by Peg Kehret
The damp dirt had a rich earthy smell. I’m wrecking my school clothes, Benjie thought. Mom’s going to be mad when she sees mud on my good shirt.
Still the bad guys did not come out. Were they putting everything from the Kendrills’ kitchen into boxes so they could steal it all?
Benjie hoped they didn’t take the rooster cookie jar or Mom’s china dishes. The set of dishes had belonged to Benjie’s grandmother, and when she died, Benjie’s mom had brought the dishes home and displayed them in a special cupboard that had glass doors. The pattern was called Buttercup and Mom always used them on Thanksgiving and Mother’s Day.
If the bad guys took Mom’s Buttercup dishes, Mom would be sad, and if they took the rooster cookie jar, Benjie would be sad.
Maybe I should run to Mrs. Sunburg’s house now, Benjie thought, before the van leaves. If I call the police while the bad guys are still here, the police might catch them on their way out of Valley View Estates, and we’d get all of our things back.
He wished he had left his shoes on. He could run faster in them than he could in his socks.
Benjie slithered like a snake behind the bushes, keeping his head down and pulling himself forward with his arms until he reached the corner of the house that was closest to Mrs. Sunburg’s house. The laurel branches scratched the back of his neck and snagged his shirt as he crept along. Small rocks and twigs dug into his forearms.
At the corner, he looked toward the trees and shrubs that divided the two homes. An area of grass stretched between Benjie’s house and the trees. If he ran out there in the open, the bad guys might see him. Even if they stayed inside, they might look out the window.
What if they had guns?
Benjie shuddered. He would be an easy target, out in the grass.
Mom would be sad if she lost her Buttercup china, but Benjie knew she’d rather lose the dishes than lose him. People and animals are more important than things. He needed to save himself, and Lizzy, and Pete. He hoped Pete was in the house, hiding on top of the piano or under the table.
Instead of running to Mrs. Sunburg’s house now, he decided to wait until the bad guys left. He would spy on them from the bushes and make sure they didn’t steal Lizzy. He would memorize what they looked like so he could give a clear description of them to the police.
He wished he had his spy backpack with him, but even without it, he knew what to do. His best spy book told how to be a good witness, and Benjie had read it so many times, he knew it by heart.
He would stay hidden and look carefully at the men so that he could describe them accurately. Good spies notice details, and that’s what Benjie intended to do. Good spies use their ears as well as their eyes. They even pay attention to smells. Benjie inhaled several times. He didn’t smell anything except dirt.
Satisfied that he had made the right decision, Benjie crawled along the edge of the house toward the front door and waited for the men to come out.
He didn’t have to wait long.
10
Benjie heard the bad guys come out of the house. Lying on his stomach, he peered cautiously between the laurel branches, trying to get a good look at the burglars without being seen himself.
Two men crossed the narrow porch toward the steps. The taller of the two wore a red-and-black plaid shirt. He closed the door of the house; Benjie heard it click. The other man’s T-shirt protruded out over the top of his pants, which rode low on his hips. He had what Benjie’s dad would call “a serious case of beer belly.”
Details, Benjie told himself. Remember the details. They both wore faded jeans. The tall one had on a floppy brown hat; the chunky one had a stubbly beard. Both wore sturdy work boots that laced.
The bearded one carried a large cardboard box. Benjie couldn’t see what was in it, but he could tell from the way the man moved that it was heavy.
“Be careful with those dishes,” the tall one said. “They’ll be worth more if they aren’t chipped.”
Mom’s Buttercup, Benjie thought. Those mean men were stealing Mom’s good dishes.
The men moved out of Benjie’s line of sight, but he didn’t dare shift position to keep watching them. He heard a van door shut and knew it was the rear door, where they had loaded everything in. He waited to give them time to get in themselves, but he didn’t hear the other doors close.
As he thought about the van, he realized that he had forgotten the most important thing. He needed to get the number from the license plate. Then, as soon as the bad guys drove away, he could go inside and call the police and report what the van looked like and the license number, and the police would find it for sure.
