Sammy Keyes and the Psycho Kitty Queen

by Wendelin Van Draanen

  Holly shrugged. “I thought Marissa and Dot were really cool about it today. And I know I didn't say anything.”

  “Yeah, you're right. But still. Heather's sure blown the whole thing way out of proportion.”

  We rode along without saying anything for a while, and then she asked, “So you're going to keep wearing it?”

  I glanced over at her. “Yeah, I'm going to keep wearing it!”

  Taking it off had never even crossed my mind.

  Speedy Photo uses a building that used to be a drive-through bank. And the way you get your pictures is, you go through the drive-through. And since there was no line, we just cruised around the building on our skateboards, went under the awning, up the corridor, and stopped at the window.

  “Hello,” Holly said to the lady inside. “I'm here to pick up pictures for Vera Talbrook.” She pushed the claim slip under the window, and a minute later we were ripping the package open. “Yes!” Holly cried when she saw the picture of El Gato. “It's perfect!”

  It was, too. The focus was sharp—she'd caught him with his hand on the door, and even wearing a mask, El Gato looked mighty shifty.

  “Come on!” I said. “Let's show Dave!”

  We made it back to Broadway in record time and went straight to Slammin' Dave's. We didn't bother to peek through the drapes or sneak around back, either. We just pulled open the door and went inside.

  The Blitz and Ronnie Reaper and a handful of other students were listening to Slammin' Dave give them very intense instructions. It wasn't the kind of moment you should interrupt with your Kodak snapshots, so we stood off to the side for a few minutes and watched.

  I loved the move he was showing them. He had a volunteer behind him who he drilled in the gut with his elbow, then when the guy doubled over, he whacked him in the face with the back of his fist. “You've got to move with it,” he told the group, “or you're gonna be soakin' the mat with blood.” He demonstrated again, saying, “Jab, whack! Jab, whack! See how he's moving with it?” The group nodded, so he said, “Okay! Partner up, give it a try, then switch. I want to see some motion! I want to see your pain!”

  As soon as the wrestlers started practicing, Holly and I moved closer. “Ahem,” I said. “Dave?”

  He saw me and smiled. “Triple-T! How's the moves?”

  I tried not to blush and got straight to the point. “Uh, we've got something we want to talk to you about.”

  Holly held the pack of pictures up. “And show you.”

  He spread his arms. “Talk and show away!”

  “Uh…” I looked around. I didn't see El Gato anywhere, but I sure didn't want him pouncing on us from behind. “Can we go outside?”

  He raised an eyebrow, then said, “How about we go into my office?”

  “That would work.”

  So we followed him into the same room I'd snooped around after taking the bump, and when he closed the door, he said, “So? What's so hush-hush?”

  “You know El Gato?” Holly asked.

  He sat down in a roll-around chair. “Sure …”

  Holly opened the package of pictures. “Well, he gives me the creeps.”

  Dave did a combination nod and shrug like, Yeah, so?

  “And the other night we saw him trying to break into Tornado Tony's van.”

  That made Dave sit up a whole lot straighter. “What's that?”

  “El Gato was outside pretending to have a smoke, but he was really casing Tony's van. He tried the doors, looked in the windows…”

  “You both saw this?”

  We nodded.

  “Are you sure that's what he was doing?”

  We nodded again, and Holly handed over the picture.

  “Well,” he said after studying it a minute. “No flies on you!” He looked up at Holly. “Can I have this?”

  She nodded. “Can you get rid of the guy?”

  He bit the inside of his cheek but didn't say anything.

  So I asked, “Do you know who he is?”

  He gave half a shrug. “I thought he was a determined, devoted student.”

  “But I mean when he signed up—he had to give you his real name, right? You made him sign waivers and agreements and all that kind of stuff, right?”

  He gave me a sheepish grin. “I've been known not to argue with cash.”

  “So what you're saying is … “

  He stood up. “What I'm saying is”—he wagged the picture at us—”I'll take care of things. And thanks for bringing it to my attention.”

  He was sort of hustling us out of the office, but I wasn't feeling too good about leaving just yet. “Well, don't you want to know who we think he is?”

