by Tom Henighan
Hawk sat up. “I think I know what it was,” he said. “He told you that it was a Chinese group, headed by a very nice gentleman who drives an expensive antique car.”
Mr. Rizzuto jumped from his chair. “Holy cow! How did you know that? What have you been up to, kid?”
“My friends and I have found out that there’s a Chinese gang working with the Rippers, and that they may be about to use those street kids to break into a warehouse in Toronto, a warehouse down near the Studio District! They’re after the O’Boyle container!”
Mr. Rizzuto gaped at him. “To steal the O’Boyle treasure? Maybe to get hold of Babe Ruth’s lost baseball? But it’s mine now! I just arranged to buy the whole package from Judge O’Boyle’s widow! I couldn’t take a chance that someone would beat me to it. I tracked her down and we made a tentative deal on Saturday morning. I’m about to become the rightful owner of that stuff and I want to know exactly when and where this robbery is going to take place! They haven’t told me where the stuff is being kept, and I won’t get all the final details until I meet with the widow and her lawyer later this evening.”
Hawk stood up. “Tonight, Mr. Rizzuto. In a few hours we can find out everything. My friends know the area where the warehouse is. You have to be ready to come right over there — and bring your proof of ownership.”
“Come right over where? Where do I have to show up?”
“Wherever I call you from, Mr. Rizzuto. And don’t worry, the police will be there to help you out!”
Chapter 18
Walking into Trouble
A few minutes later Mr. Rizzuto led Hawk out to his car. “I don’t know about this,” he murmured. “I just don’t know. I still think we ought to call the police right away.”
Hawk smiled. “I thought you were supposed to stay clear of the police,” he reminded him. “Some of your family wouldn’t like it, remember?”
Mr. Rizzuto hung his head and looked a bit sheepish. “Well, yeah, that’s true. Maybe we don’t need the cops right away. But you tell me that your dad doesn’t know anything about this? Holy cow! Are you kids asking for trouble or what?”
The old man seemed very nervous. He frowned, shook his head, and pushed his straw boater to one side while he wiped his sweating brow with a paper towel.
“We’re not asking for trouble, Mr. Rizzuto,” Hawk assured him. “We’re just planning things so the other guys have all the trouble.”
“Yeah, yeah, I see what you mean, but you know the old saying — about how the best laid plans of mice and men can screw up something awful.”
“Sure, but that’s why Albert — he’s one of the kids — is going to get his cousin in on this. His cousin is a policeman. But we’ve got to do it at the right moment — otherwise things may really get messed up, and our friend Elroy could be in danger.”
“Well, let’s hope you guys can recognize the right moment when you see it. I hope the right moment doesn’t hit you in the face and give you a black eye. You get in touch with me as soon as you call the cops. I want to be there to check on my goods — maybe on our baseball!”
Not long after, Hawk stood on the sidewalk outside of his dad’s house. He waved goodbye to the still-doubtful Mr. Rizzuto, then went inside, only to find that his dad hadn’t come home yet. Hawk went up to his room and tried to read one of the books of Native legends that his dad had recommended, but he was far too excited to concentrate. Finally, just before dinnertime. Jim turned up. Hawk was relieved; his dad had a big smile on his face.
“Hey, Hawk, you should have seen that kid do some squirming. And his dad too! Ms. Calloway and Ms. Clarke are something else — a couple of powerhouses. And the principal went right along with them. That Mr. Wainright, Charles’s father, he’s some kind of big-shot lawyer and he tried to brush things off. He said his good little Charles was just bored in the class — not getting enough stimulation. Can you believe it? He tried to pass the buck to the teachers! But they shot that one down real quick. ‘We have an open program and if Charles needs more stimulation he should be able to find it,’ they told him. ‘And if he can’t find it in our classroom, then he might want to look for it elsewhere. It’s really up to him — and you.’
“That’s the kind of thing they told the guy, and he finally gave up. Charles is going to stay in your class, but he’s going to have to apologize to everyone, including you, and be closely monitored. If he tries any more nasty stuff, he’ll be out on his ear!”
