by Carol Gorman
Half the crowd in the stands cheered and clapped. I grinned at Luther and he held up a fist, beaming. Will glanced at me a second and turned away again.
I wanted Will to be impressed with our team and Luther’s coaching. I’m not sure why I cared about that, but I did.
The game was going real good. In fact, now I wanted it to go on and on. Luther had performed some kind of magic on us, all right. We were holding our own against the mighty Wildcats!
I knew I’d be up to pitch soon. Then I remembered I’d left my bag of rosin in the car. If it didn’t stop sprinkling, the ball would be slippery, and I’d be sure to need it.
Alan stepped up to bat. He was a great choice for the cleanup spot, because he was a powerful hitter. Lobo, still grinding his teeth, wound up and threw. Alan hit it toward Lobo. Lobo bobbled the ball and threw to first, but way over the first baseman’s head.
I slid in for my first run of the game. Lobo threw his cap on the ground and stomped all over the pitcher’s mound. The Stumptown fans went crazy, whistling and hollering.
Coach Hennessey strode onto the field with long, angry steps and called a team meeting. The Wildcats crowded around Hennessey for a minute while he talked to them.
What were they going to do? I looked at Luther, and he winked at me. Lobo’s team seemed shocked that we already had three runs on them. The Wildcats’ parents and the folks in the stands who wanted to see us lose looked pretty unhappy, too. Some of them were grumbling loudly about Hennessey and Lobo.
Out on the field, Hennessey pointed at Lobo’s chest and said something.
“What?” Lobo yelled.
Hennessey gave a nod. Then he turned his back on Lobo and walked off the field to his spot by the batter’s cage. Lobo stomped from the pitcher’s mound to third base.
Hennessey had fired Lobo as pitcher!
We Stormers couldn’t stop grinning. No matter who won the game, we had already beat Brad Lobo. Maybe that would knock him down a peg or two. Or ten. I sure hoped so.
It was still sprinkling, so I figured I’d better go to the car and get my rosin. It looked like I’d be pitching the next inning.
I hurried to Mom’s car in the parking lot behind the stands and found my bag of rosin on the front seat where I’d left it. I slammed the door shut and was heading back through the parking lot when somebody grabbed me from behind. A hand clapped over my mouth.
“I don’t want to hurt you, kid, so just stay calm.”
Ruckus Brody.
I stifled a scream.
My body started to shake. How did he get out of jail?
He let go and gave me a little shove.
I glanced back to see a knife in his fist. A different one from last night, but it looked just as mean.
I walked in front of him, feeling hot and then cold with the thoughts that tore through my head. Would he kill Luther? Could I help Luther this time? I didn’t have the bayonet. I didn’t have nothing that could help him. I felt bad, almost sick, I was so scared for Luther.
I started toward the ball field, but Ruckus grabbed my arm and jerked me in another direction.
“This way,” he said. “I want him to see you from a ways off.”
“How’d you get out of jail?” I asked, walking ahead of him.
“Friend of your mom’s. Her boyfriend, I guess.”
I whirled around. “You mean Vern Jardine? Vern bailed you out of jail?”
“Keep walkin’, kid,” he said, and shoved me again. I did what he said. “Yeah, that’s him. Vern Jardine and a couple others. Luther seems to’ve made himself some enemies up here, too.”
I’ll kill Vern, I thought. If anything happens to Luther, I swear, I’ll kill him. I think at that moment I hated Vern even more than Ruckus.
“See that bench? Head out there,” Ruckus said.
I kept walking. The tree was maybe fifty yards from the ball field. When we got to the bench, Ruckus said, “Sit down.”
I sat, the tiny puddles of rain on the bench soaking through my pants. “You’re the bait that’ll get Luther over here,” Ruckus said. “So you sit there and look over at him, and wait till he sees you.”
What if Mom sees us first? I thought. She’d get help from somebody real fast.
I sure hoped so.
The game was still going on, even though it was raining harder now. Luther stood next to the backstop, watching the game. I wondered how long it would take him to notice I was gone.
