“See anything?” I asked Joe after a minute or two.
“No,” he said with a sigh, “but let’s take our time here. Maybe Luke dropped something in the grass. Or maybe we’ll spot something of Kelly’s.”
I agreed, and we slowed our progress, making sure to take in everything we possibly could. It was about half an hour before we reached its far side, and the ride cut us off from the early-morning sun, plunging us in shadow.
I was running my hand along the ride’s outer surface when I heard a nightmarish cackle behind me, followed by a creepy voice:
“Are you ready to ride . . . THE DEATH RIDE?”
PUBLIC RELATIONS
4
JOE
I JUMPED ABOUT TEN FEET in the air. Or that’s how it felt. I’m not ashamed. You have to remember that I was in a delicate state, with my brains all scrambled into a gray-matter omelet, and that I had recently vomited not once, but twice. Truly, I was operating on a nutritional loss.
Plus, that voice was just creepy.
So imagine how foolish I felt when I turned around and saw not the terrifying bat-demon of my nightmares (I mean, some of them), but two hipsterish dudes, wearing matching fedoras and laughing hysterically.
“We got you!” one of them, a redhead, yelled, pointing at us.
“You got us, all right,” Frank replied, deadpan, straightening up. “You sure got us!”
I should mention here that, once the shock wore off and I was able to be more observant, it became apparent that both of these guys were dressed like gangsters from the 1920s or something. Fedoras, striped trousers, vests, oxfords, funny little bow ties, the works. And they each had mustaches that had been waxed—yeah, waxed—into different shapes.
“Who are you?” I asked, seriously curious now.
The redhead was still too busy cackling to reply. But his friend, a blond with sausage curls, stood up straight and then gave me a formal bow. “Pleased to meet you, good sir,” he said. “We . . . are the Piperato Brothers!”
“The Piperato Brothers?” Frank asked, his jaw suddenly on the ground. “The guys who designed G-Force—and, like, a million other rides?”
Frank never says “like,” so I figured I was on my own as far as getting useful information out of these weirdos.
“I’m Joe Hardy, and this is my brother, Frank,” I said. Then I asked, “What are you two doing here? We heard you were at the opening of a HoverCoaster in New Zealand or something.”
“Correction,” said the redhead, holding up a finger, “we were at the opening of the PhantomRider in Christchurch. But at about seven o’clock last night, we arrived at the airport.”
Frank seemed to be returning to earth. “Did you come because of the disappearance?” he asked.
The blond one cut his eyes at Frank. “If you mean the incident last Saturday night, then yes, that is why we’re here.” He straightened up and suddenly put on a serious face. “When something like this happens, you only get a brief window to add your spin to the story. That’s what Greg and I are here to do.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You have a theory about what happened to Kelly?” I asked.
The redhead—Greg, I guessed—shook his head. “Not exactly,” he said. “But Derek and I do have theories about how to handle the press.”
I glanced at Frank. Hmm. “It sounds like you guys need to talk to Hector,” I said. “You know, the owner of Funspot?”
Derek nodded, pulling the latest iPhone out of his pocket and jabbing at it with his narrow fingers. “That’s right,” he said, squinting at the screen. “One . . . Hector Rodriguez. Would you know where we can find him?”
“Sure,” I said, shooting a quick Go along with me look at my brother. I had the feeling we were going to want to hear what these guys had to say. “We can take you back to his office. I’m sure he’ll be there.”
We started walking back toward the entrance we’d come in that morning, where the administration building stood. I knew from Daisy that Hector’s office was inside on the second floor. As we walked, Frank peppered the brothers with questions about their most recent roller coasters and thrill rides, and the brothers seemed to lap up his attention like two cats licking up cream.
Back at the administration building, employees were gathering in the lobby, fixing up their character costumes and strapping on their change belts. It was almost time for the park to open, and the place was starting to buzz with activity. A quick glance at the parking lot confirmed my fears: There didn’t seem to be any customers waiting to get in. It was another reminder that Frank and I needed to get to the bottom of this—for Daisy.
