by Dave Barry
“That’s one problem,” said Victor. “The other one is they have an endangered animal there. If you’re right about the mounds, they could have other animals. We need to tell somebody about it.”
“Like who?” said Matt. “Our parents?”
“No!” I said. “If I tell my parents, they’ll know I snuck out last night, and my mom will help the Bevin brothers kill me. Besides, to be honest, I don’t think my parents would care about a big lizard. My mom doesn’t even like small lizards.”
This is true. Whenever my mom sees a lizard in our house—which is a lot, because Florida has billions of lizards—she hurries out of the room and tells my dad to get rid of it. About 98 percent of the time the lizard runs under the furniture before my dad can catch it—they’re very fast—so my dad ends up pretending he caught it, then pretending to throw it out the front door. Then he yells, “Okay! It’s gone!” and my mom comes back into the room, not realizing that the lizard is under the sofa, getting ready to come out and scare her again.
My point is, my mom wouldn’t care about rescuing a Komodo dragon.
“I don’t think your parents could do anything about it anyway,” said Victor.
“So who can?” I said.
“The police.”
“Seriously?” I said. “You think we should go to the police?”
“They’re breaking the law.”
I thought about that, slurping my Starbucks.
“Okay,” I said, finally. “How do we tell the police?”
“I guess we go to the police station,” said Victor. He tapped on his phone. “We’re about eight blocks away.”
“Suzana’s here,” said Matt.
I looked up and saw Suzana walking into the Starbucks with three of her girlfriends, all of them hot, but Suzana, as usual, hotter than everybody else. She looked over and saw me looking at her. I made a stupid little wave with my cup. She gave me a little wave back, which—and I know how pathetic this sounds—made me ridiculously happy because she wasn’t ignoring me anymore.
Victor, Matt, and I finished our drinks and got up to leave. We walked toward Suzana, who was in line to order coffee.
“Hey,” I said. I’m good with words. Mr. Smooth.
“Triple Venti sugar-free, non-fat, no foam, extra caramel, with whip caramel macchiato,” she said. Not to me; that was her Starbucks order. To me she said, “Hi.”
I wanted to keep the conversation going, but I couldn’t think of anything to say except “Hey” again, which would have been stupid. While I was trying to come up with something better, Suzana said to Matt, “So, did you get your little ferret back?”
“Yeah,” said Matt. He was going to say more, but Suzana had turned back to me.
“See?” she said. “I told you. They were just kidding.”
“Suzana,” I said, “they weren’t kidding. They’re not nice guys. You don’t know them.”
“I know them better than you do,” she said.
“I don’t think so.”
“I do think so. Because I’ve actually talked to them.”
“Really?” I said. “Well, next time you’re talking to them, ask them about what’s going on in their backyard.”
“What are you talking about?”
I was about to tell her, when Victor grabbed my arm.
“What?” I said, annoyed.
Victor nodded toward the door. I looked that way and saw them walk in.
The Bevin brothers.
Troy was in front. He gave Suzana a big Hollister-model smile featuring numerous spectacularly perfect teeth. “Sorry we’re late,” he said.
“It’s okay,” said Suzana. “We just got here.”
So this was basically a date.
“He with you?” said Troy, nodding toward me. Behind him, Nick was giving me a look that could have burned a hole in my face.
“No, he was just leaving,” said Suzana. “Unless he wants to tell me about your backyard.”
Now both Troy and Nick were aiming eyeball lasers at me.
“What about our backyard?” said Troy.
“Yeah, what about it?” said Nick, stepping closer.
“Um,” I said, that being the only thing my brain could come up with while it was occupied with trying to prevent me from pooping my pants.
“Um?” said Suzana.
“We have to go,” said Victor, pulling me away by my arm.
“We’ll finish this later,” said Troy.
As Victor pulled me to the door, I heard Suzana say, “What was that about?”
“Nothing,” said Nick.
I looked back. Troy was staring at me. He mouthed a word, without saying it out loud.
Later.
The police station was a gray stone building that looked kind of like a jail. The lobby was gray and empty except for a policeman at a desk, typing on a computer. A sign in front of him said SGT. KATZEN. He had gray hair and a gray mustache, so he fit in with the overall color scheme. He didn’t look excited to see me, Matt, and Victor. But he was polite.
“Can I help you?” he said.
Victor and Matt looked at me. Apparently I had just been elected spokesperson.
“We want to report a crime,” I said.
“What kind of crime?”
“We think some guys have a Komodo dragon.”
Sgt. Katzen blinked. “They have a dragon?”
“It’s not a real dragon,” said Matt.
“What is it, then?” said Sgt. Katzen.
“It’s a lizard,” said Victor.
“A big lizard,” I said.
“It’s endangered,” said Victor.
“Endangered how?” said Sgt. Katzen.
“Just in general,” I said. “It’s an endangered species.”
Sgt. Katzen nodded. “And who are these guys who have this endangered kimono lizard?”
“Not kimono,” I said. “Komodo.”
“A kimono is a Japanese robe,” said Matt.
Sgt. Katzen gave Matt a look that made it clear he had already figured out that Matt was an idiot. “So,” he said to me. “Who are these guys who have this endangered Komodo lizard?”
