Fort (15 page)

It was epic.

Eventually we went back to the fort, where we passed my phone back and forth to look again at the picture of J.R. and Morrie. Then we took some shots of us goofing around by The Pink Palace sign. Then we built up the fire and sat around eating and reliving every minute of Operation Doom.

Finally, we got quiet and sat staring happily into the dying embers of the fire.

Suddenly Gerard spoke. “This is the best night of Gerard's whole life.”

“Mine, too,” I said.

“Totally,” said Augie.

 

20

We had a bunch of stuff to clean up in the morning, but we didn't care. It was actually kind of fun, because every empty bucket, every piece of fishing line, and every popped balloon reminded us of our triumph over the forces of evil.

It was fun, that is, until we came to Herkimer.

Or what was left of Herkimer.

“Aw, man,” said Augie, picking up Herkimer's body from the ground, which was strewn with feathers. He held up the partially flattened owl. “Somebody stomped on him.”

One foot had snapped and was dangling limply from Herkimer's leg. His wings were bent and broken looking. The feathers that remained were covered in dirt.

Augie stared with disbelief at the thing in his hand.

I unhooked the head from where it hung from the wire, bobbing gently at the end of its rubber band. An eye was missing, and the beak was twisted to one side. It looked like the head of a grotesque bride with Aunt Hilda's nightgown trailing behind for a veil.

I didn't need to say it: a little superglue was
not
going to make Herkimer as good as new.

Not even close.

Gerard, looking sorrowful, took the body from Augie and patted it soothingly, the same way he did with his squirrel tail and rabbit's foot.

Augie was close to tears. “What am I going to tell Unk?” he moaned.

“We'll just have to tell him what happened,” I said. “I'll go with you.”

He nodded, but he didn't look any happier. I wasn't feeling too great about it myself.

We finished up, then stood around putting off the moment when we had to go see Unk.

“Let's just get it over with,” I told Augie. “Better than sitting around here all day worrying about it anyway.”

“Yeah,” said Augie mournfully. “I know.”

Gerard called his mother to say we were leaving. He began nodding his head enthusiastically, and I guessed she had asked him a question. He was nodding his answer, not thinking about how she couldn't see him over the phone. She must have asked again because then he said, “It was the best night of Gerard's whole life!”

Augie and I laughed. Whatever Unk was going to do to us on account of wrecking Herkimer, it had been worth it.

Nobody was around when we got to Al's. We waited for Mrs. DeMuth to come for Gerard, and told her how awesome her fried chicken was.

“I don't think J.R. and Morrie will be bothering Gerard anymore,” I told her as we put the cooler and Gerard's stuff into the backseat of her car.

“If they
do
,” added Augie, “you be sure to let us know.”

“Be on your guard,” Gerard shouted loudly, “'cause I am Gerard!”

“You bet you are,” Augie and I said together.

We waved goodbye and were ready to grab our bikes when Al appeared at the door to his office. His clothes were rumpled and his hair—or what he had left of it anyway—was sticking out all over the place, and he was rubbing his eyes, as if he'd just gotten up.

“Hey, Al,” we called.

“What's going on?” Augie asked.

“Nothin' much,” Al said as he tucked in his shirttails.

“You look like you just got out of bed,” said Augie.

Al turned and gestured into the office. “Do you see a bed in there?”

“Well, what I meant was, you look like you were asleep.”

“What are you, my boss, busting me for sleeping on the job?”

Augie looked confused. “So you
were
asleep,” he said.

“Is there a law says I can't?”

Now Augie looked bewildered. “No. I was just—Never mind. Um … Unk's not here, is he?”

“You think I'm hiding him under the bed that isn't here either?” Al asked.

We were all quiet for a minute. Augie and I looked at each other. I knew he was thinking the same thing I was: What was Al so grouchy about?

Finally, Al broke the silence, asking casually, “Everything go okay last night?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Great,” said Augie.

Al nodded. “Good. Now get outta here.”

And suddenly I knew. Al
had
been asleep. He'd spent the night in his office so he'd be nearby in case anything went wrong. Maybe that was why he'd given us the bullhorn, so we could call for help. I was pretty sure the reason he was acting so grumpy was because he didn't want us to guess what he'd been up to.

I couldn't help smiling. The fact that it appeared Al had slept through the whole thing wasn't what mattered. What mattered was that he'd been there.

“Hey, Al,” I said. “Guess what? We found out who burned down your shed, and it wasn't Gerard.”

“No kiddin'?” he said. “Who?” Then he put it all together. “Those two
stronzos
?”

“Yep,” Augie and I both said together. We told him the whole story.

“I shoulda known,” muttered Al, shaking his head angrily. “Ya know what? Burning my shed—that's arson, by the way—that's crummy enough. But what really blisters my butt is the way they blamed it on that poor kid.”

He thought for a moment. “Truth is, I was actually happy to get rid of that old thing. Them burning it saved me the trouble of knockin' it down and cartin' it away.”

Then he laughed. “But ya think I'm gonna let
them
know that? Not on your great-grandma's girdle.”

He smiled evilly. “They think they've gotten away with something? Well, guess what? Just 'cause your buddy Gerard is keeping his mouth shut doesn't mean
I
am.” He pointed to his big barrel chest as he said this.