  “And what we think he's been up to?” Holly added.

  “Uh, sure.” He opened the door and ushered us out. “But make it quick—I've got to get back to my class.”

  So real fast I start to say, “We think he's this guy who comes here who looks like a—” Only just then I glance to my right and who do I see?

  The Bulldog.

  And my mouth totally drops open, because standing right beside him is the cat-eyed creep himself.

  El Gato.

  El Gato and the Bulldog were laughing.

  Holly and I were staring.

  “Girls?” Dave asked, but then he noticed El Gato, too. “Uh, maybe you should make yourselves scarce.”

  “Don't tell him we gave you the picture, okay?” Holly whispered.

  “No problem.”

  So he created sort of a body block for us as we made a break for the front door. And once we were safely outside, Holly and I looked at each other all wide-eyed and said, “It's not him!”

  “So who is he?” I whispered.

  “Oh man, this is giving me the creeps.”

  My head was swimming, trying to sort through all the fragments that didn't seem to combine to any sort of whole. I'd felt better when I'd thought that El Gato was the Bulldog. It was like there were two shady characters spandexed into one. But now El Gato was just… El Gato. Some guy who'd given us the evil cat eye, had sort of threatened us, and had tried to get into Tony's van.

  Maybe they weren't connected at all.

  Maybe I was just imagining crimes where none existed. But then why had someone called me?

  Why had they “warned” me?

  If they weren't trying to hide something, why did they care?

  And what had I done that had made them so nervous?

  “Sammy?” Holly asked. “What do you want to do?”

  I snapped out of my thoughts and said, “I don't know. I was sure they were the same guy.”

  “Me too. And now I'm worried that El Gato's going to find out that I gave Dave the picture and do something, you know, to us.”

  “Like steal stuff from you?”

  She shrugged. “I don't know. But whoever he is, I wouldn't recognize him without his mask. He could walk right into the Pup Parlor and… who knows what?”

  “I don't know what to tell you.” I thought a minute, then said, “Let's check back with Dave tomorrow—see what happens.”

  “I'm at the Humane Society after school tomorrow.”

  “Well, call me when you get home.”

  “Okay.”

  So she headed into the Pup Parlor while I got ready to jaywalk Broadway.

  Now, normally it only takes a few seconds to get a safe break in traffic. But for some reason Broadway was really busy. And then I saw a cop car go by. It wasn't Officer Borsch, but still, between the cop and the traffic, it was enough to make me head down to the corner and use the crosswalk.

  Now believe me, I was keeping my eyes peeled. I didn't like the idea that someone might be watching or following me. And while I was at the intersection waiting for the light to change, I noticed that a guy standing a few feet away from me was dabbing at his upper arm with a Kleenex. Like he'd been hurt or something.

  I guess he saw me scoping him out, because he turned and showed me the fierce-looking saber-toothed tig
er tattooed on his arm. “Cool, huh?” he said, grinning like a little kid.

  “Did you just get it?” I asked him.

  “Yeah,” he said, and went back to dabbing it. “Down the street at Tiny's. He's awesome.”

  Now, seeing a big cat and talking about Tiny made a little hiccup happen inside my brain—I'd never told Tiny I'd found Dorito. So instead of crossing over Broadway I headed up to the tattoo parlor.

  I didn't see my flyer posted anywhere, but I did see Tiny through the window. So I opened the door and called, “Hey. I promised I'd tell you if I found my cat, and I did.”

  He smiled and walked toward me. “I know. My janitor saw the flyer and told me, which is why it's down. Don't want you to think I was being heartless.”

  “No, I… wait—your janitor?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is it Tornado Tony?”

  “Exactly!”

  “Well, he would know, he's the one who found my cat.”

  “You're jiving me. Well, good deal.” Then he leaned out the doorway and said, “No grandma with you today?”

  I shook my head.

  “Interested in some body art? Maybe a butterfly? A little ankle rose? I could put it somewhere granny would never think to look.”

  I backed away, saying, “No thanks.” But then I added, “You did a nice job on that saber-toothed tiger, though.”

  “You saw it? See? I'm good!”

