by Gary Paulsen
“You have to go school. It’s a law.”
“I read somewhere, when your life is in danger, that law is null and void.”
Dunc started straightening the desk. “Your life isn’t in danger. Slasher just told you to stay out of his face.”
“And I intend to. I may move to Canada.”
“You’re taking the wrong attitude with this thing. I have a plan—”
“Hold it right there. Your plans are bad. Worse than bad. They’re defective, demented, and harmful to my body.”
“This one isn’t.” Dunc moved to the dresser. He straightened it.
Amos waited.
He moved to the closet and began to color code Amos’s shirts.
“Stop that!” Amos yelled. “Are you going to tell me or what?”
Dunc went back to the desk and started sharpening pencils.
“If you don’t stop that, I’m going to shove those pencils up your nose. I like my room just the way it is. It has character. Now—are you going to tell me?”
“No, you’re probably right. We probably couldn’t pull it off It might not be worth it to try to make Slasher your friend anyway.”
“My friend?” Amos swung his legs around so he could face Dunc.
“Yeah, have you seen that strange group he hangs out with? I noticed they’re all sort of like him.”
Amos hugged his knees. “You mean big, ugly, and illiterate?”
“In a way. But they all dress the part. That’s the key. I was thinking we could dress you up like one of his gang. Maybe then he’d leave you alone.”
“I don’t know. I have my image to think of.”
“Right.”
“Okay—so I don’t have an image. But I’m still not so sure about this. Where would we get the clothes?”
Dunc smiled. “Your sister, Amy.”
“You can’t be serious. I wouldn’t be caught dead in her clothes. Which, by the way, is exactly what I would be if she found out. So forget it.”
Dunc threw up his hands. “Okay. If you want to be on the run for the rest of the school year …”
Amos thought for a moment. “I don’t get it. How would wearing a girl’s clothes help me?”
“Not just any girl’s. Amy’s. Remember when she went through that motorcycle phase? She had a black leather jacket and a boyfriend named Eagle.”
Amos grinned. “It was Vulture. He used to park his motorcycle in our living room and rev the engine. I’m pretty sure my dad paid him to leave town. Amy got over him though. She’s into granola clothes now.”
“Perfect.” Dunc headed for the door. “She won’t be needing her jacket and stuff.”
“Stop!”
“What’s the matter now?”
“You forget. Amy said she’d dismember me, among other terrible things, if I ever went near her room. I believe her.”
“No problem. You stand at the door and keep watch. I’ll look for the stuff.”
Dunc found a cardboard box in the back of Amy’s closet. It had everything they needed. It also contained her personal diary for the last five years.
Amos was excited. Not about the clothes. About the diary.
“Do you know what this means?” Amos asked.
Dunc shook his head.
“This”—Amos waved the diary—“means I won’t have to wash dishes for years.”
“People really shouldn’t read other people’s personal stuff,” Dunc said.
Amos laughed. “This from a person who just broke into another person’s room. Don’t try to talk me out of it. You don’t have to live with her. I need some kind of leverage.”
Dunc shrugged. “Well, come on then. We don’t have much time. Mr. Johnson gave us homework, remember?”
“Amos, you look great. Quit worrying.”
They were on their way to the cafeteria. So far, Slasher hadn’t shown up at school. Amos hoped he was taking a permanent holiday.
Amos scratched under the sweaty leather jacket. “I’ve been giving this thing some thought. I’m not sure I want to be friends with a guy who stomps people into the ground.”
“Who told you he does that?” Dunc asked.
“Tommy Farrel got it straight from Eddy Sanders, who got it from Joey Bates, who personally knows a guy who’s seen him do it.”
“Amos, you can’t believe everything you hear.”
“That’s not all. I’ve also heard that he carries a switchblade knife and once in a fight, he cut off some guy’s fingers. Now he wears them on a chain around his neck.”
“Don’t be silly. If he’d done all that, he’d be in a reformatory or something.”
“Well, I’m not taking any chances. I’m getting out of this before it’s too late.”
Amos felt a grip on his shoulder. “Hey, you—dorkhead. What do you think you’re doing? Are you making fun of me?”
He turned around.
Slasher.
Amos gulped. “I was just—”
Dunc interrupted. “Haven’t you heard that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery? My friend here wants to join your gang.”
Slasher closed one eye and thought about it. He turned to Amos. “You and the Brain take a seat in here.” He shoved them through the cafeteria doors in front of him.
As he walked away, something fell off of Slasher’s jacket and rolled under the table. Dunc reached down and picked it up.
A shiny silver bead.
Dunc stuffed it into his pocket.
Slasher and his gang had taken over the far corner of the cafeteria. Amos and Dunc could see him from across the room talking and pointing toward them. In a few minutes whatever they were talking about was settled and he started walking back their way.
“Dunc, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
“We’ll be fine. This may be just the break we need. Trust me.”
“You always say that. Things never work out when you say that.”
“Quit worrying. Underneath, they’re probably regular guys like everybody else.”
Slasher moved to Amos. “The brotherhood says you can come.”
Dunc got up to follow.
Slasher put his hand on Dunc’s chest. “Not you, Brain.”
