by Laura Ruby
“You mean you don’t understand why they’re up there and you’re down here with me?”
Gurl nodded glumly.
“Isn’t it obvious?” said Sweetcheeks. “They didn’t want you.”
“They didn’t—” said Gurl.
“Want you,” finished Sweetcheeks.
“But—”
“But what? You’re going to have to stand up and face it, Gurl. People can be terribly cruel. Just look at me and my own son. Some would say that sending him off on a mission to search a bunch of orphanages to find you wasn’t very nice. But at least I didn’t send him to the orphanage for ever. That’s what the Bloomingtons did to you, you know. They never wanted children. They never needed children. You were just an unpleasant surprise. You were born in secret and then given away just as secretly.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I have many sources,” said Sweetcheeks. “Mrs Terwiliger was the one who gave me most of the details.”
“I think you’re lying,” said Gurl, crossing her arms over her chest. “I think something happened. I got lost somehow. Or kidnapped! That’s it. Someone kidnapped me,” she said, remembering what the monkey had said to Bug back in the theatre days ago. “Why else would they look so sad?”
“Because Airborne Industries stock is down a couple of points. That means that Solomon there is just a wee bit less rich today. Makes him grumpy.” When Sweetcheeks saw that Gurl looked sceptical, he said, “Why would I lie about this? I have nothing to gain.”
“I still don’t believe you.”
“You don’t want to believe me? Don’t. I couldn’t care less. But,” he said, crouching a little so that he could look into her eyes. “Consider this: he’s The Richest Man in the Universe. If you were lost or kidnapped, don’t you think he would have spent every penny he had to find you? That is, if he really loved you?”
Gurl opened her mouth and closed it again, silenced by his logic. It couldn’t be true, it couldn’t! But then, of course, it could. People gave up children every day, why not Sol and Bunny Bloomington? Maybe they were too busy doing rich people’s things—judging contests and giving parties and whatever else rich people did—to care about her. Maybe she just got in the way.
“If I were you, I’d hate his guts,” Sweetcheeks was saying. “You didn’t ask to be born, did you? And yet here you are, the one who gets punished for it. Left all alone with a woman with an unnatural affection for mechanical monkeys. Alone and invisible to the world. Used and abused by criminal geniuses for their dastardly deeds.”
“Oh, shut up already.” She was not a normal girl; she would never be a normal girl. All her stupid daydreams about ice cream and beach trips would never, ever come true. Gurl swiped at her eyes when tears threatened to fall, unwilling to let Sweetcheeks see her cry. “What dastardly deed do you want me to do?”
“That’s a good girl. Take life’s hits and push on.” Sweetcheeks motioned to Odd John and the three of them slipped off the seats. “Gurl, your dear old dad has something that I want. A pen, a particular pen that he keeps with him at all times. It’s a very special pen with very special capabilities.”
“If the pen’s so special, why does he keep it with him? Why doesn’t he put it in a safe somewhere?”
“Mr Bloomington’s a little old-fashioned. Doesn’t quite trust anyone but himself. He likes to keep the pen with him so that he can be sure it doesn’t get into the wrong hands.”
“Like yours,” said Gurl.
“Ha! Like mine! Oh, that was funny, Gurl.”
“Sure. A hoot,” Gurl said.
“Like I was saying, we’re going to approach the main stage. Then I’m going to remove this helmet you’ve been wearing—which really does make you look so silly, I’m sorry to say. You’ll turn yourself and me invisible. John here will create some sort of ruckus to divert the attention of Solomon’s bodyguards. And then you and I will grab Solomon, reach into his jacket and steal the pen. Do you have all that? Do I need to go over it again?”
“Remind me about what you’ll do if I don’t do this?”
“Oh, you know. Kill you, kill a whole bunch of these people, blah blah blah. Did you happen to catch the balloons in the parade? The bat, the fairy and the bee?
“Yeah.”
“They’re moored over there, right by the entrance to the park, see?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, the bee’s filled with poison. All I have to do is have Odd John here pop it and I can take out half the city. Do you want to be responsible for that? Over a teeny-tiny little pen that you can steal in a second?”
