The Prisoner of Snowflake Falls

by John Lekich

  George explained that Nat’s parents were good friends with his gramma. “They play bridge together every Friday night at the community center,” he said. “When Lloyd’s in town, he plays bridge too. The only person who’ll be home is Nat.”

  I looked at George Dial’s earnest face. He blushed even deeper every time he said Nat’s name. “We’re just borrowing Lloyd’s truck from my gramma’s personal garage,” he said. “You think my own gramma’s gonna toss me and my best friend in jail?”

  I was going to argue about being George’s best friend, but he looked at me and said, “Don’t make me beg, man. Speed Dial is seriously in love.”

  I don’t know why I finally said I’d do it. Maybe it was the fact that I can never resist a challenge. Or maybe it was the thought of no longer being a lowly Grease Pig. It could even be that I felt sorry for the love-struck Speed Dial. But mostly it was the fact that part of me really did want to steal the Devil’s Dumpster. Because some opportunities only come your way once in a lifetime.

  On the way back to return Harley’s limo, George Dial thanked me for what he called my “totally unsavory but awesome car-theft skills.” Then he looked at me like I was his best buddy in some cheesy war movie. “If anything goes wrong, I swear I won’t leave you hanging,” he said. “I’ll take the bullet for the entire mission.”

  Over the next few days, George was so happy he never even caught a glimpse of Russell the imaginary rat. As for me, I was back delivering papers on Gwenivere. You’d think that I would be happy since Mr. Wingate had finally convinced the Nutley brothers to begin working on the spare room again at double-overtime rates. But George was driving me crazy. He even organized a private strategy session for what he called “the heist.” His whole strategy boiled down to making sure Charlotte knew nothing about our plans to steal the truck. “She’d ruin things faster than a flat monster tire,” he said. Knowing Charlotte, it seemed like a very sound strategy.

  On the night we went to steal the truck, George was dressed all in black. He looked like an undersized commando trying to remain inconspicuous in front of his gramma’s double garage. I was dressed my regular way, which really seemed to disappoint him. “Are you sure you weren’t followed?” he whispered.

  “Will you relax?” I said. “I snuck out while Charlotte was reading her book on haircuts.”

  Everything went very smoothly at first. It was no problem getting into the garage. I was hoping that maybe the keys would be inside the Devil’s Dumpster. Of course, they were not. But the truck was unlocked, so I popped the hood and took a look at what I had to deal with.

  Fortunately, Cookie had trained me very well when it came to disabling all sorts of anti-theft elements—car alarms and the like. Luck was on our side in another way too, because the Devil’s Dumpster was not what you would call overburdened with security features. After all, there are not a whole lot of people waiting in line to steal what is more or less a tractor on steroids.

  With its jacked-up wheels and oversized tires, the Devil’s Dumpster was built for rolling around in huge mounds of dirt. It would probably handle like your average water buffalo. But this didn’t stop George from breaking into a huge grin when I managed to get the engine started. “This is so sweet!” he said, almost shaking with excitement.

  Since I was the one with the most driving experience, George agreed to let me drive the monster truck out of the garage. After we figured out how everything worked, we’d switch places so that George could drive past Nat’s house and wave. Once I got into the driver’s seat, I noticed several mysterious levers and switches that I decided to ignore.

  George joined me in the shotgun seat and I drove the car slowly off the property. We weren’t more than a few feet away when I heard him yell, “May day!” which was George’s commando way of saying we were in trouble.

  What was the problem? Charlotte was pedaling Gwenivere toward us as fast as she could. George was all for burning rubber and leaving her in the dust, but I told him it was too late. I pulled the truck to the curb, and we both got out.

  Charlotte finally arrived, all out of breath. “I knew you were up to something!” she cried. She started to go on about how we were commandeering a vehicle without permission and how neither of us had a totally authentic driver’s license.

  Forgetting all about acting like a commando, George panicked and started blurting out the whole story. When he came to the part about Nat, Charlotte interrupted him. “You’re doing all this for love?” she asked, her voice suddenly going dreamy.

