smiled awkwardly, then looked away. Slurpee reminded him of the creatures in the movie Mutants from the Abyss that had crawled from beneath the earth to attack innocent cavers. The creatures had pale skin, oversized foreheads and little beady eyes, just like him.
The boys walked along the side of the fence until they found a section with a large tear that had been repaired with baling wire. A warehouse truck had backed into the fence, causing the damage.
Lonnie shot Axel a dirty look to let him know he didn’t appreciate him letting Slurpee in on their secret. Then he unwound the wire and pulled back the chain-link fence, leaving an opening big enough for the three of them to squeeze through.
Once inside, they rummaged through the mass of paper products. But as Axel had suspected, even though the sun was out, everything was sopping wet.
“Maybe we can find some stuff inside the warehouse,” Slurpee suggested.
“We can’t go in there,” Lonnie told him. “The place is locked.”
Grinning shamelessly, Slurpee said, “The fence was locked, too, but we got in, didn’t we? I’m gonna try the door.”
When he left, Lonnie blasted Axel for letting Slurpee know about their private entrance.
“What was I supposed to do? It was either that or go home and come back later. And I can’t do that. Remember? I told my mom I wouldn’t be gone too long, so—”
Axel was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass.
Lonnie looked up and gasped. Slurpee had used a cinder block to smash the small window on the warehouse door.
“What are you doing, man?” he yelled, then peered about, wondering if anyone had seen him.
Slurpee didn’t answer. Reaching through the window frame, he turned the inside knob and opened the door.
Lonnie’s jaw dropped as he watched him disappear inside the warehouse. “Aw, man, that idiot’s going to get us in big-time trouble!”
Axel’s face lit up. “You know, I’ve never been inside the warehouse. Come on. Let’s see what’s in there.”
Before Lonnie could protest, Axel ran toward the door steps. Lonnie whirled around again to see if anyone was watching before joining him.
The warehouse was dark, lit only by the sun’s rays seeping from the skylights above. The air was stagnant and smelled of must and mold. Huge bales of paper were stacked in rows throughout the cavernous room. Although the building was hot, a chill crawled up Lonnie’s arms. He imagined a murderous fiend lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce on them at any moment. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a rat, the size of a ’possum, dart between two bales of paper.
“Let’s get out of here,” he told Axel.
“Wait, I want to look around first,” he said, marveling at his surroundings.
Slurpee climbed on top of a bale of paper and savagely tore at it, grunting and snorting. Then he stopped. A green button on a pole caught his attention. He jumped off the bale and pressed the button, turning on an electrical motor. The sounds of wheels and bearings reverberated as a conveyor belt rolled upward, coming to an end above a concrete pit.
Slurpee hopped on top of the conveyor belt with his arms outstretched. “Hey, look at me!” he shouted as he rode the conveyor belt. “I’m surfing.” When he reached the top, he ran back down and rode it again. “Everybody’s gone surfin’,” he sang in a monotone voice, “surfin’ U.S.A.”
After the third time, he jumped off and ran to a forklift parked near the office. He sat in the cab and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands, like a little kid playing in a toy car. “Hey, y’all know how to turn this thing on?”
From having seen the men operate forklifts at the trucking company where his dad used to work, Lonnie knew Slurpee wasn’t going anywhere without the ignition key.
Then, as if he’d read Lonnie’s mind, Slurpee said, “I need a key to this.” He swiveled his head in the direction of the office. “I bet they got it in there.”
He climbed off the forklift and tried the office door, but it was locked. Not about to let that deter him, he grabbed a pair of pliers from a leather pouch on the forklift and used them to shatter the glass window on the door. Once inside, he ransacked the office, pulling drawers from the desk and the file cabinet, scattering sheets of paper and file folders on the floor, while he searched for the forklift key.
Lonnie knew he should have gotten out of the warehouse, even if it meant leaving Axel behind. But he was too mesmerized, watching Slurpee tear the office apart, to move from his spot.
The sound of a car door slamming shut snapped him out of his trance. Lonnie ran to the door and looked out. Instantly, his face turned pale.
The gate was open. A security guard had driven his patrol car into the parking lot and was headed toward the steps!
CHAPTER FIVE
LONNIE RECOGNIZED THE GUARD as Otis Barnaby, a sixty-seven-year-old retired cop who was now employed by the Wyndham Security Company. When Lonnie’s mother first started working at the Sherwood Forest Apartments, Mr. Barnaby had been assigned as her mentor.
“Torres, a security guard’s coming!” Lonnie cried.
Axel saw Mr. Barnaby’s shadow in the doorway. “Slurpee, let’s go, man! A guard’s coming!”
“Wait, I haven’t found the key to the forklift,” Slurpee replied, unaware that Axel had said, “A guard’s coming!”
Mr. Barnaby stood at the warehouse entrance. He rested a hand on his gun and held a flashlight in the other. He aimed a beam toward the office window and said, “Hey! I see you. Come out of there.”