I sat there, trying to figure out how to warn Luther, to tell him Ruckus was here and to get away. But I knew Luther wouldn’t run. If he saw me here with Ruckus, he’d try to help me.
And maybe he’d die because of it.
It was Walter who finally spotted me. He walked around the backstop and stood next to Luther. Then he waved. “Hey, Charlie!” he hollered at me. “What’re you doin’ way over there?”
Luther turned and saw me and Ruckus. Even from that far away, I could see his body stiffen. He said something to Walter, then started walking fast toward me and Ruckus.
“You just do what I told you now,” Ruckus said. He shifted his knife from one hand to the other.
“He’s my best friend,” I said, real quiet.
When Luther was halfway to us, he called out, “You okay, Charlie?”
“He’s got a knife, Luther!” I yelled, waving my arms. “Go back!”
But Luther didn’t go back. He didn’t even slow down. He just kept walking toward us.
“Good boy,” Ruckus told Luther under his breath.
Luther stopped right in front of us. The rain was still coming down steady, plopping on his head, sliding down his face, soaking his clothes. He blinked rain out of his eyes.
“Let Charlie go,” Luther said. “This is between me and you.”
“That’s just what I had in mind,” Ruckus said. “Get out of here, kid.”
I didn’t move.
Luther jerked his head toward the ball field. “Go back, Charlie. They’re about to call the game ’cause of the rain. You played real good, son.”
A buzzing sound came loud in my ear, and I shooed a hornet away.
A hornet? I looked up. That hornet’s nest was right above us in the tree.
“Charlie!” It was Mom. She was over at the ball field, staring at me and hopping from one foot to the other. I’m sure she recognized Ruckus, because she was screaming her head off. “Charlie! Oh, somebody help Charlie!”
I guess nobody moved fast enough, so she started running toward us.
I spotted a couple of rocks on the ground, about the size of an egg, and an idea filled my mind. I reached down and scooped up the rocks.
I’m gonna hit that nest, I’m gonna hit it. I focused real hard and fired the rocks, one after another, into the tree.
Both rocks hit the nest. Maybe a dozen hornets sprayed out of it and flew wild around us. Ruckus batted at them and swore, dropping the knife.
I grabbed Luther’s shirt. “Come on!” I yelled. He was getting stung all over his neck and arms, even more than me.
Mom was still running toward us.
I turned and screamed, “Mom, go back! Go back!”
“Come on!” I yelled again at Luther. Me and Luther took off running across the wet grass in the rain.
“This way to the sheriff’s office?” he shouted at me.
“Yeah,” I hollered back. “Follow me!”
We headed off through the park. I could hear another set of footsteps pounding the ground.
Ruckus was chasing us, and he wasn’t far behind.
Chapter Eighteen
Me and Luther flew over the ground across the park. The rain was hammering us hard now. With every pounding step on the soggy grass, water splashed out in every direction.
I didn’t have to look back. I could hear Ruckus running behind us, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
The sheriff’s office was six or seven blocks away.
Maybe we’d see somebody on the street who could help us. Maybe they’d give us
a ride. Or let us come inside and phone the sheriff.
But who else helped bail Ruckus out of jail? I knew we could trust some people, but there were others I wasn’t so sure about.
I glanced over at Luther. He was holding his bad arm close to his side instead of pumping it to help him run. Rain was streaming down his face.
We came to the street at the edge of the park and hardly slowed down. We tore across it with no cars in sight. I guess everybody wanted to stay dry inside.
There was nobody to yell to for help.
We kept running.
I was getting tired, and I could tell Luther was, too, but we couldn’t slow down now. Not with Ruckus chasing us. Not until we got to the sheriff’s office.
I saw the library off to our right, and that gave me an idea.
“Come on,” I yelled to Luther. “Maybe we can lose him.”
We ran up the steps to the front door, pulled it open, and rushed into the building.