“Hector’s office is in here,” I said, leading the Piperato Brothers through the glass doors of the administration building.
“You’ve really never been here before?” Frank asked the brothers as we led everyone up a flight of stairs.
“Indeed no,” Greg replied. “Actually, it’s rare that we get a chance to come out to a park and see our rides in action.”
“But you said you just got in from doing that in New Zealand,” I pointed out.
Derek chuckled. “Yeah, but that was New Zealand,” he said. “The park owners were nice enough to pay for our flights and hotel. No offense, but Baytown just doesn’t hold the same appeal.”
I raised an eyebrow. “It’s Bayport,” I said.
“What Derek means,” Greg cut in, with a conciliatory smile (I was getting that Greg was perhaps the nicer of the two), “is that we’re usually very busy in our lab designing the rides of the future. Sadly, we just don’t get a lot of time to travel.”
We were outside Hector’s office now, so I just smiled and knocked on the door before we entered “How lucky for us to get to meet you.”
Inside, the office wasn’t glamorous. Faux wood paneling that looked at least thirty years old covered the walls, and wrinkled, framed maps of Funspot during different times in its history were the only decoration. The office was really a glorified closet—there was barely room for Frank, the Piperato Brothers, and me to stand facing Hector’s old wooden desk.
Hector looked surprised. “Hello?” he asked, looking from me to Frank. Then his eyes settled on the fedora’ed faces of the duo who’d been expected to save Funspot. “It can’t be . . . Derek and Greg Piperato?” He stood.
“None other, good sir,” Derek replied, firing out a hand for Hector to shake. Hector did, slowly, staring at the brothers like they were some kind of apparition. “And you must be Mr. Rodriguez, the forward-thinking gentleman who purchased G-Force.”
Hector nodded, dropping Derek’s hand and reaching out to shake Greg’s. “That would be me. Although you might have heard we’ve been having some, er . . .”
Derek smiled, his teeth flashing straight and white beneath his shiny waxed mustache. “We are well aware of your difficulties, sir,” he said with a nod. “In fact . . .” He looked expectantly at his brother.
Greg took the bait and nodded, turning to Hector with a grin. “That’s sort of why we’re here.”
A wave of relief washed over Hector’s face. “Does that mean you know where the girl could be?” he asked, gesturing to a pile of papers on his desk. I looked down and realized that he had been studying what looked like blueprints for the ride. “We’ve looked and looked and found nowhere for the girl to hide, but I noted that there might be space for a chamber here, or here, or here . . .” He pushed the papers toward us, pointing at several Xs he’d marked in with red pencil.
But the Piperatos barely looked down. “There’s no space inside G-Force for someone to hide,” Derek said brusquely. “We designed a thrill ride, not a place to store knickknacks.”
Hector looked confused, but his confusion quickly turned to anger. “But the girl—”
Derek held up his hand as if to say stop. “We came here to discuss how to handle public relations moving forward,” he said, reaching inside his jacket and pulling the smallest, thinnest laptop computer I’d ever seen from some inner po
cket.
Hector turned to look at my brother and me with an expression of befuddlement, as if to say, Are you guys seeing this? I just nodded and watched Derek Piperato open up his tiny computer. He made a few clicks, then brought up a video. It was frozen on a photograph of two teenage girls riding a roller coaster, shrieking with delight.
“Public relations?” Hector asked finally, as if it had taken some effort to find his voice.
Greg nodded, flashing a bright white smile. “We couldn’t help but notice that you’re in a bit of a public relations jam,” he explained. “The stories in the press are not . . . kind.”
Hector widened his eyes. “No,” he said, “because a young girl disappeared on your ride.”
Derek waved his hand dismissively. “Allegedly,” he insisted. “She allegedly disappeared on our ride. How does everyone know she didn’t sneak out before the lights came up? Maybe she had a boyfriend the parents disapproved of. Maybe she went shopping.”
