Copyright © 2006 by Roy MacGregor
This omnibus edition published in 2006 by McClelland & Stewart
Sudden Death in New York City copyright © 2000 by Roy MacGregor
Horror on River Road copyright © 2000 by Roy MacGregor
Death Down Under copyright © 2001 by Roy MacGregor
Power Play in Washington copyright © 2001 by Roy MacGregor
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher – or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency – is an infringement of the copyright law.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
MacGregor, Roy, 1948–
The complete Screech Owls / written by Roy MacGregor.
Contents: v. 1. Mystery at Lake Placid – The night they stole the Stanley Cup – The Screech Owls’ northern adventure – Murder at hockey camp – v. 2 Kidnapped in Sweden – Terror in Florida – The Quebec City crisis – The Screech Owls’ home loss – v. 3. Nightmare in Nagano – Danger in Dinosaur Valley – The ghosts of the Stanley Cup – The West Coast murders – v. 4. Sudden death in New York City – Horror on River Road – Death Down Under – Power play in Washington.
eISBN: 978-1-55199-240-2
I. Title.
PS8575.G84C64 2005 jC813’.54 C2005-903880-2
We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and that of the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Media Development Corporation’s Ontario Book Initiative. We further acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program.
McClelland & Stewart Ltd.
75 Sherbourne Street
Toronto, Ontario
M5A 2P9
www.mcclelland.com
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Part 1 - Sudden Death in New York City Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Part 2 - Horror on River Road Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Part 3 - Death Down Under Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Part 4 - Power Play in Washington Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Sudden Death in New York City
1
“Fingernails?” Fahd suggested.
“For-get it!” Nish snorted. “I chew mine.”
“It would take too long, anyway,” mumbled Fahd, his head almost buried in the large book he held open over his shinpads. “World record for the longest fingernail …” Fahd looked up, his eyes widening, “… is four feet, one-and-a-half inches!”
“How the heck would you pick your nose?” Nish asked.
Most of the Screech Owls laughed. Travis Lindsay just shook his head. Wayne Nishikawa had always been, at one and the same time, the person he knew best and the person he knew least.
They had gone to kindergarten together, taken karate lessons together, played on the same soccer, baseball, and, of course, hockey teams. They had been in the same class every year but one. Weekends, when Travis wasn’t sleeping over at Nish’s house, Nish was usually sleeping over at Travis’s. And yet, despite all those years, despite all those opportunities to see Nish’s mind at work, Travis never had any idea what was going to come out of his best friend’s mouth. Only that it would be crazy – and that someone had better laugh or else Nish would come out with something even more insane.
It was getting stuffy in the dressing room at the Tamarack Memorial Arena. The Owls were ready for practice, but the local junior team had run overtime, and the big players had left the ice so choppy and rutted that Mr. Dillinger, the Owls’ manager, had begged the arena staff for a double flood. The Zamboni was only now beginning its second round.
Fahd had his Guinness Book of World Records out while they waited. Even though they were just days away from setting out by bus for New York City and the Big Apple International Peewee Tournament, every one of them was thinking about Nish and his New Year’s resolution instead of the practice ahead.
How does Nish do it? Travis wondered. How does he pull everyone into his crazy little world? How does one chubby, goofy-looking twelve-year-old manage to be the centre of attention, no matter what?
They were leaving Tamarack on December 27, the day after Boxing Day. They would be in New York for New Year’s Eve, and their coach, Muck Munro, and the team manager, Mr. Dillinger, had promised they could stay up until midnight and attend the celebrations in Times Square – so long as they behaved themselves.
Where Nish got the idea of getting his name into the Guinness Book of World Records, Travis couldn’t be sure. It hadn’t come from reading, he was pretty certain of that. If something wasn’t on television, if it wasn’t on the Internet or in a new video game or the latest movie, Nish didn’t even know it existed.
But somewhere he had come up with this hare-brained notion that he could get himself into the Guinness Book of World Records. He’d almost driven the team crazy with it.
He’d started out
thinking he’d score more goals than any minor-hockey player in history. But Willie Granger, the team’s hockey trivia expert, had put a quick end to that ambition. “Wayne Gretzky had 378 one year as a novice,” Willie had pointed out.
“I’m peewee,” Nish had protested.
Willie had shaken his head. “He had 196 goals the year he was twelve, same age as you. I don’t think you could score 170 goals between now and the end of the season – not even in practice.”