“I think later today I'll be having a little talk with those kids' parents about the very valuable building their sons destroyed on my property, and the work they're going to have to do for me to pay off the damage.”

Al looked at Augie and me and nodded with satisfaction at his plan. “Ya mess with Al Juliano and ya find out what it means to mess with fire, am I right?”

“Absolutely,” we agreed.

 

21

Then it was time to face the music. Glumly, Augie put his backpack, which held the battered parts of Herkimer, into the basket of his bike, and we rode to the Heindels' house.

Aunt Hilda came to the door, and we told her we needed to talk to Unk. She led us back to the bathroom, where he was busy painting, a brush in his hand and a roller sitting in a tray by the sink.

“Lemon Zest,” he said gloomily, pointing the brush at the bright yellow walls. “With Summer Sunset trim.”

I felt sorry for him. “It looks nice,” I said.

“Yeah, nice,” said Augie.

“So what's up?” Unk asked. “How did it go with J.R. and Morrie?”

“Oh, yes!” said Aunt Hilda, her eyes sparkling. “Did you teach those boys a lesson?”

Taking turns, we told them the whole story—well, not actually the whole story, not at first. We told them all the good parts: about the different booby traps, and about Gerard, and how he'd been blamed for the fire but didn't do it, and how he scared off J.R. and Morrie. Unk got a big kick out of hearing how well his paint buckets had worked, and Aunt Hilda loved hearing how Morrie got doused with her perfume. I showed them the picture on my phone.

Augie had so far avoided mentioning Herkimer, and I took my cue from him. I figured he would, once he'd worked up his courage.

Aunt Hilda said, “So did that nightie of mine come in handy?”

I waited to see what Augie would say.

“It worked great!” he answered, without thinking. Then, realizing it was time, he hung his head and his voice got low. “Well, actually … there's something I've got to tell you about that.”

As Augie talked, I looked down at the floor, which was covered with a paint-spattered tarp. I know it was chicken of me, but they were going to be angry or, at the very least, disappointed in us, and I didn't want to see it on their faces until I had to.

When he'd finished, Augie opened his backpack and put the two parts of Herkimer's remains on the countertop next to the sink. The lone yellow glass eye seemed to be glaring right at me. The body, squashed and broken and patchy with missing feathers, looked like roadkill.

There was a long silence while Unk and Aunt Hilda took in the gruesome sight.

Finally, Unk made a funny croak in his throat. I think he was trying to say, “Herkimer.” Then he swallowed hard. “I-I-” he stuttered, then said softly, “I don't know what to say.”

“Well, I do!” declared Aunt Hilda. “I'm sorry, Heinie. I know you loved that nasty, disgusting old bird, but I've wanted it out of my attic for years.”

Unk looked again at the two mangled parts of his beloved owl and sighed deeply. Then he handed Augie his paintbrush. He gave me the roller. “When you've finished here,” he said, “I imagine Hilda can come up with another room that needs painting.”

Augie and I watched as he left the room, his shoulders sagging.

“Gosh, Aunt Hilda,” said Augie. “I feel really bad about this.”

“Me, too,” I said.

“Oh, don't you boys worry,” said Aunt Hilda. “I'll bake him some snickerdoodles and he'll cheer up in no time.” She smiled naughtily and whispered, “Meanwhile, I'm so grateful to you boys, I just don't know how to thank you!”

I didn't know about Augie, but I had an idea of how she could thank me. And, amazingly, it happened, just as I had imagined it would. Smiling, Aunt Hilda reached out, clasped me in her arms, and hugged me tightly to her in a warm, pillowy, floral-scented embrace that I'm sure I will remember for the rest of my life.

 

So that's it: the 100 percent true story about Augie and me and our fort and the best summer vacation I ever had.

I called Augie last night to see how everybody's doing, and he said good. He told me J.R. and Morrie have been real quiet. They haven't bothered him at all. Or Gerard either. I guess Al's been keeping them busy working at the junkyard.

Mostly we talked about what we'll do next summer. We've already come up with a plan. Somebody ditched an old boat at the junkyard when Al wasn't there. Al says it's a worthless old wormbox, but Augie's pretty sure we can fix it up.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cynthia DeFelice
is the author of many bestselling books, including
The Ghost of Fossil Glen
,
Signal
,
The Missing Manatee
, and
Weasel
. Her books have been nominated for an Edgar Allan Poe Award and listed as American Library Association Notable Children's Books and Bank Street Best Children's Books of the Year, among numerous other honors. She lives in upstate New York. You can sign up for email updates
here
.

 

ALSO BY
Cynthia DeFelice

The Strange Night Writing of Jessamine Colter

Weasel

Devil's Bridge

The Light on Hogback Hill

Lostman's River

The Apprenticeship of Lucas Whitaker

The Ghost of Fossil Glen

Nowhere to Call Home

Death at Devil's Bridge

The Ghost and Mrs. Hobbs

Under the Same Sky

The Ghost of Cutler Creek

The Missing Manatee

Bringing Ezra Back

The Ghost of Poplar Point

Signal

Wild Life

 

Thank you for buying this

Farrar Straus Giroux ebook.

 

To receive special offers, bonus content,

and info on new releases and other great reads,

sign up for our newsletters.