“What do you mean?” asked Travis.
“Nothing was taken. I checked. It’s all still there. The computer. The camera. Data was just talking to Lars again about an hour ago.”
“Then they couldn’t get in the room.”
Fahd looked even more upset. “They might have.”
Travis was completely alert now. “How do you know? Is something else missing?”
Fahd looked down at his shoes. “My key.”
“Your room key! How would they get it? You were out at the restaurant with us …”
Fahd shook his head. “I couldn’t find it when we left. I think maybe someone took it off the dresser earlier in the day.” He looked desperately at Travis.
Travis understood. Big had stolen the key earlier when Nish invited him up to the room.
“Then maybe they were coming out of the room when Muck came along,” said Travis, “not trying to get in. We better see if anything’s missing.”
Fahd nodded. He looked miserable.
Data already knew about the key.
“Nothing else is missing,” he announced as Travis and Fahd came in through the door.
“Nothing?” Travis asked to make sure.
“Even the pocket change I left on the dresser is still there. Even” – looking at Fahd – “your stupid fake Oakleys and the Rolex are right there on the desk where you left them.”
“And nothing with the computer?” Travis asked.
“Nothing. Everything’s still there, exactly as we left it.”
“Then maybe Muck did come along just as they were trying to get in,” suggested Fahd. “He saved the computer.”
But that didn’t make sense to Travis. If Muck had come along as they were trying to get in, why wouldn’t they just pretend it was the wrong door and move along? Why club Muck on the head if they figured he’d seen nothing?
And if it was just a mugging, as the police contended, why hadn’t they stolen his wallet?
It made no sense at all.
13
“Not Big,” Nish moaned. “No way it was him.”
“Get real,” Travis said. “You took him to Data’s room. He knew about the computer and the camera. Fahd’s room key is missing.”
“But nothing was taken!”
“Only because Muck came along and spoiled it.”
“He’s a good guy,” Nish protested.
“You don’t even know him,” Travis said, shaking his head.
“I’m a good judge of people,” Nish said. “Even if it was him, he didn’t take anything.”
“He hit Muck!” Travis almost shouted. He couldn’t believe Nish wouldn’t face facts. But, then again, Travis wasn’t at all certain exactly what the facts were in this case.
“Even if it was Big at the door,” Nish repeated helplessly, “it doesn’t mean he hit Muck.” He stood up, reaching for his jacket. “I’m going to find him.”
“Who?” Travis asked, not following.
“Big, of course. I’ll ask him right to his face.”
Travis opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was stunned.
“What?” Nish challenged.
Travis tried again. This time, even though it seemed he had no breath, he was able to speak. “If he tried to kill Muck, who’s to say he won’t hurt you?”
Nish looked up, not believing Travis could be so foolish as to suggest such a thing. He put his pointer and middle fingers together.
“We’re like brothers,” Nish said. “Brothers.”
“You don’t even know his real name,” Travis pointed out.
“I trust him with my life,” Nish argued.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Travis said, shaking his head.
But Nish wasn’t listening. His boots tied and his Screech Owls tuque in hand, he was headed for the door.
“Wait!” Travis found himself calling.
Nish stopped at the door, turning expectantly.
“I better come with you,” Travis said.
Nish smiled. “I knew you would.”
It was growing dark along East 52nd and Lexington. The snow was still falling and, in a surprising way, New York City was gradually beginning to look more like Tamarack than the Big Apple. There was precious little traffic now – only a few yellow cabs and police cars, a front-end loader growling at the end of a street as it dug free an intersection – and the fresh-fallen snow was white and sparkling under the streetlights. For the first time since the Screech Owls had arrived, the city was quiet. Almost peaceful.
Nish was ploughing ahead, head down, into the lightly blowing snow. He walked with determination, each step leaving an ankle-deep hole in the snow.