Now, with the New York tournament less than a week off, Nish had almost the entire team searching out ideas for him. Fahd had offered up a dozen or more from the Guinness Book of World Records, including the ridiculous one of Nish, the nail biter, growing the world’s longest fingernails.
“Here’s a guy in Kentucky who ate sixty-eight dew worms in thirty seconds,” said Fahd.
“And then hurled for three hours!” laughed Nish.
“How about stupid penalties?” Sarah shouted from the far side of the room. “You take enough of them, that’s for sure.”
Nish paused only for a quick flick of his tongue in her direction. Then he turned to Data. “What’s the NHL record?”
Data had his National Hockey League Official Guide and Record Book on his lap, the cover resting on an arm of his wheelchair as he flipped through the thick volume with one hand. “Dave Williams,” Data announced. “That’s ‘Tiger’ Williams. Three thousand, nine hundred and sixty-six minutes … That’s, let me see … just over sixty-six hours in the penalty box … six hours short of three full days.”
Nish winced. “How about for one season?”
Data read again. “Dave Schultz – the ‘Hammer.’ Four hundred and seventy-two minutes … That’s just short of eight hours.”
“Muck’d kill you,” shouted Sam, sitting beside Sarah.
Nish slumped unhappily in his seat. “I gotta find something!”
The team was well used to Nish’s little funks, and they completely ignored him as talk turned to other matters. Lars Johansson wouldn’t be coming, as he was spending the holidays with his grandparents in Sweden. Mario Terziano, who’d played several previous tournaments with the Owls, was being brought in to replace Lars. Everyone else was coming. Jesse Highboy was hoping for one of Mr. Dillinger’s famous Stupid Stops on the bus trip to New York, when Mr. Dillinger would hand out dollars and insist that they “buy something absolutely useless with it.” Derek Dillinger made a joke about “wedgies,” and Dmitri Yakushev wondered if they’d be seeing the Statue of Liberty.
“Times Square is going to be the big thing,” said Jenny Staples, the backup goaltender. “There might be a million people there.”
“And more than a billion watching on TV,” added Fahd.
“They’ll have the countdown on that big screen in Times Square,” said Derek. “I think it might be the biggest in the world.”
Nish came suddenly alert. He sat up sharply, his face flushing with excitement. “How many?” he asked Fahd.
“A billion, I think.”
“It’s televised?”
“All over the world. You’ve seen it. Everybody’s seen the countdown.”
“Live?” Nish asked, his face gleaming.
“Of course live, you idiot,” shouted Sam, looking up from retying her skates. “It’s the countdown for the New Year. You think they tape it and play it the next day?”
Everyone laughed, but not Nish.
“Live? One billion people watching?”
“Yeah,” said Sarah. “So?”
“So,” Nish said triumphantly, turning on Fahd. “Is there anything in the Guinness Book of World Records on ‘mooning’?”
Fahd looked up, incredulous. “What?”
“Mooning – what’s the world’s record for mooning? If I mooned a billion people at once, would I get in?”
Travis looked across the room at Sarah, who rolled her eyes and sighed.
Travis tried to cut off his imagination, but it had already raced ahead of him. He could see the crowd at Times Square. He could see the big video monitor and hear the countdown: Ten! … Nine! … Eight! … Seven! … Six! … Five! … Four! … Three! … Two! … One! And then, instead of the fireworks and balloons, the big screen filling with the bare-naked butt of the world’s craziest peewee hockey player. Travis shook his head hard, hoping to shake off the thought the way a wet dog throws off water.
“Would I get in?” Nish repeated.
“Well, I guess,” said Fahd. “But you’d get in big trouble, wouldn’t you?”
“How?” Nish laughed, as if Fahd had just asked the dumbest question ever. “It’s not as if I’d be sticking my face on the screen, is it?”
2
They drove down to New York in a light, wet snow that turned the pavement ahead black and glistening. Mr. Dillinger drove the old bus, sticking to the turnpikes and stopping only for bathroom breaks and lunch. He kept the music low, the heavy beat of the windshield wipers droning over everything, and soon most of the bus was asleep. Muck dozed in the seat closest to the door, a big book slipping off his lap several times as he fell into a deep slumber. Sam and Sarah slept with their heads tilted together. Fahd and Data played games on Data’s new laptop computer until the battery ran down, and then they too slept. All up and down the old bus there were legs sticking out in the aisle, pillows jammed against windows, jackets over heads.