Stealing! Always stealing. After all Mrs Terwiliger’s errands she hated being forced to steal yet another thing. But she was so shocked and upset at the revelation that a) she had parents, b) they were The Richest Couple in the Universe and c) they didn’t want her, that she couldn’t get angry enough to fight. Even if she did fight, what good would it do? Sweetcheeks would just go around killing people or at least chopping off random pieces of them, and Bug would still be stuck in The Tower, and Noodle would still be gone. Was stealing one pen such a big deal? Especially after everything she’d done before? She was already a thief. Already a liar. This wouldn’t change a thing.
“OK,” said Gurl, finally.
“I am so glad to hear that. Remarkably glad,” said Sweetcheeks. “Let’s go. The Wing races are just about to start.”
The three of them—Gurl, Sweetcheeks and Odd John—melted into the crowd, so intent on the Bloomingtons that they didn’t see the peculiar little man with the grass for hair following close behind.
Chapter 25
Bugbears and Bugaboos
BUG FLEW AS HARD AND as fast as he could through the nearly deserted city streets. If Gurl did what Sweetcheeks wanted, whatever that was, he still wouldn’t let her go. He would make her his personal crime slave. He might chop off her toes or her ears and make her serve his men pizza.
His stupid father and his stupid stories! His stupid father and his stupid crimes! Bug hated it all. What a dumb accident a family was. Some people got lucky, some not so lucky—and some people got the booby prize. Grinning, golden, corrupt Sweetcheeks Grabowski had to be the biggest, boobiest prize of all.
Bug flew harder, holding on to Noodle as tightly as possible without squashing her. Even with the wind rushing in his ears, he could hear music and applause and knew he was almost there. He wondered if he should slow down, blend in with the crowd, sneak up on his father. Then he wondered if he ought to fly in full speed and whisk Gurl off like Superman.
Just as he was trying to decide which method of rescue might be more successful, something whooshed by him on his right, something that almost hit him. He veered left just in time.
In the air next to him, a man wearing a shiny pink unitard yelled, “What do you think you’re doing, kid? Get out of the way!”
Another Wing flew by, this one just above him. “Move it, boy!”
Bug looked around in confusion and saw that he was surrounded by dozens of zooming Wings wearing fluorescent costumes. He’d flown right into the middle of a Wing race! The Wings were flying around a circular “track” that had been created using very tall, thin rubber bumpers, which had been placed around the centre and perimeter of the avenue in front of the museum.
“Sorry!” Bug yelled. He tucked his chin into his chest and flew even faster, jetting out in front of the pack of Wings.
“Hey!” said a voice behind him. Someone caught his ankle and Bug kicked his leg.
“Let go!” Bug shouted.
The pink-suited Wing flew up next to him, his face a mask of fury. “Get out of here!”
“I’m trying!” said Bug.
Up ahead, right in front of the main stage, the racecourse veered into a turn so that the racers could make another lap. Bug shifted right to get himself out of the race, but another Wing, this one wearing a silver unitard with lightning bolts on the hood, blocked his way. Stuck between the pink on the left and the silv
er on the right, both squeezing him between their muscled shoulders, Bug was forced to make the turn along with the rest of the pack.
Over the loudspeaker, a voice said, “Wait a minute! What’s that? We seem to have a newcomer to the races today! Folks, this is the most irregular thing I’ve ever seen! Will we have to start the race again? Will he be disqualified? Who is this guy?”
At the announcement, Gurl, Sweetcheeks and Odd John whipped around just in time to see Bug trapped between a pile of Wings flying off in the other direction.
“Bugbears and bugaboos. This is an unusual development,” said Sweetcheeks, clearly annoyed.
Gurl lifted her chin in triumph. “I told you he could fly. And don’t call him a bugbear, whatever that is.”
“A bugbear is an annoyance. A bugaboo is something that one is afraid of. Not something I’m afraid of, however, but something Sylvester certainly will be. John? When we’re done here, I want you to go out there and bring me my son.”
John grinned.
“But you won’t hurt him!” shouted Gurl.
“Oh, he won’t hurt him,” said Sweetcheeks, grabbing Gurl by the shoulders. “As long as you get me that pen.”