Travis hurried to keep up. He was fascinated that Nish seemed to know where he was going – a twelve-year-old treating downtown New York City as if it were his own home town – but he had long ago accepted that there were some things in life that Nish understood and many things he did not. While Nish might be able to find his way around the streets of a strange city today, tomorrow he might not be able to find a clean pair of boxer shorts in the mess of clothes dumped at the foot of his bed.
They walked down Lexington and along 42nd past Grand Central Station, which was practically deserted, since no trains had been running for days.
Near Times Square Nish came to a parking lot – cars abandoned by their owners were piled so high with snow it was impossible to tell colour or make – and turned in at an alley leading off it, moving as surely as if he were in his own backyard.
“Where are we going?” Travis asked, trying, but failing, to keep the worry out of his voice.
“Big’s been working the streets between Times Square and Rockefeller Center – says it’s the only place there’s any customers any more. Him ’n’ his buds are having a rough go of it.”
Travis cringed. “A rough go of it”? How could you feel sorry for a bunch of street crooks selling illegal fake watches?
Travis pointed out the obvious: “This isn’t the street. This is an alley.”
Nish turned and looked at Travis with contempt. “This is where they operate out of – there’s cops all over the streets, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Nish headed deeper into the alley. It was like entering a room with the lights off. Gone were the streetlights and their warm glow off the snow. It was dark in here, and getting darker. There were footprints everywhere, dark shadows that suggested to Travis they were not alone.
He was losing sight of Nish. The alley twisted up ahead, and Travis hoped it would twist again and then come out on the next street over, but he didn’t know for sure. He knew only that he felt uneasy and wished he hadn’t come.
He wanted to go back. He opened his mouth to call to Nish, but no sound came out.
Travis couldn’t speak for a reason – there was a large glove clamped over his mouth!
14
They were deep in an underground parking lot. Large pipes dripped overhead. The floor was concrete, cracked and stained with salt. The place smelled of grease and exhaust and damp. Several bare bulbs swung from the ceiling at the end of thin electrical cables, sending shadows bouncing against the walls.
Travis had been hustled here so quickly – the stinking glove clamped over his mouth, his right arm locked and pressed behind his back – that only when he was released did he realize Nish had been dragged along too.
There were only a couple of cars in sight. One may have been working; the other certainly was not. It had been stripped of its wheels, and the windshield had been smashed in. The back doors were open and it looked as if someone might have been living in it. There were dirty blankets and old newspapers everywhere.
Along the ledges of the parking garage were stacks of briefcases, like the one Big carried his fake Rolexes in. This had to be “head office” of the fake-watch-and-sunglasses gang, and the two Owls were clearly considered intruders. Big was nowhere to be seen.
The two large men who had hustled them down
here said nothing. They seemed to be waiting for something.
The larger man – heavy, unshaven, with one eye slightly off so it was impossible to tell whether he was looking at Travis or Nish – started at a sound that came from the down-ramp into the garage. He seemed nervous, but at the same time expecting someone.
“Big!” Nish suddenly cried out.
There was no fear in his voice. He seemed genuinely glad to see Big walking towards them. And Big, Travis had to admit, seemed glad to see Nish.
“You lookin’ for permanent work wit’ us, Hockey Man?” Big laughed.
“I knew I’d find you somewhere around here,” Nish said. “Dese guys musta t’ought I was da heat.”
Big smiled slightly. Travis wondered for a moment exactly how Nish saw himself. Some tough guy who could hold his own with Big and his colleagues? Not likely.
“We have to watch our merchandise, that’s all,” said Big. “Lots a thieves in da Big Apple, you know.”
Yeah, Travis said to himself, and three of them are standing right here.
“What were you after?” Big asked, as if expecting a new order for Oakley sunglasses.
Nish explained. He told about the break-in, or near breakin, at the hotel, and how someone had knocked Muck on the head for sixteen stitches. He said it was Data and Fahd’s room, where Big had been invited only a couple of days earlier.
