Spring-Heeled Jack (6 page)

“
Clayton, please!” Mrs.
Nelson gave Atticus a weak smile and shook his hand. “Please excuse
my husband, he’s just very upset. We all are. My name is
Pearl.”

“
It’s an honor,
ma’am.”

Atticus then felt his stomach leap
into his throat. He wanted to ask them all sorts of questions about
the locket and if they happened to know his parents, but he
couldn’t. It was as if his mouth went dry in just a second. Atticus
swallowed hard and then looked up at Mike’s father, extending his
hand once more.

Clayton had such a presence about him.
He was intimidating and Atticus knew that this man meant business.
He felt like this man was what Professor Varnum wanted to be, but
instead he was just a weasel-y old history professor.

“
Atticus, huh?” Through his
goggles, Atticus could feel the man’s glare. “My name is Dr.
Clayton Nelson.” He reached out and shook Atticus’ hand.

“
P-Pleased to meet you,
sir.” Atticus and Dr. Nelson lowered their arms, and before Atticus
could regain his composure, the two began to leave. He knew that
this could be the last time he’d get to ask them any questions. He
had to make it count. Quickly, Atticus ran up to them and cut them
off. “Please, really quick, can I ask you some
questions?”

Mrs. Nelson gave Atticus a somber
look. “Please, not now. We would really like some time
alone.”

“
It’ll only take a
moment.”

Dr. Nelson turned back and ripped his
goggles off; allowing him to look Atticus dead in the eyes. “Didn’t
you hear the lady? She said not now you dreadful little
ankle-biter!”

The man’s eyes were a powerful green.
The same color as his suit. Atticus felt his heart beat violently
in his chest. His hand trembled and he felt sweat trickle down his
neck. He had such a hard time imagining this loud and boisterous
man as quiet and introverted Mike’s father.

“
I-I’m sorry,” Atticus said
quietly.

Dr. Nelson scoffed and quickly turned
away. “They say all publicity is good publicity, but all my son’s
death has gotten me is this harassment.”

“
Clayton, please! Let’s go.”
Dr. Nelson stormed out of the station, his wife not far
behind.

Atticus was frozen. He’d never frozen
up like that. The feeling in his chest when he talked to the
Nelsons wasn’t something he particularly enjoyed. However, one
thing rand in the back of his head. “All my son’s death has gotten
me?”

Brock leapt up off the bench and ran
to Atticus. “Are you okay? You look like you’re going to have a
heart attack.”

Atticus nodded and said, “I’m fine,
but a little confused.”

Just then, the receptionist tapped on
the glass. “Young man, I just got the message on your
locket.”

That snapped him out of it. Atticus
quickly darted back to the receptionist’s window. “Did you find
it?”

The receptionist shook her head.
“We’re sorry, but they couldn’t find it in evidence and as far as
the records show, no one has turned one in.”

Atticus’ face fell and he said,
“That’s okay. I’m sure I’ll find it somewhere on campus.” He
thanked the woman for her time and then turned back to
Brock.

He had a look of defeat plastered on
his face. He couldn’t find Mike’s locket and he botched his
attempts to get any information out of the Nelsons. The only thing
he got was some exercise.

However, Atticus couldn’t shake the
feeling Dr. Nelson gave him. The way he talked about his son’s
death didn’t seem like the way a grieving father would behave.
Relating to publicity and acting as if he was supposed to get
something in return; How he treated the police staff and what he
said about Detective McCloud. It didn’t sit well with
him.

Brock smiled and patted Atticus on the
back. “Hey now, don’t go beating yourself up.”

Atticus sighed. He knew Brock was
right, but he just felt so miserable. He wanted to put on his big
boy detective pants, but he was just too cowardly.

He got a glimpse of the clock at the
far end of the room: 4:42. He had eighteen minutes before he was to
meet Camila at the Turtle Dragon.

“
Say, would you like to grab
some food,” he asked.

