A Nose for Adventure (13 page)

Surprised
doesn’t cover it. Was Adam surprised when he saw Eve? Who’s this? he said, and where’s my rib?

“You’re the police?” I say to Veronica. My jaw hangs open.

Skinny shakes his head. “I don’t believe it,” he says.

Slouchy believes it. Her gun is in his ear. He backs away from us. She pushes him towards his cousin. “Now, both of you, lie on the floor,” she says. “Facedown.”

“You can’t do this,” says Skinny. “I work here. I’m a government employee.”

“On the floor.”

She doesn’t shout, but she’s got the tone of command. The flight attendant tone. Pass your trays forward. Do up your seat belts – now. And, of course, she’s got the gun. The two men lie down on the floor.

“Don’t move a muscle,” she says, with a smile she doesn’t mean at all.

Slouchy growls some more.

“You’ll never get away with this,” says Skinny. “I’m a respectable citizen. You can’t prove anything.”

“What do you mean? Didn’t you just admit everything to these two kids? Even I didn’t know about Earless’ father in Mexico.”

Skinny is silent.

I can’t help thinking about Earless and his dad. Is the old man proud of his son? Is he interested in the pyramids too? Does he have both his ears?

Veronica reaches into her purse with her free hand, and pulls out a set of handcuffs. Skinny and Slouchy are lying end to end. Quickly she cuffs Slouchy’s hand to Skinny’s foot. Now neither of them can move.

I help Frieda back into her wheelchair. She doesn’t thank me. She stares down at Slouchy.

“You kids are with the C & E team, aren’t you,” says Veronica. She doesn’t take her eyes off the bad guys on the floor. “Where is Special Agent Libby?”

–
Coming
, says Norbert.

“Good,” she says. I guess she thinks it’s Frieda talking.

–
I phoned, to tell him where we were
, says Norbert.

“Huh?” She flicks a glance our way. At that moment Slouchy moves his free hand. But Frieda is watching him the way a cat watches a mouse hole. When he moves, she rolls herself forward, and Slouchy yells.

“Ow! Ow! Get off!”

It must hurt to have the full weight of a fourteen-year-old girl, and her wheelchair, on your hand. Frieda spins in
her wheelchair, so that the big back wheel grinds into his hand. Then she rolls herself backward, off his hand. Her face is calm.

“Ow! Why did you do that?”

“You moved,” says Frieda. “She told you not to move.”

“I think you cracked a bone!”

“Good.”

I can’t help giggling. Hysteria, I suppose. Or relief. And then Earless bursts through the door, which swings wide, knocking Veronica against me. Knocking her gun from her hand onto the floor.

I stop giggling.

The man the NYPD and the Customs and Excise Bureau are looking for is disguised in a pilot’s uniform, but he doesn’t really look like a pilot. He’s too worried. He’s panting, as if he’s rim a hard race. There are sweat stains around the uniform collar. The jacket isn’t a perfect fit. But it’s Earless all right.

His eyes go wide, as he takes in the whole scene. I can see the whites of his eyes all around his dark pupils. He reaches for the gun.

Time stretches like warm silly putty, so that each second goes on and on. I hear a roaring in my ears. I see things very clearly: the sweat on Earless’ face, the surprise on Veronica’s. I see the gun. It’s lying on its side in the middle of the room, spinning around and around, slower and slower, like the pointer on a board game, telling you
whose turn it is. The gun points to me, then spins past me to Veronica, then Frieda, then Skinny, then Slouchy. It slows and slows and comes to rest pointing at Earless.

It’s Earless’ turn.

He stretches out his hand. Veronica moves towards the gun too, but he’s nearer than she is. He’s going to get there first. I can see it all happening, but I’m powerless to prevent it because I can’t seem to move at all.

Everyone is shouting, but I can’t understand what they are saying. The words just add to the roar in my ears.

Earless picks up the gun, and stands there, with the gun pointing down. He freezes with the gun pointing down. A cold wet nose is pressed against him, against the gun hand, the hand that smells of creosote.

And then I hear a voice, resonating high and powerfully – a voice from beyond time. My ears aren’t quite back to normal, but I can make out the words.

–
We meet again, Professor Malchus
.

The gun hand trembles violently. “Norberto?” asks Earless. “Is it you?”

–
No. New York is full of talking dogs. Of course it’s me.

Norbert sounds so normal, so much like himself, that I find I can move again. Time is back to normal. Veronica frowns beside me. I notice Skinny, staring at Sally in horror. “Why are you here, now?” asks Earless.

–
Well, Sally’s here because of that smelly stuff on your hand. But I – Norberto – have come for a deeper purpose
.

