The Candy Shop War, Vol. 2: Arcade Catastrophe (11 page)

“Pretty much,” Pigeon replied, worried that he had said too much.

“I could help,” Lindy said, her eyes lighting up. “You need help earning tickets.”

“Lindy, no,” Pigeon said. “Please. Your dad would kill me if I got you involved. I trusted you by telling you. Don’t betray that by getting us busted.”

“He won’t know,” she promised. “I’ll be sneaky.”

“It could be extra dangerous for you,” Pigeon said, his mind racing. “We don’t know where you came from, but we suspect your origins must be magical. I mean, your memory was wiped, and we found you at Mrs. White’s. Nobody wants you exposed to magical bad guys.”

Lindy regarded Pigeon thoughtfully. “You guys are going there tomorrow?”

“Right when it opens at nine,” Pigeon said.

“Don’t stress,” Lindy said with resignation. “I won’t crash the party.” She reached out and rubbed Pigeon’s shoulder. “Thanks for trusting me. I appreciate it. I won’t let you down.”

“Okay. Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

“You were great. I should go. You need your rest.”

“Good night, Lindy.”

“Good night.”

Chapter Seven

Odd Hours

Hunched over a rifle at the shooting gallery, Nate chewed his fourth stick of Peak Performance gum since entering the arcade. When the doors had opened at nine, he, Trevor, Summer, and Pigeon had wasted no time getting started.

By his third consecutive stick of Peak Performance, Nate could feel the effects waning. The light games were getting tougher to freeze at the right time, and he could no longer break the high scores on basketball, Skee-Ball, or the football tossing game. But if he took his time, he could still hit all ten of the far targets at the shooting gallery.

The arcade workers had made some adjustments since last night. Shooting Stars remained out of order, as was a high-paying game where the player spun a huge wheel. The shooting gallery jackpot for the ten far targets had been reduced to 250 tickets. When the ten farthest targets were hit, sirens no longer indicated that anything unusual had happened. Nate saw the lack of attention as a good thing, although he lamented losing the huge payout. Still, 250 tickets remained very attractive when you could claim them every turn.

Nate was sighting through the window at the star when a hand came down on the back of his neck. He accidentally pulled the trigger and missed the shot. Disgruntled, he looked up to find Roman standing over him.

“You’re swimming in tickets,” Roman said.

Nate had won the shooting game nine times in a row, which meant 2250 tickets were currently snarled around him on the ground. “I got a hot tip about the gallery.”

“You have a weird way of thanking me,” Roman said. “It’s barely ten and the records are all worse than yesterday. Didn’t you hear what I told you?”

“We upped them little by little,” Nate assured him. “We started right when they opened. We never beat the basketball records by more than three points. We usually only won by one or two.”

“They’re already so high!” Roman complained. “You would have had to raise them every try.”

“It happened pretty quickly,” Nate admitted. “A few of us were working at it.”

Roman shook his head, clearly frustrated. “My day is shot. Without records to beat, earning tickets will be a pain. How many have you won this morning?”

Nate hesitated to answer. “Lots. Over 8,000.”

“In an hour?”

“I had a hot streak.”

Roman shook his head, trying not to let his irritation show. “You’ve obviously got the shooting gallery figured out. Did you snag the jackpot?”

“Yesterday.”

“Unbelievable.”

“They reset the prize. It pays 250 now if you hit all the far targets on one turn.”

“What was the prize yesterday?”

“Twenty-five hundred.”

Roman made a low whistle. “You’re raking them in faster than anyone I’ve seen.”

“It’s going all right,” Nate said.

Roman sighed. “Congrats. I better go start playing. Tomorrow I’ll make sure to come when the doors open.” He walked off.

Nate could tell Roman wasn’t happy, and he felt a little bad about it. He knew Roman was excited to earn a stamp, and the process would be slower while the records stayed high. But in a way they were doing him a favor. Roman didn’t know what he was getting himself into. The perks that came with the stamp would be cool, but there would be strings attached. Bad people were running this arcade. People who had taken down John Dart. The deeper Roman got involved, the greater the danger he would face.