I should have looked at the number right away while the bad guys were still in the kitchen, Benjie thought. Well, it wasn’t too late. The van was still here.
Benjie eased his head from behind the bush, far enough so he could see the truck’s license plate. 0 9 4 X C L.
Benjie found a twig and began scratching the numbers in the dirt under the laurel bush. If it was written down, he wouldn’t forget it. 0 . . . 9 . . . 4 . . . As he worked, a dog barked somewhere in the next block. Benjie wished Rufus would come here and bark at the bad men and alert Mrs. Sunburg.
He formed the numbers carefully. He could hear the men talking as he worked, but he concentrated on his printing and didn’t pay attention to what they said.
As he started to print the X, the twig snapped. Benjie held his breath, fearing the men had heard it and would come to investigate, but they didn’t.
* * *
Pete finished the hamburger, tried one more time to open the glove compartment, and then jumped on the back of the seat. He needed to wash his whiskers, but he would do that after he got outside. He wished he had found something that would identify the crooks, but at least he’d had a good meal.
The back of the van was full now. The thieves had even taken the grandfather clock. Pete could no longer get to the floor or squeeze between the items. There were too many things crammed into the van, and Pete’s stomach bulged from the hamburger and french fries.
He had to walk on top of the television set, then pick his way across the boxes. He was balanced on the handlebars of Alex’s bike when he heard the men coming. Pete hunkered down, hoping they wouldn’t notice him.
“You drive,” one man said. “I never had a chance to eat my lunch, and I’m starving.” He set one more box in the van.
The back door of the van slammed shut.
I should have left sooner, Pete thought. I could have carried the hamburger in my teeth and eaten it outside the van. Now I’ll have to jump past one of the men in order to get out.
Pete turned quickly and went toward the front again, planning to jump out when the man opened the door. I’ll catapult past him, Pete thought. It’s a good thing I’ve been practicing.
Before Pete could get into position, the door on the passenger’s side opened.
“Hey!” the man said. “Somebody swiped my lunch.”
“What are you talking about?” the second man said. “Who would want a cold hamburger?”
“Look at this! I left my burger and a box of french fries on the seat, and some lowlife got in here and ate them.”
Pete crouched on top of Alex’s bike, as close to the front as he could get without being seen. Both men now stood on the same side of the van, with the door open. Pete watched them over the top of the seat back, waiting for his chance to jump out without getting caught.
“Whoever it was made a mess,” said the bearded man. “There’s pieces of paper all over, as if he didn’t bother to unwrap the burger before he bit into it.”
“Maybe it was a dog.”
“How would a dog get in here?” Using his fingers like a rake, the bearded man brushed the pieces of wrapper from his seat to the Kendrills’ driveway. He leaned toward the floor and gathered the empty bag, the french-fry carton, the rest of the bits of wrapper, and all the candy wrappers and other trash that was there. He tossed it all outside. Let somebody e
lse clean it up.
“It doesn’t matter who did it,” the tall man said. “What matters is that we need to get a move on. You can buy another lunch after we unload.”
“I wanted this lunch,” the bearded man grumbled. “I’ve been thinking about those french fries the whole time we loaded the van.” He picked up more bits of wrapper and dropped them outside the van.
Through the windshield, Pete watched the tall man walk around the front of the van to the driver’s side. When he saw the man’s hand reach for the door handle, Pete jumped to the top of the seat back and got ready to catapult. He would launch himself at flying speed and be gone before the man could react.
The instant the door opened, Pete took off, shoving his hind legs hard into the seat and stretching his front paws forward. As Pete reached the opening, the man ducked down to sit in the van. Instead of flying past the man and landing on the driveway, as Pete had planned, he crashed into the man’s shoulder.
“Yow!” Pete yelled as he fell back on to the seat.
“Hey!” said the tall man as he straightened up and rubbed his shoulder. He stood beside the van, put both hands on the seat, and leaned in toward Pete.
