B003J5UJ4U EBOK

by Lubar, David

  He drove for an hour, sticking to Center City. As he neared Franklin Circle, he spotted another jaywalker. This one, a teen who looked the same age as the escapee, was crossing in the middle of the block, obviously not paying any attention to traffic. The boy slowed his pace. Bowdler changed lanes, swerving to the left so he could brush past his target as close as possible.

  At the last instant, the boy skipped back, as if he’d been more aware of his surroundings than his posture indicated.

  Good for you, young man. Feeling a bit better, Bowdler headed toward the containment facility where the subject would be taken as soon as he was recaptured. He needed to have a word with the other detainee, and decide whether it was time yet to cancel him.

  friday morning

  peregrination #2

  LUCKY TAKES A WALK AND HEARS A NEW VOICE

  IN THE FOG

  ANOTHER WALK, DIFFERENT nurse. A guy named Nick. Lucky shuffled along next to him, wondering how much time there was before his next pill.

  “Lucky.”

  That wasn’t supposed to happen. The medicine should muffle the voices.

  “Lucky, come back.”

  He walked several steps past the open doorway before he understood why the voice was so clear. It was coming from a real person. He turned back.

  “Where you going, sport?” Nick asked.

  “Someone called me,” Lucky said.

  “I didn’t hear nobody say Dominic.”

  “He called me ‘Lucky.’ That’s my nickname.”

  Nick snorted out a laugh, then shook his head. “Sorry, dude. I guess it’s not that funny.”

  “Lucky,” the voice called again.

  “Can I see who it is?” Lucky asked.

  “I suppose it’s okay to peek in and see if he’s really calling you.”

  Lucky walked to the room. He didn’t recognize the bruised, swollen face.

  “Lucky,” the kid said, “it’s me. Cheater.”

  Next to him, he heard Nick say, “Lucky, Cheater. What next? Sleepy, Dopey, and Goofy?”

  “It’s not Goofy,” the kid said. “It’s Grumpy.” He listed the seven dwarfs, then started to talk about the origin of Goofy as a character called “Dippy Dog.”

  Lucky took another step into the room. He knew that voice. He recognized the way an endless stream of information flowed from that mouth. His brain slowly made sense of the unexpected images. This was Cheater. His old friend. Without his glasses. All banged up, and moaning after every couple of words. “What happened?”

  “I stayed when I should have folded.”

  “You okay?”

  “I’ll live. Guess what? I have great news.”

  “What?”

  Cheater stared past him, toward Nick. “Nothing. Hey, what are you doing here?”

  Lucky knew it wouldn’t be good to talk too much. He and Cheater had dangerous secrets. He stumbled over to the bed and thought about all that had happened. He swished it around in his mind and tried to keep it there as long as possible, like a big mouthful of stinging mouthwash.

  A moment later, Nick tapped Lucky on the shoulder. “Come on, Unlucky. We can’t hang here too long.”

  Lucky followed Nick out of the room. When he looked back, he saw that Cheater was reaching for the phone on the small table next to his bed.

  friday morning

  peregrination #3

  TORCHIE TAKES A RIDE AND EVENTUALLY ARRIVES

  “WOW, I THINK we’ve seen the whole city,” Torchie said. He glanced to his left. Mr. Wickman was hunched over the wheel, looking all around, and then down at the map clutched in his right hand. Behind them, a horn blared. Philadelphia sure was a noisy place.

  “It’s got to be somewhere,” Mr. Wickman said. “Everything is somewhere.”

  “We’ll find it.” They’d been driving around for an hour, searching for the hotel. Mr. Wickman didn’t seem to be very good at following directions. And it was really distracting the way so many people were blowing their horns.

  At last, Torchie spotted a small sign on a pole at the corner of a parking lot. “There,” he said. “The Hillville Luxury Motel.”

  “I guess we found it.” Mr. Wickman drove into the lot. The red pickup bounced as it crossed potholes of various depths.

  Torchie saw several kids walking around with accordions. Nobody had an instrument anywhere near as large as his.

  “You want me to come in with you?” Mr. Wickman asked.

