A Whole Nother Story (17 page)

Meanwhile, Aurora’s long legs were carrying her as fast as they could toward the practice field. When she got there, she saw a baseball field full of teenage boys. Since she had never met Jough, she wasn’t sure to whom she should deliver her message and so she ran to her father.

“Which . . . one’s . . . Jough?” she said, her lungs searching for more air.

“What? What’s wrong?” asked Chief Codgill.

“Jough,” she repeated. “Which one’s Jough?”

“He’s pitching,” said Chief Codgill. “Now do you mind telling me what this is . . . ?”

Aurora took off running toward the pitcher’s mound and shouted Jough’s name just as he released the ball. The batter swung and the ball jumped off the bat with a resounding crunch and struck a half second later with a thud, also of the resounding variety. It hit Aurora right between the shoulder blades.

She toppled face-first onto the ground as Chief Codgill ran from the dugout toward his fallen daughter. He rolled the girl onto her back and sat her up partway. The ball had completely knocked the wind out of her. The rest of the Police Pals gathered round, not sure what to say or do.

“Back off,” said Chief Codgill, his baby-butt chin jutting outward. “Give her some room. Are you okay, Aurora?”

Still without enough air in her lungs to speak, Aurora looked up and pointed at Jough.

“What is it?” said Chief Codgill.

Finally, Aurora managed to speak but only one syllable at a time, which made her sound not at all unlike Tarzan.“Jough,” she said, gasping. “Must go . . . home. Go . . . quick . . . ly. Trou . . . ble. Magg . . . ie . . . sent . . . me.”

“Sorry, Coach,” said Jough, “but it sounds like I need to get home right away.”

“Maybe I should go with you,” said Chief Codgill.

“No,” said Jough, distrustful of even his own coach and captain of the local police force. “You should stay here and make sure she’s okay. It’s probably nothing serious. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Chief Codgill, the rest of the Police Pals, and the tall, pretty girl named Aurora all watched as Jough took off running at top speed in the direction of the little pink house.

With her bow still in hand, Maggie ran up the street toward the house, her legs aching from having run so far and so fast. She was still half a block away when she saw a large white moving van pulling out of the driveway and onto the street, heading away from her. A familiar-looking black car with black tinted windows pulled out from the curb and followed the van.

With absolutely no chance of catching them, Maggie stopped running. She pulled an arrow from her quiver and loaded it into the bow. She dropped to one knee, drew the bow back, and took careful aim. She released the arrow and, like a comet, it screeched through the air toward the rear tire of the long black car and entered with a sharp hiss.

Though the direct hit did not cause a blowout as Maggie had hoped, it would mean a slow leak in the tire, which meant they wouldn’t get too far before having to pull over.

Maggie ran the remaining half block to the house. The first thing she noticed was that the garage door was open and the LVR was gone. She ran into the house and took in the scene before her. Furniture was upended, a fruit basket and a white wig lay on the floor, and a young blond woman, a monkey, and a shivering Chihuahua were trying to drag a man with a bleeding leg toward the front door.

“Where is he?” she demanded, her bow at the ready should she need it. “Where’s my father?”

“He is not here,” groaned Pavel. “He was taken by other men. Men with guns. You must not look for him. Is too dangerous for leetle girl.”

“Shut up,” said Maggie. “Where did they go?”

“I do not know,” said Pavel. “They said take LVR to factory.”

“Factory,” said Maggie slowly but her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of Pinky barking and scratching at the back door. She ran to the kitchen as Pavel’s friends continued to try and drag him out the front door and toward the little brown car parked at the curb. When Maggie opened the kitchen door, Pinky practically jumped into her arms. “Pinky, are you okay?”

Pinky licked Maggie’s face for a solid minute before remembering that the house had been full of intruders. She growled and ran to the front door just as the little brown car drove off down the street, right past Jough, who was finishing his full-on sprint to the house.

He ran inside and practically collided with Maggie.

“What’s going on?”

“They were here. They took Dad and the LVR.”

Jough pounded his fist against the wall.

“Darn it!”

Not satisfied, Jough made an attempt to kick the wall, too, but he found his left foot stuck to the floor. With a yank, he pried it loose, then reached down and peeled a large wad of pink bubble gum from the sole of his shoe.

“Looks like they got Gerard, too.”

“We’ve got to get help. We have to call the police,” said Maggie, trying her best to remain calm.

Jough suddenly felt dizzy and the palms of his hands were moist with perspiration. He was about to sit down on the floor when he remembered the promise he made to himself just a few weeks ago. The next time he found himself in a dangerous situation, he would be a man of action, just like his father.