Mrs. Crawford sat at the circulation desk, stamping books. She frowned over her reading glasses as we ran toward her.
“Charlie, what on earth—?”
“Call the sheriff, Mrs. Crawford,” I said breathlessly. I pushed Luther past the card catalogs. “And if a man comes in after us, tell him we went out that way.” I pointed to the door leading to the alley at the side.
She stood up, leaned across the desk, and peered at me. “Tell who you went that way, Charlie? What man?”
I didn’t have time to answer. I ran ahead of Luther and led him up the stairs to the second floor loft.
A little boy about three stood next to his mother, who was searching through the shelves. He had a lollipop or something in his mouth that gave him a chipmunk cheek. He watched us as we ducked behind the stack of books closest to the railing. I slid a few books to the side so we could see the main floor.
Ruckus ran in the front door, breathing heavy. He was soaked from the rain. Water ran off him and made a giant puddle around his feet. He stood in the middle of the floor, looking around.
I could see his knife. He’d tucked it into his belt.
Mrs. Crawford came around the circulation desk, watching him.
Please, Mrs. Crawford, don’t let on we’re up here, I told her silently.
“Excuse me, sir,” Mrs. Crawford said to Ruckus.
He circled around the card catalogs.
“Sir?” Mrs. Crawford moved a step closer. “May I help you?”
“Just looking,” Ruckus said.
His face tilted up then, and he saw the loft. “How do I get up there?” he asked, pointing.
“Maybe I can …” Mrs. Crawford said, but Ruckus saw the exit sign over the door into the stairwell. He laid a hand over the knife in his belt and headed for the steps.
He was coming for us. Even in the public library.
Luther yanked on my shirt and jerked his head sideways like he wanted me to follow him. We hurried to the far end of the stacks. We turned, went down two more stacks, and ducked between the shelves.
I looked down and caught my breath. We were as wet as Ruckus and leaving a wet trail on the floor. If Ruckus looked down, he’d see the water and follow the footprints right to us.
There was nothing around to dry our shoes. I nudged Luther and pointed to the wet spots under our feet.
Footsteps pounded up the stairs and shuffled into the loft.
“What are you looking for, sir?” I could hear Mrs. Crawford’s voice. “Maybe I can help.”
She’d come upstairs behind Ruckus. She was talking unusually loud for a librarian.
Luther pushed his hand into a pocket and came up with his old bandanna. He dried the bottoms of my feet, then his.
Then he pulled me through two more rows. The floor was dry now under our feet.
The little kid suddenly appeared at the end of the stack, about ten feet away, and stared at us. I put my finger to my lips, hoping he’d keep quiet. He didn’t say anything but held the lollipop up for me to take a lick. I shook my head no.
“Come on, Nate,” his mother called from the other side of the loft. “Time to go.”
The little boy glanced toward his mom, then us. He must’ve decided that we weren’t all that interesting, because he turned away and took off running.
There was another sudden rush of footsteps. They came from where we’d just been standing, drying our feet.
“Surely I can help you,” Mrs. Crawford’s voice called. “If you’ll just tell me what you’re looking for.”
I remembered the back room that Mr. Billet had walked out of the last time I was here. I nudged Luther.
Let the door be unlocked. Please.
I twisted the doorknob and it turned. We quietly went inside and closed the door. I pushed in the lock button and put my ear to the door.
“Where’d they go?” Ruckus asked.
“Where did who go?” Mrs. Crawford asked.
Mrs. Crawford was a pretty good actress. She sounded like she had no idea who he was looking for. Ruckus was probably suspicious, though, that a librarian would follow him all the way upstairs when he didn’t want her help.
Footsteps shuffled a little closer. “What’s in there?” he asked.
He was asking about this room.
“It’s a workroom,” she answered. “I’m sorry, but that’s just for library employees, and …”
The doorknob rattled, and I jumped back a couple of feet.
“We keep that room locked,” Mrs. Crawford said casually.
“There was a boy and a colored fella,” Ruckus said. “They were here. See the footprints back there?”