Brock was a bit taken back by Atticus’
sudden shift, but he nodded. “Sure. Why not.”

The Turtle Dragon was one of Las
Vegas’ most popular casinos and that’s because it was one of the
few places that allowed students and minors to come in and relax.
It doubled as a soda shoppe and because it was so close to so many
schools, it was easy for students to stop by after
class.

Now, that’s not to say that was the
only reason for its success. It was a marvelous work of
architecture. The Turtle Dragon was owned by an older Chinese
couple with a desire to spread a positive image of their culture
across the U.S. Sadly, the Las Vegas chamber of commerce feared
that it would be a bit too bland, so they asked them to up the
décor. As a result: it became a bit stereotypical, but people loved
it none the less.

The entrance resembled the head of a
giant golden dragon and all around the exterior were decorative red
and black turtles. Flashing plasma lights decorated the building to
make it stand out from the other casinos and restaurants nearby,
but it’s big attention getter was that the dragon head would shoot
fire straight into the air from its nostrils every so
often.

But that was just the outside. Inside,
the casino was split into its two halves: the gambler’s hall and
the soda shoppe. The gambler’s hall was littered with slot machines
of all shapes and sizes. Card tables with Chinese characters
painted onto the trim in gold paint littered the area. Chugging
along the walls was a small steam train designed to look like a
small dragon that would occasionally bellow steam, and patrolling
the floor were small clockwork horses that would pick up any loose
trash left behind by patrons.

The soda shoppe was just as highly
decorated as the rest of the casino, however it was geared to a
much younger audience. The music of Nat King Cole, Elvis Presley,
and Frank Sinatra filled the dining area; the walls were ornamented
with photographs and portraits of famous actors and celebrities:
Marilyn Monroe, Humphrey Bogart, Dean Martin, and Audrey Hepburn as
opposed to the traditional Chinese decorations.

However, the
pièce de résistance
was a
colossal cylindrical drink fountain in the center of the room. But,
what made this fountain so special was that it was fully automated
and you got to watch the machine make your drink before your very
eyes. Normally, a clerk would have to make your drink for you, but
for just a quarter, the machine would construct your drink and
you’d get to watch all the gears and arms make it with pinpoint
accuracy. Was it a bit unnecessary? Most likely, but was it a
delight to watch? Most definitely.

As the two made their way into the
shoppe, Atticus spotted Camila sitting at a table by herself, her
nose crammed in a book. He made his way to join her, but Brock
abruptly stopped him.

“
Whoa, you said you were
meeting a friend to help study.”

“
Yeah, I am.”

“
Camila Valencia? She’s our
valedictorian!” Atticus shrugged. Brock smirked and said, “Y’know,
I could leave if you don’t want me around.”

“
Why would you think that,”
Atticus asked. “Do you not like her?” Brock laughed and slapped
Atticus on the shoulder. Atticus stared at him confused but decided
to laugh alongside of him.

The two made way to the table. About
halfway, Camila looked up and her face beamed with delight. She
jumped up and waved to Atticus who awkwardly smiled and waved
back.

“
Sorry we’re a little late,”
he said.

“
We?” Atticus gestured to
Brock who did his best imitation of Atticus’ silly wave. “Oh, I’m
sorry, I thought it would just be the two of us.”

Brock laughed again and said, “I told
you so! I’ll leave you two be.”

“
N-No, it’s okay,” Atticus
stammered. He had to think quickly. What would Brock say if he was
in his position right now? “I-I’m helping tutor Brock in history as
well.”

Brock glared at him wickedly. He
snorted and turned back to Camila, a wide smile plastered across
his face.

“
Yeah, sorry, my history
grade is in the toilet and I asked Atticus if he could
help.”

“
Oh, okay.” Camila looked
down at the table disheartened.

“
It’ll be okay,” Atticus
assured. “Why don’t we get some food and then we can get down to
studying.”