“No,” said Jough. “We’re not going to call the police. I don’t trust them. But you’re right. We do need help.”

Maggie watched as Jough ran off to his bedroom and returned a moment later holding a small piece of paper. It was a business card for Captain Jibby’s Traveling Circus Sideshow.

“But they were on their way to Hollywood. Who knows where they might be by now.”

“It’s worth a shot,” said Jough, picking up the phone, which he discovered had no dial tone. “They must have cut the phone lines. Come on.”

With Pinky behind them, Jough and his sister ran down the street to the large green house. Inside the house, someone was practicing the bass drum. Jough pounded loudly on the door, trying not to pound in rhythm with the drum, to ensure being heard. The drumming stopped and a moment later Elliot, bass drum mallets in hand, opened the door.

“Jough. Is practice over already?” said Elliot, surprised to see his client standing on the doorstep. “I hope Chief Codgill isn’t being too soft on you guys. As your agent, I must say it’s of the utmost importance that you maintain peak conditioning.”

“Our phone’s out,” said Jough. “I’ve got to borrow yours if you don’t mind.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Elliot. “My dad’s not home, so I’m not supposed to have anyone in.”

“It’s an emergency,” said Maggie.

Elliot still looked hesitant. “You don’t know my dad. He gets pretty angry when I break the rules.”

“Well, could you bring the phone out here?” asked Jough.

“Great idea,” said Elliot with a sense of relief. “I suppose that would be permissible under the circumstances.”

Elliot disappeared into the house and Jough, Maggie, and Pinky waited for what seemed like a lifetime for him to return with a phone. Jough grabbed it greedily and punched in the numbers on the business card as fast as his fingers would let him.

“It’s not long-distance, is it?” asked Elliot. “I’m not allowed to make long-distance calls.”

Jough ignored Elliot because he was too busy counting the rings in his head.
One. Come on, answer. Two. Pick up
the phone, Jibby. Three. Please be there.
After the fourth ring, Jough heard a recording of Jibby’s voice.

“Captain Jibby speaking. I’m not here right now and that’s all I’m going to say without my attorney. Ha-ha. So leave a message and, if I like you, maybe I’ll call back.”

“Jibby, it’s Jough. Ethan’s son.” Jough tried to remain calm so as not to speak too quickly and slur his words. “Listen, you said if we ever needed anything, we should call you right away. Well, we need your help. My father and my brother have been kidnapped.”

Jough went on to tell Jibby’s recorded voice the exact location of the little pink house in their quiet little town and that his father and brother had been taken to a factory.

“I’m not sure where the factory is,” said Jough.

“Wait a minute,” said Maggie. “Aurora told me they’re building a new factory out on Canyon Road. A factory that’s going to make microwave ovens.”

“Sounds like a possibility,” said Jough, who continued with his message. “We think the factory may be out on Canyon Road. Please, if you get this message, hurry. The lives of our dad and our brother may depend on it.”

Jough hung up and handed the phone back to Elliot.

“Your father’s been kidnapped?” gasped Elliot. “And your brother? By whom?”

“I’ll tell you later,” said Jough. “Right now, we’ve got to get out to that factory.”

“But how?” said Elliot. “Canyon Road is five or six miles from here.”

“Well then,” said Jough, “I guess we’ll have to drive.”

“Drive?” Elliot exclaimed. “But you’re fourteen years old. You can’t drive.”

“I’m fourteen and a half and, yes, I can drive,” said Jough. “My dad taught me for emergency purposes, and this is definitely an emergency.”

“Grrrr.”

Pinky was looking back toward the little pink house, where a sporty red car had just pulled into the driveway. Aitch Dee and El Kyoo stepped out and walked to the front door, their guns drawn.

“Were those . . . guns those crooks were holding?” asked Elliot, his voice trembling.

“Well, they weren’t bananas,” said Jough. “And those are no crooks. They’re coats. Probably CIA.”

“CIA? What kind of trouble are you guys in?”

“The worst kind you can imagine,” said Jough.

Just then a police car drove slowly down the street and stopped in front of the pink house. The door opened and out hopped Chief/Coach Codgill. Cautiously, he walked carefully up the walkway toward the open front door.

“How are we going to get to the car now?” asked Maggie.

“We’re not,” said Jough, looking to Elliot’s driveway at the beautiful, perfectly restored deep blue 1957 ragtop convertible. “We’re going to borrow that one.”

