Philip and the Sneaky Trashmen (9781619502185)

by Paulits, John

  “I’m not but I is? Now you can’t even speak English. And why would your aunt think you were a sheep, for Pete’s sake?”

  “She didn’t think I was a sheep, for Pete’s sake! What is wrong with you? She kept pointing at the sheep and saying that’s a ewe. She was pointing at a girl sheep. The name for a girl sheep is a ewe. A ram is a boy sheep. My aunt kept pointing and saying, ‘That’s a ewe.’ She wasn’t saying that’s you . . . me.”

  “That’s you . . . me,” Philip mumbled and put his hand to his forehead. He took a deep breath. “Can we change the subject?”

  “Sure, if you want.”

  “Good.”

  “Baaaaaad.”

  Philip glared at his friend.

  Emery smiled. “I didn’t say baaaaad. A ewe said it.”

  “Emery . . .”

  “All right. All right. I don’t see Mr. Sorino.”

  They had reached Mr. Sorino’s house and stood across the street studying it.

  Philip said, “Wait here. I don’t think I want Mr. Sorino to know I gave these to him. I’ll just toss them onto his porch.” Philip ran across the street, paused, and tossed the package near the front door. He turned and rejoined Emery. “Boy, am I glad to be rid of them. So what do you want to do?”

  “Go to the playground?”

  “Nah. My father’s there with Becky.”

  “Want to walk around then and look for stuff?”

  “You mean for Mr. Sorino? It’s not trash day.”

  “Could still be some stuff people put out. Big stuff. To get it out of the way, you know.”

  “Yeah, maybe. Okay.”

  As they walked, Emery asked, “Did your aunt give you anything else?”

  “Me? Nothing. She gave my father and mother these goofy-looking pants that are so shiny they sparkle. They look like lady’s pants. Red for my mother and black for my father.”

  “My mother has shiny bed sheets like that. Real bright colors. I think that stuff is called satin . . .”

  “Hey,” Philip interrupted. “There’s Leon.”

  Leon walked toward them, his head down as if he’d lost something.

  “What are you doing?” Emery asked.

  “Oh, hi guys.”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Philip.

  “I’m in trouble.”

  “What’d you do this time?” asked Emery.

  “I gave my mother’s good plate away. I was looking for stuff to give Mr. Sorino, broken stuff. I saw the plate, and I gave it to him with some other stuff I got from knocking on doors. My mother looked for the plate and went bonko when I said I gave it away.”

  “Why’s she want a broken plate?” asked Philip.

  “It had a big line in it.” Leon slashed a line in the air with his finger. “I thought it was a crack. My mother said it was part of the design.”

  “So go get it back from Mr. Sorino,” said Emery.

  “I tried. He said he gave it to Pete’s Repeat shop. I’m sunk. My mother won’t talk to me. She was going to send me to camp this summer, a real neat camp. Now, she says she won’t. I’m sunk. I’m really sunk.”

  Philip had a quick thought. Anything that sent Leon to camp was good. Anything that kept him in the neighborhood all summer wasn’t. “Tell her to go to Pete’s and buy it back,” he said.

  “I did and she went double bonko. She said she was in no mood to waste money buying something that already belonged to her. I’m so sunk.”

  Philip recalled his mother’s reaction to losing her pin. “Maybe you can buy it at Pete’s. Did you go see how much it is?”

  Leon’s eyes brightened for a moment. “I didn’t go. Oh, but it’s probably too much. I only got a little money.”

  “Emery and I have some money.”

  “What!” cried Emery.

  “Leon needs to go to camp, Emery. Camp. He needs to go away to camp.”

  “Oooohhh. Away to camp.”

  Philip nodded vigorously. “It’s an emergency, and Leon will pay us back. Right, Leon? What are friends for? Besides, we’ll all get more money from Mr. Sorino this summer.”

  Leon’s eyes opened wide. “Yeah. I’ll pay you back. I will. Oh, thanks, guys.”

  Emery mumbled, “You better.”

  The three boys headed off to Pete’s Repeat shop.

