by Tom Henighan
“Here’s the first turn,” Panny said quietly, gesturing with her flashlight. At a junction, small signs pointed the way in various directions — SECTION A, SECTION B, SECTION C.
Panny stopped and looked at her watch. “Elroy is supposed to head toward the main exit as soon as he can break free,” she reminded them. “They’ll come after him, and we can intercept them and tell them the place is surrounded and the cops are outside. Hopefully they’ll just run for it — and meet Albert’s cousin and the rest of the police outside.”
“Assuming Albert gets his cousin over here,” Martin said. “Assuming Albert’s cousin believes the story. What happens if they don’t come?”
As Martin spoke, a metal door in the wall beside him swung open. He was knocked off his feet and lay sprawled on the floor. A burly teenager, bare-armed and muscular and wearing a white cowboy hat, stood up in the flashlight beams. One of the Rippers!
He swore at them and growled, “What are you kids doing here?” Then, as Hawk ducked back against the wall, the teen took a step toward Panny.
Chew-Boy growled. Panny released him and he sprang forward. The teen groped at his belt, and, as the dog leapt up and bit his hand, a knife clattered to the floor.
“I’ll kill that mutt!” he screamed. Hawk sprang over and kicked the knife away. The teen lurched after him, Chew-Boy snapping at his heels. Martin stuck out his foot and the teen crashed down. He swore again.
The corridor lights suddenly flashed on. Albert appeared, looking frightened. “That guy in the car’s coming in. We’re trapped in here!”
“Where’s your stupid cousin?” Martin shouted.
A figure appeared in one of the side corridors. It was Elroy, scared and excited. “I got away, like you said!” he told Panny. “But Ringo’s coming after me. Where’s those police?”
Martin and Hawk had jumped on top of the angry teen, and Elroy started to help them, but the Ripper was very strong and they were having trouble holding him. Hawk spotted four or five barrel hoops, large metal rings that were hanging in a recess where the corridors met, and had an idea. He scrambled away, ducked into the recess, climbed up on an old barrel, and pulled down one of the hoops. But he froze as he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the side corridor. Seconds later, the dim lights revealed a familiar figure — Ringo! The boy stepped out of the shadows, spat harshly on the concrete, and pulled something from his belt — an ordinary crowbar. But in the Ripper’s hand it looked menacing.
Ringo stood at the junction, in front of Hawk, who could almost touch his close-shaven, lumpish head, and the tattoos that marked his shoulders. Hawk could see the boy’s neck muscles twitching as he shifted the crowbar from hand to hand.
At first sight of their adversary, Chew-Boy had started growling, and now the dog barked once, twice, at this new and frightening apparition. But Panny had picked up the feisty dog and held him in check as she whispered a few soothing words in his ear.
Ringo, however, had switched his attention at Elroy. Hawk could sense the piercing gaze directed at the boy, and he could see Ringo’s arm muscles twitching as he squeezed the crowbar again and again, rocking forward on the soles of his feet as he did so.
“You turned on the lights, didn’t you, smart boy?” Ringo asked, still glaring at Elroy. “You set this up to catch us. You sold us down the river for these twerps.”
The burly teen the boys had wrestled to the floor picked up his knife, climbed to his feet, and chimed in. “What are we gonna do with them, Ringo?” he growled. “Should we lock ’em up in one of the cases? They can rot there for a few years and see how they like it.”
“I was thinking of that,” Ringo said. “Stash ’em away forever in a black box. But not this one, not this boy …” He waved his crowbar at Elroy and continued. “This one we’ll take along to Mr. Big. Mr. Big will have a good idea of how to get rid of this trash.”
Hawk shuddered and pressed himself flat against the wall, wishing he could make himself invisible.
Ringo laughed and moved forward. Martin and Albert stepped up beside Elroy. Panny joined them, holding Chew-Boy — all the kids but Hawk crowding in together.
“Hey, Sterling,” Ringo called out, suddenly addressing his sidekick. “You see those bags on the pegs over there? … Yeah, on the wall there! Grab one for me, will ya.”
