by Ted Staunton
“Lamar Del Ray,” cried CC. “He’s a reptile smuggler too! I bet they’ve gone smuggling together.”
“There’s a way we might find out,” Zal said. “Is the Gator Aid number in your phone?”
CC called it up and passed the phone to Zal.
“Should have thought of this before,” he said, as he waited for an answer. I thought about what it would be like to have fifty turtles in your pants. Zal said into the phone, “Hi, is that Hank? Just wondering if Lamar Del Ray is there … Oh, okay. Thanks. Bye.”
Zal looked at us. “He said he’ll be back in a few days.”
“They have gone smuggling,” CC gasped.
“Or gone to rob someplace else.”
“Or taken off for good with the bank robbery loot,” Zal added. “Maybe they were partners. Maybe they took turns being the Bandit. I wonder if Marty’s sleeping bag is gone.”
“Wait,” I said. “They can’t be smugglers and bank robbers. Marty Raymond will be back. He knows all about snakes and reptiles and he told me Gator Aid is his dream. I know he’s been a smuggler, but I don’t think he knows anything about bank robbery.”
“You’re just saying that ’cause you like him.” CC crumpled her freezie sleeve.
“Sure I like him,” I admitted. “But it’s not just that. I mean, would you really not disguise yourself to rob a bank?”
“I already explained that,” Zal sighed. He’d finished his freezie. He put the neatly rolled up sleeve in his pocket, took out a quarter and began to practise walking it across his fingers again.
I tried again. “It’s not just that. I’ve been thinking. I rammed into the Bandit’s gut, right? It was pretty soft. Marty Raymond’s got a big gut, but it looks too hard. You know?”
I was lying again. I hadn’t been thinking about guts at all. It was just the first thing that popped into my head to continue the argument.
“What about Lamar Del Ray?”
“I dunno. He’s got a big gut too.”
“So,” Zal said, still walking his quarter, “you’re saying that if you rammed them both in the gut you could make a positive ID?”
“Well, no. I just mean that maybe we shouldn’t rush into—”
“Listen,” CC interrupted, “I like Marty too. He may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I like him.” She lifted her snake stick like a sword. “But if he’s a bank robber, I want to catch him and I want some of that reward. I could get a kayak and new fishing gear and—”
It was quite a list. CC’s family was not going to have trouble paying for Studies Institute. “And we’d be famous,” she finished, waving the stick. “Hey, maybe he’s hiding the loot in his snake sticks!”
“That’s my idea,” I reminded her. I’d almost forgotten I’d told her my mystery plot. I sighed. “Look, what else have we got? There has to be something else.”
Zal pulled a familiar paper from his pocket and flattened it out. “We’ve been over this all before. Here’s the list of robberies.”
“That’s done,” said CC. “What we need to do is search Gator Aid. And I bet old Hank knows more than he’s telling. He’s gotta be smarter than he lets on.”
She and Zal started talking about how to do it.
I took the paper from Zal and looked at the list of banks and dates for the millionth time. Maybe it was because I wanted to be smarter than I let on too, or maybe it was just dumb luck, but this time, I saw something.
“Hey,” I interrupted, “listen.”
I went slowly, talking it through to myself as much as them. There was no way I wanted to get this wrong. “The Borsalino Bandit has robbed eleven banks, right? He’s hit all different ones, at different times and in different parts of the city, sometimes two different branches of the same bank in a row. The time between robberies changes all the time.”
“Old news, Dunc.” CC looped her snake stick over a big toe and pulled it tight.
“I know, but look at this.” I flattened the sheet across my knees and pointed. “Banks three, six and nine were B&G Trust, and the branches were in the east, north and south ends of town. That could be a pattern. And if it is, it means the twelfth robbery—”
Isgoingtobehereinthewestendandit’sgoingtobeaB&G.” CC shouted.
“And there’s only two west branches and one of them is down in the plaza,” Zal finished, stabbing at the paper with his finger. “Look, I’ve got a list of all the bank branches there too.”