  “Still not interested, sorry. But thanks again for being nice about my flyer.”

  “Hey, no sweat. Glad you got your cat back. And come see me when you change your mind.”

  So I went back up to Broadway, but when I got to the light, I decided to take a little detour into Maynard's. I wasn't 100 percent convinced that T.J. hadn't called me from the pay phone, so I thought I'd sneak in, just to see what he was up to.

  As usual T.J. was yakking on the phone as he was ringing up a customer. I tell you, we need some competition in the neighborhood. T.J.'s just rude—always on the phone trying to find a shortcut to some quick cash when he's supposed to be paying attention to his customers.

  Anyway, by the time the customer was leaving, I'd crawled up to a carousel near the register so I could hear better, but T.J.'s conversation wasn't anything exciting or threatening or at all about cats. It was just, “Maybe next week. You need someone to vouch for you… nuh-uh. Leo's getting me in… yeah, sure. Sounds wild, I know, but I'm hopin' to make a bundle… I'll tell you how it goes.”

  Typical T.J. stuff.

  Then he saw me in the big shoplifter mirror and yelled, “Hey! Whaddya doin'?”

  I stood up and said, “I dropped some change, Teej. Take it easy.”

  T.J. knew I was full of it, though. He leaned forward and said, “Scat, ya brat!”

  Still. I took my ol' sweet time, stopping at the ice cream cooler on my way out. “Eat up all the Double Dynamos again, T.J.?”

  “I said scat!”

  So I scatted right over to the Highrise, making extra sure nobody was watching or following me.

  Day five of being thirteen started out great, too. In homeroom the tardy bell rang, we said the Pledge, Mrs. Ambler read the announcements… Heather never showed up. And I figured that maybe she was just late, but I didn't see her strutting her stuff between classes, either. And believe me, if Heather's around, you'll know it. She's not what you'd call low profile.

  When there was still no sign of her at lunch, it hit me that she was probably milking the whole “fainting” incident to get a day off from school.

  Fine by me.

  Anyway, we were having lunch on the grass again when Marissa asked me, “Hey, have you listened to the CDs I gave you?”

  Before I had the chance to answer, Casey sat down beside me and said, “What CDs?”

  That's the cool thing about Casey. Or at least one of the cool things. He's just… comfortable. It's like nothing weird had ever happened—we were just friends. So I hid the whole Easter-Egg Eyes incident in a distant, grassy corner of my mind, and laughed. “You don't want to know.”

  “Sure I do—let's see.”

  “Okaaaay,” I said, then dug through my backpack and handed them over.

  “Uh-huh,” he said, looking at the first one. “They're okay,” he said about the second one. But when he saw the Darren Cole CD, he said, “Now, this is cool.”

  “You've heard of him?” I asked.

  Marissa seemed surprised, too. “How'd you know about him?”

  He grinned at me. “I guess I'm a fan of Troublemakers.”

  “Hey!”

  He laughed and read through the song titles. “‘Waitin' for Rain to Fall.'” He tapped the case. “One of my all-time favorite songs.” Then all of a sudden he starts singing. “Maybe it's all been hard on you, Pushed against the wall, But there's no need to close your eyes, Waitin' for rain to fall…” Then he goes, “Waah-waah-waaaaaaaaaah, waah-waah, whoa-whoa-waaaaaaaaah-waah-waah,” like some blues guitar. He looks at me and laughs. “See? Cool song.”

  Well, we were all just staring at him, so he laughs again and says, “I guess you've got to listen to the real thing.” He starts handing over the CD but does a double take and pulls it back. “Is this a real autograph?”

  Marissa bounces a little and says, “Yeah, it is! My mom and I saw him in concert in Las Vegas.”

  He cringes. “He's doing Vegas?”

  “Yeah. But it wasn't schmarmy or anything. It was a real good concert.”

  “Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “My mom would be green if she knew.”

  “Your mom?” I ask him.

  “Uh, I should have kept that little piece of information to myself, huh? Forget I said it, okay? I think he's good.” He hands back the CD. “Just listen to ‘Waitin' for Rain to Fall,' you'll see.”