  “No. That’s okay.” Torchie slid out and grabbed his accordion. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “My pleasure.” Mr. Wickman pulled back into the street.

  Torchie flinched at the blaring of another car horn, then went inside.

  friday morning

  peregrination #4

  FLINCH TAKES A WALK AND FAILS TO DIE

  “YOU’RE NOT FUNNY.”

  “You’re not smelly. Wait—we’re both wrong.”

  Lying in bed on Friday morning, half awake, Flinch grinned as he relived his favorite moments of last night. He always tried to be hard on himself and look for any flaws in his act, but he had to admit that he’d been on fire. Big time.

  “Hey—you ain’t ready for the big city.”

  “That’s why I’m starting in Philly.”

  That one had been risky. He knew any performer took a chance when he knocked the town where he was playing. But he also knew that most cities liked to joke about themselves.

  There’d been a couple spots that weren’t as smooth as he’d like, but he was pretty happy with the way the night had gone. The limo had brought him to the club. He’d hung out all evening with the other comics backstage. They’d treated him okay. Now, awake and hungry, he had one thing on his mind.

  “Breakfast,” Flinch said. He knew he could get something at the hotel, but he had a craving that couldn’t be denied. He got dressed and headed out. It wasn’t hard to follow his nose to the nearest place offering fresh, hot donuts.

  Walking back to the hotel, his stomach and mind both full of warm memories, he crossed in the middle of the block. It was still early and traffic was light.

  He saw the car in time. Ahead of time, actually. The idiot swerved across two empty lanes at the last moment. Flinch leaped back, avoiding an untimely end to his career.

  “He didn’t even see me,” Flinch muttered. The driver never glanced at him.

  “What a jerk.” Looking both ways, Flinch finished crossing the street, then walked back into the hotel.

  PART FOUR

  which is probably

  the most hectic friday

  the guys will ever experience

  three-part harmony

  WHEN I WOKE on Friday morning, Martin was already up, watching TV with the sound turned low.

  “I have a perfect plan,” he said. “We stay here. The food is great. They have all the good cable channels.” He pointed to the TV section from the paper. “There are some cool shows on tonight. The beds are comfortable, and there’s a maid to clean up after us. What do you think?”

  “Perfect. And when Bowdler catches me and locks me up again, you get to have the TV all to yourself. How about we save that as a backup plan?”

  “Okay. If you’re going to be selfish, we’ll tackle your problem first. But it’s fun to imagine living here, isn’t it? I mean, you can even get video games right on the TV. How cool is that?” Martin walked over to the window. “Nice view, too.”

  “It would help if we knew more about them. Hey—you know what? I have their document files.” I patted my pocket.

  Martin wasn’t listening to me. He pushed the curtains aside and leaned closer to the window, pressing his forehead against the glass. “Whoa …”

  “What?”

  “Someone almost got hit by a car.”

  “So?” I figured that happened about once every five minutes around here. The cab drivers and the valet-parking guys seemed to be having a contest to see who could terrify the most pedestrians.

  “So h
e jumped away before the car swerved in his direction.”

  “Like Flinch?” I asked.

  “More than like him. I think it was him. For a second, I thought I was watching a dodgeball game at Edgeview.” Martin jerked his body from side to side, in imitation of Flinch’s awesome dodgeball moves. “He went inside. Come on. Let’s catch him before he leaves the lobby.”

  I handed Martin the room key. “You go. I’ll wait here.” I figured if he saw me in the lobby, he might start shouting. The last thing I wanted was attention.

  “Good idea.”

  Martin headed out. I paced the floor and tried to imagine his progress through the hotel. If Flinch was here, that would be great. Martin was smart, and Flinch was smart, but together they were amazing.

  The door opened, and Flinch walked in. He looked like he’d put on some muscle since I’d seen him. He’d gotten a bit taller, too, but still wore the same dreadlocks.

  “Hey, dead guy,” Flinch said. “How ya doing?”

  “Better than ever,” I said.

  “Flinch was on TV last night,” Martin said.

  “Awesome.”