“That’s a shame, Hockey Man. Did they get anything?”
As if you need to ask, Travis thought.
“No,” Nish said. “Nothing.”
“Dat’s good,” Big said. “Dat’s good.”
Travis was almost certain Big had glanced quickly at the smaller of the other two men, but he didn’t catch any look back and couldn’t be sure. Still, he was deeply suspicious.
“Some of da kids think one a da suspects looked like you,” Nish said unexpectedly.
Big spun around – to stare at Travis, not Nish. “Peewee here?” he asked.
Nish said nothing, waiting.
Travis cleared his throat.
“M–Muck described something l-like this coat,” Travis said.
Big smiled.
“Lots a coats like dis in New York, Peewee. Shadow’s got one on right now.”
He pointed to the heavy man dressed like himself. Travis never liked the name “Big,” but “Shadow” sounded worse.
“Besides,” Big continued, “I wasn’t anywhere near dat place last night. Ain’t that right, Shadow?”
Shadow turned, almost as if he hadn’t even been listening. He blinked, then answered, “Yah, dat’s right. We was at the … theatre.”
Big nodded. He looked at Nish, waiting for him to respond.
Travis wanted to shout, Theatre? Right! Sure! Two thugs in long dirty coats and hold-up hats watching a play?
“Dat’s good,” said Nish. “I was thinking you might do something like dat.”
“We was out all night,” said Big. “We got witnesses.”
“I’ll tell dem,” said Nish. “Set dem straight.”
“You do dat,” Big said. “You do dat.”
Nish and Big then changed the topic to watches and sunglasses and how there was nobody around downtown any more to sell to. Nish seemed so sympathetic.
Travis wandered around the parking lot, waiting. He checked out the old abandoned car. Behind it he found a small cache of tinned foods and drinks and even a small cooking unit like the kind campers use. There was garbage everywhere. Opened cans. Broken beer bottles.
Why didn’t they use the garbage can? Travis wondered. There was a large open drum in the corner that Travis supposed was for trash.
He wandered over and looked in. It was a firepit. There were black ashes halfway to the top, and charred broken boards, some with nails still in them. They had the camper stove for cooking, Travis knew. They must set fires here for heat. He hated to think of such a life.
Travis could tell by the sounds that Nish was getting ready to head back to the hotel. He was just about to step away from the rear of the car when he looked in on the dashboard, beneath the crumbling windshield.
A hotel-room key!
Fahd’s missing key?
15
What was wrong with everyone? Travis wondered.
First, Nish had refused to listen to him on the long trudge through the snow back to the hotel. He wouldn’t believe for a moment that the key was Fahd’s. What proof did Travis have? he wanted to know. The key had no number on it. It didn’t even have the name of the hotel on it. It could be anyone’s, said Nish, even Big’s.
Sure, Travis wanted to say, Big really lives in a fancy hotel and just sells fake watches and hangs around underground parking garages for fun.
Travis was disappointed in his friend, but that was nothing compared to how he felt after he got off the telephone with the New York police. He’d managed to track down the policeman who’d investigated Muck’s “mugging,” but the man seemed absolutely uninterested in the case. Hotel keys were a dime a dozen, he said to Travis. People lost them all the time. Seeing a key in an old car didn’t mean a thing. Nor had the policeman seemed interested in Travis’s description of Big and Shadow and how one of them might have been the guy who clubbed Muck.
“Son,” the policeman said in a way that made Travis feel five years old, “a million people in this city might fit that description. Call me back when you get a signed confession.”
Travis lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. Perhaps the police were right. Someone may or may not have been in Data’s and Fahd’s room, but even if they had, nothing was taken. Someone did club Muck, but nothing had been taken from him, either. Perhaps Nish was right, too. Big wasn’t involved. Perhaps, for that matter, Big and Shadow had been at the theatre the other night – a musical, maybe, with the two of them standing at the encore to toss bouquets of flowers at the stars.