Slurpee spun around and froze.
Axel and Lonnie hid behind a bale of paper. Hearing their footsteps, Mr. Barnaby pointed his flashlight in their direction. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called 911.
Axel’s heart quickened. “I can’t get arrested, Lonnie!” he cried. “I can’t go to jail!”
“Put your hands up and step out where I can see you,” Mr. Barnaby commanded them. He returned his flashlight to Slurpee. “You, too.”
Lonnie’s mind raced for possible options. The first one was to turn themselves in. Mr. Barnaby knew him, so there was a chance he wouldn’t arrest them. But he would surely tell their parents. Then again, Mr. Barnaby had already called the cops, and Lonnie doubted they would be as lenient, not after the mess Slurpee had made.
Mr. Barnaby stood his ground, blocking the only
exit, waiting for backup. As a veteran police officer, he wasn’t going to approach them alone since he didn’t know how many suspects he was dealing with. Still, if Lonnie could somehow get him away from the door, there was a chance they could escape.
Axel was shuddering and spilling tears. “What are we going to do, Lonnie? What are we going to do?”
Slurpee raised his hands in surrender and walked out of the office.
“The rest of you, do the same,” Mr. Barnaby ordered.
Lonnie didn’t care what happened to Slurpee. But even if he and Axel managed to get away, they would still be in trouble because Slurpee would tell Mr. Barnaby and the cops that they had been at the warehouse with him.
An idea came to him. He didn’t know if it would work, but it was all he had. “Slurpee! The back door’s open. Come on! Let’s go! Let’s go!”
Slurpee dropped his hands and bolted toward them.
Believing his suspects were about to flee, Mr. Barnaby left his post and cautiously approached their hiding spot.
While he looked for the rear exit, the boys rounded five bales of paper and ran out the front door, hoping a squad car wasn’t pulling into the parking lot. Luckily, the cops hadn’t arrived.
Lonnie’s ruse didn’t last long. Moments later, Mr. Barnaby flew out the door behind them. “The three of you, stop where you are!”
“He won’t do anything,” Lonnie told the guys, knowing that the Wyndham Security Company had strict rules about their guards drawing their weapons. Mr. Barnaby wouldn’t shoot unless he felt his life was in imminent danger.
Lonnie pulled his polo shirt over his head so his face couldn’t be seen. Axel did the same with his T-shirt, and they continued running.
Reaching the gate, Slurpee turned back, his face uncovered, and let out a sharp laugh. “You’re too slow, fat boy! Run, run, as fast as you can. You can’t catch me. I’m the Gingerbread Man!” Then he shot Mr. Barnaby the finger with both hands.
“Slurpee, the cops are going to show up any second!” Lonnie told him. “Let’s get out of here!” Still holding his shirt over his head, he yanked him by the arm, and the three of them tore off down the street.
They didn’t stop running until they reached the Smile Easy Dental Center, where they hid behind the building, in case the police happened to drive by.
“Man, that was freaking awesome!” Slurpee brayed out. “Did that fat tub of lard really think he could outrun us?”
“That wasn’t funny,” Lonnie told him. “You almost got us in huge trouble.”
“Yeah, if we got caught, we could’ve gone to jail!” Axel agreed, wringing his hands.
“There’s no way that old geezer was gonna catch us,” Slurpee said. “My granny can move faster than him on her walker.”
Lonnie slapped him on the arm. “Hey, don’t talk that way about the guard. I know him. My mom and him are friends.”
“They are?” Slurpee said, surprised. “Well, there you go. He wasn’t gonna do nothing to us. We didn’t have nothing to worry about.”
“Are you kidding me?” Lonnie said. “You busted the windows and destroyed the office. You think he was going to ignore that?”
Axel stared at his hands. “What if the cops dust the place for fingerprints? They’ll know we were in there. If I go to jail, my parents are going to kill me!”
“Quit your whining, man,” Slurpee said. “You been watching too many cop shows. The Marsville P.D.’s way too busy to waste their time fingerprinting the place. Right, Lonnie?”
He asked him as if having a mother who was a security guard gave Lonnie insight as to what the police might do when investigating a break-in. But he had to say something to calm Axel down.
“Slurpee’s right, Torres. The most the police will do is take down a report and file it.”
Axel stopped whimpering and wiped away his tears. “Really?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure, especially if the guard tells the cops that it was kids who broke in.” Lonnie didn’t know if there was any truth to what he said, but at least it helped Axel regain his composure.
They waited by the side of the building for a few minutes. Finally, Slurpee said, “I’m gonna take off.”
“Go ahead,” Lonnie told him. “But I think me and Axel will stay here a little longer. Just be careful. If you see a cop car coming, hide in somebody’s yard or something.”
Lonnie and Axel watched Slurpee hurry out of the Smile Easy Dental Center parking lot. Ten minutes later, they left, too, keeping an eye out for the police as they walked.
They reached Axel’s house safely, and Lonnie hung around for a while. Then he made his way home, thinking they were in the clear.