“What?” shrieked Elliot, practically falling over. “Are you crazy? My dad will freak out if he knows I let you borrow the phone. Now you want to borrow his car?”

“As your client, your only client, I must insist that it’s of the utmost importance that you let us borrow that car,” said Jough, looking right into Elliot’s terrified eyes.

ADVICE ON SAFE DRIVING

W
e the people love our automobiles. Driving is every bit as American as apple pie, though, statistically speaking, driving is far more dangerous than pie. (With the possible exception of rusty nail/scorpion pie. Delicious but dangerous.)

To give you an idea as to the precarious nature of driving, may I point out that each year the number of people killed in auto accidents is greater than the number of people killed in both world wars—and those people were driving tanks.

The best way to avoid an accident is to increase your knowledge of the rules of the road. I have therefore compiled the following quiz to help you on the road to safer driving. I advise that you study it closely.

1. When changing lanes you should:

A) Check your mirror and proceed when safe.

B) Check your mirror and your blind spot and proceed when safe.

C) Drift over until you hear glass.

2. A red eight-sided sign always means:

A) Stop.

B) Go.

C) Danger! Red octagons ahead!

3. Your seat belt should always be worn:

A) Over your shoulder and across your lap.

B) Under your shoulder and between your legs.

C) With slacks and a sporty top.

4. You should loan your father’s convertible to your fourteen-year-old neighbor:

A) Never.

B) Only in an emergency situation.

C) Only when it is absolutely essential to the story.

CHAPTER 23

C
oral Bjornsen had just left her bed-and-breakfast and was buzzing down the sidewalk on her way to the bingo parlor when a car sped by, driving right through a massive puddle, completely dousing the woman in cold, muddy water.

“Oh, spackle!”

“You just splashed that woman,” said Elliot from the backseat as his father’s convertible raced toward the edge of town. “And I wish you would slow down.”

“Look at it this way,” said Jough. “The faster I drive, the sooner we’ll have the car back. Now how do we get to Canyon Road?”

“Turn left here,” said Elliot with just enough warning for Jough to make a hairpin turn, the tires chirping as they tried their best to hang on to the pavement.

No sooner had they made the left turn than Pinky let out a growl.

“We must be getting closer,” said Maggie. “Good girl, Pinky.”

As Elliot directed them closer and closer to the factory, Pinky’s growls became more consistent until she was growling practically nonstop.

There were no houses on Canyon Road, or much of anything else for that matter. It was just a long stretch of road winding through a steep canyon with sagebrush, wildflowers, and tall grass sprouting up on either side.

“There it is,” said Maggie, pointing up ahead. “The factory.”

A large building with a flat roof and several smokestacks, the factory stood at the end of the road, sitting in the middle of a large dirt lot surrounded by a tall chain-link fence. Next to the factory was an enormous warehouse that must have been the size of an airplane hangar. Painted on the warehouse, above the giant door, was a bright blue letter
P
made up of wavy lines.

“Plexiwave,” said Maggie. “We’d better be careful. These guys are bad news.”

Just outside the warehouse, a large man dressed in a black suit was busy changing the rear tire on a long black car with tinted windows.

Jough stopped the car about a hundred feet from the factory behind a stand of tall weeds. Being seen would take away the only weapon they had, the element of surprise.

“They must be in the warehouse,” said Jough. “All we have to do is get past one guy.”

“One guy?” said Elliot. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but that one guy is the size of a grizzly bear.”

“The bigger they are, the harder they fall,” said Jough as he quietly opened the door of the convertible. “Okay, Elliot. You stay here with Pinky. We’ll be right back.”

“You’d better be,” said Elliot. “My dad gets home at four and, when he does, his car better be waiting for him.”

Jough and Maggie crawled along the road behind the tall-growing weeds, toward the factory. When they got to the chain-link fence, Jough motioned to Maggie to wait there. Peering over the weeds that grew up around the fence, Jough could see the enormous Mr. 29 with his back to them as he squatted down in front of the car to tighten the lug nuts on the spare tire.

Jough found a nearly round rock, about the same weight as a baseball, only smaller. He picked the rock up and stuffed it into his pocket, then, as quietly as he could, began climbing the fence, inching slowly and breathlessly toward the top. When he had gotten just over halfway, he lost his footing and nearly fell, causing the fence to rattle noisily.

Mr. 29 stopped what he was doing and craned his neck around as far as he could. Luckily, it was not far enough that he could see Jough clinging to the fence, scarcely daring to breathe. Mr. 29 decided it was nothing and went back to tightening the lug nuts as Jough continued his painfully slow climb to the top of the fence.