But somehow Travis didn’t think so.
The Owls had a game to play. Travis was disgusted with himself; he’d become so caught up in the world of crime and police investigations that he’d almost forgotten why the Screech Owls were in New York City.
They were in the middle of a big tournament. And they’d need Travis, the captain, concentrating on hockey if they were going to have a chance of winning.
They were to play a team from Chicago, the Young Blackhawks, in the same small rink where they’d played their opener. No Madison Square Garden again until they made the final – if they made the final.
The Blackhawks were a good, smart team – well coached, big, and mean. They caught the Owls off guard early, and within a matter of minutes the score was 2–0 for the Chicago peewees on only four shots. Jenny, whose turn it was to play nets this game, was also struggling.
“You’re quicker than they are,” Muck said to them before the next faceoff. “Better to be fast than big. Remember the last game.”
Dmitri got the Owls rolling first, with a fast dash up-ice to beat the Chicago defenceman back to a puck that just came short of icing. He pulled around the defender, scooped up the puck, and set up behind the Blackhawk net, looking for someone coming in.
Travis came in hard from the left side, Sarah down the middle. Dmitri faked to Travis and hit Sarah, who shot immediately, the puck bouncing high off the goaltender’s shoulder and fluttering in the air as it fell back to the ice.
It never made it. Travis’s stick flashed in front of the goaltender and picked the puck, baseball-style, out of mid-air and sent it into the far side of the net.
“Great play!” Sarah said as they mobbed Travis in the corner.
“Lucky, lucky,” Nish kidded as he poked a glove through the scrum and smacked the top of Travis’s helmet.
Travis grinned. He knew Nish was closer to the truth than Sarah, but he had meant to hit the puck, and it worked. It must have looked great.
The Owls tied it in the second period when Sam made a great rush up-ice. Just as she drew the Chicago defence in to check her, she flipped a backhand across-i
ce that little Simon Milliken picked up and rapped off the post. The rebound went to Andy, who hammered a shot that the falling Chicago goaltender barely managed to stop, and Mario, the ultimate garbage collector, was there to pick up the loose puck and lift it into the net.
Heading into the final minute, the two teams were still tied, with four goals each. Travis knew how badly they needed the win. It would give them a perfect record, and probably put them into the finals. A tie might leave it up in the air. A loss could mean elimination.
He skated quickly by Nish as they lined up for the next faceoff. “We win, we play in MSG again,” he said quietly as he brushed past.
Travis knew what those words would do to Nish. Nish would see himself back at Madison Square Garden. The championship game. A big crowd. Television. David Letterman. Nish scoring his “Pavel Bure.” A Hollywood contract. Action figures of Wayne Nishikawa under every Christmas tree. Dates with supermodels. Nish so famous he’d need real Oakleys to hide behind so he wouldn’t be mobbed – which would happen anyway, of course.
The puck dropped. Sarah took out her check and Dmitri picked up the puck and flipped it back to Sam, who was on with Nish for the final minute of play. Sam fired it cross-ice to Nish, who took the pass at full stride. He was over the blueline and headed for centre when he fired a quick, unexpected pass that flew by Travis’s left shoulder.
What’s he doing? Travis wondered.
But then he saw. The Blackhawk defenceman had moved up tight on Travis, setting for a turnover. He had clearly hoped to dive past Travis and knock the puck away and free, but Nish’s high pass had caught the defenceman completely by surprise. He was back on his heels, and when he tried to turn he fell.
The puck pounded into the boards and dropped to the ice, bouncing out perfectly as Travis sidestepped the falling defenceman and headed in on net.
Dmitri hammered his stick on the ice, looking for the pass. Travis hit him perfectly just as the far defenceman was turning for Travis, leaving Dmitri alone. Dmitri came in, faked, and dropped a long blind pass that landed perfectly on Sarah’s stick.
The Complete Screech Owls, Volume 4 Page 6