I glared at them. I hadn’t interrupted all their dramatic stuff. “Right. That means there’s a fifty-fifty chance.”
“Stakeout,” Zal said.
“But my family’s going camping this weekend,” CC complained.
Zal nodded. “And I’ve got a ball tournament. But I’ll bet you anything that nothing happens till Marty Raymond gets back. If he comes back.”
“He’ll come back,” I said. “And I’ll bet you anything that the robber won’t be him.”
I climbed out of the boat and onto my bike. “It’s been a slice. See you at the beach.”
CHAPTER 23
Bandana Bounce
I’ll admit it wasn’t your textbook stakeout, none of us being there all weekend. We wouldn’t have been allowed to hang around the plaza all day anyway. (Getting permission from parents was not something World’s Best detectives had to do.) I myself was busy helping Wiley Kendall. I rode my bike down to the store a couple times, but all I saw was Hank stumping to Donut World for coffee.
It didn’t matter. The Bandit didn’t strike over the weekend. I’d been half hoping he would, figuring that would somehow prove Marty Raymond was innocent. Monday afternoon, CC went to the store straight from day camp and found Marty was back. She was excited when she told me. She said Marty seemed pretty excited too.
“I’m calling Zal,” she announced. “Time to ramp things up.”
We met in the cheesy parkette across from the plaza. There was a picnic table, a rusty swing set and a climber. It did have a good view of the parking lot, Gator Aid and B&G Trust.
Weekday stakeout wasn’t going to be much easier than weekend, seeing as we all had day camp every morning. Still, we made the best plan we could. From now on, CC would make snake catchers in the store each afternoon, to keep an eye on Marty Raymond. Zal and I would be in the parkette. If a robber drove up, we’d try to flatten his tires, call CC to film him with her phone, and then the cops. I had Sergeant Castro’s card in my pocket.
“Anything on Lamar Del Ray?” Zal asked CC.
She shrugged. “Thought Hank said his name, but they were in back, talking low.”
We watched all afternoon. World’s Best stories tended to leave out the waiting bits and cut to the chase. Real-life stakeout was the most boring thing I’d ever done, except maybe for rooting up dandelions with Wiley Kendall, and even that took less time. I wished I’d brought a book, though I guess I couldn’t have watched and read at the same time.
Finally, CC said, “Let’s blow this pop stand,” and we all went home for supper.
The next couple of days weren’t any better. CC went in the store. Zal and I took ball gloves and checkers to the parkette. Marty Raymond waved to us when he walked to Donut World.
“It spoils it if he knows we’re here,” I said.
Zal shook his head. “He doesn’t know why we’re here.”
What kept us going was CC said Marty and Hank kept talking about Thursday. And, she told us, she wasn’t allowed in the backroom.
“I bet Lamar’s hiding there,” Zal said. “Or the loot.”
“Or a smuggled pterodactyl.” I rolled my eyes. I’d had about enough. Wiley Kendall had jobs for me to do. They paid more than this.
“Maybe Hank’s the mastermind,” said CC, ignoring this, “and Marty and Lamar are his pawns. Either one of them might rob the bank Thursday.”
“Or the one we’re not staking out. Or not rob anything at all. Listen you guys,” I said, “do you really think Marty Raymond is going to rob the bank two doors
from his own store? What’s he going to do, stroll over when he goes for coffee?”
“Remember about hiding in plain sight?” Zal looked at me. “You said—”
“I know, the oldest trick in the book.” I sighed. “But nothing’s going to happen Thursday.” I wished I knew it for sure.
“Hey,” CC said, “it was your idea to catch the Borsalino Bandit. And you predicted it would be here. He hasn’t struck anywhere else, has he? You want the reward or not? I say, one more day.”
Thursday, no matter how much I told myself nothing would happen, I was still nervous. I didn’t even know if I wanted nothing to happen. The day was a scorcher. The parkette was dusty and deserted, the plaza dead. Heat shimmered up from the parking lot. CC texted us that Marty was out somewhere. I didn’t know if that was good or bad.
