Is he telling me to follow Bear? Has he been watching me the entire time?
Mr. Chapman waved even more enthusiastically, so I said, “Okay” and followed Bear past yet another Dumpster, which had the lid up. The stench of old grease and rotting food assailed my poor nose. I nearly stepped into a puddle of something a ghastly green color.
Only a teeny tiny flutter of doubt winged its way from the pit of my stomach and into my throat. But I knew I really had nothing to worry about. Becca’s dad would be right behind me every step of the way. Nothing could go wrong.
Then everything did.
CHAPTER 35
Bear stopped short, and I barely caught myself before plowing into him. He turned the bike ninety degrees, and I realized we were headed toward an even creepier, smaller alley. He turned sideways and cautiously wheeled the bike, careful not to let it scrape the sides of the walls pressing in on us.
I peered down into the narrow path. If I stretched my elbows out, I could have easily touched both sides. Instead of open sky, the building tops were lost in the darkness of some kind of roof. Perspiration broke out on my forehead.
“Somethin’ wrong, kid?” Bear looked back at me.
I swallowed, vaguely gesturing ahead. “Your brother lives down there?”
“What of it? It a problem?”
I wanted to scream “Yeah!” and hightail it out of there, but I had a job to do. I was going to see it through.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flutter of movement from the mouth of the alley. Someone else was coming! I steeled myself not to look and confirm it was Mr. Chapman. Instead, I took a deep breath and followed Bear.
I counted my steps and wondered if we’d encounter any more twists and turns. Maybe I should have brought little white pebbles like Hansel and Gretel had to ensure I could find my way back out. Thirteen steps and Bear stopped to bang on the wall.
Except it wasn’t a wall. It was a door. Bear banged again.
Thump, thump, thump. Pause.
Thump. Pause. Thump, thump.
The story of Aladdin and the Forty Thieves and “open sesame” raced through my thoughts. But I didn’t have any magic words.
The door opened, and sickly yellow light spilled out into the shadows. The doorway swallowed Bear and the bike whole.
I followed him in.
The place looked a lot like our garage—things all over the place with only a semblance of order. Big boxes were piled four and five high, and the floor was sticky like someone had spilled a whole two-liter bottle of soda and hadn’t cleaned it up.
“Who’s that and why?” asked a scrawny black-haired guy with tattoos up and down both arms and one side of his neck. He wore a black tank top and frayed black sweats. Only the zit on his nose provided any color. It was beet red, which was only attractive if you were Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.
“Changed her mind and wants a green one.”
“So you bring her here? Idiot!” Scrawny turned his scarlet-rimmed eyes on me.
It wasn’t a pleasant look unless you’re into face-to-faces with hungry, thirty-foot pythons. I slid my sweaty palms into the back pockets of my jeans. Officer Glenn’s words came back loud and clear:
“Being in the wrong place at the wrong time or being with the wrong people leads to trouble. If you get yourself into those situations, you have no one but yourself to blame when negative consequences follow.”
Raff had said those exact words to me too. I half expected to see him and his ankle monitor here.
I had willingly put myself in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people. But I was on the side of truth, justice, and the American way. It would be okay. I just had to stall a minute more.
I squinted in the dim light. Bear and Scrawny both stared at me. I changed my mind about stalling. I wanted to bolt but doubted I could outrun Scrawny. I knew I couldn’t outwrestle Bear. That meant I had to say something and say it fast.
“Cool pawnshop. My dad takes me to them all the time,” I said, glancing around in what I hoped appeared as an appreciative evaluation. “He’s never brought me to this one.”
My eyes stopped, actually skidded to a halt, on a huge box with a strong guy lifting a megaphone. I scanned the label: “Atlas Tech—speakers.” On top of it perched another, flatter box labeled “Atlas Tech—soundboard.” A quick survey revealed three more Atlas Tech boxes.
This was the sound system that had been stolen from the school, the one the Zollins had paid more than twenty thousand dollars for in order to replace the aging, static-generating one in the auditorium. These guys were not small time, they were big time! The bikes were only part of their operation!
