“Maybe they graduated from the same two-bit security school as the team over at the Dome. Knuckle-heads, I tell ya.”
Just then Zengo realized the guy had caught sight of them. For a split second, the two of them made eye contact. Then he made a run for it, slipping to the back of the platform and disappearing.
Zengo had hoped he and his partner would nab this suspect quietly. Wishful thinking. If they wanted to catch him now, Zengo only had one choice. He rushed onto the platform, brushing past the Dream Team. Skittish Frederick leaped out of his seat, knocking into a Chase Murphy statue, which knocked the giant key out of the real Chase Mercy’s hand and then sent the podium crashing forward. A piece of the stage collapsed, and Chase Mercy, Mayor Saunders, and the Dream Team all tumbled down after it. The crowd booed as O’Malley leaped over the gap and lumbered past. Zengo caught a momentary glimpse of the crowd. Jonathan O’Malley stood right below the front of the stage. He looked like he was going to vomit—either from embarrassment or fear, Zengo couldn’t tell.
Chase Mercy’s bodyguard, stationed on the side of the stage, tried to block Zengo. Zengo hip-checked him, landed in a tumble-roll, and sprinted after the saboteur. “Hey, you, stop! Platypus Police Squad!”
O’Malley brandished his badge, but the husky bodyguard, who was twice O’Malley’s size, refused to budge. In one move, O’Malley spun around and slapped his tail against the bodyguard’s face, knocking him to the ground. O’Malley charged after his partner.
Zengo ran, holding up his badge and yelling for people to get out of his way. But it was hopeless. The crowd was too dense, for one thing. And since he had just wrecked the Chase Mercy party, he hadn’t won himself any friends. Nobody was in any hurry to get out of his way. He pushed through the crowd, but there was no hope. The culprit had scurried in between legs and tails and was nowhere in sight.
The rat had flown the coop.
PLATYPUS POLICE SQUAD HEADQUARTERS, 2:45 P.M.
Sergeant Plazinski paced back and forth, back and forth, the length of his window bank. Zengo and O’Malley kept their bills shut and their tails tucked. The fiasco at City Hall was the talk of the town. Zengo had to shut off his cell phone because it kept buzzing with news updates, mainly consisting of images of him and his partner dashing across the stage. Not only were Derek Dougherty’s photos displayed prominently on the Kalamazoo City Krier’s website, and from there all over the internet, but everybody who snapped blurry photos with their phones had already uploaded those pictures everywhere.
“This is troubling,” Plazinski began.
Zengo was sure they were about to be tossed from the case. He glumly considered what his next assignment would be. Which job would be more unpleasant, being a meter maid or cleaning up after police horses?
“Very troubling,” Plazinski continued. He stopped, silhouetted by the Kalamazoo City skyline, then spun around to face the detectives. “I think that this fiasco hits closer to Saunders than I feared.”
He wasn’t mad? Zengo breathed a sigh of relief. He really thought they were going to get their heads handed to them.
“You’re certain it was the same guy from the photo?” Plazinski asked.
“He was missing the same chunk from the same ear,” said Zengo.
Zengo watched Plazinski gaze out the window, as if he were looking for answers among the skyscrapers.
“It’s the best lead that we have,” he finally said. “Heck, at this point, it’s the only lead we have. But some questions remain. Who was he working for? If it’s one of the Dream Teamers, why would someone on the mayor’s staff want to sabotage the Dome? If it isn’t, who else has it out for the Dome?”
Zengo wished there were room for him to pace too. Everything about this case was pace-worthy.
Abruptly Plazinski changed the subject. “Mayor Saunders is holding a black-tie fund-raiser event tonight at the Dome along with Chase Mercy.”
“Sounds fancy,” said O’Malley.
“It is. And I want both of you there,” said Plazinski.
“You got us on the guest list?” said Zengo, trying to conceal his excitement at the thought of rubbing elbows with Chase Mercy.
“Sort of. Here’s your invitation,” said Plazinski, handing him a search warrant.
“Gotcha,” said Zengo.