When he reached the top, he swung both legs over and landed hard on the other side of the fence. His less-than-stealthy landing caused Mr. 29 to stand up and whirl around, which is exactly what Jough wanted him to do, for when he turned around Jough removed the round rock from his pocket and gripped it as he would a baseball. Mr. 29 watched with puzzlement as Jough went into his windup and tossed a screwball in his direction.

As the rock sailed toward him, Mr. 29 did not move. He did not move because it was quite obvious the rock was not going to hit him. At the last moment, however, the pitch broke sharply to the right and, before he could react, it caught Mr. 29 right between the eyes. The big man did indeed fall hard as he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

“Nice pitch,” whispered Maggie.

“Screwball. Now come on, let’s go.”

Maggie scrambled up the fence quickly and dropped down next to Jough.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

“I have an idea,” said Jough.

In the middle of the brightly lit, otherwise empty warehouse, was the white moving van and, next to it, the large, egg-shaped disco ball known as the LVR, completely assembled and ready to go. All it needed in order to be completely operational was the computer code, which, at that precise moment, Mr. 5 was trying to persuade Mr. Cheeseman to give to him. And the way he was trying to persuade him was by twisting his left earlobe in a counterclockwise direction to the point that, if it actually were a clock, by now it would be yesterday.

Mr. Cheeseman screamed and nearly fell out of the chair on which he’d been propped up.

“Okay, I will ask you again,” sneered Mr. 5, his sweaty face very close to Ethan’s. “What . . . is . . . the . . . code?”

“I told you,” said Ethan. “I only have half of it. The other half . . .”

“Is missing. Yes, you keep insisting that’s the truth, and I believe it now as much as the first time you told me.”

Gerard, meanwhile, was sitting against the cold steel wall on the smooth concrete floor with an old handkerchief tied tightly around his mouth. His ankles and wrists were bound with rope. All he could do was sit and listen as his father moaned in agony.

Mr. 5 released Mr. Cheeseman’s now-purple earlobe and nodded to Mr. 88, who reached into his pocket and produced a syringe filled with a bright blue fluid.

“This,” said Mr. 5, taking the syringe, “is CR70, otherwise known as True Blue. It’s the absolute latest in truth serum, of which I personally oversaw the development. You needn’t worry. It’s harmless, really. Just make sure you don’t operate any heavy machinery for the next couple of years.”

Mr. 5 held the syringe up to the light and, with a flick of his forefinger, tapped out a couple of tiny air bubbles. As he did, Ethan saw something strange in the reflection of Mr. 5’s sunglasses. Something that made him very angry. It was the tattoo on Mr. 5’s wrist, which, when reflected in his glasses, read
Plexiwave
.

“You,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “You’re Dr. Fiverson.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Mr. 5.

“You killed my wife.”

“Well, if you’re certain of that,” said Mr. 5, “then you know I will stop at nothing to get what I want.”

As Mr. 88 rolled up Ethan’s sleeve and prepared him for the injection of True Blue, Gerard decided he had had quite enough of sitting by and doing nothing. Despite the fact that his hands were tied tightly behind his back, he found he was able to sneak two fingers of his non-sock-puppet hand into his back pocket. And with those two fingers, he was able to grasp one lucky Indian arrowhead. One very sharp, lucky Indian arrowhead.

Being careful not to drop it, he gently pulled the ancient artifact from his pocket and, as Steve helped out by holding it tightly in his mouth, began sawing at the rope around his wrists.

“Just relax now, Mr. Cheeseman. In a few seconds you will find yourself confessing to things you’ve completely forgotten about.” Mr. 5 moved the needle toward Ethan’s exposed forearm. Outside the warehouse, a car horn honked twice.

“Well, it’s about time,” said Mr. 5. “Let him in.”

Gerard worked the arrowhead frantically as Mr. 88 walked to the large double doors. Gerard sawed faster and the arrowhead slipped and caught his finger. The sting was enough to make Gerard want to cry out but he fought off the urge and continued his sawing. The blood from his finger made the arrowhead sticky in his hand and easier to grip. He renewed his attack on the rope and finally the arrowhead completely severed the rope and Gerard was able to wriggle his hands free and remove the rope around his ankles. Quickly and without any unnecessary motion he reached into his back pocket and removed his reserve supply of bubble gum, which he was at no time without.