“What you staring at, kid?” sneered Scrawny, taking a step toward me. “I thought you wanted a green mountain bike. You don’t seem too interested in seeing one. Maybe we ought to see your money, make sure you’re a serious buyer.” He took another step toward me and hollered, “Yo, Chuck. We got us a customer.”
I hated the slimy way he’d said “customer.” I was in big trouble. Capital T trouble. If Mr. Chapman had been following me, he’d have been here by now. I pulled my hands out of my pockets and prepared to make a dash for the door.
Too late. Chuck materialized, and my mouth dropped open. He was an aging and way bigger version of Little Chuck Chuck. I couldn’t decide if he was an older brother or maybe even the sixth grader’s dad.
Pondering the family relationship was a terrible idea. In those few seconds, Chuck lumbered between me and the only exit.
I was trapped!
CHAPTER 36
I couldn’t muscle my way out of this. That was as plain as the zit on Scrawny’s nose. My only hope was to outthink and outtalk them, praying my personal cavalry would arrive in time to save me.
“My dad has been talking about an Atlas sound system for months,” I began, pouring as much enthusiasm in my voice as I could. I hoped if they noticed my knees knocking, they’d assume it was sheer delight.
“Really?” Scrawny sounded totally unconvinced and took another step my way.
I swallowed and went with the first thing that came to mind. “You know the Tap House sports bar? He’s like a silent partner and they’re wanting to upgrade, but no way is Dad gonna pay full price.”
Scrawny stopped moving forward and listened. I took it as a good sign and forged on.
“He won’t pop for the eighteen grand they want at Paradise Pawn. Said it was highway robbery.”
Scrawny nodded ever so slightly.
“He offered fifteen Gs.” I only knew the term because I’d heard Raff talk about prices that way once and figured it might sound tough. “So, how about you guys? What’s this going for?”
“I couldn’t let it go for less than sixteen. And that’s a today-only special.” Scrawny uncrossed his arms, and I hoped Mrs. Baker’s insight about body language applied to thugs in an alley.
I cocked my head to one side like I was thinking hard. It was way too quiet, and I could feel Chuck’s and Bear’s eyes on me. I willed myself to speak as nonchalantly as possible.
“Let’s call him and see. You guys got a phone around here somewhere?” My voice had a slight squeak, and I crossed my fingers they didn’t, that I’d have to go somewhere, anywhere else, to place the call.
Luck was not with me.
“Yeah.” Scrawny jerked his head.
I had no choice but to follow him deeper into the rat’s nest. Behind the stacks of boxes was a workbench with tools, bike frames, and parts. To the right was a row of bikes, and to the left were more unopened boxes of electronics and a whole pile of spanking new name-brand tennis shoes. Scrawny rummaged under the workbench and produced a grubby cordless phone.
Please let the battery be run down.
I took the phone, concentrating on keeping my hand from shaking. I felt like the guys on TV who after being arrested got to make one call. The twenty-bazillion-dollar question was: Who should I call? Dad had gone out somewhere. Mom was a
t work.
My fingers danced over the keypad in a familiar pattern, one I dialed every evening. Becca answered on the third ring, and I immediately started blabbing, hoping they wouldn’t catch on I’d called another kid instead of my dad.
“Mom! You won’t believe it. I’m in this pawnshop, and they have an Atlas sound system—you know, the kind Dad wants for the sports bar.” I sucked in a super-swift breath and kept going. “They’ll let it go for sixteen Gs, but it’s gotta be right now, and I mean right now. No time to waste. The place is somewhere near Chestnut and Main, but I’m gonna put the owner on to give you directions. Don’t talk, don’t ask questions, just Unique New York it!”
I shoved the phone into Scrawny’s hand and thrust mine back in my icky, damp-from-who-knows-what back pockets to keep the trembles out of sight. I had no idea why I’d added Unique New York, except it was the first and only thing that came to mind to clue Becca in that this was all a big act.