“If there’s going to be another attempt to embarrass the mayor or mess with the Dome, I’d wager it’ll be tonight. I want answers, and I want them immediately. If this investigation goes on any longer, it will unravel. We need to be sure that the Dome is safe. Not only for the citizens of Kalamazoo City, though of course they are our first priority. But also, if Chase Mercy gets hurt on a booby-trapped set, it will be disastrous for our city, our people, and our department.”
“Say no more, Sarge,” said Zengo, standing up. He and O’Malley pushed aside the orange plastic chairs and started for the door.
“And boys,” said Plazinski. “This is a fancy affair. You do have the appropriate evening wear, I hope?”
“You kidding me? I’ll look sharper than a steak knife,” said Zengo. He looked to his partner.
“Uh . . . of course I do,” said O’Malley. Zengo gave him a questioning look. “What?” O’Malley continued. “You don’t think I take my wife out for date nights?”
THE KALAMAZOO CITY DOME, 7:30 P.M.
“Okay, so maybe it’s been a few years since I’ve taken Karen out,” said O’Malley, attempting to button his jacket.
“A few years or a few decades?” asked Zengo. O’Malley gave up on buttoning his jacket, and tucked his dress shirt into his pants. It looked like a struggle. Zengo stepped out of the car with ease and swagger. His pants were crisp, with a perfect crease on each leg. The cuffs of his stark-white dress shirt stuck out of his tuxedo-jacket sleeves a perfect half inch. Zengo didn’t even need to straighten his bow tie. It was tied flawlessly. He had even tied it himself. No clip-ons for this detective.
“I guess bright orange was the style back then?” said Zengo, fingering the fabric of O’Malley’s tight-fitting jacket while watching his partner try and fail to tie his bow tie.
“Listen, kid, life isn’t all nightlife and fancy pants, okay?” sputtered O’Malley.
Zengo thought he could hear O’Malley’s blood pressure rise as he once again undid the bow tie to try again.
“Here, let me do it,” said Zengo. He bent down and took hold of O’Malley’s tie, expertly knotting it around his neck. “Now who’s the rookie?” Zengo asked. O’Malley didn’t reply. “Besides, the invite said black-tie.”
“Well, what color is this tie, then?” asked O’Malley.
“It’s navy blue. But that’s not the point. Black-tie event means that you wear a tuxedo.”
“Hmpph,” said O’Malley as they crossed the parking lot and made for the front gate. “Details.”
“Ah, Detectives Rick Zengo and Corey O’Malley! I am surprised to see that you made the guest list.” Maurice Robertson approached the instant the two web-footed cops entered the party. The Dome’s central square had a tent set up and was lit with moon lanterns. A jazz quartet played in the corner as waitstaff dressed in white tuxedo shirts brought hors d’oeuvres around to all the guests. A waitress carrying a tray of miniature crab cakes stopped before O’Malley and Zengo. Zengo gingerly took one, smiling as he accepted the cocktail napkin the waitress gave him.
“Don’t mind if I do!” said O’Malley as he grabbed two fistfuls of crab cakes. Zengo shot him a look sideways. “What? These are tiny! And I missed dinner,” said O’Malley with a mouthful of food.
“Yes, we did indeed make the guest list,” said Zengo, returning to Maurice Robertson. “Did you enjoy the key ceremony?”
“Not as much as you two clowns did,” chuckled the construction tycoon.
Zengo caught sight of Audrey Davis from across the crowded room. She was talking to the mayor and she did not look very pleased to see the two detectives. She came marching straight toward them.
“Good
evening, Detectives. Many apologies, but I don’t believe that I saw your names on the guest list.”
“Oh no?” said O’Malley.
“No. I wrote up the guest list. And I certainly did not include either of you.”
“Then why,” said Zengo, reaching for his inner jacket pocket, “do we have this?”
Audrey took the search warrant in her wings and inspected it. She handed it back to Zengo, who returned it to his jacket pocket. Audrey looked angrily around the room. “All right. But you had better not bother anyone unless you check with me first.”