It was too hot for catch, too hot even for checkers. We sat in the shade under the picnic table. I rolled my bouncy ball in the dust and wished I was in the library, where it was air conditioned and never boring.
“It’s too hot for this,” I said. “Marty Raymond isn’t even here.”
“He could be robbing the other branch right now,” Zal said.
“I bet he’s not robbing anything. This is dumb.”
“Look.” Zal pointed. A bearded guy with a straw hat, sunglasses and a beer gut was slouching across the parking lot toward B&G Trust, carrying a shopping tote. The gut made the egg-white legs poking from his plaid shorts look even skinnier. It wasn’t Marty Raymond. Was it Lamar Del Ray? I’d only seen him once full on and once driving by. As I wondered if you’d wear shorts and sandals to rob a bank, he walked into B&G.
We ran to the curb. Zal was already calling CC. As we waited for cars to pass, CC dashed out of Gator Aid, phone ready. Moments passed. There were more cars. Zal and I bounced anxiously at the curb.
The man came out of the bank. CC raised her phone.
A second later, a lady leaned out the door after him. “Vic,” she called, “don’t forget, extra diapers!” He waved and headed for the supermarket.
CC shrugged and went back inside. Zal and I crossed the street anyway. We needed a freezie. We took our time in the variety store’s air conditioning. As Zal checked out the baseball magazines, his ringtone sounded in his pocket.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?”
“Nah, it’ll be my sister. She calls to bug me. Everyone else texts.”
The tone stopped. It started again as we paid for our freezies. Zal sighed and ignored it. We got our change and walked outside.
The next thing we heard was CC, yelling. She ran toward us, waving every which way. “You guys! You missed it! You missed it! Why didn’t you answer? GEEZ! You missed it! It was him, it had to be! Beard, hat, sunglasses. I saw him pull up and head for the bank. He had a little blue backpack. I called you guys but nobody answered.”
“Was it Marty Raymond?” I interrupted.
“No, but it might have been that Lamar guy and you weren’t there to see him. All I could do was grab Bob and run out and dump him on the driver’s seat before the guy came back.”
“Bob the milk snake?” I didn’t get it.
“Yes! I thought Bob might scare him enough that he couldn’t get away. But it didn’t work. He came out, got in the car and drove off.”
“What kind of car was it?” Zal asked.
CC looked disgusted. “I don’t know. Small. I only know trucks.”
“Did you get a picture? The licence number?”
“No. I put down my phone to grab Bob when you didn’t answer. The licence was A-W something. Five. I think. I was busy. Unlike some people,” she glared.
Zal said calmly, “Do we know the bank got robbed?”
We turned to B&G Trust. It seemed sleepy as ever.
“Remember what my Aunt Jenn said?” I reminded.
A police cruiser whisked up to the bank. Officers strode inside.
“I guess that answers that,” CC said.
“What can we tell them?” I sighed.
“Nothing,” said CC. “No car, no licence, no video and you’re the only one who knows Lamar Del Ray. All I did was lose Bob.”
An unmarked cruiser pulled in beside the blue-and-white. Detective Yee and Sergeant Castro went into B&G. CC went to get a freezie.
We ate our freezies in the shade of the plaza canopy, talking about what to do.
“Tell them about Bob,” Zal suggested.
We walked to the bank. They weren’t letting anyone in. As we stood there, the Gator Aid SUV rumbled up.
Marty Raymond leaned out the window. “Howdy, Aiders. Hey, why the long faces, as the bartender said to the herd of horses?” Marty Raymond was grinning like a maniac.
“We just messed something up,” said CC, staring at him.
“Well I myself, Aiders, just dropped off a friend in a sweet, sweet deal. I’m predicting a genuine game changer.” He looked at me and winked. “And to prove it, I’m gonna spring for another freezie, all round.”
Some people came out of the bank. A police officer followed them. She started to put yellow crime-scene tape across the door.
“What’s that about?” Marty Raymond asked blandly.
“It was just robbed,” I said.
“Huh,” he said, wiping his face with a blue bandana. “There goes the neighbourhood.”