Frank cleared his throat. “Um, that seems extremely unlike—”
But Derek cut him off. “Let’s not speculate,” he said. “The truth is, only the girl herself knows what happened. And the only thing we can control is how we react to our ride being attacked. Yes?”
He didn’t wait for an answer before reaching down to the laptop and clicking on the video.
A deep, scary voice played over stock footage of young people screaming on amusement rides.
“You’ve heard about it on the news.”
A quick shot of G-Force was shown, but too fast for the viewer to really make out what it was. The effect was a little disturbing.
“You’ve heard about it from your friends.”
A shot of a teenage girl in the dark, a tear rolling down her face. Then three girls, whispering eagerly into one another’s ears. Then a shot of a boy texting. Then . . .
“But are you brave enough to find out what really happened?”
A shot of the entrance to G-Force, with the line to get in snaking around the whole park. A grainy video of kids screaming, waving their I WAS FIRST TO RIDE G-FORCE T-shirts. A super-quick shot of one of its seats, restraints undone, sitting in the dark. The effect was weird and creepy—it looked almost like an electric chair.
“Are you brave enough to ride . . . the DEATH RIDE?”
The voice dissolved into a maniacal cackle as the camera jutted farther into G-Force, and the picture gave way to static, like a video feed cutting out.
There were a few seconds of creepy cackling over a black screen, then Funspot’s logo and directions came up.
Greg and Derek turned to us eagerly. Frank, Hector, and I looked at one another in surprise. I don’t think any of us knew what to say.
It was Hector who finally spoke. “What was that?” he demanded.
Derek, seemingly mistaking Hector’s anger for enthusiasm, rubbed his hands together in excitement. “Isn’t it magnificent? This was put together for us by Viral Genius, one of the foremost advertising firms in—”
Hector slammed his fist down onto his desk, and the room fell silent. “What do you think this is?” he demanded, glaring at the Piperato Brothers. “Is this a joke to you?”
Greg smoothed his mustache, looking offended. “Not at all,” he said with a frown. “This is our livelihood and reputation on the line, as well as yours.”
Derek looked angry now. “We have to control the conversation about what happened here last Saturday, or we’re going to be the losers,” he said, jabbing his finger at Hector for emphasis. “Really, Hector, it’s Public Relations 101: Get ahead of the story.”
Get ahead of the story. I’d heard that before, and I was pretty sure Derek was right: It was a big rule in public relations. But I was also pretty sure Hector was disgusted by the ad.
He gestured at the laptop. “What do you mean to do with that?” he asked. “Do you expect me to put it on TV? Because I won’t.”
Greg shook his head, smiling again. “You don’t have to do anything, Hector. That’s the beauty of our plan. You just sit back and watch the kids return. We’ve taken the liberty of placing this viral trailer on the Internet, where the kids are already—”
“What?” Hector asked, his eyebrows making angry points on his forehead. “You posted this somewhere without telling me?”
Greg gave a rueful smile. “Per our contract, when the park owner disagrees with us about the marketing of our creation, we have final say.”
Hector groaned and closed his eyes. I could tell he remembered that part of the contract, and I could also tell he’d never thought such a situation would arise. In the silence that ensued, I moved forward, gesturing to the laptop.
“Can you play that again?” I asked the nearest Piperato brother—Derek.
“Gladly,” he said, with the happy expression of someone who thought his brilliance was finally being appreciated. He clicked on the ad again, and it started up.
“You’ve heard about it on the news.”
Stock footage. Creepy shot of the ride. Stock footage. Creepy shot . . .
I pointed at the shot of the ride with a line snaking around all of Funspot. “There—that had to be taken on Saturday night, right?”
That was the only time the line had been that long—or the people in it had looked so excited.
Derek nodded. “That’s right.”
Frank moved forward, his interest piqued. “Did you buy cell phone footage off someone in line or something?” he asked, squinting at the screen to get a better look.