  Chapter Nine

  Pete’s Repeat shop was a small store at the far end of an outdoor mall where all the stores’ front doors faced the parking lot. The boys walked along, glancing through the store windows.

  “Boy, guys,” Leon said, “this is really nice of you. If I don’t get that plate back, I’m sunk.”

  “Hey!” Philip pointed at a window display. “They look like the pants my aunt gave my mom and dad.”

  “See the sign?” said Emery. “I told you they were made of sat . . .”

  “There’s the store,” Leon interrupted.

  “Stop jumping up and down, Leon,” ordered Philip. “Or else we’re not going in there with you.”

  “I’m still. I’m not jumping. See.” Leon walked in a proper manner to the door of Pete’s and pulled it open for his friends. The boys walked inside. The store was small and not lit very brightly. The aisles were narrow. Tables, shelves, and glass cases of old, used, no-longer-wanted stuff spread out across the floor. Items hung on the walls, and a few even dangled from the ceiling.

  “Find the old plates,” whispered Leon.

  Pete sat at the front counter and eyed the boys. “Help you?”

  Emery gave Philip a push forward. Philip tossed an uncomfortable glare over his shoulder at his friend and said, “Leon, tell him.”

  “Me? Uh, hi, sir.”

  Pete puffed out his cheeks. “Yeah, hi. May I help you, young man?”

  “You got plates?”

  “No, they’re my own teeth.” Pete made a face like he was growling.

  The boys looked at each other, perplexed.

  “Never mind,” said Pete. “A joke. Plates, dishes, glassware over there. And be careful. You break it, you bought it.”

  “We won’t break nothing,” Leon assured Pete.

  “Be sure.” Pete went back to his newspaper.

  The boys maneuvered their way through the aisles until they reached a table covered with glasses of all sizes and shapes.

  “Can you find it?” asked Emery. He pointed to a case with glass doors. “How about there?”

  Leon studied the case and suddenly did a little dance. “Oh! That’s it. See it? In there. See it?”

  “Which one?” asked Philip.

  “There. That one. The one with the big red rose on it.”

  Philip and Emery knelt in front of the case and studied the plate.

  “I don’t see any crack,” said Philip.

  “The thing coming out of the rose at the bottom.” Leon touched the case. “There.”

  “That black line?” asked Emery.

  “Yeah.”

  He turned to his cousin. “That’s the stem of the rose.”

  Leon pressed his nose to the glass. He shrugged. “Looked like a crack to me.”

  “Your head has a crack,” said Emery. “What’s the tag say?”

  “Eiiiii,” Leon moaned. “Eighteen dollars. I don’t have eighteen dollars. I only have five dollars.”

  “Emery and I each have two.”

  “That’s only nine dollars. I’m sunk. I’m really sunk.”

  “Stop with the sunk stuff,” said Emery. “You talk like you’re a boat with a hole in the bottom.”

  “I am. I don’t even have a bottom. I’m underwater. I’m drowned. I’m . . .”

  “Will you shut up, Leon? Look, do this.” Philip explained and the boys went back to the front of the store.

  “Mr. Pete,” Leon began.

  Pete lowered his newspaper. “Yeah?”

  “The plate back there. Ya gotta help me, or I’m sunk.”

  Philip poked Leon, and Emery whispered, “No sinking, Leon.”

  Leon explained
to Pete the circumstances surrounding the plate.

  “I can’t give you the plate,” said Pete. “I gave the guy who gave it to me eight bucks for it.”

  “We’ll give you nine,” said Philip, and he put his hand on Leon’s shoulder. “He’s going to get beaten if he doesn’t get the plate back for his mother.”

  “Yeah,” Emery added. “His mother’s gonna lock him in his room all summer if he doesn’t get that plate back. It was her favorite plate ever.”

  “I gotta get it or I’m sunk,” Leon said gloomily, throwing his saddest look at Pete.

  Pete cast his weary eyes toward the ceiling for a moment. “Lemme see your money.”

  The boys dug in their pockets and produced a five-dollar bill and four ones.