“Oh, right. We are all still in service of the mighty Audrey Davis,” sneered Maurice. “Whatever Audrey says goes.” Audrey grabbed Maurice by the arm and escorted him around to the other side of a pillar. Zengo and O’Malley had no choice but to take a step in their direction to eavesdrop.
“Listen, you hack, if it weren’t for me, none of us would be here,” said Audrey. “This whole project got off the ground because I lifted it onto my back.”
“If it weren’t for me, we’d all be standing in a junkyard right now, knee-deep in raw sewage,” Maurice shot back.
“Pffft! Any contractor worth anything could have leveled this land with a bulldozer. It takes true skill to then convince the public that this was a place they wanted to be. Don’t forget, Maurice, I can sell a plate of garbage as a signature dish at a five-star restaurant. And let’s face it—that’s what I did with the Dome you built.”
“You wouldn’t know quality craftsmanship if it bit you in the tail!” said Maurice, his voice getting louder. Zengo watched as Frederick Treeger caught wind of the sparring from across the party and stepped around the pillar.
“I couldn’t help but overhear.” Treeger’s tone was even meaner than the other two. “Can’t you both see how incompetent you are? You’ve both taken my flawless park design and ruined it. The only reason either of you were hired is because of your relationship with the mayor.”
“Yes, well some of us are closer to the mayor than others,” said Maurice, glaring at Audrey.
“I’m a professional,” said Audrey. “I was hired because I deliver to my clients a top-notch public-relations campaign. And what PR maven wouldn’t want the challenge of getting people to visit Kalamazoo City? Blech!”
“I’ll toast to that,” said Maurice, looking around the room. “The dump that I leveled actually looked nice compared to this trashy city.”
O’Malley tightened his webbed hands into fists. Zengo patted him on the back. Nobody talked about their city like that and got away with it.
The Kalamazoo City trash-talking was cut off at that moment as Mayor Saunders tapped his spoon against a glass to grab everyone’s attention.
“Thank you, thank you! Thank you all for attending this evening’s festivities! I just wanted to share a few words. Tomorrow, cameras will begin to roll!” The crowd applauded with measured excitement. The mayor continued, “This means so much for our fair city, on so many levels. Kalamazoo City is entering a renaissance. I am so proud to have shepherded all of this excitement along. The history books will remember this moment in our city’s history as a true turning point. So cheers, to the city we all love—to Kalamazoo City!”
“Sure. The history books will certainly remember, but not for the reasons our jolly ol’ mayor is hoping for,” whispered Zengo.
“History has a way of rewriting itself,” grumbled O’Malley.
“Still bitter after all these years, aren’t you, Corey?” said a voice from behind them. O’Malley froze. Zengo knew that voice.
It was Chase Mercy.
THE KALAMAZOO CITY DOME, 8:05 P.M.
“How are you, old friend?” Chase held out a paw for a shake. O’Malley obliged.
“Nice to see you, Chadwick,” said O’Malley, avoiding eye contact.
Chase narrowed his eyes. “Not quite the person you remember, am I?”
“Not quite. But it’s nice to see that you’re finally giving something back to your hometown.”
“Really? And what do I owe Kalamazoo City?”
“If you had quit your sulking for five minutes, you would have seen that this town was a great place to grow up.”
“Don’t be so quick to judge, Corey. I didn’t have it easy here when I was a kid.”
“Drew and I had always asked you to come hang out with us, and you always refused. What could you have possibly had to complain about?”
“Are you looking for a list? You didn’t know me at all. You don’t know what it was like to grow up in the shadow of Drew Mickleheimer and his best pal, Corey O’Malley. You don’t know what it was like to be called Squirt all the time.”
The conversation was cut short by the mayor, who was on the mic inviting Chase up to say a few words. He let out an audible sigh. “It never ends,” he muttered under his breath as he reluctantly stepped into the spotlight. But once he was in that spotlight, the ear-to-ear smile broke out.
The guy who had just stood before Zengo was nothing like the character he played in the Spy Masterson movies. He was also nothing like the actor who always sounded so confident in interviews.