“Here’s your culprit,” he said to his partner. “A cat ate your lunch.”
Pete hissed at the man, his ears flat, and his tail waving back and forth like a windshield wiper. Could he make it if he tried to jump again now? He didn’t think so. The door was open, but the man’s body blocked too much of the space.
Pete hopped to the floor between the two seats. He didn’t like to turn his back on the first man, especially when the man was so close, but maybe he had a better chance of escaping out the other side.
As Pete looked that way, the bearded man got into the passenger’s seat. At the same time the tall man sat behind the steering wheel. Pete was trapped in the space between the two seats.
The bearded man glared at Pete as he slammed the door shut. “I think I’ll teach this cat a lesson,” he said. “He ate every single one of my fries!”
“We aren’t hanging around here while you take revenge on a stupid cat,” the tall man said as he pulled his door closed.
“I’m not stupid,” Pete said. “I’ll match my IQ to yours, any day.”
“I didn’t mean now,” the bearded man said. “I’ll do it later.”
Do what? Pete wondered. He didn’t like these men, not one bit. He leaped onto the dashboard and stomped back and forth. “Open the door!” Pete yelled. “Let me out!”
“I’m not taking a cat with us,” the tall man said. “Are you nuts? All we need is a cat howling and attracting attention. Listen to him: he sounds as if he’s being tortured and you haven’t laid a hand on him yet.”
“That’s right!” Pete cried. “I’ll howl so loud the police will think someone’s being murdered. You’ll get pulled over. You’ll get charged with kidnapping.”
“Shut up, cat,” the bearded man said, “or I’ll give you a good reason to howl.” He grabbed Pete by the scruff of the neck and hauled him onto his lap.
“You’ll regret this,” Pete said. “My claws are sharp, and my teeth are sharper.”
The other man started the engine. “Put the cat outside,” he said.
“No. I’ve decided to keep him.”
“Suit yourself.” The driver released the emergency brake and stepped on the accelerator. The van moved forward.
“Let me out!” Pete shrieked. He scrambled across the man’s leg and pawed at the window. “Help! Let me out of here!”
* * *
Benjie finished scratching the last letter in the dirt. He heard the doors of the van slam shut.
The engine started.
Benjie dropped the twig and got ready to run. As soon as the van left, he would race inside, call 911, and tell the police about the bad guys. Then he’d go to Mrs. Sunburg’s house. He listened carefully for the van to pull away, not wanting to waste a second.
When the van started to move, Benjie scrambled out of the bushes, climbed onto the porch, and yanked at the door. The knob didn’t turn. The door was locked. He would have to go to Mrs. Sunburg’s house to call 911.
As he turned away from the house, he heard a cat shrieking.
Pete! Pete was in trouble.
Horror brought goose bumps to Benjie’s arms as he realized that Pete’s cries came from inside the van.
The bad guys were stealing Pete!
Benjie ran down the porch steps and raced after the van, but it was already halfway down the long driveway.
Pete howled louder. When the bearded man picked him up and tried to shove him into the rear of the van on top of the bicycle, Pete bit him on the hand.
The man cursed and let go. Pete jumped to the back of the man’s seat and clawed at the man’s shoulder, ripping holes in his T-shirt and scratching his back. The man yelled and swatted at Pete.
The driver slammed on the brakes. “I can’t drive when you’re wrestling with a cat,” he said. “I’ll go off the road and hit a tree.”
“The cat bit me!” the bearded man said. “He broke the skin. Look, I’m bleeding.”
“And I’ll bite you again if you don’t let me out,” Pete screamed.
“Then put him outside,” the man in the plaid shirt said. “I told you we shouldn’t take him with us.”
“I’m not putting him out here. I’m going to throw him in the river when we go across the bridge.” He turned, reached behind the seat, and grabbed Pete’s tail.
Pete clung to the spokes of Alex’s bicycle when the man tried to pull him by the tail to the front of the van. “Help!” he screeched. “Somebody help me!”