  I guess listening to Charlotte drone on about soul mates had paid off. Because George picked up on the dreamy-voice thing right away. “Yeah, this is definitely for love,” he said, like Charlotte was some fish he was ready to reel in. “I definitely feel like Nat could be my, you know, soul mate.”

  From where I was sitting, it seemed as if George had found his true soul mate in his lust to drive the Devil’s Dumpster. Much to my surprise, I don’t think this mattered much to Charlotte. While I could see disapproval in her eyes, there was also a flicker of excitement in there as well.

  It made me remember what she said about how flaunting the conventionally accepted rules of society might be “supremely exhilarating.” Suddenly, I realized that she wasn’t going to be a problem. “Come with us, Charlotte,” I said.

  “What on earth for?” she asked, like it was the furthest thing from her mind.

  “Because it will be supremely exhilarating,” I said. “Plus, you’re exactly what this team needs. A reasonable person who can keep us focused on our mission of love.”

  She thought about it for a second. But I wasn’t worried in the least. I had seen Charlotte’s look in other people as well. It was the look of someone who just needed the right excuse to do the wrong thing. Sure, Charlotte was a romantic and all. And part of her may have even wanted to come along just to make sure we didn’t violate any crosswalk monitor rules. But I could also tell she wanted to try breaking the rules. Just to see what it felt like.

  “All right, I’ll go with you,” she decided. “But you’ll notice I’m not taking off my helmet.”

  The cargo area of the truck was all buttoned up with a special tarp that looked a bit like a trampoline. But George was so happy that he offered to put Gwenivere on what looked like a bike rack that was positioned just below the window of the Devil’s Dumpster.

  “Are you sure that’s a bicycle rack?” asked Charlotte.

  “It’s either a bicycle rack or a gun rack,” said George. “But I’m reasonably confident it works for both.”

  George and Charlotte started to argue about where to put her bike until I cut them off. “We can’t stand here arguing,” I told them. “Let’s go.”

  George told Charlotte to chill because he knew exactly how the bike/gun rack worked. He was so sure that he took Charlotte’s bike and fit it right onto the rack. Charlotte saw this as a convenient opportunity to get into the seat beside me. This irritated George, who declared, “Hey, I had first dibs on riding shotgun!” But one look at Charlotte’s face was all it took to make him climb in the backseat.

  We began chugging down the street like a turtle on big rubber wheels. But once we started inching forward, George got so excited he was practically hyperventilating. “Rock ’n’ roll!” he shouted, turning his fists into waving steer horns in a way that reminded me of the hats at Top Kow. Even though Charlotte pretended to be disgusted, I could see she was having fun too.

  Things were going reasonably well until we got close to Nat’s house. George insisted that he take the wheel so that he could show Nat how cool he was. Even though this was part of our agreement, I didn’t really want to let him do it. Of course, George started bragging about how he had driven his gramma’s lime-green Volkswagen around the deserted supermarket parking lot at least a dozen times.

  That’s when Charlotte spoke up. “George Dial may be the biggest dork in Snowflake Falls,” she said, “but even a dork deserves a chance at the wheel.�
�

  That’s how a grateful George ended up driving the Devil’s Dumpster. Right away, I knew it was a terrible idea. He started fooling around with all the different switches and levers. When I told him to stop, he got this maniacal gleam in his eye. “Who’s driving here!” he barked.

  George managed to lurch down the street and—thanks to some holy miracle by the gods of transport—park across from Nat Wosney’s house. Unfortunately, he noticed that the truck’s horn was programmed to play the opening notes of three different popular songs about Satan. George chose the opening notes of a song called “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.” It was loud enough to make Charlotte scream in total surprise.

  In fact, blasting the first three notes of “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” was loud enough to make almost everyone in the neighborhood race to their front windows—including Nat. When George saw that Nat was watching, he began waving and yelling like the most lovesick geek in the entire universe. “Hey, baby,” he screeched. “Wanna ride with the man?”