Hawk felt a wave of relief as his father continued. “And you know something else, son. I think that kid was almost glad to be found out. I think the whole Ferret thing was bugging him, but he didn’t know how to get out of it. It was a monkey on his back, but he deserved to suffer. He made other kids suffer. I just hope it’s over now — for everybody.”
“That’s just great, Dad. I almost feel sorry for Charles. Maybe he’ll be a good guy after all. Anyway, that’s one gang taken care of!”
As soon as he said this, Hawk realized he’d made a mistake.
“You mean there’s more than one gang you’re dealing with?” his father asked.
“Yeah, of course.” Hawk gulped and stammered out an explanation. “I mean, don’t forget the Rippers. In fact, I promised to meet some of the kids tonight — one of them knows a lot about what the Rippers are up to. And Albert, one of my friends, has a cousin who’s a policeman. So we’re going to talk Elroy into telling the police about the Rippers.”
His father gave him a serious, searching look. “Who’s Elroy?”
“One of the kids who might join the Rippers.”
“So you kids are going to talk him out of it?? Hmmm, well, I guess that’s all right. I hope you succeed. But what about dinner? You can’t postpone it all night, you know. And don’t forget that you have school tomorrow. I don’t want to hear from your mother about how I’ve neglected you!”
“Oh, it’s okay, Dad. I had a sandwich. And I might have another when I get back. And I won’t be too late either.” Hawk squirmed a bit. He knew his dad would be contacted if things dragged on, and luckily he’d hidden the glove Elroy had returned to him under his bed. His father wasn’t likely to spot it there. Otherwise he’d have more explaining to do.
A few minutes later, Hawk was sprinting off in the direction of the nearest bus stop. Panny had decided they would meet down near the Studio District, not far from Lake Shore Boulevard. The warehouse that held the O’Boyle treasure was a short walk away. She’d gotten the warehouse address from Elroy and staked the place out on Google.
They would have to wait until dark for Elroy’s break-in, but Panny would call or text all the parents a little later and invent some excuse, just to reassure them all that their kids were okay. Once that was done they would go into action, then call the police, who would arrive, they hoped, just in time to catch the Rippers.
The bus roared up and Hawk jumped on. Flopping down in his seat, eyeing the weary commuters and watching the busy streets slip by through the smeared windows, he began to wonder if he had really been guilty of deceiving his own father. After all, he had told him most of the truth, which hopefully was enough. And once the police caught the Rippers and got Elroy out of there, all would be forgiven — at least he hoped so.
Hawk jumped off the bus just before it turned into the heart of South Riverdale. He walked down toward Lake Shore Boulevard, keeping a sharp eye out as he trudged along a dreary stretch of vacant lots, low dingy buildings, and shabby warehouses. The sunlight, which had been strong and bright all day, seemed to sink and dissolve into this dusty confusion of blank streets and faceless facades. There were a few parked cars, but they looked forlorn, as if they had been abandoned forever.
At last he came to an intersection of four narrow streets. A small, boarded-up building on an opposite corner caught his attention. As Hawk came closer, he could just make out through the dirty, cracked windows a half-fallen and faded sign advertising shaves and haircuts. The boy’s heart beat faster. This must be the place
Panny had described — the place chosen for their “headquarters.” But the empty streets, the lack of any sign of life, made him hesitate. For a moment he was frightened. He suddenly realized the danger. What if the Rippers appeared and recognized him? What if a police car came by and asked him why he was wandering alone through this deserted neighbourhood?
He shivered and had a strong impulse to turn and run. But just then someone called out his name, speaking in a kind of strangulated whisper that didn’t prevent him from recognizing Martin Schiller’s voice.
“Hey, Hawk! You idiot! Don’t just stand there — get over here!”
A hand reached out through one of the barbershop’s broken windows and waved a baseball cap at him.
Chapter 19
Trapped by the Rippers
Hawk scampered across the street, just as two cars appeared suddenly at the next intersection and headed in his direction. Could one of the gangs be prowling in the area?