Scrawny finished the conversation abruptly, so I figured Becca had gotten the directions and hung up on him. I knew I had to kill some time, so I asked, “You been in business long? I didn’t know this place existed.”
As soon as the words slipped out, I got the chills all over my body.
Does anybody know this place exists? Will anybody find me? In time?
This had not been a smart idea.
“Ain’t you gonna take a look at the green bike?” asked Chuck.
He moved out of the pathway to the door. I had to make a run for it. I took two steps, planning to put on a burst of speed once I got the door opened, but Bear’s hand grabbed my upper arm.
“Um, uh . . .” My voice trailed off. I’d run out of steam, run out of ideas.
All three pairs of eyes were back on me, waiting for my response.
I didn’t have one.
CHAPTER 37
If necessity was the mother of invention, desperation was the father of brainstorms.
“Later. I thought we’d open the box.” I kept walking, shrugging out of Bear’s grip, so that I was standing closer to the door but looking at the stack of stolen stereos.
“No. Once the box is open, the value drops. So you might as well check out our fine selection of bicycles and let us count your cash while you’re at it.” The hungry-python look was back in Scrawny’s eyes. They bored into me.
I felt like the little golden monkey in the predator-prey videos we watched in science class. The snake was about to drop from above. My time was quickly running out.
Scrawny’s head moved, and his eyes focused behind me and to my left. I heard the door being shoved open. I whirled, hoping to see Mr. Chapman leading in a SWAT team.
Instead, I saw my dad. He stepped in, his body blocking the door from closing. He looked different: quicker, bigger, stronger. More determined and dangerous than I had ever seen him.
He looked more like he did before my brother vanished.
I had never been happier to see him in my entire life.
“Gabby, go.” His voice held steel. He jerked his head toward the door.
I couldn’t move. My feet were frozen in place.
“Not so fast, Mister. Your girl’s not finished here. Grab ’em, boys,” Scrawny ordered.
Bear reached for me.
My feet thawed in a nanosecond. I ducked past him and into the alley screaming my lungs out.
I ran directly into Mr. Chapman. He steadied me, then he and three other officers brushed past and disappeared inside.
The next few minutes were a blur of noise and deepening darkness, but one thing stuck in my mind: my dad had come to save me. I clung to him like a drowning victim clings to a life preserver. The tears poured forth and my knees gave way. I would have splattered all over his shoes if he hadn’t been holding me up.
Even when I gave my statement at the police station, Dad hugged me protectively, murmuring, “I can’t lose another. I can’t.”
Mr. Chapman wasn’t that nice.
“Gabby, that was the stupidest, most foolish decision, putting yourself in harm’s way.” My BFF’s dad stood with his hands on his hips as he glared at me. “Next time a policeman waves you away from the scene of the crime, follow directions. Worst-case scenario, you could have died.”
“Whatever got into you?” muttered my father.
I couldn’t explain in words, but there was something inside of me, something that went beyond simple curiosity. It was something that burned to fix things, set things right. I dropped my eyes and concentrated on the form on the clipboard.
As I wrote my statement, I overheard the police discussing the case. They had only discovered the tip of the iceberg when they recovered the bikes with transmitters. Those thefts involved some younger kids from my school who’d scoped out, iced, and marked the nicer, less safeguarded bikes. The cops had busted those bike burglars, but it had just been one arm of a larger ring.
The main operation, the one that handled a variety of stolen goods including electronics, was headquartered at Scrawny’s facility. I had stumbled into a serpent’s nest.
A door opened, and I was shocked to see Mrs. Baker follow Officer Glenn inside. She was just as shocked to see me. Her mouth dropped open, and I could see it written all over her face. She was thinking I was involved, but on the wrong side of the law.
“Dad, I’ve got to tell Mrs. Baker why I’m here.” I pointed at my drama director as she disappeared through another door.
“Mr. Chapman told you that you couldn’t talk about this to anyone,” Dad said sharply.