Nate settled back in and started shooting targets again. He hit all of the far targets three times in succession before somebody cleared their throat behind him. Nate looked up, recognizing Cleon.

“You couldn’t resist?”

“We’re not cheating,” Nate replied. “We have the same right to play as anyone else. You guys set the rules. It’s not our fault if we’re good.”

“Gather your tickets,” Cleon said. “The director wants to have a chat.”

“Are we in a movie?”

“The director of the arcade, smart guy.”

“Why does the director get to chat with me?” Nate resisted. “Is he a police officer? Are you? Am I under arrest for winning tickets?”

Cleon leaned closer. “You’re in her arcade. You’re on her property. If you wish to continue playing here, you’ll have a talk with her.”

Cleon awaited a response. If this would provide a chance to meet the person running the arcade, Nate supposed he should play along. It might give him the knowledge the Battiatos needed. Then again, he might end up disappearing just like John and Mozag.

Nate noticed Pigeon watching him from not too far off. Trevor was observing from across the room. His friends could call in the Battiatos if he disappeared. Besides, who knew what Cleon might do if Nate tried to run? The man currently had the air of a disgruntled bouncer.

“I’ll come,” Nate said, collecting his tickets.

“Good choice,” Cleon replied, kneeling to help.

*****

Trevor watched Cleon lead Nate away from the shooting gallery. He kept one hand in his pocket, fingering the Shock Bits hidden inside. At the first sign of any struggle, he was ready to spit out his gum and replace it with the electrifying candy.

Summer walked up to Nate and Cleon with a camera and blatantly snapped a picture of them together. Shaking his head slightly, Cleon gave her an amused smirk as he walked past her. She returned his attention with an innocent grin. Trevor thought it was a smart move. With Cleon knowing she had photographic evidence, he would think twice before letting Nate come to harm.

Nate seemed to go along willingly. Trevor followed until they passed through a nondescript door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY.

Pigeon came up beside him. “What should we do?”

“I want the Battiatos ready to move,” Trevor said. “You have the other walkie-talkie?”

“Yeah.”

“Keep an eye on that door. Call if anything happens. And watch my tickets.”

“Got it.”

Trevor handed over his tickets to Pigeon. Summer approached as Trevor headed to the door.

“You’re telling them?” she asked.

Trevor nodded. “Help Pidge keep watch.”

On his way out, Trevor noticed a girl staring at him. She looked to be in her older teens or early twenties. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail. She wore a blue Arcadeland work apron and was sweeping debris into a dustpan attached to a pole. Her glance moved past him as Trevor returned the eye contact. She had a slight build—fairly short and quite slender.

Trevor ignored her until he reached the doors to the outside. As he pushed through, he glanced over and saw her watching him again.

Only after reaching the Arcadeland parking lot did Trevor realize that he wasn’t sure where the Battiatos could be found. He scanned the lot for a white van, then tried the street, but saw neither a van nor any sign of the husky twins.

Trevor crossed the mostly vacant parking lot to the street. Gazing up and down the sidewalk, Trevor saw plenty of vehicles, but no van and no twins. He started paying more attention to the surrounding rooftops and businesses. Where were they? Could they see him?

A plain white van pulled around a corner a couple of blocks down the street. Trevor watched as it pulled over to the side of the road. It was still well over a block away. They were probably worried about being spotted by Arcadeland employees.

Trevor walked briskly to the van. When he arrived, the side door opened and he climbed inside.

Ziggy sat at the wheel. Victor had opened the door.

“Trouble?” Victor asked.

“Cleon took Nate through a door marked for employees,” Trevor explained.

“Did Nate go willingly?” Ziggy asked.

“Seemed like it,” Trevor said. “Summer and Pigeon are still watching the door. Pigeon has a walkie-talkie.” Trevor held up his.

“I wonder what they’re up to?” Victor mused.