“What’s up with this guy?” asked Zengo. “He’s on top of the world, and yet he can’t say five words to you without bringing up stuff from twenty years ago?”
“I don’t know,” said O’Malley. “But I’m tired of all this malarkey. C’mon, let’s step outside and find some food.”
Leave it to O’Malley to always know where to get the best grub. He led Zengo to the area outside of the tent where the trays of food had been coming from. The detectives stationed themselves outside of the kitchen door and intercepted the trays of fresh food right out of the kitchen. In no time, O’Malley had a fistful of sushi in one hand, a fistful of mini hot dogs in another.
“These mini hot dogs are cute,” he said, “but how could anyone eat just one?”
The detectives stood in the neon glow of the rides, which were all lit up for the night. The park was closed to the public, but a few dozen construction workers and security guards dotted the grounds, testing the rides and getting the park ready for the next day, while location scouts and cinematographers scoured the grounds for the best camera angles. Zengo gazed nervously at the Ferris wheel towering above them.
O’Malley chomped away and Zengo walked over to peer through a seam in the tent. The partygoers were just clinking glasses to the end of Chase Mercy’s toast. He jumped down off the stage and made a quick exit as the jazz quartet picked up their instruments and kicked into gear. O’Malley tapped his feet.
“I thought you were all about classic rock,” said Zengo, sitting on a discarded milk crate.
“Jazz is a lot like detective work, kid. It’s all about improvisation, and it takes a tight crew to pull it off.”
“Yeah, but we don’t exactly have time for a jam session right now,” said Zengo. “The sergeant is going to hang us by the tails if we don’t get to the bottom of this case.”
“Well, perhaps the bottom of the case will come to us,” said O’Malley with a hint of a wink.
“Huh?” Zengo was hushed by O’Malley before he could get another sound out.
Across the square from where the detectives dined, a suspiciously familiar-looking tail peeked out from around a stack of Chase Mercy head-shots.
The detectives crept up around the other side of the tent, careful to remain hidden behind the potted cypress trees that Audrey’s company had set up throughout the party.
Soon they were close enough to spot the body that went with that tail. It was a guy in a KC Dome security uniform—a guy who was missing a chunk out of his ear, who had the same steely gaze that had bored holes in Zengo earlier in the day. It was their guy, all right.
It’s true, thought Zengo. Criminals always return to the scene of the crime. The counterfeit guard even held a wrench that was nearly as big as he was. He was leaning over to speak to someone the detectives couldn’t see. Was he planning more sabotage? And who was h
e talking to? The detectives wouldn’t be able to get a glimpse of the other person without giving themselves away. But they were just close enough to be able to listen in on the conversation.
“Just do the job I hired you for,” said the voice from the shadows. Whoever it was handed the saboteur a large roll of bills. “Burn this place down!”
THE KALAMAZOO CITY DOME, 8:32 P.M.
“Now!” whispered O’Malley. The detectives leaped from their hiding place, badges in hand, and yelled, “Freeze! Platypus Police Squad!”
The figure holding the money jumped in the air, hundred-dollar bills flying everywhere. Through the rain of cash, Chase Mercy spun around to face the detectives. He had been caught completely off-guard. He didn’t try to explain what he was doing; he simply bolted. The saboteur sped off in the opposite direction.
“You go after Mercy; I’ll get the little guy!” said O’Malley. Zengo nodded and took off after the action star.
Zengo could barely run fast enough to keep the suspect in sight. If the guy wasn’t an athlete back in the day, he certainly was one now.
Zengo drew his boomerang and shouted, “Stop, or I’ll throw!” But Chase Mercy didn’t even slow down, much less turn around to look at him. He ran through the ropes and out into the park.
Zengo thought of the last time he had used his boomerang in public. He had caught his perp, but he really could have hurt someone. Chase Mercy was pretty far away, and there were maintenance workers and guards everywhere. Could Zengo take him down at that distance? He couldn’t risk it.
Zengo picked up his pace. Even if the superstar was in shape, he was twice as old as Zengo. Eventually he would run out of steam.
Platypus Police Squad : The Ostrich Conspiracy (9780062071675) Page 8
