The Candy Shop War
Page 21
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“Yes,” Nate mouthed, making no sound. He waved an arm instead.
“I guess you can’t talk,” Trevor said.
Nate made an okay sign with his fingers. Trevor tied the kite string around his waist. They had decided to always keep the doll fastened to the string, in case they had to extract it hurriedly. Trevor tossed Nate through the window and lowered him to the floor.
“Nate,” Trevor said, “since you can’t talk, give the string three hard tugs when you want to come back. Until then, I’ll feed you slack and shine the light through the window.”
Although he could feel nothing, Nate found he could move pretty much like normal, right down to blinking. He ran across the room toward the corner Mrs. White had identified in the plans. The room was full of tables and displays, so he had to zigzag to reach the distant cabinet. Trevor was not tall enough to angle the flashlight beam down into the room, but enough light reflected off the roof for Nate to see fairly well.
When he arrived at the display cabinet, Nate found it was tall, with glass doors. From his ten-inch height, the cabinet looked the size of an office building. The only way in without causing damage would be to squirt the glass, but he had neglected to bring the solution.
Nate raced back the way he had come and tugged on the string. Trevor pulled him up, looking befuddled when he saw that Nate was empty-handed. Nate pointed at the window and pantomimed like he was spraying it.
“Gotcha,” Trevor said, handing Nate the plastic bottle and lowering him back into the room.
Nate raced to the cabinet. Holding the bottle under his arm like bagpipes, he squirted the window with the clear solution. The glass dissipated into nothingness.
The lowest shelf held black-and-white pictures of coal miners, a pair of work gloves, and a large chunk of some green mineral. He would have to jump to reach the next shelf. There appeared to be just enough room between the cabinet door and the shelf for Nate to squeeze up to the next level. Leaving the plastic bottle behind, Nate jumped. Dangling from the lip of the higher shelf, he hoisted himself up with no strain. As a doll he was small but surprisingly strong.
The next shelf had more pictures, a pair of old glasses, a cracked glass mug shaped like a stout man in a tricornered hat, a cigarette case, and a deck of cards. Nate leaped and caught hold of the next shelf. Kicking out a leg, he boosted himself up. Here were more pictures, a leather-bound book, and a silver pocket watch with the numbers written in Roman numerals. Excited, Nate approached the book. Despite the dimness, he could read the title embossed in gold leaf: The Collected Reflections of Hanaver Mills.
Relative to his stature as a doll, the pocket watch was about the size of a manhole cover. Nate lifted it up, surprised that he felt no strain and bore the weight easily. Setting the timepiece down, he approached the book. It was fairly thick. He picked up one end of it. The weight was not a problem, but the shape made it unwieldy at his current size.
After trying a few methods of carrying the memoir, Nate decided he would probably have more luck sliding it, and then tying the string around it to get it up and through the window to Trevor.
The first dilemma was how to get the items down from the third shelf to the floor. His thinking was suddenly interrupted by the shrill sound of a whistle blowing. “Time to go,” Trevor called in an urgent whisper. The flashlight beam wobbled as Trevor began taking in the slack of the string. Nate froze, looking from the timepiece to the book.
*****
Summer peered out of the alley, waiting impatiently. How long did it take to grab two objects from a cabinet? It seemed like Nate and Trevor had been inside the museum forever. There had been a moment of tension when they first leapt up to the roof, but the action had not attracted any attention. Since then, she had seen a couple of cars go by on Main, but otherwise the uneventful waiting was mind-numbing.
“Do you think they’re all right?” Pigeon asked, breaking the silence.
“Of course,” Summer said. “Better off than we are, sitting in some stupid alley.” Looking at Pigeon, with his dark brown skin and leather jacket, it was like she was talking to a stranger. He crept forward, scanning the street. “I wish I had a mirror,” she said. “I’d love to see the Chinese rendition of myself.”