Amos had the look of a trapped rabbit. He glanced over his shoulder at Dunc.
Dunc motioned for him to go on.
Amos decided to be cool or die trying. He moved his hands up and down as if he were pushing air. He shuffled his feet.
When they got to the corner of the cafeteria, he was really into the part. He bobbed his head up and down. “I’m bad. I’m mean. I’m—”
Amos stepped on his shoestring and did a flip over the table, cracking his head on the floor. Finally his vision cleared and he stood up.
“… tough. I’m cool.”
“How’d you do that, man?” A short kid with his name shaved into one side of his hair stepped over to him.
Amos swallowed hard. “That? That was nothing. I do stuff like that all the time.”
The kid put his thumb in the air. “I pronounce this dude awesome.”
Slasher pounded him on the back. “See, I told you guys he’d do. What’s your name, man?”
Amos bit his lip. “Name?”
“Yeah, you know.” He pointed at some of the gang. “This here is Hammer, Crusher, Spit, and Claw.”
Amos tried to think. In the toughest voice he could manage, he said, “Dirt Bag. My name is Dirt Bag. Dirt for short.”
“Dirt Bag? Couldn’t you have done better than Dirt Bag?” Dunc asked.
Amos shrugged. “I was on the spot. It’s what Amy calls me, and it just popped into my head. But that’s not why I called you over here.”
“I know why you called me. Today is Saturday. Your dad said we better have that plywood stacked neatly in the garage by Saturday or else.”
Amos pointed at his desk. “Wrong. Take a look at that stack of books over there.”
“I don’t see any books.”
Amos m
oved a broken model, a half eaten pepperoni pizza, a T-shirt, and a pair of jeans. “Now look.”
“Okay. You have a stack of books on your desk. Am I supposed to be impressed?”
“That stack of books is why I called you over here. I heed to discuss one tiny little flaw in your big plan for me to be friends with Slasher.”
Dunc sat on the edge of the dresser. “I don’t understand. I thought everything was going great between you two.”
“Oh, everything is just fine—as long as I have his homework ready for him on Monday.”
“Are you serious?”
Amos nodded his head. “As a heart attack. He also wants me to carry his books to and from school, polish his bike, and get his lunch, and do anything else his twisted mind can come up with.”
“Amos, you can’t do someone else’s homework. It’s not ethical.”
Amos stared at him for a few minutes. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say? No … ‘I’m sorry,’ or, ‘My plan was really stupid’ … or anything?”
“At this point, I don’t think my saying I’m sorry would help your situation.”
“No. But it might help yours. Because if you don’t say it—”
Dunc held up his hand. “Okay. If it makes you happy, I am willing to acknowledge that my stratagem did not incorporate an emergency contingency for this specific development.”
Amos looked at him suspiciously. “Is that the same as saying you messed up?”
“In a way.”
“Good. Now, how are we going to get me out of this?”
Dunc started to pace the floor. He thought out loud. “Well, you obviously can’t be this guy’s personal slave. We’ll just have to handle it another, way.”
“I still think Canada is the best idea. Or better yet—the North Pole. He’d never find me at the North Pole. I could blend in with the elves.”
Dunc stopped. “Maybe if we talked to the principal or one of the counselors?”
Amos got his suitcase out of his closet. “If I left right now, I could probably be there in a couple of months.”
“Of course, talking to the principal could make matters worse. Slasher might try to get back at you some way,” Dunc said.
Amos was throwing everything he owned into the suitcase. “I wonder if my bike is in good enough shape to make it through all that ice and snow.”
Dunc moved over to Amos. “Maybe you could explain to Slasher that you don’t do other people’s homework because you have a hard enough time doing your own.”
Amos snapped his fingers. “I know—Amy! Amy would be glad to buy me a oneway ticket to the North Pole.”
“Amos, you’re not going to the North Pole.”
“Why not? Have you thought of a better hiding place?”
“You’re not going anywhere. I’m going to figure a logical way out of this.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Amos pedaled his bike up even with Dunc’s. “Tell me again why we’re doing this.”
“Because it never hurts to have the upper hand. If we’re going to solve your problem, we need some inside information. If we can find out how Slasher thinks, we’ll be that much farther ahead.”
“Slasher doesn’t think. He operates solely on killer instinct. Which is why we shouldn’t be spying on him.”
“Look, Amos, you knowing the location of the gang’s hangout is a real stroke of luck. It might be just the break we need. Besides, I’ve got a hunch about what we might find. I wonder why they told you.”
“They didn’t exactly tell me. I sort of overheard them talking about it when I was getting Slasher’s chocolate milk. He still owes me for the milk.”
Dunc coasted down a little hill and then pulled over to the side of the road. Amos followed him.
“Let’s go over it again.”
Amos made a face. “You always make me go over things. Do you think I’m brainless? It’s not that hard.”
“Humor me, okay?”
Amos groaned. “If the gang is inside, we sneak up and try to listen. If they’re not, you’ll go in and look around while I keep watch.”
“Good. We should be at the waterfront in a few minutes. Be careful and stay close.” Dunc pushed off.