  Nat came running out of the house like she was being chased by Russell the rat. “George Dial, have you gone totally insane?” she yelled.

  George just shot her his goofiest grin. “Hey, Nat,” he shouted. “Watch this!” Then he put the Devil’s Dumpster into a hard reverse. Later, George told me that he meant to back up before doing a nice, smooth swing into Nat’s driveway. But that’s not the way it worked out. He backed up so hard that the rear wheels of the truck went right over the curb opposite Nat’s house. After this unexpected turn of events, George freaked out.

  He put the truck in drive and gathered a surprising amount of momentum while heading for the general direction of Nat’s driveway. Unfortunately, George was so nervous that he somehow managed to trigger the giant dirt shoveler at the front of the truck. It began to move up and down as we headed for Nat’s house, blocking the front windshield just long enough for the Devil’s Dumpster to end up on Nat’s front lawn.

  The dirt shoveler moved down very quickly after that. Just like it was trying to dig itself through the pit of hell. Unfortunately, it confused the pit of hell with a major chunk of the beautiful flower garden in front of Nat Wosney’s house. The truck wasn’t damaged and Nat’s actual house was okay. But there were huge tire tracks on the lawn. And the flower garden was ruined.

  “Oh, man,” said George, who looked somewhat dazed. “We are totally hooped.”

  I made them both get out of the cab while I backed the truck off the lawn as best as I could. I was doing okay until I heard Charlotte, George and Nat yelling something at me. I didn’t know what they were talking about until I got out of the truck and saw that I had run right over Charlotte’s bike with the back wheels of the truck. Gwenivere was crushed like an old beer can.

  “How did that happen?” I asked, totally shocked.

  “It’s the weirdest thing,” said Nat, who sounded like she was numb. “The bike went flying off the rack while George was driving and slid off the tarp and onto the lawn.” We all just stood there looking at the tire tracks on the lawn, the ruined front garden and Charlotte’s crushed bike.

  I thought Charlotte was going to cry or something. But the next thing she did totally surprised me. “Henry, you have to get out of here now,” she insisted. “This is a violation of your probation for sure.”

  I just stood there as Nat lit a shaky cigarette right in the middle of her front lawn. “You better listen to her, Henry. My parents are going to be home any minute.”

  George added, “Do it, man! Just get out of here. I’ll cover for you.”

  And so I did what I always did best. I ran. I ran without giving another thought to George or Charlotte or Nat. I ran just like the thief I was.

  Later that night, I couldn’t get to sleep no matter how hard I tried. So I managed to get the cell phone out from under my pillow on the first ring, while Oscar snored away.

  “Guess what?” said the voice on the phone. “I finally finished that puzzle with all the leaves.”

  FOURTEEN

  That’s my one and only uncle for you. He never says “I love you” or anything like that. But I knew that telling me he finished The Majesty of Cape Cod was his way of saying he missed me. He explained that he couldn’t talk long because he was using the warden’s phone after lights-out as an extra special favor for good behavior. “I am still a guest of the government for two more weeks,” he said. Then he told me how Wally and Cookie had told him that I was becoming a model citizen of Snowflake Falls.

  I didn’t want to tell Uncle Andy that his information was seriously out of date. So I replied that it was odd to see Wally and Cookie around town and not be able to say hi. Uncle Andy told me I sounded strange.

  “You are okay, right?” he asked. “I mean you didn’t break into anybody’s house and get caught waxing the floor or anything?”

  Since my Uncle Andy likes to fret behind bars, I lied and told him I was just fine. Then I threw in a bit of the absolute truth. “Everybody waves at me here,” I said. “I just miss you. That’s all.”

  “Don’t worry, Henry,” said Uncle Andy. “I have a plan that cannot fail.”

  “You’re going to get me out of here?” I asked hopefully.

  “Not exactly,” he replied. “I’m coming to town to join Cookie and Wally as soon as I get sprung.”

  “That’s great!” I said, almost waking Oscar up. “Then we can go home?”

  “What home, Henry?” Uncle Andy’s voice shifted into a whisper. “Listen, I’m going to get there in a couple of weeks. But you gotta pretend you don’t know who I am.”