Benjie saw the brake lights go on. The van had stopped. He ran faster, gravel from the driveway kicking up behind his feet. He no longer cared if the bad guys saw him. He didn’t care about calling 911. He didn’t care about anything except getting Pete back.
He rushed to the door on the passenger’s side of the van and tugged on the handle. It was locked. He could see Pete inside. The bad man was pulling Pete’s tail.
Furious, Benjie pounded on the window with both fists.
11
Stop that!” Benjie yelled.
Startled, the man let go of Pete’s tail.
Pete crawled farther into the rear of the van, squeezing between the clock and the TV set until he reached the floor. The men couldn’t reach him there without unloading everything.
Benjie banged on the window again. “Open this door!” he shouted. “You can’t have Pete!”
The bearded man looked out the window at Benjie. “It’s a kid,” he said.
“Oh, great. Now he’s seen us, and he can describe the van. I knew we should have gotten out of here sooner.”
Benjie pounded harder. If they wouldn’t open the door, maybe he could break the window. “Give me back my cat!” he yelled.
The bearded man rolled the window down a couple of inches. “What cat?” he said. “We don’t have any cat.”
“Yes, they do,” Pete hollered. “I’m here, Benjie, in the back of the van.”
“Well, what do you know,” the tall man said, turning to look over his shoulder. “There IS a cat in the van.” He opened his door and got out. “He must have sneaked in when we were parked at this house,” he said.
“He didn’t sneak in,” Benjie said. “You stole him.”
“We’re a delivery service, kid. We were supposed to drop off a TV set, but nobody was home. We didn’t know your cat got in the van.”
Tears coursed down Benjie’s cheeks, and his breath still came in gulps from running so fast. “You didn’t try to deliver anything. You broke into our house and you’re stealing Dad’s clock and Alex’s bike and Mom’s good dishes, and you’re trying to kidnap Pete and sell him for a lot of money, but you won’t get away with it!”
The two men looked at each other. The driver held his door open wide. “Come on, cat,” he said. “Get out of there.” He raised his voice higher. “Here, kitty, kit
ty, kitty.”
Pete wanted to jump out, but he was wedged so tightly between the TV and the clock he couldn’t turn around.
“What makes you think we stole anything?” the bearded man said.
“Because I’m a spy and you’re bad guys. I took down your license number and I know what you look like, and I’m going to call the police, and they’ll catch you, and I hope they lock you up in jail for the rest of your lives!”
The bearded man got out of the van, too. “We don’t want the cat,” he said. “I tried to get him out, but he won’t leave.”
Benjie looked in the van. “Pete?” he said. “Where are you?”
“Go home, Benjie!” Pete said. “Call the sheriff!”
The tall man leaned toward his partner across the top of the van. “We’ve got a big problem,” he whispered. “Only one way out, as I see it.”
“We can’t leave him here to spill the beans,” the bearded man said.
“No. We can’t.”
The bearded man motioned for Benjie to get in. “The cat’s hiding from us. He’s on the floor, in back. You’ll have to go in there and catch him.”
“Don’t do it, Benjie,” Pete called. “I’m coming as fast as l can. I’ll jump out.”
“Here, Pete,” Benjie said. “Don’t be scared. I’ll save you.”
“That cat’s wilder than a hoot owl,” the tall man said. “You’ll have to get in the van and coax him out.”
Pete stood on his hind legs and hooked his front paws over one of the tires on Alex’s bike. If he could pull himself up, he would be able to turn around and crawl to the front of the van. “I’m coming!” he yelled. “Don’t get in the van!”
Benjie climbed into the van and knelt on the passenger’s seat, facing the rear. He stretched his hands over the back of the seat toward Pete.
“I’ll be okay,” Pete told Benjie. “They’ll let me go now. Don’t wait for me. Run to Mrs. Sunburg’s house, as fast as you can, and call the police.”
“I see him!” Benjie said. He stood on the seat and leaned over the back, trying to reach Pete.