“Do you … have you anything to say to me?” asks Earless.

–
do. It is time, Professor. I will keep my promise
. “Do you mean …”

–
I am ready to tell you the truth about the pyramids
.

“Really?” Earless sounds fervent and excited, as if he’s wished upon a star and had his wish come true. “Do you mean it?” he says.

–
Yes. But you must put down the gun
.

“I have to get out of here. My plane is leaving.” Veronica is staring at me like she can’t believe it. “Is that you talking, kid?” she whispers.

–
The triangular sides of the great pyramids directly face the points of the compass, and slope upwards at an angle of so degrees to meet at an apex. You know this. But do you know why the entrance to a pyramid is always through a northern wall?

“Why?” asks Earless.

–
Put down the gun, and I’ll tell you. Norberto means you no harm. And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think Sally will bite. The reason for the northern exposure is simple: the Cocoa Jug was visible in the north part of the Egyptian sky. Well, it used to be. It’s moved
.

“The Cocoa Jug?” says Earless.

–
You don’t know? The Jug is the most important constellation in the sky of Jupiter
.

“Jupiter?”

–
Come on, man. The Great Pyramid of Cheops is a solid mass of limestone blocks 756 feet square and 482 feet high. Could
you earthlings build that with your hammers and chisels? The power came from Jupiter
.

“An alien race?” His mouth is open.

Slouchy is trying to scramble to his feet. He’s having trouble because Skinny won’t move. He has his hands over his ears. “Boss!” says Slouchy. “Boss!”

“Quiet, Andrews!” says Earless.

“But, boss!”

“Alien engineering is a theory, of course. Von Himmelhurst …”

–
Theory? My uncle was
there.
He convinced the pharaohs to put up pyramids in the first place. The early pharaohs were – well, put it this way. They wanted to dig holes in the ground, and throw in all their worldly goods. Can you believe it? The Great Holes of Egypt! Not exactly one of your Seven Wonders of the World! I tell you, Professor, these guys didn’t even know what a pyramid was. Uncle Nathan had to tell them
.

Norbert is completely convincing. He makes it sound like it really happened that way. Earless is persuaded. “Egyptian gods from Jupiter! But this is amazing! Simply amazing! I have to write it down. Do you mind, Norberto?”

He puts the gun in his blue coat pocket and takes out a pad.

–
Of course not. I can tell you lots more about the Egyptian civilization. The people didn’t always worship scarab beetles, you know. No, sir. It wasn’t until Uncle Nathan crashed his spaceship right into the pharaoh’s hat, and everyone thought he was a bug. Poor Uncle: millions of miles away from the nearest garage….

Earless hardly notices when Special Agent Libby and the police escort charge through the door. His attention is all on the dog. “Go on,” he says.

“You have the right to remain silent,” says Libby.

“Not you,” says Earless. “Go on about scarabs, Norberto.”

“You have the right to consult an attorney,” continues Libby. “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you….”

Skinny is protesting. “Why am I in handcuffs?” he asks. “Don’t you realize that I’m a government employee?” He says something about hearsay evidence, and his word against ours. Veronica takes a tiny tape recorder from her jacket pocket, and puts it into an evidence bag, and Skinny’s face goes white, and he refuses to say anything more until he talks to a lawyer. He and Slouchy are led away under guard. One of Slouchy’s shirtsleeves is ripped. I notice a tattoo on his arm: a heart with a dagger stuck in it. On the heart is the name
BETTY
. Not ungross.

Special Agent Libby shakes my hand, and pats Sally on the head. Frieda gets a handshake too. “You did great,” he tells her.

“Even though I’m … a girl?” she says.

“You’re quite a girl,” he says. “Sorry we took so long to get here,” he tells Veronica, who turns out to be a detective sergeant with the New York City Fraud Squad. “We were held up by that movie. Thanks for calling to tell us where you were. I didn’t know you had my cell phone number.”

“I don’t have it,” she says. “I check in through dispatch.”

There’s a pause. They frown at each other. “Well, whatever,” says the agent.

I look around for Bird, but he isn’t there.

Frieda rolls herself over to Detective Sergeant Veronica. “So you were working for the police all along,” she says.

“Even on the plane?”

“Yes, dear,” says Veronica. “Customs and Excise have been trying to get a pipeline into Earless’ smuggling racket for a long time now. I’d done some flight attending before I joined the police, and I volunteered for the assignment.”

“Why did you disappear this morning?” I ask.

“I was afraid of being recognized. One of my precinct officers was on duty – a nice guy, but not the brightest light in the chandelier, if you know what I mean. In fact, I sometimes think his dog Lucky is smarter than he is.”