“There have been a lot of people up here since it started raining. I—” She stopped short. “Oh, I think I know who you mean. Are those two friends of yours? They were here. They rushed in but rushed out right away.”
“Where’d they go?” Ruckus asked.
“Outside. They probably didn’t get far. If you go down the stairs and out the side door, you may be able to catch them.”
His heavy footsteps rushed off, tromped down the stairs, and finally faded away.
Luther and I waited a few more seconds.
“It’s okay now, Charlie.” Mrs. Crawford’s voice was muffled and low.
Luther nodded at me, and I pulled open the door.
“Thanks, Mrs. Crawford,” I said.
“What’s going on, Charlie?” she asked. “Who was that character?”
Her eyebrows bunched up. She looked back and forth at me and Luther over her glasses.
“That was Ruckus Brody,” I said. “He’s after Luther.”
Her eyes widened. “I think we should call the sheriff,” she said.
I didn’t remind her that I’d suggested that when we first ran into the library.
I said to Luther, “Yeah, let’s wait here for the sheriff to come.”
“We’re not far from the sheriff’s office, are we?” Luther asked. “Just a couple of blocks?”
“Right,” I said. “About three blocks.”
“Okay,” Luther said. “You point the way, so I remember where it is. Then you wait here. I’ll go myself. I want me and you separated till Ruckus is rounded up.”
“No,” I said. “We’re staying together.”
“I’m not listening to an argument, Charlie,” Luther said, his voice louder.
I opened my mouth to argue, but he put up his hand.
“I said I’m not listenin’.”
“Charlie, you stay here,” Mrs. Crawford said. “Besides, you’re soaking wet.”
“So is Luther,” I pointed out.
“Charlie,” Luther said, his eyes blazing now. “You’re not leaving with me.”
I could see his mind was set.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Let’s walk outside, and I’ll show you which way to go.”
We said good-bye to Mrs. Crawford, who hadn’t stopped frowning over her glasses, and went outside. It was still raining hard.
Luther looked down
the street. “It’s this way, isn’t it?”
“Down to the corner, turn left, and it’s two more blocks on the right. The big brick building.”
“Okay, I remember now,” Luther said. “Thanks, Charlie.” He reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”
I heard running footsteps and looked over to see someone running this way.
“Luther, it’s Ruckus,” I said.
He was down the block and running toward us, but he was between us and the sheriff’s office. He must have figured out that Luther and I hadn’t left the library.
“This way! Hurry!” I grabbed Luther’s arm and pulled. He pulled back for half a second. But then he nodded, and we started running again.
Now we were headed in the wrong direction, away from the sheriff’s office.
With Ruckus Brody close behind.
Chapter Nineteen
We’ll have to double back!” I yelled at Luther.
We ran past Jennings Bookstore, Martin’s Florist and Garden Supply, Hanson’s Quilt Shop, and then away from downtown.
By now the rain had turned into a full-fledged storm. The sky looked like a painting done by some angry artist, swirled in a mess of gray and black. A jag of lightning cut through the darkness. Then came the thunder like a big bass drum that rolled louder and louder, finally crashing in our ears.
We were running toward the Red Cedar River. I knew its path and figured we could find a place, maybe in the woods, that would let us cut back without Ruckus seeing us.
I hoped.
I heard a squeal of tires and looked back just in time to see Ruckus bounce off the hood of a car in the street. He landed in the middle of the road, stumbled, and fell to his knees.
“Stop, Luther!” I yelled. “Ruckus was hit by a car.” We stopped and turned to watch.
The driver jerked to a stop and leaped out of the car. “Are you all right?” the man yelled.
Ruckus didn’t answer. He staggered to his feet, pulled the knife out of his belt, and started running toward us again.
So we took off.
“Hey!” the driver yelled to Ruckus. “Are you crazy? What’s the matter with you?”
We ran through the woods and down the embankment next to the river. We didn’t let up as the heavy rain kept pouring down. My lungs felt like they might explode.