He spun Gurl around to face the main stage, laughing. “Now that I think about it, Sylvester’s appearance couldn’t be more perfect. It’s the ideal distraction. Look at Solomon Bloomington’s bodyguards!”
On stage, surrounding The Richest Man in the Universe, a dozen black-suited men—all wearing dark glasses, all with little microphones in their ears—had tensed up, focused on the strange new boy in the race. Soon, Gurl knew, Odd John would appear somewhere in the mix and the guards’ attention would be even more diverted.
Sweetcheeks pushed her through the crowd towards the stairs to the main stage. Though she threw pleading looks at people in the crowd, no one paid any attention to the handsome man and the girl in the spaghetti strainer hat. When they reached the staircase, Sweetcheeks paused, glancing left and right to make sure that all eyes were on the race. Sure that they were, he put an arm around Gurl’s shoulders to keep her still and then removed the hat.
“Now,” said Sweetcheeks, whispering in her ear, “you’re going to turn both of us invisible. We are going to climb those stairs, sneak onstage behind all the judges and slip between the bodyguards. You are going to reach into Solomon Bloomington’s jacket and take the pen. John will pull us away from the bodyguards before they figure out what’s happening. Do you understand? Nod if you do.”
Gurl nodded, her eyes on the race. The flyers had made another lap, yet Bug still seemed to be trapped in a pack of racers.
“All right,” said Sweetcheeks. “Make us disappear.”
Gurl’s mind raced. If she didn’t do what he asked, he might kill her. And Bug. And maybe everyone here. She would never get to ask her parents why they gave her up. She would never find out who she could have been.
Sweetcheeks tightened his arm around her shoulders. “Turn us invisible. Now.”
Seeing no other choice, Gurl did as she was told. Sweetcheeks’s hold on her shoulders relaxed. He gripped her arm and pushed her forward.
She was about to climb the steps when she caught a deep raspy voice, a familiar voice. “I am so tired of him. He is such a fibber.”
A man leaned against one of the banisters, talking on a cell phone. Thin. Dark hair. Large, square glasses and a grey wool coat. He looked like everyone and no one.
“Did you catch the last lie he told?” the man said into the phone. “Yeah. I couldn’t believe it either, it was so ridiculous.”
Gravelly voice. Fake Britishy accent.
Jules!
“Such. A. Fibber.”
Gurl hesitated, listening. Jules wasn’t looking at her at all, didn’t even seem to notice her. But she knew he could see her. And she felt somehow that he was trying to send her a message. An important message.
“You can’t believe anything he says about anyone.”
You can’t believe anything he says about anyone. He who? Gurl felt Sweetcheeks shove at her impatiently and she put her foot on the first step. Jules probably meant Sweetcheeks. Sweetcheeks was the fibber. Sweetcheeks was the one you couldn’t believe. Sweetcheeks was the one who said her parents didn’t want her, but what if it wasn’t true?
Though she resisted as long as she could, Sweetcheeks pushed her up the steps. But not before she heard Jules say one last thing: “I, for one, won’t tolerate any more of his monkeyshines. He’s got a lot of explaining to do. As a matter of fact, I think he wants to spill his guts. I think he’s just waiting for the right moment to do it.”
Before Gurl could figure out what Jules was talking about, she was propelled across the stage. She and Sweetcheeks moved behind the bodyguards as the loudspeakers boomed: “I don’t know who this kid is, but he’s a heck of a flyer!”
The crowd roared. Solomon’s bodyguards left the stage to get a closer look at the suspicious newcomer, while the one guard left stepped forward to watch the Wings’ progress. Next to him, Gurl could see Solomon Bloomington’s grey head, his back. There he was, her father, sitting there, watching a race, like it was any other day. And her mother, absently patting her hair. Did they ever think of her? For a minute she thought about running forward and hugging them, telling them who she was, warning them about Sweetcheeks—but she knew that could get them killed. Better to steal the pen. Better to save them.
Again Sweetcheeks pushed her forward, past the bodyguard. Gurl steeled herself and crept up behind Solomon. Luckily, he had removed his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair; he wouldn’t even notice when she took the pen. She moved around the side of the chair, crouching between Sol and Bunny. She almost cried when she saw their faces, not because they were remarkable faces, but because they were so ordinary.