The burly Ripper moved obediently and fetched one of the bags. Ringo waved him closer, took the bag from him and inspected it, running his fingers with satisfaction along the strings that closed it tight at the top. Then he bent over and whispered something in his sidekick’s ear as he handed the bag back to him. Leaning over from his perch, Hawk tried to catch the words, but he was much too far away to hear anything.
Slowly, Sterling backed toward the little group of friends that stood nervously watching. When he got very close, and they began to pull away, he whirled round, facing them, and before Panny could twist away he’d seized her and started to wrench the snarling Chew-Boy out of her grasp.
Martin and Elroy edged forward to help, but Ringo approached them with a threatening gesture. “Just touch him and you get this crowbar through your skull!” he snarled.
Meanwhile, Sterling had got hold of the squirming, yelping Chew-Boy and stuffed him head-first into the bag. He pulled the drawstrings tight, and when Panny attacked him, he knocked her down.
The others gasped and stirred, but Ringo swung the crowbar, threatening them.
It was now or never, Hawk decided. He could see a tall, thin figure, the third Ripper who had been watching from the car, coming slowly up from the entrance. They were trapped now, and there was only one hope. He tightened his grip on the barrel hoop, jumped down from his perch, and flung it with all the force he could muster at Ringo’s back.
It hit the mark. Ringo screamed, swore, and staggered forward. Howling in pain, he dropped the crowbar, grabbed hold of the bag, and yanked it from Sterling’s grasp.
“Pick up the crowbar! Let’s flatten these stupid kids!”
Suddenly, from nearby came muffled shouts and the blare of voices as two small figures in blue appeared far down the passage near the entrance.
“STOP! DROP THOSE WEAPONS! YOU KIDS! OUT OF THE WAY. MOVE IT, NOW!”
It was two uniformed Toronto policemen. They approached the group, waving and shouting.
“YOU THREE BIG BOYS, DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND LINE UP AGAINST THE WALL. YOU’RE UNDER ARREST!”
Ringo swore and ran toward the open panel in the wall, swinging the bag, stuffed with the yelping dog, in front of him.
Sterling made as if to follow, but Martin tackled him, and Elroy helped pin him down.
“Ringo’s escaping!” Panny shouted, and, picking herself up, she ran after him. Hawk tried to cut him off, but Ringo was too fast for them.
The Ripper sprang through the doorway and into the darkness beyond.
They followed, plunging into the darkness of a narrow corridor. Then they heard a clank, as if an iron door had slammed shut just in front of them. They groped forward. Hawk’s fingers touched a metal door but the cold handle wouldn’t budge.
“He’s locked it — he’ll get away!” Hawk groaned.
“He’s got Chew-Boy! We’ve got to catch him.” Panny grabbed Hawk’s arm and led him back to the main corridor.
Hawk breathed a big sigh of relief. The policemen had come running up and shoved the other two Rippers against the wall.
As they systematically searched them, Panny lost her cool and started shouting. “What are you doing? The big fish has got away! And he’s got my dog. He might hurt him. WHY ARE YOU JUST STANDING THERE?”
Albert smiled weakly, nodded at Panny and the boys, and with a glance at one of the policemen, announced quietly, “This is my cousin, Stanley Perkins.”
Chapter 20
Pursuit in the Dark
“Thanks for coming,” Panny said, making an effort to calm herself, “but you’re a little late. The head Ripper is escaping right now. He’s locked the passa
ge doorway and we can’t follow him. And he has my dog!”
Elroy ran over. “Panny, I know where he’s got to. They showed me the escape routes, remember? Just follow me and we’ll get him!”
Officer Perkins, a very round man with goggle eyes, huge hands, and a rather large red nose, objected. “Now, just a minute, kids! You’ve already pushed things too far. You — hey, wait a minute! You can’t leave right now.”
Nobody paid any attention, however, and the four kids, with Elroy in the lead, tore off and away down one of the branching passageways. Only Albert stayed where he was.