“They noticed the kids earning tickets too easily,” Ziggy said simply. “These guys are players. No player likes getting played.”

“This could help us,” Victor replied, his large fist bumping against his forehead. “Nate could learn something.”

“The kid could be in trouble,” Ziggy said.

“We need to be ready to act,” Victor said.

“I’m worried about him,” Trevor said.

Ziggy and Victor gazed at each other.

“Should we get ready?” Ziggy asked.

“Sure, just in case,” Victor replied.

“My turn, right?”

“Your turn.”

Victor bowed his head. He started to sag. His coat was fitting looser. Trevor watched Victor’s hand transform, the fingers getting subtly shorter and slimmer while the back of the hand expanded slightly, swelling with fat.

When Victor raised his head, Trevor gasped. Victor’s cheeks drooped flabbily. His eyelids seemed heavier, the creases around his mouth more pronounced. Blubbery jowls dangled unhealthily. Despite his looking fatter and older, his clothes seemed baggy, as if he had shrunk. Victor had wilted from robust to sickly in a matter of seconds.

“That’s the stuff,” Ziggy said from the driver’s seat, his voice heartier. He turned and gave Trevor a cocky smile. His face appeared more chiseled and masculine. Not only did he look younger, but his neck bulged with muscle, new veins suddenly prominent. He loosened his tie, apparently trying to accommodate his thicker build.

“You good?” Victor asked, his voice a bit wheezy.

“That’s plenty,” Ziggy answered. “Any more and I’ll pop the seams on this suit.”

“What just happened?” Trevor asked. He had an idea, but he wanted confirmation.

“Victor loaned me some of his vitality,” Ziggy said. “I gained a few inches in height, a bunch of muscle, more endurance—the works. Sometimes one really strong guy is preferable to a pair of pretty strong guys.”

“It leaves me feeling wiped out,” Victor said. “Not completely worthless, but certainly worth less.”

“We take turns,” Ziggy explained. “He got to be superhuman last time.”

“It’s the only fair way,” Victor said.

“This is in case we need to take action?” Trevor asked.

“You’re catching on,” Ziggy said with a wink. “I kind of hope Pigeon calls.”

“No you don’t,” Victor said. “It would mean Nate is in trouble.”

“I don’t mean the kid any harm,” Ziggy apologized. “You know how it is, Vic. I itch to be in motion. I feel like a sports car in the slow lane. I want to run, climb, maybe knock some heads together.”

“Patience,” Victor said. “Nate might be acquiring important intelligence. We wait for the call.”

*****

Cleon escorted Nate to an office, opened the door, and stepped aside. Nate entered. The door closed behind him. Cleon had not followed him in.

An Asian woman sat behind a large desk, typing on a laptop. The office was nothing fancy. A bulletin board on one wall displayed shift schedules along with some charts and graphs. Piles of paperwork cluttered the desk, spread among a few knickknacks, including a tiny hula girl and a fancy snow globe. Two chairs were positioned in front of the desk, facing the woman.

“Are you the director?” Nate asked.

She held up one finger, eyes down, still typing briskly with one hand. Her fingers rattled against the keyboard so quickly that Nate wondered if she might be typing nonsense. Then she looked up, stood, and smiled. Her hair was short and tidy. She was fairly tall. She wore a blouse with a blazer over it.

“I’m Katie Sung,” she said professionally, extending a hand to Nate over the desk.

Nate stepped forward and shook it. Her skin felt cool, her grip limp. He noticed that her nails were short.

“I’m Nate.”

“Nathan Sutter,” she agreed. “Have a seat.” She indicated one of the chairs.

Surprised and perplexed that she knew his full name, Nate sat down. “You own this place?”

“I wish,” she said, her smile widening. She sat. “I’m the director here, appointed by the owner.”

“Am I under arrest?”

“A peculiar question. Should you be under arrest?”

“Not unless it’s illegal to be good at arcade games.”

Her smile faltered. She brushed her fingertips together. “Uncommonly good. Your friends too. Supernaturally good. Are you chewing gum?”