“But she thinks I’m a thief!”
“Gabby, don’t go jumping to conclusions. That can get you in trouble.”
Trouble with a capital T. How well I knew.
“Dad, how did you know . . . why were you following me?” I stumbled over my words.
“I walked to the hardware store on Main Street to pick up a lock for the garage. Next thing I knew, I saw you following that sleazy guy down an alley.”
“You recognized me?”
“Of course. You’re my daughter.” Fortunately, my ninja black hadn’t fooled him, and he’d not only recognized me, he’d followed me into the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people.
And when it came down to it, despite all the things I didn’t like about my dad, I loved him because he was willing to go after me in the terrible place, willing to take my consequences and to die if it would save me.
Mrs. Baker returned and her eyes sought mine. I breathed a sigh of relief at the smile on her face. After shaking my dad’s hand and greeting him, she took a seat next to me.
“Officer Chapman told me about your part in all of this, and while I am glad we recovered the sound equipment, I want you to know that no thing or things can ever come close to the value of a human life. Or a student’s well-being. Do you know what I am saying?”
“Yes, ma’am. But—”
Mrs. Baker cut me off with a sharp look. “No buts. And to make sure you have learned that lesson, the officers and I have come up with a little project for you.” The teacher crooked her fingers into air quotes around the word “project.” “I’ll see you in my room at lunch tomorrow.”
EPILOGUE
The headline on page 3 of the Friday morning paper read: “Sting Operation Successful.” The subtitle read: “Nets Tens of Thousands in Stolen Goods.”
Because my identity had to be protected, the article didn’t mention my or my dad’s names, but it did allude to the fact that citizens had played “an important part in the arrest of several suspects” and that a “major crime network has been disrupted.”
Below that was the announcement that Oceanside Middle School would be presenting an Evening of Monologues, free of charge and open to the public.
That meant a gazillion people would show up tonight.
And speaking of disruptions, my life had been majorly disrupted as well. Except for school and play practice, I was grounded for at least a month for “being in the wrong place at the
wrong time with the wrong people.” It seemed like that phrase was destined to haunt me for the rest of my life.
Friday afternoon I sat in the sound booth at tech rehearsal and loaded up my Hope Q. PowerPoint that featured the photos Dr. Hinkley had taken. Mrs. Gibson, Mr. C., and Ms. Shernick had pitched in with suggestions for what commentary to type on the slides, and I was getting extra credit in three of my classes. Only Becca and I had managed that feat, and it irritated the Diva like sand in a swimsuit.
By quarter to seven the house was packed to capacity. So was my stomach, which housed more butterflies than molecules. Pete had given me a thumbs-up on his way in before taking a seat right behind Dr. Hinkley and Howie. I still didn’t know exactly where we stood, but at least we were not enemies.
Maybe one day we could be friends again. I could only hope.
Hope. The word had taken on new meaning for me.
I took my place backstage and hoped I could get through the next forty-five minutes without fainting or being rendered speechless from stage fright.
Having Brandon at the top of the lineup was brilliant and not just because he was my friend. His high-energy piece rocked the house. Even before he finished, a whole gob of sixth-grade girls squealed like he already was a teen idol.
Becca was a marvelous Hypatia, and I couldn’t wait to tell her how enthusiastically her parents had clapped and how Bradley, her younger brother, would have whistled except Mr. Chapman stopped him the instant he put his fingers in his mouth.
I glanced up at the new soundboard with rows of sliders, colored lights, and knobs. It was way complicated, kind of like my life. The new Atlas system picked up subtle changes in voice tone, volume, and expression. Everyone who knew their lines and had their character’s voice down pat sounded fabulous.
It also amplified the mistakes of the less talented, those who only got added to the lineup because Boyd Donner had gotten strep and couldn’t go on. Not that I was counting the number of times the Diva’s “um” got picked up.
Six.
The Bungled Bike Burglaries (The Gabby St. Claire Diaries Book 3) Page 12