“Police car,” Pigeon warned, withdrawing deeper into the alley and crouching down. Summer shrank into the shadows as well, flattening herself against the wall. From farther back in the alley, she could see only a narrow slice of Main Street. The police car flashed by. Summer edged forward in time to see the taillights disappearing around the curve toward Greenway.
“Now, why are you kids hiding from the cops?” said a deep, no-nonsense voice behind her. Summer and Pigeon both whirled. Pigeon squealed. A few steps away, deeper in the alley, loomed a big man in an overcoat and a brown fedora. “What are you doing here?”
“Uh, nothing,” Summer said, conscious of the Moon Rock in one hand, the Shock Bits in the other, and the whistle around her neck.
“Awful late to be hanging around a dark alley doing nothing,” the man observed. He had his hands in his coat pockets.
“We could say the same to you,” Summer said.
“I’m not doing nothing,” the man said. “I noticed you two hiding here looking guilty and it made me curious. Where are your friends?”
“Who?” Summer asked innocently.
“The other two boys you were with. The Indian kid and the redhead.”
Pigeon turned and tried to run, but the man sprang forward adroitly and seized him by the collar of his jacket. He had a big hand with thick fingers and hairy knuckles. Summer saw Pigeon stuffing the Shock Bits into his mouth, so she ran from the alley and blew hard on the whistle twice.
The man released Pigeon and chased her down the wooden sidewalk, catching up in a few long strides. He grabbed her elbow harshly in one hand and pulled the whistle off over her head with the other. Crushing the plastic whistle between his thumb and forefinger, the man hauled Summer back toward the alley. By the light of the nearest streetlamp, she could see his face better. Square jaw with a firm chin. Heavy eyebrows. Hard eyes. He was gripping her by the same arm that held the Shock Bits. She had a Moon Rock in her free hand, but didn’t see how it would help her as long as he was clutching her.
Pigeon emerged from the alley just before they reached it, fingers sparking in the darkness. The man stopped just out of reach. “Shock me, shock her,” the man said.
Pigeon furrowed his brow. The man changed his grip and swung Summer around, holding her out in front of him like a shield. “Shock me, shock him,” Summer said.
“I guess you can’t talk,” Trevor said.
Nate made an okay sign with his fingers. Trevor tied the kite string around his waist. They had decided to always keep the doll fastened to the string, in case they had to extract it hurriedly. Trevor tossed Nate through the window and lowered him to the floor.
“Nate,” Trevor said, “since you can’t talk, give the string three hard tugs when you want to come back. Until then, I’ll feed you slack and shine the light through the window.”
Although he could feel nothing, Nate found he could move pretty much like normal, right down to blinking. He ran across the room toward the corner Mrs. White had identified in the plans. The room was full of tables and displays, so he had to zigzag to reach the distant cabinet. Trevor was not tall enough to angle the flashlight beam down into the room, but enough light reflected off the roof for Nate to see fairly well.
When he arrived at the display cabinet, Nate found it was tall, with glass doors. From his ten-inch height, the cabinet looked the size of an office building. The only way in without causing damage would be to squirt the glass, but he had neglected to bring the solution.
Nate raced back the way he had come and tugged on the string. Trevor pulled him up, looking befuddled when he saw that Nate was empty-handed. Nate pointed at the window and pantomimed like he was spraying it.
“Gotcha,” Trevor said, handing Nate the plastic bottle and lowering him back into the room.
Nate raced to the cabinet. Holding the bottle under his arm like bagpipes, he squirted the window with the clear solution. The glass dissipated into nothingness.
The lowest shelf held black-and-white pictures of coal miners, a pair of work gloves, and a large chunk of some green mineral. He would have to jump to reach the next shelf. There appeared to be just enough room between the cabinet door and the shelf for Nate to squeeze up to the next level. Leaving the plastic bottle behind, Nate jumped. Dangling from the lip of the higher shelf, he hoisted himself up with no strain. As a doll he was small but surprisingly strong.