“Their name is Bevin.”
All of a sudden Sgt. Katzen looked interested.
“Bevin?” he said. “Frank Bevin?”
“The ones I know are Troy and Nick,” I said. “They’re high-school students.”
“The house is in Bay Estates? Big house?”
“Yes. That’s where they have the Komodo dragon.”
“So you’re telling me,” said Sgt. Katzen, “that there’s a giant endangered lizard at the Bevin house, and you want to report it as a crime.”
“Yes.”
Sgt. Katzen looked at me for a few seconds, then said, “Do you know who Frank Bevin is? The man who owns that house?”
“No.”
“Mr. Bevin is a very prominent member of this community. Very prominent. He’s a very respected businessman. He’s done a lot of good for a lot of people. A lot of good. Mr. Bevin has many, many important friends in this community. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.
“So,” said Sgt. Katzen. “If I start typing your complaint into this”—he pointed at his computer—“I’m going to be opening up a major can of worms. A major can of worms. Do you really want to go through with this? Do you understand what you’re getting into, here?”
We had no idea what we were getting into. To be honest, I never even understood the expression “can of worms.” I mean, seriously, why would anybody put worms in a can in the first place?
Obviously Sgt. Katzen was warning us to not proceed with whatever it was we were doing. But the truth is, we were ninth graders, and we didn’t have any idea what we were doing. So, like morons, we all nodded yes.
And Sgt. Katzen, with a big sigh, started typing.
Here’s how stupid I am: after we left the police station, I actually start
ed to think that maybe everything was going to be okay. The way I pictured it, the police would go investigate the Bevin house, and they’d find the Komodo dragon and who knows what else. So the Bevins would get into big trouble, maybe even go to jail. But whatever happened to them, they’d have way bigger things to worry about than me. Also, as a side benefit, Suzana would realize that she was wrong, and we’d go back to being friends.
That’s the way I pictured it happening.
Sometimes I am a bigger idiot than Matt.
That afternoon I didn’t have anything to do, so I went with my family to my sister’s soccer game. Taylor is on a U-13 team, which means it’s seventh-grade girls. But if you think it’s not serious, you don’t know anything about Miami soccer parents. Some of them are insane. They act like every game is the World Cup final, only more important. They believe that the referees are all involved in some kind of huge international referee conspiracy to prevent their children from winning. They yell so hard during games that by the end the sidelines are basically drenched with parent spit.
Needless to say my mom is one of the loudest yellers, even though she doesn’t know any more about soccer now than she did back when she was yelling at me to KICK THE BALL. In this particular game she was really getting on the referee. He was an older Jamaican guy who had probably refereed a thousand soccer games, but that did not stop my mom from complaining about every call he made against our team. Midway through the second half he called offside against Taylor. When the ref made the call, he happened to be standing directly in front of my mom, but he would have heard her even if he’d been standing in Canada. “OFFSIDE?” she yelled, directly at his butt. “SERIOUSLY? OFFSIDE?? ARE YOU BLIND AND CRAZY?”
The ref turned around slowly and looked right at my mom. Everybody was now totally quiet. My dad buried his face in his hands. Taylor, who for the record had definitely been offside, looked like she wanted to dig a hole in the soccer field and crawl into it.
The ref just stood there for a few seconds, looking at my mom. Everybody was expecting him to give her a warning, or maybe even tell her to leave. Instead, in a polite voice, he said, “Madam, would you mind explaining the offside rule to me?”
“What?” said my mom.
The ref said, “I just thought that since I apparently don’t understand it, you could educate me.”
My mom, who—like many soccer parents—could no more explain the offside rule than she could operate a nuclear submarine, said nothing. The ref stood there a few more seconds, waiting. Finally he said, “Well, if it comes to you, please don’t hesitate to let me know. Meanwhile, I’ll try to muddle through as best I can.” Then he went back to refereeing.
After that my mom was quiet for nearly ten minutes, which has to be a record. Eventually she started yelling again, which was probably good because otherwise her head would have exploded. But she didn’t say another word about off-side calls.
The game ended in a tie. I think 95 percent of all soccer games end in a tie. As usual, both sets of parents were unhappy, but the players were fine. Once the game is over, they don’t take it as seriously as the parents do.
After the game my mom had a lot to say about the ref. Actually, she had only one thing to say about him, namely that he was an idiot, but she said it about six thousand times. She tried to get the rest of us to agree with her, but we pointed out that, first, he made the right call, and second, all he did was ask her for advice. That was pretty brilliant. I don’t know why more refs don’t do it.
On the way home we stopped for barbecue at Shorty’s, which is this restaurant that has been making barbecue for like sixty years, which makes it basically the most historic thing in Miami. We all love Shorty’s, so even my mom was in a pretty good mood by the time we got back home.
The mood changed immediately when we saw what was in front of our house.
Two police cars. And two police officers standing in our driveway.
And both Bevin brothers. They were with a man who looked like an older version of them. Who I guessed was the prominent and respected Mr. Frank Bevin.
“What is THAT about?” said my dad.