The boy hurled himself forward, the baseball cap vanished and a big section of the patchy shop window swung back, making a convenient doorway. Hawk staggered in as the panel closed behind him. He blinked and looked around.
“I was sure you’d make it,” Panny said. “I told the boys you would.”
She was standing behind a couple of card tables that had been set up in the middle of a dreary room. Two portable lanterns sat on the tables, casting a spooky light on the maps, charts, notebooks, cellphones, walkie-talkies, and flashlights arranged there.
“Welcome to the Schiller Bunker,” Martin said as he fastened the front panel and stepped forward to kick at a stray piece of glass.
“He gets to name it because he found it,” Albert said. “Can you believe that he and his friends used to explore these buildings? You must have been desperate for play space,” he added, shaking his head at Martin. He turned and winked broadly at the still-dumfounded Hawk.
The corners of the “bunker” were littered with junk — old metal, broken signs, rusted-out paint cans and tools, and a couple of frayed blankets lying among the broken glass, where it looked as if a homeless person might recently have slept.
“No, we didn’t kick out some poor street person,” Albert said, reading Hawk’s thoughts.
“I hope there aren’t any rats around,” Hawk said.
“The rats are in the warehouse nearby,” Panny said. “Or they soon will be. And when we hear from Elroy, we’ll go rescue him.”
Panny smiled, took a dog biscuit from a box, and held it out for Chew-Boy, who had crawled out of one of the dark corners to greet Hawk. “This is a dump all right,” she said, with a glance at her watch. “Actually, the only reason I’m letting Chew-Boy run around is to keep the real rats away. I can’t stand rats!”
She made a face and added, “But this a good place for us to work from. And now it’s time to get down to business.”
Hawk played with Chew-Boy for a minute while Panny continued her explanation. “It’s seven-fifteen right now,” she told them. “In a minute I’ll send the first text messages to reassure our parents.”
“Don’t bother with my aunt,” Martin said. “She doesn’t text and she won’t even notice that I’m still out.”
Panny shrugged her shoulders. “Okay. Messages to my parents, to Albert’s, and to Hawk’s dad. Also a preliminary message to Albert’s cousin, the police officer, just so he knows that we’re up to something. But don’t worry, I’ll keep it low-key so he doesn’t start searching for us. If he arrives too soon, our plan will be spoiled and Elroy could be in a mess.”
“Suppose the Rippers have planned their robbery for the middle of the night,” Hawk put in. “No matter what you tell them, all of our parents will go nuts waiting for us.”
“It can’t be the middle of the night,” Panny said. “They’re meeting Elroy very soon and they’ll tackle the job just after they meet, I’ll bet. They’re not so dumb as to break in just when the watchmen and cops are most expecting break-ins.”
She was already busy texting messages and in a very few moments had finished. “Now we have to wait for Elroy. It’s all set up — all he has to do is press a button to dial my cell. He doesn’t have to say a word. When I see the right number in front of me, I’ll know he’s in the warehouse and they’re ready to start hauling away the O’Boyle loot.”
“I just wish I knew what that loot was,” Albert said. “Must be some kind of jewellery … or gold maybe, or a Picasso painting. Judges can afford to buy that stuff.”
Hawk, who’d been bursting with his news, spoke up. “It’s none of those. I know exactly what they’re after. Mr. Rizzuto and I have been chasing it all along. Now I just talked to him and he told me that he found out that Mr. Big has been chasing down the same thing. And it’s not jewellery, or gold, or any kind of painting. It’s something even better. It’s the baseball Babe Ruth hit for his first home run!”
The kids gaped at Hawk, then glanced, astonished, at one another. The filthy, half-wrecked room was suddenly silent. Then Martin Schiller pursed his lips and let out an amazingly loud whistle, one that seemed to shake the dust and cobwebs in every corner.
“The baseball is that valuable?” the skeptical Albert wondered. “But how do they know it’s the right one?”