  “You too?” I asked. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re going to rent that empty hardware store you wrote me about.”

  “You’re going straight?” I asked, trying to imagine Uncle Andy and the others giving up their criminal ways to sell overpriced screwdrivers and extension cords. “Because Biggie’s Bargin Barn will kill you.”

  “No, we’re not going straight!” said Uncle Andy, as if he was totally allergic to the idea of making an honest living. “I’ll explain the whole thing when I get there.” There was another pause on the line. “Henry?” he said softly.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Never mind,” he replied, softer still. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.” Then the line went dead and all I could hear were Oscar’s snores.

  Uncle Andy had given me a lot to think about. But mostly my mind was on the whole stolen-truck incident. I guess Charlotte was thinking about it too. Early in the morning, she came into Oscar’s room in her bunny bathrobe. She told me not to turn on the light. But I could still see that she had been crying, because her eyes were all swollen. “I just want you to know that I won’t turn you in,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’re friends.” She looked at me with her swollen eyes. “We are friends, aren’t we, Henry?”

  I thought about this for a while. “I don’t deserve a friend like you, Charlotte.”

  “Yes, you do,” she insisted. “Can I tell you something stupid?” As usual, Charlotte didn’t wait for my answer. “Sometimes, I think I bug you on purpose,” she explained. “Just to test you, to see if you’ll go away.” She didn’t talk for a while. Then I heard her say, “Even though I don’t really want you to.”

  “There are way stupider things than that,” I offered, trying to make her feel better.

  “I wouldn’t confess this to anybody else,” she said. “But I actually liked riding in that truck with you and George. Even though it was totally wrong and against all my principles and everything.”

  “You could turn me in,” I said. “I wouldn’t hate you for it.”

  “You wouldn’t exactly like me for it, would you?” she asked.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “All my life I’ve been doing the right thing,” she answered. “Not just doing the right thing, but telling everybody else to do the right thing. And what has it gott
en me?” Even in the dark, I could tell that she might start to cry. “You’re the only one who wants to eat with me in the cafeteria,” she said. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “I thought you didn’t care what other people think.”

  “I lied,” she said. “I lie about all sorts of things.” She looked at her brother snoring in his supercrib. “You know what else?” she said, gently running her fingers through her Oscar’s wispy hair as he slept. “He makes me so jealous I could spit.”

  I didn’t know what to say so I changed the subject. “I’m really sorry about Gwenivere,” I said.

  “That’s okay,” she said, trying to hide the sadness in her voice. Then she opened the door to leave. The last thing I heard her say was, “I’m getting too old for that kind of bike anyway.”

  In the morning, George and Charlotte and I attended a special meeting about the stolen truck. The meeting was attended by the Wingates, Mr. and Mrs. Wosney and George’s gramma, Winifred. Lloyd “Digger” Finster was also present. Lloyd was wearing a necktie and his red leather jacket with yellow flames shooting up the sleeves. Like his whole jacket was about to catch fire.

  The meeting was led by Judge Messler, who called it “an official court proceeding held to determine some pertinent facts.” Unfortunately for me, some of those facts concerned the violation of my probation. So I figured it was a good idea to listen very carefully.

  Judge Messler, a very serious guy who looked a little like a bulldog around the jowls, was a close friend of all the families. “I think I know all of you here,” he said. And then he stared a little at me and added, “Well, most of you anyway.”

  George looked like he was going to be sick. And Charlotte appeared very pale and even shorter than usual. She looked like she was going to burst into tears. Come to think of it, so did George. George’s gramma had one of those hairstyles that made her look like she was wearing a beehive on top of her head. Underneath the beehive, she looked very upset.

  I looked at the Wingates, and they were just sitting there, not saying much. Even Oscar knew something was up. He kept chewing on his lower lip and saying nothing at all. I tried not to stare at the Wingates, but it was impossible not to. With their rocket-scientist glasses, they looked like some supersmart family that had stumbled into the wrong room.