Derek looked pleased. “It does look like that, doesn’t it?” he asked proudly. “But actually, no, that’s professional footage that’s been given a filter to look more ‘gritty’ and ‘immediate.’ Studies show that modern teenagers respond more strongly—”
“Professional footage?” I asked, clicking on the touch pad to stop the trailer. “Does that mean you had someone shooting footage of the opening Saturday night?”
Greg stepped forward. “Sure,” he said. “It’s standard procedure to send a videographer to shoot the opening. You never know when a promotional opportunity might—”
Frank cut him off. “Do you have that footage with you?” he asked. “All of it?”
Greg and Derek glanced at each other, as if deciding how much they trusted us. Greg gave a slight nod, and Derek pursed his lips. Finally Derek turned back to us and spoke.
“We have a full DVD of footage,” he said. “Probably an hour or more.”
I practically jumped. “Can we see it?” I shouted, and at the brothers’ perplexed expressions, tried to get ahold of myself. “Sorry. Can we see it? My brother and I are, ah . . .”
Hector spoke up in a calm, quiet voice. “The Hardy brothers are studying thrill ride design,” he said smoothly, catching my eye and winking. That’s when I remembered: We’d asked Hector not to tell anyone we were investigating this for him. I’d almost blown our cover.
Derek looked perplexed. “Well, that explains the third degree earlier,” he said, nodding at Frank.
“I suppose we could let you borrow the footage,” Greg went on, folding his arms in front of him. Then he cracked a small smile. “The Piperato Brothers of the future.”
I had a sudden vision of Frank and me ten years from now, dressed in bow ties and fedoras, carrying computers the size of a deck of cards. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“Thanks. We really appreciate it,” Frank was saying.
Hector stood. “I think this meeting is over,” he said, looking at the Piperatos. “In the future, I would appreciate it if you contacted me before placing any communication from Funspot anywhere.”
“But we have the contract—” Greg tried to put in, but Hector cut him off, holding up his hand.
“A young girl disappeared here on Saturday night,” he went on, in that same calm, quiet voice. “Do you have children, gentlemen?”
Derek and Greg looked at each other, confused. “We don’t,” Greg confirmed.
Hector f
rowned. “Well, I have a daughter,” he said. “And I can tell you that if anything ever happened to her—if she ever disappeared and I didn’t know where she was—I don’t know how I would survive it. I can’t imagine what that poor girl’s parents are going through right now. And the idea that they might see this viral whatever you put up, this—” He gestured to the laptop as though it were the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen. “This trailer. It disgusts me.”
Greg and Derek exchanged a glance. Derek waited a moment before saying, “I’m sorry we disagree. But I think the trailer is brilliant. And once kids start crowding back into Funspot, I think you will too.”
Hector sighed. “I think you should go.”
Greg gave a quick nod, then folded up the laptop, turned to his brother, and gestured toward the door. “Here, kids,” he said, slipping a small hard drive out of his pocket and handing it to me. “This has all the footage from the ride opening in a folder called ‘G-Force.’ I hope you learn from it.”
I smiled. “Me too. Thanks.”
The Piperato Brothers exited, and I turned to Hector. “Can we use your computer to—?”
He held up his hands. “Of course, of course.” He sighed. “I think I’m going to take a coffee break. Will you boys be okay in here?”
“I think so,” Frank said. I could tell by the way he was eyeing the hard drive that he was eager to get started.
“Good luck,” Hector said as he walked out the door. From outside, I heard him add under his breath, “We all need it.”
• • •
“That’s Luke!” I cried a few minutes later, pointing at the screen as a black-shirted kid got out of line and walked out of the frame of the video.
Frank shook his head. “Sure enough,” he said. We were watching footage of G-Force, right after the first ride had been boarded.
“Don’t you think it’s weird to get out of line when you’re so close to the front?” I asked.
Frank nodded, his eyes still on the screen. The footage cut to a later scene, kids exiting the ride looking shaken. “It’s definitely weird,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. The footage cut to Cal looking worried, then the police showing up. Then the camera panned back to the line, where kids looked both scared and disappointed.
The Vanishing Game Page 3