CHAPTER 24
Butt Out Bounce
Aunt Jenn would have called Marty Raymond higher than a kite, and me lower than a snake’s belly. The last one was a good fit, anyway.
“Did you hear him?” CC seethed after Marty had left us outside the variety. “He was practically bragging he did it.”
“Except he didn’t, did he?” I protested. “You saw the robber wasn’t him. And it wasn’t the SUV. And why would he give himself away by bragging?” I left the blue bandana out of it.
“I told you he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, Dunc. So it was that Lamar guy. And he’s in on it. They’re thick as thieves!”
“They really would be thieves,” Zal pointed out.
“If it was Lamar Del Ray. All we’ve got for sure is that they know each other. Well, Lamar knows Aunt Jenn too, and nobody’s calling her a bank robber!”
“’Course not,” Zal said. “All we’ve really got is a snake in the getaway car and that really could be important. We could use that reward, Dunc. Try calling that sergeant again.”
As usual, he was right. They still weren’t letting anyone into the bank, and the cop at the door had told me Sergeant Castro was busy. Zal handed me his phone. This was my third try, which told me Sergeant Castro was not in a mood to be bothered. I went for it anyway.
“Hi, Sergeant Castro, this is Duncan Fortune speaking.”
“Yes? What can I do for you, Mr. Fortune? This is a bit of a bad time.”
“You told me to call if I thought of something?”
“Help me, Mr. Fortune. Call about what? I’m in the middle of something here.”
“I’m the one, the kid, who hugged the bank robber. Remember?”
“Right, right, got it. Duncan. Studies Institute and all that.”
“Yes, sir. Maybe you saw me and my friends on the news when we helped capture the caiman in Oakwood Park.”
“Missed that, Duncan. You do get around, though. What’s the purpose of your call? As I said, I’m pretty busy this minute.”
“Well, we happened to be at the bank robbery this afternoon too?”
“What? Again?”
“We live right near there. We’re just outside right now. But we weren’t in the bank, just the parking lot, on stakeout, like—”
“Stakeout? That’s our job, Duncan.”
“I know, but see, we had this theory that the robber would strike there, and anyway, my other friend CC threw a snake into the robber’s car, to see if that would scare him, like, and slow him down?” I waited for Sergeant Castro to say something, but he didn’t. “But it didn’t and he drove off, so we just thought, if you get a
ny reports of cars with snakes in them … Because we had an idea who it might be? Just in case of the … uh, reward?”
The silence continued.
I was not feeling like Studies Institute material.
Finally, Sergeant Castro said, “What kind of car, Duncan?”
“CC didn’t know. She only knows trucks.”
“I see. Licence?”
“A-W something. Maybe. And a five.”
There was another silence. Then Sergeant Castro said, “Duncan, you’re a bright young guy and I’m sure this was a well-intentioned call. You’re a mystery fan, right?”
“How did you know?”
“I’m a detective. And as a detective, here’s some professional advice: don’t meddle in police business. This is not TV or the movies. I’ve noted your call. Missing pets should be reported to Animal Control. Thank you, Duncan. Goodbye.”
CHAPTER 25
Bob’s Bounce
I felt stump toad dumb. I think we all did, because we agreed to be quiet about what we’d done. At dinner, Mrs. Ludovic’s TV had coverage of the latest Borsalino Bandit robbery. Sergeant Castro came onscreen. They mentioned the reward again; this time there was a hotline number to call. I wrote the number down, feeling even glummer.
I knew I’d missed my chance. The only good thing was that Marty Raymond hadn’t been the bank robber. I didn’t know about Lamar Del Ray, but looking back, suspecting Marty Raymond was clearly one of Zal’s very few stump toad ideas.
After dinner, I met up with CC and we went to watch Zal’s ball game. He didn’t make any double plays, but he snagged a wild one-hopper and a liner through the pocket.
“Good fielding,” I told him afterward.
“I still struck out three times,” he sighed.
“Whatever,” CC said. “First time I shot a .22, I couldn’t even hit the ground.”