Keeping his eyes fixed on Mr. 5, Gerard silently unwrapped the gum, then removed the handkerchief from his mouth and shoved the entire package into his mouth. His well-practiced jaws fought against the stiffness of the gum but it was taking too long. Mr. 88 had reached the double doors. He pressed a red button on the wall, causing the doors to fold slowly inward.

The long black car with tinted windows was idling just outside the entrance. Inside it, Jough’s right foot was poised over the gas pedal, twitching slightly in anticipation.

“Are you sure about this?” asked Maggie.

“Piece of cake,” said Jough. “But just in case, hold on!”

Jough’s foot came down hard on the gas pedal and the car screeched forward, pinning Maggie against the back of her seat.

“What on earth is that idiot doing?” said Mr. 5.

The car sped right toward Mr. 207, forcing him to dive to the ground to avoid being run over. The car skidded to a halt right next to Mr. 5, who, by now, was voicing his displeasure with Mr. 29’s driving abilities with words that you might commonly find written in spray paint on a condemned building.

As Mr. 5 continued to curse and yell, the driver’s-side door flew open, knocking Mr. 5 backward to the ground. He screamed in pain, then rolled over and pulled the hypodermic needle from his thigh.

“Uh-oh.”

Jough and Maggie jumped out of the car and ran to their father. Mr. 88 stood in shock, like someone who has taken a bite of what he thought was chocolate ice cream but was actually liver paté. He fully expected to see Mr. 29 emerge from the car, not Jough and Maggie.

He pulled his gun and ran toward them. He was halfway there when Gerard removed the wad of gum from his mouth and tossed it into the path of the sprinting gunman. The gum hit the floor just as Mr. 88’s shoe clamped down on it and, when it was time for that shoe to leave the floor again so Mr. 88 could continue running, the pink goo held it in place just long enough to send Mr. 88 belly-flopping onto the smooth, hard concrete. The air left his lungs like someone popping an inflated paper sack and his gun skimmed across the slick surface of the floor like a hockey puck.

Mr. Cheeseman, his hands still tied behind his back, was being helped into the backseat of the car by Jough and Maggie when Gerard ran toward them.

“There’s Gerard,” said Jough. “Come on, get in!”

Gerard tumbled into the backseat with his father while Jough and Maggie scrambled into the front.

“Good work, Gerard,” said Maggie.

“It’s all because of my lucky arrowhead,” said Gerard, proudly displaying the sharp and bloodied stone before turning his attention to his father’s tied hands. As he began to carve away at the knots with the arrowhead, Jough hit the gas, snapping Gerard’s head back as the car lurched forward.

“Hey!” said Steve. “Take it easy.”

It would soon be apparent to Steve and everyone else in the car that Jough had no intention of taking it anything close to easy. He hit the brakes and sliced the wheel sharply to the left just as he had seen his father do. The car spun around a complete 180 degrees to face the open door of the ware house.

“Nice move, Jough,” said Mr. Cheeseman.

No time to reply, Jough leveled all his weight on the gas pedal and the car screeched toward daylight.

“Shut that door!” screamed Mr. 5, climbing to his feet. “I steal forks from restaurants! Ahhhh!” Mr. 5 smacked himself in the temple, trying to knock the potent dose of True Blue from his brain.

Mr. 88 got to his feet and ran toward the red button on the wall, his shoes slipping desperately on the smooth concrete.

“Hurry, Jough,” yelled Maggie as Mr. 88 smacked the button on the wall and the large doors began to close. The beam of sunshine from the outside world grew smaller and smaller as the car sped toward the shrinking exit.

“We’re not going to make it!” screamed Gerard.

Maggie hid her face in her hands. Gerard hugged Steve tightly. Mr. Cheeseman winced and prepared for the worst. Jough grit his teeth and pushed harder on the gas pedal, even though it couldn’t possibly go any farther without breaking through the floor of the car.

The front of the long black car shot through the narrowing exit just as the large heavy doors came together, sandwiching the back of the car with the grotesque sound of metal being crushed, crumpled, squished, mashed, smashed, smooshed, and pulverized. The car came to a sudden and violent stop, though its wheels continued to turn.

Jough kept pressing on the gas pedal but the car was firmly in the grasp of the heavy steel doors and the tires just spun on the concrete floor, giving off a terrible noise and a noxious black smoke.

“Everybody out!” yelled Jough in his take-charge voice. The doors flew open and everyone piled out. “This way.”

Jough ran toward the chain-link fence and the others followed. They leaped over Mr. 29, still lying unconscious, a baseball-sized lump on his forehead. Gerard had not had time to free Mr. Cheeseman’s hands, and he struggled to keep up.