“And in the alley?” says Frieda. “You drove away and left us.”

“I phoned in your location as soon as I could. The police are still combing the neighborhood, unless someone remembered to call them off.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Frieda takes a deep breath. “And just now. When … he was holding me up against the wall….” She shudders, thinking back.

“I wanted Andrews to keep talking. Every word he said was evidence. I wouldn’t have let him hurt you.”

“But … he did hurt me. Holding me up like that. My shoulder is still sore. And he scared me to death.” Her mom comes over now, and puts her hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

Sergeant Veronica looks uncomfortable. “I did what I thought was best,” she says. “It was a dangerous situation you two stumbled into.”

And she is right about that.

“What if he was actually going to hurt me?” Frieda asks.

“I’d have shot him, dear.” Veronica turns away to accept some more congratulations.

Mrs. Miller gasps. Is Frieda satisfied? I don’t know. I feel sick.

The dog is scratching at the inside door.

C & E holds a press conference at the entrance to the airport. Lights, cameras, reporters. Special Agent Libby answers most of the questions, but there are enough newspaper and TV people to interview everyone. They even interview me, though my questions are all about Frieda.

“Is Representative Miller’s daughter an inspiration to you?” one reporter asks me.

“I dunno,” I say. “More a friend, I guess.”

I reach up to adjust my sunglasses. I’m wearing them against the glare of the TV lights.

“What does her disability mean to you?”

“I dunno,” I say. “Not much. It probably means more to her.”

“How do you see yourself, in relation to Frieda?”

“Sometimes beside her, talking,” I answer, “and sometimes behind her, helping to push.”

“That was Alan Dingman, ladies and gentlemen,” says the reporter.

“Dingwall,” I say.

A man walks through the sliding doors. A tall rangy fellow with a rugged cowboy face, and his suit coat flung over his shoulder. Frieda’s whole body gets a jolt of electricity when she sees him. Her face lights up with joy. Dropping Sally’s leash, she cries, “Daddy! Daddy!” and wheels herself forward.

Her dad makes it to the airport, but mine doesn’t. For a moment, I can’t look at her.

“Hey, there!” he says. I’m holding the leash. I can look now. He’s kneeling beside her chair, smiling. A nice deep voice, and wet white teeth. He turns her around so they can both smile at the cameras. “Now, what have you been up to? I thought your flight wasn’t due in yet.”

“My flight got in this morning,” she says.

“And what’s this press conference about? Customs and Excise? I heard about it in my office, and dashed right over. My little girl is a hero!”

“Oh, Daddy!”

Reporters surge around his rugged profile like angry waves beating on a rockbound coast. He smiles for them all. When he notices his wife, his smile flashes off in surprise,
then back on again, bigger and whiter than ever. “Gladys! This is great. Just great. Come on over, honey.” Mrs. Miller joins her husband and daughter, and the three of them pose in front of the cameras.

–
So, how have you enjoyed your day in the big city? Has it been Sid enough for you?

I hesitate. I was going to say it’s been awful, every minute, but it hasn’t. Looking back, there’s been stuff to enjoy, to savor, to laugh at. The picture of Norberto rising from the sarcophagus is etched forever in my memory. “It’s been a real adventure,” I say. “So far.” The problem is, the day still isn’t over. “But what’s going to happen now?” I ask.

–
Well, I thought I’d put on a pot of cocoa, and give Nerissa a call. There’s a lot to catch up on
.

“I mean, what’s going to happen to me?” I say. “You’re going to go to Frieda’s house, and I’ll be all alone.”

–
I thought you wanted to be independent
.

“I don’t want to be all alone,” I say.

–
You aren’t. You never are
.

“This is the dog I told you about. And the boy.”

Frieda’s father pushes the wheelchair. Mom trails behind, dutifully.

“Hello,” I say.

“Hello, young man.” A firm handclasp and sincere smile for me, then he passes by me and drops my hand. He and his smile move on to Sally.

“A good-looking dog,” he says.

“And we can keep her? You weren’t kidding?” Frieda sounds a bit doubtful, as if there have been other times when her dad was supposed to do things, and didn’t do them, and claimed that he’d been kidding all along.

“Sure,” he says.

“How not uncool! Thanks, Daddy!”

“My campaign manager will be happy – he’s been after me to get a dog. Did you know that sixty-four percent of registered voters in the state of New York like dogs?”

The state representative doesn’t look at us while he’s talking. He looks all around, all the time. He’s keeps turning the wheelchair to point at one of the cameras.

“I’m glad you came, Daddy,” says Frieda.