Travis got up at one point to stretch his legs. He looked towards the back of the bus, where much of the Screech Owls’ equipment had been piled in the empty seats. There was a window on the safety door at the back, and he thought he might just stand there awhile and watch the traffic.
Unfortunately, someone was already there.
Nish. His back to the window. Bent over almost double. His belt undone and pants down around his ankles.
“What are you doing?” Travis hissed.
Nish looked up, blinked a couple of times as if the answer were obvious. “Practising.”
“Practising?” Travis asked, incredulous.
“You practise hockey, don’t you?” Nish said as he hiked up his pants. “Why wouldn’t you practise mooning?”
Buckling up his belt, Nish stepped away from the wet, snow-streaked window. Travis half expected to see a line of police cars following them, lights flashing and sirens wailing. But there was only a van several hundred feet behind, its wipers beating furiously back and forth to fight the spray of the bus, the grey-haired driver staring straight ahead as if hypnotized by the road. He hadn’t seen a thing.
But Travis had. He had seen his best friend, Mrs. Nishikawa’s darling son, regular churchgoer and Boy Scout, practising mooning the entire world.
Travis had never experienced anything like New York City. The noise as they pulled off the turnpike ramp into the first streets of Manhattan was incredible, a city that hummed and howled in your ears. It seemed as if total panic had struck, as if around the next corner there must be a building on fire, a volcano erupting, or an invasion from outer space. Yellow taxis everywhere, everyone honking, pedestrians racing across streets as if they were being shot at rather than driven at. Police everywhere, too, laughing one minute and yelling the next as they directed the charging traffic. Vendors on every corner – roasted nuts, bagels, fresh fruit, newspapers, hot dogs, videos, books. And people, people, people. More people than Travis had ever seen.
Nish was first to discover that New York itself was a constant, moving Stupid Stop. The team was just checking into a small hotel on the corner of Lexington and East 52nd Street, about ten blocks from Times Square, when Nish wandered back from a nearby variety store with the first of his New York discoveries: a brand-new pair of sunglasses.
“They’re Oakleys,” he announced, naming one of the most expensive brands of wraparound glasses. “Five bucks,” he added.
“Impossible,” declared Sam. “You can’t buy Oakleys for under a hundred.”
“I can,” Nish bragged. “And what about my watch?”
He held up his lef
t arm and drew back the sleeve of his Screech Owls jacket with a dramatic flourish. A brand-new, heavy watch, hanging from Nish’s wrist on a chunky gold wristband, flashed in the lobby lights.
Simon Milliken yanked Nish’s wrist close and examined the watch like a jeweller. “It’s a Rolex!” he gasped.
“Of course,” agreed Nish. “Ten bucks.”
“A Rolex costs two or three thousand!” Wilson shouted.
“Where’d you get ’em?” demanded Andy.
“Guy around the corner,” Nish said. “He’s got a whole briefcase full of them.”
“Show me,” said Andy. “I want to get a pair of sunglasses, too.”
“So do I!” shouted Jesse.
“I want a Rolex!” said Simon.
Off they ran, with Nish leading the way – Oakley sunglasses perched high on his head, Rolex held out like he expected people to kiss his hand.
“That’s stolen goods,” said Derek. “They’re going to get caught.”
“They’re not real,” said Sarah. “They’re knock-offs – phonies. They just look like the real thing. You wait: the logo on those sunglasses will rub off in a day and the watches won’t be working by the time we leave.”
“How do you know?” asked Fahd.
“My dad comes to New York all the time. He brought my mom back a fake Rolex and the hands fell off as she was putting it on. He thought it was a joke – she didn’t think it was so funny, though.”
“Aren’t they illegal anyway?” asked Fahd.
“Of course. Illegal to sell, but not to buy. My dad says everybody buys them, either as souvenirs or to play a joke when they get back home.”
Travis’s curiosity was getting the better of him. He had resisted the urge to go along with the others, but now he worried that his teammates might run into trouble or get lost.
Worrying was in Travis’s nature. He put it down to having been lifelong buddies with Nish, who usually gave him a good reason to worry. Ever since he’d become team captain, Travis worried even more. He wanted everyone to get along. He wanted no trouble. Sometimes he thought if he ever stopped worrying, he would start worrying about why he was no longer worrying.
Travis slipped out the revolving door of the hotel. Nish had said he’d gone to the little store up Lexington and bought the watch and glasses just around the corner. Travis turned quickly and headed in that direction.
The Complete Screech Owls, Volume 4 Page 1