  Pete took the money and said, “Stay here.” He walked around from his counter and a few moments later reappeared with the dish in his hand. “Since I’m making a whole dollar on the deal, I’ll wrap it up real pretty for ya.”

  “Gee thanks,” Leon gushed. “You’re nice. We’ve been helping Mr. Sorino.”

  “Who’s Mr. Sorino?” Pete asked as he wrapped old newspapers around the plate.

  “The man who gave you that dish,” Leon explained.

  “That his name?” Pete asked, reaching for another sheet of newspaper.

  “You don’t know his name?” asked Philip. “He gives you a lot of stuff, right?”

  “Who? The guy who gave me this?”

  “Yeah,” said Philip. “He gives us money to find old stuff he can give to you.”

  Pete taped the newspaper closed. “He don’t give me that much stuff. Been in a few times with a few things. Usually pretty good things.”

  “He doesn’t give you a lot of old, fixed-up stuff?” Philip repeated, wanting to be sure he heard correctly.

  “Look around. Ain’t I got enough junk already? Here, kid. Be careful what you give away next time.”

  “But Mr. Sorino?” Philip insisted, as two people walked up to the counter, one holding a lamp, the other holding four old books.

  “What about him?”

  “He doesn’t give you fixed up stuff?”

  “No, now get going. I got work to do.”

  The boys left the store.

  “That’s funny,” Philip said as they walked. “He hardly knows Mr. Sorino.”

  “Maybe he knows Mr. Sorino’s first name and not his last name,” Emery suggested.

  “I don’t think so. You heard what he said. He hardly sees him.”

  “This is great. So great,” Leon bubbled, clutching his package tightly. “Thanks, guys. Thanks. I’m gonna get you that four dollars back real fast. I’m gonna knock on doors and take Mr. Sorino lots of stuff. You’ll see.” Leon started singing. “I’m gonna pay you ba-ack. I’m gonna pay you ba-ack.”

  “Leon, just shut up,” Emery pleaded.

  Leon happily obeyed, and the boys walked back to their neighborhood.

  Chapter Ten

  When Philip approached his house a little before dinner time, he could hear his Aunt Louise’s voice all the way to the sidewalk. He stepped inside the front door and listened.

  “They’re gone,” Aunt Louise cried. “Who would steal a person’s pants? Who, I ask you?”

  Philip tiptoed into the living room where he saw his father slumped in his favorite chair. Aunt Louise’s voice came from the kitchen.

  “What happened?” asked Philip.

  Mr. Felton gave his son a weak smile and shook his head. “Your Aunt Louise rinsed out her slacks—the ones like she gave your mother and me. She hung them out on the line in the backyard. When she went to get them a few minutes ago, they weren’t there.”

  “Somebody stole her pants?”

  Philip’s father spread his hands. “They’re not there.”

  “Who would want a pair of pants like those?”

  “Good question . . . oh.”

  Philip’s mother walked into the room followed by a very unhappy Aunt Louise.

  “Those pants were expensive,” Aunt Louise went on. “I don’t understand it. What kind of a neighborhood do you live in?”

  Philip’s mother looked at him. “Philip, do you know anything about Aunt Louise’s missing pants?”

  “Me! How would I know anything about them?”

  Aunt Louise stared daggers at him. “Are there boys in the neighborhood would do an awful thing like that?”

  “An awful thing like steal your pants? I don’t think so.” Philip felt a strong urge to laugh, but he fought it.

  “Louise,” Philip’s father said, “I don’t want you to suffer such a loss. You can have mine. Yours were black; the ones you gave me were black. I would hate for your visit to us to be spoiled.”

  Aunt Louis suddenly calmed down. “Well, that’s very kind of you, I must say.”

  “These things happen, Louise,” Philip’s mother added. “And the pants may turn up. You never know. Until they do, you’ll have a new pair of slacks just like the ones you lost.”

  “Well . . .”

  Philip’s mother turned to Philip. “We’re going out to dinner tonight. I already took Becky to Mrs. Moriarty’s.” Mrs. Moriarty was Philip’s favorite neighbor. She always had candy available and loved to share. “You can go over to Emery’s.”