I didn’t say anything. But based on the hole that suddenly opened up in my stomach, I was pretty sure I knew the answer.
The police cars were blocking our driveway, so Dad parked our car on the street. We all got out and walked to where the police officers and the Bevins were standing. The officers were a youngish, unhappy-looking guy with large muscles, dark hair, and dark eyes, and an older, thicker, red-haired guy who looked like he was in charge. As we walked toward them, I got the feeling everyone was mainly looking at me.
“Is there a problem?” my dad said.
“Are you Mr. Palmer?” said the older cop. He had a little nameplate on his uniform that said DALY.
“Yes,” said my dad. “What’s this about?”
“This your son?” said Officer Daly, nodding toward me.
“What’s this about?” said my mom. “Why are you here?”
“We’re investigating a complaint,” said Officer Daly.
Both Bevin brothers smiled. That seemed weird. Why would they be smiling?
“A complaint against who?” said my mom.
Daly pointed to me and said, “Your son.”
Suddenly the hole in my stomach was huge.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You mean a complaint by me, right?”
“No,” said Daly. “Against you.”
The Bevins were really smiling now.
“What complaint?” said my dad. “What’s this about?”
“Burglary,” said Officer Daly.
What?
“What are you talking about?” said my mom.
“We have reason to believe that last night your son illegally entered the home of Mr. Bevin, here,” said Officer Daly, pointing to Frank Bevin.
“That’s impossible!” said my mom. “He was home last night. We were home the whole evening, and so was Wyatt.”
“Were you in the same room with him the whole evening?” said Daly.
“Well, no, not the whole evening,” said my mom. “But he was in his room. Weren’t you, Wyatt?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Wyatt?” said my mom. “You were in your room, right?”
Troy Bevin said, “I saw him in our backyard last night. He knows I did.”
“Wyatt,” said my dad, “is that true?”
“I want to show you something,” said Officer Daly. He went to his police car, reached in, and pulled out a tablet computer. He walked back and tapped on the screen.
“Okay,” he said. “This is video taken last night by security cameras at Mr. Bevin’s house. Take a look.”
My mom and dad moved closer to see the screen. I looked over their shoulders. The video was black-and-white and kind of dark, but we could see the image clearly enough: it was me, climbing over the wall next to the Bevin dock.
“That’s the wall around Mr. Bevin’s property,” said Daly.
My mom and dad looked at me. They were both about to say something when Officer Daly said, “Okay, this is from a camera on the patio.”
We looked back at the screen. It showed Matt and me, looking very guilty, scurrying across the patio, then Matt opening the door, then the two of us going inside.
“I believe the other individual is a friend of your son’s,” said Officer Daly.
“Matt,” said my dad, quietly. My mom didn’t say anything. That was a very bad sign.
“This next video is from the upstairs hallway.”
Now we saw Matt and me looking into one room, then going into another. Then, after an edit, the two of us were coming out, fast, and hurrying toward the stairs.
The video stopped. Officer Daly looked at my parents. They looked at me. Everybody was looking at me. My skin felt hot and my head felt like it was a helium balloon.
My dad said, “Wyatt, what were you doing in that house?”
“I…I mean, we…�
� Suddenly I was having trouble talking.
“You what?” snapped my dad.
“We were there to get Frank back.”
“Who’s Frank?” said my dad.
“Matt’s ferret.”
“His ferret?”
“Yes,” I said. I pointed to the Bevin brothers. “They took Frank. They were going to feed him to Roxy.”
“Roxy?” said Officer Daly.
“Roxy’s a big snake,” I said.
“So you’re telling me,” said Officer Daly, “that you climbed the wall and entered the Bevin house to rescue a ferret from a snake.”
“Yes,” I said.
The Bevin brothers snickered. Officer Daly was smiling a little.
“I know it sounds stupid,” I said. “But it’s the truth.”
“Did you get…whatsitsname? Fred?” said Officer Daly.
“It’s Frank,” I said. “Yes. We found him in Nick’s room, next to the snake cage.”
“So you had the ferret when you left the room?” said Officer Daly.
“Yes,” I said. “Matt did.”
“So why don’t I see it in the video?”
“Because Matt put it in his hoodie pocket.”
“I see,” said Officer Daly, who clearly didn’t believe me.
“Okay, listen,” I said. “Never mind the ferret. The important thing is, while we were there, we saw something in the backyard.”
Suddenly the Bevins weren’t snickering. The dad gave me a hard look.
Officer Daly said, “What did you see in the backyard?”
“A Komodo dragon. Some men brought it in a boat.”
“What the heck is a kimono dragon?” said my mom.
“It’s a Komodo dragon,” said Taylor. “A kimono is a Japanese robe.”
“Thank you, Miss Wikipedia,” said my mom. “So what the heck is a Komodo dragon?”
“It’s a huge lizard,” I said. “Like the size of an alligator. It’s an endangered species. They’re not supposed to have it.”
My parents were looking at me like I was insane.
“We saw it!” I said. “They have a tunnel in their backyard! We saw it! I swear!”
“So you told Sgt. Katzen this morning,” said Officer Daly. To my parents, he said, “Your son and his friend filed a police complaint about this against the Bevins.”