  Flinch walked over, stared at me for a moment, then said, “What the heck, nobody’s watching.” He grabbed me and gave me a hug. “Man, I was sick over you dying. It hit me hard.” He let go and stepped back.

  “I can imagine. It came as a shock to me, too.”

  A strange expression flittered across on his face. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You sure? No injuries. No fatal diseases. Nothing deserving immediate sympathy?” The corner of his lip twitched.

  “Nope. Why?”

  “Because if you were hurting, I’d feel guilty about laughing my butt off.” The twitch grew into a grin as he pointed at my hair. “Black is not your color.” His whole body shook, and he dropped to his knees. “You look like you asked for a shoe shine when you were standing on your head.”

  I sat on the bed and waited for him to finish howling. My wait would have been shorter if Martin hadn’t joined in. Finally, Flinch gasped, shook his head, and wiped a couple tears from the corners of his eyes.

  “Done?” I asked.

  “Yeah. No, wait…” He snickered, snorted, chuckled a bit, then nodded.

  “Did Martin fill you in?”

  “Nope. He figured it would be better if I heard the details straight from the corpse’s mouth. So, what’s going on?”

  I told him everything, including the news about Cheater and Lucky. And the part where I killed the guy. When I mentioned that, Flinch shook his head and said, “Wasn’t your fault. You were defending yourself.”

  “Everything I do is my fault,” I said.

  “If I let myself feel guilty for everything I did,” Martin said, “I’d be a mess. Actually, maybe that’s why I’m a mess.”

  “We’re all a mess,” Flinch said.

  “Not you. You’re like a celebrity, now,” I said.

  “Hardly. I’m just one of a billion guys trying to find an audience. Even on the networks, half the comics you see are awful. Besides, who’s more messed up than people in show biz?”

  “Still, it’s totally awesome that you were on TV,” Martin said.

  Flinch’s grin returned. “Yeah. It doesn’t seem real. But it’s hard to feel happy when my friends are in trouble. Having a hidden talent can stink.”

  “Being fifteen can stink,” Martin said. “Too young to drive. Too young to make good money. Everyone treats you like a kid, but all I hear is ‘act like a man.’ No way I’d want to act like some of the men I’ve known.”

  “I’ll take you guys over any adult out there,” I said. “Even if you are too young to do anything useful.” And for the first time since I’d awakened in the room with the gorilla on the ceiling and the rippling walls, I actually believed I had a fighting chance to survive this mess.

  quadratic equations

  FLINCH DOVE PAST me, landed on the bed with a belly flop, and shot his arm toward the bedside table. “I got it,” he said. As he put his hand on the phone, it rang.

  “Show off,” I said.

  He flashed me a smirk and lifted the receiver. Before he could speak, I yanked the phone from him and shot it across the room to my waiting hand, then returned his smirk as I said, “Hello?”

  “Hi. It’s me. I saw Lucky again.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “He’s spacy. I think they’ve got him on meds. Probably an antipsychotic, given the listless way he was—”

  I cut him off. “I get the idea. Did you talk to him?”

  “Sort of. There was a nurse with him, so I had to be careful. I didn’t tell him you were alive. I was afraid it would mess up his head.” Cheater paused after each sentence. I guess his face was still sore. “But he wasn’t completely gone. He was smart enough not to talk out loud. He came over to my bed and thought about what happened to him. At least, as much as he was capable of thinking clearly. Everything was blurry. Like when you try to read the newspaper after it gets wet.”

  “Did you learn anything?” I asked.

  “Yeah. He was somewhere with a whole bunch of lost stuff that he couldn’t reach, and he totally flipped out.”

  “That’s rough.” I thought about the stress our talents put on us. Next to Lucky, Cheater and Martin probably had it the hardest because they received stuff whether they wanted to or not. I guess it was rough for Flinch, too. I was surprised they didn’t all get overloaded.

  “I think he takes a couple walks a day,” Cheater said, breaking into my thoughts. “I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

  “Great. Do you know how much longer you’ll be there?”