  So he's sort of getting up to go when Holly whispers, “Aren't you going to tell him about…,” and then she makes a little scissors motion with her fingers.

  I pull a face at her like, No! Because really, I don't need to go squealing on Heather to her brother. I can take care of her myself.

  But Casey picks up on it and says, “About what?”

  “Never mind.”

  But when Marissa whispers, “Sammy, tell him!” he sits back down and says, “Yeah, Sammy. Tell me!”

  I roll my eyes. “It's no big deal. And believe me, you don't want to be in the middle of me and Heather.”

  “Like I'm not already?”

  “Well, you don't want to be there any worse than you are.”

  Now he rolls his eyes. “Would you just tell me?”

  So I explained what happened in science and how we spotted Heather trailing us after school. And I did try to play it down, but Marissa and Dot and even Holly kept pumping it back up, saying stuff like, “Tell him what she did then” and “Tell him what she said” and “Wait, wait, you skipped the part where she said…” So in the end he got the Technicolor version instead of the black-and-white sketch I was planning to draw.

  And you know, he didn't seem too happy. “She said that? And she was crawling on the floor with scissors?”

  I nodded.

  “This is so stupid I can't even believe it.”

  “Forget I told you, all right?”

  He stood up. “No!”

  “Look,” I said, standing up, too. “She short-circuits around me, that's all. And I guess she thinks there's something, you know, magic about this horseshoe. Like it's really giving me good luck.”

  “Well, what if it is? The point is, she's got to stop messing with you.”

  He was walking away, so I grabbed his arm and said, “Casey, I can handle Heather.”

  “But why should you have to?”

  I laughed. “Good question. But you talking to her will just make her madder.” I let go of his arm. “Besides, she's absent today.”

  He looked right at me, which instantly mowed down the tall grass in the corner of my mind. “She is?”

  My eyes broke away from hi
s, and I tried to forget about all things chocolate. “Uh-huh.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, I'm sure!” I wiggled my foot at him. “I figured it was just my lucky horseshoe, doing its thing.”

  He laughed and said, “Maybe so.”

  “So don't sweat Heather, okay? Just leave her alone and she'll eventually self-destruct.”

  He gave a little snort. “If you say so …”

  “Trust me—it's the only way.”

  As it turns out, though, I was wrong.

  If I'd been thinking at all, I'd have put two and two together. But there was so much else going on that I just chalked Heather's absence up to being lucky.

  And, of course, I was dying to listen to “Waitin' for Rain to Fall.” I wasn't expecting to love it or anything. I was just interested. I mean, usually kids hate the bands their parents liked, but Marissa said this guy was good, and Casey really seemed to think so.

  So since Marissa had left school early for a dentist appointment and Holly was working at the Humane Society, after school I waved bye to Dot as she got into her dad's truck, then put on my headphones and hit the sidewalk.

  I didn't search for “Waitin' for Rain,” I just started at track one. And by the time I got to the fourth song, I had to admit—this Darren Cole guy was pretty good!

  Then “Waitin' for Rain to Fall” started, and from the opening chords, I got goose bumps. I didn't even know it was “Waitin' for Rain” until the chorus. I just knew it had that magic combination of sweetness and pain. Then the chorus broke out of the verse, and I understood what Casey had been trying to explain. He was right about the guitar part, too—it was like a voice, squeezing all sorts of emotion out of one bending note.

  So okay. I'm embarrassed to say—the song bowled me over. I cranked up the volume and listened to it again and again. And I was busy trekking across the mall lawn, listening to it again, when all of a sudden someone sneaks up from behind and tackles me. My skateboard goes flying, my headphones jolt off, and I smack the ground hard under the weight of my backpack.

  I turn my head and there's Tenille jumping up and down next to Heather. And I can hear Monet yelling from down by my feet, “It's here! It's right here!”

  “Well, get it!” Heather yells, then moves in to hold down the top half of me. But before either of them can do anything, I kick back with both feet like some kind of donkey-fish and smack Monet hard. And when she cries, “Oooow!” and lets go, I wrestle out of my backpack and jump to my feet.