But he was wrong.
CHAPTER SIX
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, while Lonnie lay in bed, he heard the front door open and shut. Turning over on his side, he pulled back the curtain and saw his mother’s car sitting in the driveway. She had just arrived home from work.
He heard her footsteps outside his door, then a knock. “Lonnie, are you up?”
“Yeah.”
“Get yourself ready. I’ll fix you breakfast.”
Breakfast? That was the farthest thing from his mind. Lonnie was still trying to recover from the nightmare he’d had.
He dreamed he was back at the Martex warehouse, this time alone. The place was dark, except for a faint ray of light that shone from above. Tall bundles, casting ghostly shadows, surrounded him, and a strong odor of wet newspapers and mildew filled the air.
Out of the darkness, a deep, raspy voice called out, “Put your hands up and stand where I can see you!”
Lonnie poked his head from around a bale of paper and saw a Wyndham Security guard. His first thought was that it was Mr. Barnaby. But as he looked closer, he realized it wasn’t him. It was someone—or something— inhuman. The guard wore a Wyndham Security uniform, but his face and arms were covered with rotting flesh and open sores, with yellowish pus oozing out. His teeth looked like corn nuts.
“I see you, boy!” the guard-thing bellowed, starting toward him with slow, but deliberate steps. “You can’t hide from me!”
A wave of terror welled up inside Lonnie. He backed away, trying not to make any noise. Then he broke into a mad run through the bundles of paper, which now formed a labyrinth, with endless tunnels and pathways.
Behind him he could hear the clop, clop, clop of the guard-thing’s shoes as it picked up its pace.
“You’re not gonna get away from me this time, boy!”
Lonnie turned to the right and hit a dead end. Back the other way he ran, made another right, then a left. Again, he was trapped.
“Run, run, as fast as you can. I’ll still catch you. I’m the Security Guard Man!” the guard-thing taunted. Then it let out a chilling laugh.
Lonnie clamped a hand over his mouth in time to stop a scream from escaping. Right and left he zigzagged, but again he hit a wall.
“I’m gonna getcha, boy! I’m gonna getcha!”
Right, right, left. No good, either.
Right, right …
“Gotcha!” A pair of rotting hands seized Lonnie by the throat, and he gurgled a strangled cry.
He woke up and reached for his neck. Nothing.
After his mother checked on him, Lonnie showered, got dressed and made his way to the kitchen. His mother had already set a glass of milk and a plate of Saturday pancakes on the table for him. The pancakes got their name because his mother used to cook pancakes only on Saturday mornings. When she began making them on other days, Lonnie still called them Saturday pancakes.
His parents were seated at the breakfast table, having coffee. Lonnie picked up on their conversation and realized they were discussing the break-in at the Martex Paper Company.
“Serves them right,” his dad said. “You know, they refused to hire me. The supervisor, what’s his name? Milton something? He promised he’d get back with me, but he never did. Later I found out that he hired two other guys.”
“Mijo, isn’t there a student at your school the kids call Slurpee?” Lonnie’s mother asked, almost causing Lonnie to choke on a chunk of pancake.
He swallowed a deep drink of milk to dislodge the food from his throat. Trying to remain calm, he shook his head slowly. “I … don’t think so.”
“Are you sure? Because it seems to me that I once heard you talking to someone on the phone about a boy called Slurpee who had been suspended for stabbing a student with a pencil.”
“No, Mom, I, uh … I was probably talking to Axel about going to 7-Eleven to buy a Slurpee. I don’t know anybody called Slurpee. But you’re right. There’s a kid at my school who got suspended for stabbing another kid with a pencil, but his name’s Kirby, not Slurpee. Jeez, Mom, why would anybody be called Slurpee? That’s a weird nickname, Slurpee.” Lonnie stopped when he realized he was babbling. He took another drink of milk.
“Some kids broke into the Martex Paper Company warehouse yesterday,” she said. “You know my friend, Otis Barnaby? He works security in the area, and he got a call that the burglar alarm had been tripped. So he drove out there and caught three boys tearing up the office, but they ran off. Anyway, Otis told me that one of the boys called another one Slurpee. This Slurpee kid was big, two hundred, two hundred ten pounds, with a shaved head. Are you sure you don’t know anyone at your school who fits that description?”
“Mom, I don’t know anybody called Slurpee,” Lonnie insisted. “Honest. Maybe Mr. Barnaby heard wrong. The kid’s name might’ve been Stevie or Sidney or Stanley.”
“Lonnie’s right, Becky,” his dad said. “Otis is getting kinda old. His hearing probably ain’t as sharp as it used to be.”
She shrugged. “Oh, well. I just thought I might’ve stumbled over a clue that could help the police with their investigation.”
The word investigation made the hairs on the back of Lonnie’s neck prickle. He scarfed down the rest of his pancakes. Then he grabbed his backpack and kissed his mother goodbye.
On the Other Side of the Bridge Page 4