“Scientific tests,” Panny said. “The baseballs were made differently in those days and they can test the fibres and the stuffing and the stitching. Right, Hawk?”
“That’s what Mr. Rizzuto thinks,” Hawk said. “The ball was hit out of the old stadium at Hanlan’s Point and probably landed in the lake. But there was a pack rat guy, the grandfather of Judge O’Boyle, who salvaged just about everything of any value from the lake, and it’s a good bet that we might find that baseball with the rest of the judge’s treasures. And you remember what Professor Sam said, Panny — the big gangs go after sports souvenirs. Even if there’s a baseball and it’s a forgery, they can probably get good money for it. And if it’s the real thing, they might get a fortune.”
“Wow, cry in your sangria, Picasso, this baseball may top some of your good prices,” said Albert, who knew a lot about art and special drinks.
Panny passed out sandwiches and the kids waited impatiently for some signal from Elroy. They could see through the dirty glass of the windows that it was getting darker outside.
“Maybe the Rippers found your cellphone and are torturing poor Elroy right now,” Albert said, giving the implacable Panny a doubtful look.
At that very moment Panny’s phone rang with a jaunty tune. There was no one on the other end. “That’s him!” she said. “Let’s get going!”
She snapped a lead on Chew-Boy, handed out the flashlights, and proceeded to place a call to Constable Perkins, Albert’s police connection. “Here, tell him what’s happening, but don’t give him the address just yet. He might mess everything up,” she instructed, handing Albert the phone.
After being transferred and put on hold several times, Albert was finally connected to his cousin. A long conversation ensued and Panny grew impatient. “Hang up! We’ve got to get out of here!”
Albert shrugged his shoulders and ended the conversation. “I’ve got bad news,” he said. “He assumed I was pulling a prank.” Panny stamped her foot. “I didn’t think of that,” she muttered. “But it can’t be helped — we’ve got to move in right now.”
A few minutes later they were hurrying through a maze of narrow streets and blind alleys. Soon they could see a hulking row of old red-brick warehouses rising beyond an area of littered lots.
“We cut through here,” she told them. They tramped along beside her — Hawk, Albert, and Martin — as she urged Chew-Boy forward on the lead. It was getting darker by the minute. When they reached the next street, they all stopped. Two cars were parked down the street to the left.
“There’s someone in the first car — the SUV,” Hawk said. “Maybe that’s the getaway car, with a gang member watching. Won’t he see us when we go in?”
“No, he won’t,” Pa
nny said. “There’s an alley that runs beside that big warehouse. The entrance is there. Just pretend we’re playing some game and then duck into the alley when we get close enough — don’t head straight for it.”
She let Chew-Boy off the leash and they started throwing sticks for him to fetch. Toss by toss they came closer to the big warehouse. Soon they could see the alleyway. It was empty. Martin threw the last stick, Chew-Boy raced after it, and the kids followed on the dog’s heels.
Halfway down the long alley, Panny called a halt. “There’s the door Elroy mentioned,” she said. “He was going to try to leave it open. Let’s see!”
She swung the door outward; it creaked a little in opening. “All right,” Panny whispered. “That’s music to my ears. Albert, you stay here on watch. And call that stupid cousin of yours and get him over here! Come and warn us if that guy on the street decides to check us out.”
“All right, boys, turn on your flashlights and let’s go!” Panny and Chew-Boy led the way into the gloomy passage. The boys followed and Albert swung the door shut behind them. It was suddenly dark, but to Hawk’s relief not quite pitch black, and the flashlights pierced the gloom ahead.
Hawk squeezed his light, wishing it was his father’s Colt 45. But then he’d promised never to fire that weapon in anger. If his father could see him now, he thought, he’d set him straight very quickly. Are you crazy — going into a place like that? Hawk could hear Jim’s condemning voice. He hoped Panny knew what she was doing.
With Chew-Boy now on his long leash, Panny led the way forward. They passed several closed doors and metal hatches that might have been lockers. Barrels had been stacked up along one side of the wall, and various dollies, carts, and slings hung on racks.