The next shelf had more pictures, a pair of old glasses, a cracked glass mug shaped like a stout man in a tricornered hat, a cigarette case, and a deck of cards. Nate leaped and caught hold of the next shelf. Kicking out a leg, he boosted himself up. Here were more pictures, a leather-bound book, and a silver pocket watch with the numbers written in Roman numerals. Excited, Nate approached the book. Despite the dimness, he could read the title embossed in gold leaf: The Collected Reflections of Hanaver Mills.
Relative to his stature as a doll, the pocket watch was about the size of a manhole cover. Nate lifted it up, surprised that he felt no strain and bore the weight easily. Setting the timepiece down, he approached the book. It was fairly thick. He picked up one end of it. The weight was not a problem, but the shape made it unwieldy at his current size.
After trying a few methods of carrying the memoir, Nate decided he would probably have more luck sliding it, and then tying the string around it to get it up and through the window to Trevor.
The first dilemma was how to get the items down from the third shelf to the floor. His thinking was suddenly interrupted by the shrill sound of a whistle blowing. “Time to go,” Trevor called in an urgent whisper. The flashlight beam wobbled as Trevor began taking in the slack of the string. Nate froze, looking from the timepiece to the book.
*****
Summer peered out of the alley, waiting impatiently. How long did it take to grab two objects from a cabinet? It seemed like Nate and Trevor had been inside the museum forever. There had been a moment of tension when they first leapt up to the roof, but the action had not attracted any attention. Since then, she had seen a couple of cars go by on Main, but otherwise the uneventful waiting was mind-numbing.
“Do you think they’re all right?” Pigeon asked, breaking the silence.
“Of course,” Summer said. “Better off than we are, sitting in some stupid alley.” Looking at Pigeon, with his dark brown skin and leather jacket, it was like she was talking to a stranger. He crept forward, scanning the street. “I wish I had a mirror,” she said. “I’d love to see the Chinese rendition of myself.”
“Police car,” Pigeon warned, withdrawing deeper into the alley and crouching down. Summer shrank into the shadows as well, flattening herself against the wall. From farther back in the alley, she could see only a narrow slice of Main Street. The police car flashed by. Summer edged forward in time to see the taillights disappearing around the curve toward Greenway.
“Now, why are you kids hiding from the cops?” said a deep, no-nonsense voice behind her. Summer and Pigeon both whirled. Pigeon squealed. A few steps away, deeper in the alley, loomed a big man in an overcoat and a brown fedora. “What are you doing here?”
“Uh, nothing,” Summer said, conscious of the Moon Rock in one hand, the Shock Bits in the other, and the whistle around her neck.
“Awful late to be hanging around a dark alley doing nothing,” the man observed. He had his hands in his coat pockets.
“We could say the same to you,” Summer said.
“I’m not doing nothing,” the man said. “I noticed you two hiding here looking guilty and it made me curious. Where are your friends?”
“Who?” Summer asked innocently.
“The other two boys you were with. The Indian kid and the redhead.”
Pigeon turned and tried to run, but the man sprang forward adroitly and seized him by the collar of his jacket. He had a big hand with thick fingers and hairy knuckles. Summer saw Pigeon stuffing the Shock Bits into his mouth, so she ran from the alley and blew hard on the whistle twice.
The man released Pigeon and chased her down the wooden sidewalk, catching up in a few long strides. He grabbed her elbow harshly in one hand and pulled the whistle off over her head with the other. Crushing the plastic whistle between his thumb and forefinger, the man hauled Summer back toward the alley. By the light of the nearest streetlamp, she could see his face better. Square jaw with a firm chin. Heavy eyebrows. Hard eyes. He was gripping her by the same arm that held the Shock Bits. She had a Moon Rock in her free hand, but didn’t see how it would help her as long as he was clutching her.
Pigeon emerged from the alley just before they reached it, fingers sparking in the darkness. The man stopped just out of reach. “Shock me, shock her,” the man said.
Pigeon furrowed his brow. The man changed his grip and swung Summer around, holding her out in front of him like a shield. “Shock me, shock him,” Summer said.