“Look at it this way, Cousin Stanley,” he said, “I’ll be their representative. I’ll stay here and explain everything. You can take notes on the case, and if they need help, I’m sure one of them will get in touch. It’s not just any dog. It’s Chew-Boy they’re after. Anyway, I tipped you off on this one, and you’ll get a promotion for sure when you bring these guys in.”
Officer Perkins glared at his cousin. “Promotion? I’ll be lucky not to get suspended. What do you think, Horse?” The other officer, who was even bigger than Albert’s cousin, grunted. “If they come back with that Ringo character, we might get away with a reprimand, but if he happens to murder them … it won’t go well for us.”
Albert gasped and stared at him. “Gosh, do you think it’s even possible?”
Elroy, Panny, Hawk, and Martin charged at full speed down a dimly lit corridor that ran to the west side of the huge warehouse.
“We’ll catch him!” Elroy reassured them, breathing hard as he ran. “All the corridors have stairwells and elevators leading down to the basement. The only exit is on the west side. There’s a long basement that runs right across the building. After he locked the door on you, he went down a stairwell, then he must’ve cut back west. We should be right behind him when we get down there.”
“Is there anywhere he could have dumped Chew-Boy?” Panny asked. “An open sewer, a furnace — something horrible like that?”
“No — nowhere,” Elroy assured her. “He’s using him for a hostage, I guess.”
“If he opens that bag, Chew-Boy will bite his hand off,” Panny said angrily.
“Once he gets outside, I bet he’ll head for the car we saw,” Hawk told them. “Or, if the police have arrived there by then, he’ll probably just walk off somewhere to get a taxi.”
“Luckily, it’s deserted out there,” Panny said. “Otherwise we’d never find him.”
They sprinted along until they came to a dull red light shining on the right side of the corridor.
“That’s the stairs,” Elroy shouted. “I just hope they ain’t locked!”
They pushed easily through the heavy doors and bounded down the dusty, semi-dark stairwell. At the bottom they turned and entered another long hallway, this one at basement level.
“There’s the entrance. You can see some lights out there. It leads to a ramp, and that will take us up to the street. That was supposed to be our getaway route.”
“Whatever happened to the watchman?” Martin asked.
“He’s locked up at the front in an old closet. I gotta remember to tell the police that.”
“We can’t be far behind him now,” Martin gasped.
“Half a block at most,” Elroy said.
“Do you hear some noise out there?” Panny asked. “I thought the streets would be deserted.”
“I can’t understand it,” Elroy said. “There ain’t nobody in these parts at night. But I see lights movin’ and flashin’ too. Could be a fire or something. That’s the last thing we need!”
They finally reached the door and pushed out onto a low, sloping ramp. The street was slightly above them. They could hear voices, a multitude of them, and they saw windows lit, the lower stories of the old buildings being swept by lights.
“Sure ain’t a prayer meeting,” Elroy said.
At the top of the ramp they could see the street. A large bus, its lights flashing, had climbed the sidewalk and plowed into a lamppost, which was bent but still standing. Thin wisps of smoke drifted up from the vehicle’s engine. A crowd milled around, mostly women, middle-aged and clearly distraught. They were talking away while a couple of men worked over a figure lying prone on the street. A police car was parked nearby. It had all the appearances of an accident that had just happened. The sound of an approaching ambulance could be heard in the distance.
Elroy stopped, took in the scene, and looked at the others. “Bad luck. With all this distraction, he’ll get free for sure.”
“If he’s able to get free, that is,” Martin said. “That bus hit someone. Who do you think it might be?”
Panny sprang to life. “Ringo! Then what about Chew-Boy?” She took off in the direction of the bus with the boys following close behind.
When they reached the fringes of the crowd, they stopped. Some women drifted over, eyeing them curiously.
“Where did you kids come from? Are you his friends?”
“Who’s friends?”
A tall, cool-looking woman in jeans told them that a boy had been struck by the bus. A teenager. “He’s not dead, don’t worry,” she said. “But we’re all a bit ticked off because we’re going to be late for the dog show. And we came all the way from Buffalo, New York, to be part of it…. Not that I don’t feel sorry for the boy….”