Sweetcheeks poked at her back. Carefully, Gurl reached into the pocket of the jacket. As soon as she touched the fabric, the whole thing disappeared. She hoped no one would notice. Quickly, she felt around for the pen. Nothing. Maybe she had the wrong pocket? She moved around the back of the chair and tried the other pocket. As she crouched, she could feel the monkey Bug had given her pressing against her hipbone.
Sweetcheeks couldn’t wait any longer. “Do you have it?” he whispered.
Solomon and Bunny Bloomington turned and looked behind them. “Your jacket!” Bunny gasped. “Where’s your jacket? What’s going on? Who’s there?”
The bodyguard pulled his gun, glancing around wildly but seeing no one. Nathan Johnson frowned, Peter Paul Allen yawned and Rosy B. looked about as bored as she had when she was introduced.
“Do you have it? I know you do!” Sweetcheeks said again, not caring who heard him. “Come on, give it to me!”
Gurl finally realised what Jules had been trying to tell her. “Yes,” said Gurl. “I do have it.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out the tiny monkey and pushed it into Sweetcheeks’s hand.
Chapter 26
Sweetcheeks Spills
GURL DIDN’T KNOW EXACTLY WHAT happened, but she felt Sweetcheeks lunge towards the guard and managed to wrench her arm from his grasp. Instantly, the gangster appeared on the stage, holding the monkey in one hand and a gun in the other. Bunny clutched at her heart in shock and the now-disarmed bodyguard shouted, but Solomon Bloomington merely raised an eyebrow.
“Hello, there,” he said, putting up a hand to stay his guard. “That’s a nice monkey you have.”
“What’s going on?” said Peter Paul Allen. “Who is that guy with the monkey? I’ve only been paid to sit here for two hours, you know, so if this is going to take a long time—”
“Oh, shut up,” said Nathan Johnson. “Can’t you see the man’s got a gun?”
The bored expression dropped off Rosy B.’s face when she saw Sweetcheeks. She jumped into Nathan’s lap (much to his surprise because Rosy B. was supposed to be dating Peter Paul Allen).
Mayor Iggy Fleishman glanced behind him, concern written on his face, but betraye
d none of it in his words to the crowd. “Only five more laps to go in the race, folks!” he shouted into the microphone. “Who do you think’s going to win?”
The monkey shook its maracas and Sweetcheeks’s eyes went dreamy. “Monkey,” said Sweetcheeks, seemingly in a stupor. “My father never loved me,” he boomed.
“That’s too bad,” said Solomon, not surprised.
“I didn’t love him either,” Sweetcheeks said. No whispering for Sweetcheeks; he announced these things as if he’d been waiting all his life to do so.
Solomon nodded gravely. “Yes. Anything else?”
The monkey shook his maracas encouragingly and Sweetcheeks brought the monkey close. “I could have been a supermodel,” he said. “A product manager. Even a minor politician, like a mayor.”
Iggy Fleishman shot a look of annoyance behind him. “Yes, it’s hard to believe what’s going on here today, folks!”
“But I’m bad,” said Sweetcheeks. “A spoiled egg, a rotten apple, a bad seed dropped from a twisted family tree. My ancestry was riddled with crooks, gangsters, thieves and liars. With an emphasis on liars.” He waved the gun and Rosy B. tightened her arms around Nathan Johnson’s neck, something that Peter Paul Allen didn’t seem to appreciate.
“My big problem,” said Sweetcheeks, “is that I lack patience. I simply can’t wait for anything. Delayed gratification? Why delay it? When I was younger, it was even worse. I had no interest in waiting for my father—Tommy ‘The Trigger’ Grabowski—to kick the bucket so that I would inherit the family ‘business’. No, I wanted to make my own fortune, and fast. I knew all about The Wall from stories my father told me. I thought: ‘What if I had The Wall all to myself? Imagine all the things I could steal! The Hope Diamond! The original Declaration of Independence! Why, I could kidnap the queen of England!’”
“Is the queen of England coming? What’s he talking about?” said Peter Paul Allen. “Could someone please call the police?”
Sweetcheeks swayed a little on the stage, pointing the gun in Peter Paul’s direction. “Can it, Shorty. I’m talking to the monkey.”