Brock rested his face in his hands and
shook his head. “You’re so clueless.”

The tree sat down and ordered their
food from a little device that looked a bit like a typewriter at
the end of the table. It was a wonderful little thing: you punched
in your order exactly the way you wanted it, and a little receipt
would print out. Then, a waiter would come by, snag it, take it to
the kitchen, and then once the cooks were all done preparing it,
the waiters would bring it right to the table. No hassle. No
mix-ups.

“
So, Camila,” Brock said,
“what’s your deal? You’re our class valedictorian right? So why do
you need help in history? Don’t you already get A’s?”

“
Getting A’s isn’t the
point. I’m actually not all that smart,” she said. “In our history
class, I was the last one to finish the exam. That’s how I’ve
always been.” She sighed and said, “my papa used to call me
‘Señorita Tortuga’ when I was little.”

“
Mrs. Turtle,” Atticus
said.

Camila nodded. “I’m surprised you knew
that, Atticus.”

“
I learned a bit of Spanish
from my mom,” he said.

“
Hold on a minute,” Brock
chimed in, “you just want to be faster at being
smarter?”

She shrugged and said, “I
guess.”

“
Talk about a try hard,”
Brock scoffed.

“
Hey, no need to be rude,”
Atticus said. “People think in all sorts of ways. Some faster than
others.”

“
Easy for you to say,” Brock
said. “Mister detective over here thinking at the speed of
light.”

Atticus blushed.

Camila looked at Atticus. “What’s do
you mean, detective?”

“
You know, like an
investigator,” he said. “That’s what I’m studying for. I want to
join the police force as a detective.”

“
Oh, that’s great,” Camila
said smiling. “So does that mean you’re like Sherlock Holmes? Are
you really good at riddles?”

Brock smiled and smacked Atticus on
the back. “This boy here is brilliant with puzzles,” he said. “No
hints or help required.”

Atticus blushed. “I’m not that
good.”

“
Stop being so humble,”
Brock teased. “It’s okay to take pride and show off every now and
again, you wuss.”

“
I don’t think so,” Camila
said. “I think it’s far more satisfying when someone humble beats a
braggart.”

Brock nodded and said, “I guess you’re
right. Nose rubbing is way more satisfying.”

Camila shook her head and turned to
Atticus. “So, if you really are good, answer this: What’s red and
smells like blue paint?”

“
Red paint,” Atticus said
with a smirk. “Was that it?”

“
No, that was a test.”
Camila gave Atticus a sinister smile. “How about this: Thirty white
horses on a red hill. First they chatter, then they stamp, they
shiver, then they stand still. These horses, what are
they?”

Atticus pursed his lips and steepled
his fingers. Dozens of answers flew through his head. He took every
word into consideration: white, horse, thirty, red, hill, chatter,
stamp, shiver. A proper riddle has every word matter. For a moment,
Atticus thought he was stumped, but that thought didn’t last
long.

“
White on a red hill,” he
said. “Chattering and shivering? They’re teeth.”

Camila’s mouth fell agape. “I don’t
believe it. You got that so quickly.”

“
I told you so,” Brock said.
“He’s the best.”

Atticus felt the blood rush to his
cheeks. “Enough about me,” he said. “What about you Camila? What do
you want to do after graduating?”

She blushed and sank into her seat.
“To be honest, I’m still not sure yet.”

“
Geez, so picky,” Brock
teased.

Camila sighed. “My parents want me to
go into the sciences: plasma or steam. But, I don’t know if that’s
what I want to do.”

“
Well, what do you like
doing,” Atticus asked.

Camila shrugged. “I like to
read.”

Brock nodded and asked, “What are some
of your skills?”

“
Memorization,” she said
instantly. Camila pulled out her book,
Treasure Island
, and passed it to
Atticus. “I have a photographic memory. Not metaphorically, but
literally. I remember everything in that book.”