The kids stood amazed as a second woman added, “Not that I blame the driver. Although he admitted that he got lost. We should be on a highway, not in the middle of these back streets. You do have speedways in Toronto, I assume?”
“Sure do!” Elroy said. “And we’re off on one right now!”
The three kids sprinted forward. “He’s got to have survived!” Panny prayed. “My poor Chew-Boy!”
When they got to the scene of the accident, the kids reassured themselves with a glance that it was, in fact, Ringo lying on the road. He wasn’t dead, that was clear, as he was yelling at one of the officers to leave him alone. But there was no sign of a little white dog.
Then, just as one of the other officers was shooing them away, the kids noticed something wonderful.
There, unmistakably, was Chew-Boy, sitting on the lap of a grey-haired man in a raincoat, receiving loving attention from five or six ladies, who were petting and talking to the baffled but pleased animal with an affection that even the most pampered lapdog would have envied. A torn, frazzled white bag lay in the gutter beside the group.
“Chew-Boy!” Panny called out as she ran over to her friend. He recognized her at once and jumped into her arms, as joyfully as he always had.
When they got back to the warehouse, the corridors were crowded with uniforms, and as the police probed everywhere the whole place came alive with light and sound. Word had spread quickly about the fate of Ringo, who had been seriously, but not fatally, injured. The other two Rippers, scowling and swearing, were handcuffed and led away. Once they were gone, the police had all the kids sit down, and a police psychologist started asking for their names and home addresses and phone numbers.
“But what about Skimmer O’Boyle’s treasure?” Hawk asked. “It belongs to Mr. Rizzuto. Babe Ruth’s baseball may be in there!”
The psychologist, a gentle-looking woman in a plain blue suit, gave him a blank look. “I think you’ve had enough excitement for one night,” she told him. “Your parents are being called and I’m sure they’re all anxious to see you safely at home. Just take a deep breath and relax and we’ll take care of everything.”
Her reassuring words made Hawk twice as frantic. But at this point Constable Perkins intervened. “It’s all right, Dr. Jones. I know what the boy’s taking about…. My cousin Albert explained it to me. Albert called Mr. Rizzuto and he and his lawyer are on their way here now. Meanwhile, I think we’ll all be here for a while until we get everything sorted out. The best news is that you kids will likely all get the morning off school tomorrow.”
Panny, who was sitting nearby, cut in. “That’s not such good news,” she s
aid. “We love school.”
The constable sighed and shrugged his shoulders.
Chapter 21
What’s in That Box?
A couple of hours later, Hawk arrived in a police car at his dad’s place on Condor Avenue. Jim was waiting for him on the sidewalk in front of the house. He frowned and shook his head, but gave Hawk a hug before leading him inside.
“You are one stupid boy,” he said. “Brave maybe, and intelligent, but also a damned fool!”
Hawk could see that although his father was a bit angry at him, and obviously had been worried, he was — in some funny way — very impressed.
When they sat down in the living room and Hawk had a glass of juice in hand, his father said quietly, “You weren’t honest with me, Hawk. That’s bad. It went fine when you told me about Charles and the Ferrets. I helped you with that one. You should have done the same in this case — even more so! If we’re gonna be pals, from now on you have to be honest, and you have to trust me.”
Hawk sniffed, swallowed a mouthful of juice, and fought back tears. “Yeah, Dad, I understand.”
Jim cleared his throat, smiled briefly, and said, “Besides me worrying, there’s your mother. She called tonight and I had to pretend everything was fine. She wants you to call her tomorrow, and what you tell her is up to you. But I suggest you save the detailed story until you see her in person.”
“Sure, Dad.”
“Okay, then. Get some rest. Just lie low for a couple of days. No friends, just some reading and quiet reflection. But you’ll work on your schoolwork while you’re here. Call it a punishment, a grounding if you like. It’s for your own good.
“Your friend Mr. Rizzuto called me to apologize, and he explained that he wanted to set up a meeting and was wondering if he could hold it here — apparently it concerns you and your friends and the goings-on tonight. It’ll be first thing in the morning, before school, in a couple of days. You can get on with life after that. But for now, just go upstairs and get some sleep.”