“Wait!” Amos yelled. “I need to talk to you about this waterfront thing. Last time we were down there, we barely made it out in one piece. People who value their lives don’t go down there in broad daylight.”
He was talking to air. Dunc was already out of sight.
Amos kicked the dirt. “Maybe I just won’t go with him this time. Maybe I’ll turn around right here. I’ll head north and keep on going.”
He sat on his bike for a full five seconds.
Then he followed.
Dunc was waiting for him on the outskirts of the waterfront. “I’ve spotted the old grocery store. The gang’s not there. The only problem is the two guys across the street from the store.”
Amos swallowed. “Two guys—you mean waterfront types—guys who drink out of paper bags and always have one eye closed?”
Dunc shook his head again. “These guys look like rejects from the Mafia. Both of them are wearing trench coats and reading newspapers.”
Amos rolled his bike forward to get a better look. “Probably drug dealers. We better call it a day and head on home.”
“Come on,” Dunc said. “We can go down the alley and they probably won’t spot us.”
“The alley,” Amos squeaked. “There are creepy things in these alleys. Live things. Weirdos. Large man-eating animals. We could get mugged or worse—be eaten alive.”
“Get a grip, Amos. Don’t let your imagination ruin this. It may be our only chance to get you off the hook with Slasher.”
Amos stayed close to Dunc. Closer than his shadow. Which was hard, considering they were on bicycles. Every time he heard a noise, he moved a little closer.
“Move over, Amos. Another couple of inches, and you’ll be riding my bike.”
“Okay. But if something attacks me, I’m holding you personally responsible.”
The back door of the abandoned grocery store was locked. The only other entrance was a window about six feet off the ground. It was open about half an inch.
Dunc leaned his bike up against the side of the building. “Give me a boost, Amos. I’m going to try and get through that window. If anybody comes, whistle.”
Amos didn’t move.
Dunc turned around. “Hurry—we may not have a lot of time.”
“We have this little problem, Dunc. I am not staying in this alley alone. There are people—and I use that term loosely—people who would just as soon slit your throat as look at you down here. And there are rodents in these trash cans the size of Volkswagens.”
“Amos, you’ve got to stay here. We can’t leave our bikes unguarded. Besides, I need you to keep watch so we don’t get caught by Slasher and the gang.”
“You always have the right answer for everything, don’t you? All right. I’ll stay. But it beats me why you would want your best friend in the whole world to be left out here for rat bait.”
Dunc squeezed through the narrow window. A pile of cardboard boxes broke his fall on the other side. He scrambled to his feet.
“I’m in, Amos. Keep a lookout for anybody suspicious. I won’t be long.”
Amos backed up against the wall of the building. “There isn’t anyone, down here who doesn’t look suspicious.”
Dunc adjusted his eyes to the dim light. He looked around the small store. Trash and broken glass covered the floor. An old metal cash register with several missing keys sat on what used to be a checkout counter. Some of the display shelves still held dusty cans and boxes.
The gang had pulled some wooden crates and a ragged old sofa into a circle. Dunc searched the area carefully. All he found was more trash, an old shoe, and a few broken bottles.
He almost missed it. He walked by it twice. If he hadn’t thrown the shoe on the sofa, he might never have seen
it.
Wedged in one corner of the sofa, almost hidden from sight, was a folded slip of green paper.
He picked it up carefully and read it.
“Bingo!” yelled Dunc.
Amos was nervously walking up and down the alley behind the store when he heard Dunc yell. He ran over to the window.
“Are you okay in there?”
No answer.
“Dunc.”
Amos looked up at the window. He looked around the side of the building. The two Mafia guys were still waiting across the street.
He tried to think. What did Dunc say to do?
Whistle.
Amos started whistling. At first it was a low, raspy whistle. The more excited he got, the louder he got. Finally he worked up to a world-class whistle.
They came out of nowhere.
Dogs.
Big dogs. Little dogs. Mangy, slobbering, hungry dogs.
It seemed as if about twenty dogs were coming straight for him. Amos closed his eyes. “This is it. I’m going to die. Dog food in a back alley of the sleaziest part of town …”
“Duke. Angel. Stop that.”
Amos opened one eye. The dogs were backing off. A scraggly old woman with a shopping cart full of junk was petting the dogs—the whole pack of them. She was scolding them, and they seemed to understand.
She had on two heavy winter coats. Her gray hair was jammed up under a floppy purple hat. She looked as if she hadn’t had a bath in a year. Maybe five.
Amos took a grateful breath. “Are these all your dogs?”
“These ain’t nobody’s dogs, boy.” The old woman smiled. All Amos could see was gums. No teeth. “They’s jest like me. They ain’t got no home. You can have ’em if you want.”
Amos looked at the pack of dogs. “I guess I’d better pass this time. Thanks anyway.”
The woman didn’t answer. She pushed her cart around the corner. The dogs followed.
“Amos?”
Amos looked up. Dunc was standing on some boxes looking out the window.
“I heard you whistle. Is there a problem?”
“Oh, it’s nothing that would concern you. I almost got torn to shreds by a pack of vicious wild animals. No big deal. Don’t worry your little head about it.”