  “I just was at Emery’s. He didn’t say anything.”

  “I only now called. Go.”

  Philip didn’t wait.

  ~ * ~

  “Ha! She lost her pants.”

  “You should’ve seen how fast my father gave her his new pants.”

  A siren and the flash of red lights through the window caught the boys’ attention.

  “Mom,” Emery called. “When’s dinner?”

  “Not for another hour,” came a voice.

  “The siren stopped,” said Emery. “Want to go see?”

  “Might as well.”

  The boys went outside and ran to the corner. Two police cars, their roof lights spinning, sat parked two blocks ahead.

  The boys joined a growing crowd in front of a house where three policemen stood outside the front door talking to a very excited woman.

  Emery turned to a man with a white mustache. “What happened, mister?”

  “Best I can tell it seems they were away for a day or two, and somebody got in and stole their new television and a few other things. Lady doesn’t like it much, does she?” The man said something to the woman with him, and they walked closer to the house.

  Philip looked at Emery. “Isn’t this the house that threw away the old TV—the house we had on our list for Mr. Sorino?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Weird.”

  “Hey, you think Mr. Sorino might give them back their old TV?”

  Philip watched the woman in the doorway still talking to the policeman, her hands waving all over the place. “I don’t know. Not if it was broken, and he already fixed it. He’d want money. These people probably aren’t going to want to buy back the TV they already threw away.”

  “No, I guess not, but we could ask. We have time before dinner.”

  “He wants us to bring him things, not get him to give stuff away.”

  “Yeah, I suppose. Want to walk around and look for stuff then?”

  “Sure. The lady went inside anyway. What’s your mother making for dinner?”

  “Spaghetti. She makes that a lot.”

  The boys set out.

  Chapter Eleven

  When Philip went downstairs next morning, his father greeted him with, “Emery’s called four times already. Here, have some cereal and then call him back.”

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “She and your aunt are out shopping already. I have to go pick up Becky in a few minutes.”

  Philip rushed through his breakfast and went to the phone. Emery answered on the first ring.

  “Philip, come to my house right away.”

  “What’s so . . .”

  “Just come!” Emery hung up.

  P
uzzled, Philip ran down the block. Before he could rap on Emery’s front door a second time, it opened, and Emery pulled him inside.

  “I saw him.”

  “Saw who?” asked Philip.

  “The man in the truck. Mr. Sorino’s friend.”

  “So?”

  “He had satin pants!”

  Philip frowned at his friend. “Was he wearing pants?”

  “Of course he was. I just said he was.”

  “What else is he supposed to sit in then?”

  Emery gave Philip a puzzled stare. “No, no. He had satin pants!”

  “So what? I’ve sat in pants. You’ve sat in pants. We go to school; we wear pants; we sit in pants.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “What are you talking about? I have sat in pants. You have sat in pants. In school. At home. Everywhere.”

  “I don’t have satin pants.”

  “You don’t have sat in . . . there you go not talking English again. Anybody who has pants has sat in them unless they never saw a chair in their life.”

  “No, no, no. The truck man had satin pants. Don’t you understand?”

  “Okay. So what did he sit on?”

  “What did he sit on? He didn’t sit on anything. He had satin pants,” Emery shouted.

  Philip’s voice went up to match Emery’s. “If he had sat in pants, didn’t he have to sit on something?”

  “No! He stood in the yard, all by himself.”

  “If somebody’s standing up, how could he have sat in pants or sat in swimming trunks or sat in anything?”

  “Oh boy, Philip. Listen, we have to tell somebody he has satin pants. That’s all.”

  Philip threw his arms into the air. “Who would care if he sat in pants or danced in pants or pooped his pants?”

  “Philip, your Aunt Louise had satin pants, remember?”

  “Remember? When she wears pants, she sits in them. What’s to remember?”

  Emery took a turn throwing his arms into the air.

  “Arrgghh! Can we go to your house, Philip? Don’t talk. Let’s go to your house.”

  Philip and Emery hustled down the street tossing each other dirty looks. When they got inside Philip’s house, the house was empty.