“Thanks, honey. Anything for you. Wait – there’s Cam Christie from the
Post
. I must just go and say hello. Let me bring the dog. What’d you say her name was?”

“Sally,” says Frieda, with a sigh.

“Perfect.” He straightens his tie. “Come on, Sally.”

Half an hour later it’s 17:55 by the airport TV screens. 5:55 by my watch. I’m standing in front of the airport
LOST AND FOUND
office, clutching my Commodores soccer bag.

The press conference is over. Police and reporters and cameras are gone. So is Frieda’s dad, who remembered important business back at the office, kissed his wife and daughter, patted the dog, and jumped in a limousine. Is Frieda disappointed? She doesn’t seem to be. Maybe she’s
used to it. Her mom has her hand on Frieda’s shoulder. That may be something she isn’t used to. But I bet she can get used to it.

Frieda’s suitcase isn’t in the LOST AND FOUND. “Maybe someone mailed it to you,” I say. “Maybe someone saw your address printed on the luggage tag, and mailed your suitcase to the house.”

Frieda laughs. So does the lady in charge of the LOST AND FOUND. Even Mrs. Miller finds a smile for the hayseed from out of town.

I don’t feel much like smiling myself. I’ve phoned Frieda’s place three or four times, using Mrs. Miller’s cell phone. No word from Dad.

My soccer bag looks exactly the same as it did this morning. Exactly the same as it did a few weekends ago, when I took it to Victor’s cottage on Rice Lake. I can’t help wondering if I look any different. I feel different.

“I’m sorry your father’s late,” says Mrs. Miller. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly normal explanation.”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Well, I suppose we’d best be getting back for dinner.”

“Alan’s coming back with us, isn’t he?” says Frieda. “We can’t just leave him here. You can stay to dinner with us, can’t you, Alan?”

“Sure,” I say. Where else do I have to go?

Back on the moving sidewalk, on our way out, Frieda and her mom are having an intimate conversation. I don’t want to listen, but I can’t help hearing. “Remember what the
therapist said? It would be natural for you to blame me.” Mrs. Miller puts her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “I guess that’s the reason I’m afraid of you.”

“But why would I blame you?”

“For letting you down. For somehow making you the way you are.”

“You’re my mom. You brought me into the world.”

A medium-sized guy steps on one moving sidewalk as we step off the other. He’s going into the airport as we’re going out. He is unremarkable in almost every way, except for the red hair, which is just starting to turn gray around the temples.

“Dad!” I say.

I drop my bag and almost fall down. Sudden weakness in the knees. Dad steps off the moving sidewalk and strolls towards me. “Hey, champ!” he says. “Great to see you. Nice shades. Been waiting long?”

He looks so incredibly normal. Not tired or strained. Not ecstatic. His suit is buttoned. His hair is combed. His leather shoes gleam. He reminds me of my soccer bag – nothing has really changed about him since the last time I saw him. He’s pleased to see me, and that’s all. Has he been running around the city, frantic with worry? He has not. Are his knees weak, now that we’ve finally found each other? Bet not. “Your plane was early, then,” he says.

I don’t say anything. I can’t. I want to say something not uncool, but I just can’t.

He holds out his hand. I take it because what else am I going to do?

“Where … oh, Daddy, where have you been?” I say. Uncool. Damn.

“What do you mean? Your plane isn’t due in for almost another hour. I didn’t want to miss it, so I cut my last meeting short and hurried over. How about that – I’m forty-five minutes early for something. Your mom won’t believe it.” He’s still smiling. He doesn’t get it. He has no idea of what has been going on.

Mrs. Miller takes over. “Alan flew to New York with my daughter.”

“That’s great. Nice to meet you, Mrs….”

“Miller. Gladys Miller. My husband is … I mean, my daughter is named Frieda.”

“Nice to meet both of you.” Dad shakes hands. His smile isn’t forced or strained. “So, why was the plane so early? Tailwinds or something? My schedule has you arriving at 18:45. That’s, what, quarter to seven. Gee, I hate this military time.”

He holds out an official-looking piece of paper. I practically tear it from his hand, to see the time. 18:45, all right. “There was a mistake,” I say. “It should say 8:45.”

Dad shakes his head. “No, champ. That can’t be right. You haven’t been here since 8:45 this morning, have you?”

He stares at me and Frieda.

“Oh, champ. Oh, buddy boy. How awful. I’m so sorry. Hanging around an airport for ten hours. Your day must have been so boring.”

There’s a pause. I find myself giving my dad a quirky little smile. “No,” I say, finally. “It wasn’t boring.”

Me and Bruce Willis. Only I’m not in a movie. This is my life.