  “Maybe a couple days. I want to go home now. I feel fine. But you know how doctors are. They want to keep you in the hospital. That’s counter-productive. Do you have any idea how many people get sick from being in a hospital? It’s called iatrogenic illness. Which is ironic, since Hippocrates’s first rule was to do no harm.”

  After Cheater finished his brief lecture on the history of medicine, I hung up, then told Martin and Flinch what I’d learned.

  “Oh man,” Martin said, shaking his head. “That’s brutal. Lucky always had a hard time coping. But this really stinks. We have to do something for him.”

  “After we rescue Trash’s butt,” Flinch said.

  Martin pointed at me. “Yeah, your sorry butt is first in line, Trash. And more urgent than Lucky’s problems. At least we know he’s somewhere safe.”

  “So Cheater and Lucky aren’t in immediate danger.” Flinch held up two fingers in a vee. “And we’re okay for the moment.” He uncurled the other two fingers and extended his thumb. “Which just leaves—”

  “Ohmygod!” Martin cut Flinch off. “He’s here!”

  “Who?” I asked. “Bowdler?” My gut clenched at the thought.

  “Not Bowdler,” Martin said. “Torchie.”

  “What?” That didn’t make any sense. Torchie lived far northwest of the city, out in the sticks.

  “Torchie’s in Philly,” Martin said

  “Of course,” Flinch said. “You’re right.”

  “What are you two talking about?” I felt like I’d just walked into the middle of a movie. Make that a foreign movie.

  “The pattern,” Martin said. “We’re all here. Three of us in the hotel. Two in the hospital. But all in Philadelphia. Just like we all ended up in Edgeview. Torchie has to be here.”

  That sounded too wild to me. “How can you explain something like that?”

  “We don’t have to explain it,” Martin said. “Just accept that there’s a pattern. That’s what matters. With five of us already here, the hard thing to believe would be if Torchie wasn’t here. But I’d bet anything he is.” He pointed to the phone. “Give him a call.”

  I’d lost the sheet I’d printed at the library, but that wasn’t a problem. I dialed information, got Torchie’s folks’ number-there was only one Grieg in Yertzville—and called his house. �
��Hello. Mrs. Grieg? Is Philip there?”

  “Oh, no. I’m sorry. He’s out of town. The dear boy really needed to get away. He hasn’t been the same since that friend of his died. Andy Thalmaker? Was that his name?”

  “Eddie Thalmayer,” I said, automatically.

  She chatted for a couple minutes, telling me far more than I wanted to know about assorted members of the Grieg family—several of whom had recently been in the hospital or jail—but I also found out what I needed to know. After she was finished, I hung up and told the others, “Torchie’s at an accordion convention.”

  “In Philly?” Flinch asked after he and Martin had stopped laughing.

  “Yeah. At some Hillville Luxury Motel.”

  Martin grabbed the phone book, flipped through it, then read out the address.

  “That’s not too far from here,” I said.

  “I’ll go get him,” Martin said.

  “Take a cab. That’s kind of a seedy area.” I pulled some cash from my pocket and held out a couple twenties.

  Martin headed out to get Torchie.

  “Why’d you tell Torchie’s mom your name?” Flinch asked.

  “I didn’t mean to.” I explained what had happened.

  “Just be careful. You don’t know who’s listening to what.” He shook his head. “Man, I’m starting to sound crazy.”

  “Nope, that’s not crazy at all. We have no idea what they might be able to do.” I imagined my words moving across the phone lines like a little cluster of yellow sparks. “They probably have all sorts of top secret stuff that most people have no clue about.”

  “But there’s one thing they don’t have,” Flinch said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Us.”

  “Let’s keep it that way.”

  About forty minutes later, I heard “Oh Susannah” drifting down the hall, rising in volume from the faint yowl of an unhappy feline to the blaring wail of seventeen injured coyotes. The door opened and Torchie, half hidden behind a huge accordion, staggered in. The half I could see above the accordion looked just the same as I remembered—sweaty red hair, freckles, and the smile of someone who had just been handed a whole bag of Oreos and a gallon of ice-cold milk.