The smell of burning hair wasn’t a good sign. I unplugged the register and kicked Sir Hiss in the ribs. Nothing.
Sloane said, “Did you—”
If you’d have asked me a second before we heard the gunshot in the kitchen if I thought my heart could beat any faster than it already was, I would’ve said no. But apparently, there was a whole nother level of panic I hadn’t even known about. Sloane and I took off for the swinging doors.
We ran into the kitchen, where we saw Digby and Silk wrestling over Silk’s gun. They were in the narrow aisle between the prep counter and the grill and had the gun high up in the air between them. They turned when they heard us walk in and I saw their gun-wielding arms drop.
I could see what would come next, so I pulled Sloane down under the prep counter next to me. Just as I did, the gun they were fighting over fired. A shelf of stacked plates shattered right over our heads. Silk and Digby were still dancing around when I popped back over the prep counter for a look. I grabbed a saucepan, threw it at Silk, and watched as it hit Silk in the head and then bounced off to hit Digby too. Both of them went down. I heard the gun hit the floor and skitter away.
From the other side of the room, we heard a dull banging noise and muffled yells coming from the walk-in freezer.
“That’s Henry and Felix,” Sloane said. “I’ll let them out.”
While Sloane did that, I went to the other side of the prep counter we’d been cowering under and found both Silk and Digby lying on the floor, dazed. I’d just bent down to check on Digby when he suddenly sat up and his forehead smacked right into my face. Pain bloomed from my nose and wrapped around my head.
Digby and Silk both set off crawling for the gun that had slid to the end of the aisle. I grabbed Silk’s ankle and got a sharp kick in the wrist.
Just as both Silk and Digby got within lunging range of the gun, a hand reached around from the other side of the grill and picked up the gun. It was Felix. He pointed the gun at Silk.
TWENTY
“Do you even know how that thing works, short stack?” Silk said.
Felix raised the gun and fired a shot into the ceiling. I guess either the sound of the bullet or the recoil from the shot surprised Felix, because he screamed a little and then whooped. “I am not going to college!”
“What?” Silk said.
Digby, still standing behind Silk, brushed off the ceiling plaster that had showered down onto his jacket and said, “Careful with that, Felix.”
Sloane and Henry came over. He had a huge cut on his cheek.
“Oh, my God, Henry,” I said. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m okay,” Henry said.
“Where’s the other guy?” Digby said.
“Zoe killed him,” Sloane said.
“What?” Digby said.
“You killed a guy in the restaurant?” Henry said.
“You killed my father?” Silk said.
“Your father?” I said.
“Ohhhhh . . .” Digby said. “That’s why he looked so familiar.”
“What guy?” Henry said.
“The grateful tipper from earlier,” I said. “Remember? With the coffee?”
“What happened?” Digby said.
“Zoe fried him with the defective register plug,” Sloane said.
“You what?” Digby said. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed. Why did you do that?”
“What do you mean?” I said. “You told me to.”
“I what?” Digby said.
“You said, ‘Safety first. Don’t do anything I would do,’” I said.
“And from that . . . ?” Digby said.
“I thought it was code,” I said.
“I said ‘Don’t do it’ but you thought I meant ‘Attack the armed and dangerous criminal’?” When I nodded, Digby said, “Wow. I have driven you crazy.”
“We should call 911,” Henry said.
“Wait,” Digby said. “Let’s figure out what we’re going to say first. How do we explain this to the police?”
We looked at one another, waiting for someone to blurt out the answer but after a long minute, it was clear everyone was stumped.
“So does that mean there’s a dead body out there?” Felix said. “Wait. Are we sure he’s dead?”
“I actually didn’t check,” I said.
“Well, what exactly happened?” Felix said.
“I put the stripped wire against the metal on the counter while he was leaning on it,” I said. “He kind of just froze and then . . .”
Sloane sighed. “I’ll go look,” she said. “But I smelled burned hair. Pretty sure he’s dead.”
Felix still had the gun pointed at Silk while Henry rifled through a drawer of aprons muttering about finding one to tie up Silk.
“Too bad you didn’t fry this one too.” Felix poked the gun in Silk’s direction. “He’d be easier to explain away dead than alive.”
“Whoa whoa whoa . . .” Digby said. “Felix, watch where you point that.”
And then I realized that Felix was on his own at the end of the kitchen, cut off from the rest of us by Silk. And Silk was starting to move closer to Felix.
“Felix, you want to give me that?” Digby gestured at the gun.
But Felix was distracted and thinking aloud. “You know, it’s not the volts that kill. It’s the amps. Hmmm . . . the counter’s rimmed in aluminum . . . that has what? Thirty-six? Thirty-seven percent conductivity?” Felix snapped to and said, “Where’s Sloane?”
“She went outside,” I said.
“Someone go get her,” Felix said. “I think that guy isn’t—”
The door slammed open and Silk’s father came in, wild-eyed and bloody-nosed, dragging in Sloane behind him.
“I told you these kids weren’t going to be easy to get rid of,” Silk’s father said.
Felix reasserted his grip on the gun and said, “Don’t move.”
Silk’s father pushed Sloane toward us and said, “Son, go get your gun back.” He still had his knife.
Felix reasserted his grip on the gun once more as Silk stalked closer to him. The rest of us, standing in a cluster stuck behind Silk and his father, couldn’t effectively back up Felix if Silk got close enough to make a play for his gun.
But Digby tried anyway. He jumped onto Silk’s back just as Silk got into grabbing range of Felix and the gun.
Meanwhile, Henry, Sloane, and I turned to Silk’s dad. Henry struck first, using the apron he’d been holding to swipe at Silk’s father’s hand. The move caught Silk’s father by surprise and the knife flew across the kitchen.
Sloane and I were boxed in behind Henry. The aisle was too narrow for us to get in position to help, so all we could do was watch as Digby and Felix fought Silk on one end of the aisle and Henry and Silk’s father had a tug-of-war over the apron on the other end.
And then, suddenly, the gun flew out of Felix’s hands, sailed past Sloane and me, and landed on the grill. After one hop and skip, though, it plopped right into the deep-fat fryer. Immediately, we started to hear a loud sizzling noise.
We all gasped. The two separate fights screeched to a halt. All seven of us ran and ducked down on the other side of the prep counter.
But then. Nothing.
Finally, Digby relaxed and said, “Huh. I guess that myth’s bust—”
That’s when it started. The first two shots hit the shelves with the already shattered plates. During the brief lull that followed, the kitchen door swung open and Art and Jim ran in, their own guns drawn.
Art saw all of us cowering on the floor together and said, “What the . . . ?”
“What took you guys so long?” Digby said.
And then the kitchen erupted with the loud rat-a-tat of the rest of the gun’s bullets all igniting. Art and Jim ducked down beside us until Silk’s gun emptied
itself.
But because on Planet Digby, it’s never really over, we stood up to find fire dancing on the surface of the grease in the fryer. Even worse, the fryer was now perforated with bullet holes that were leaking hot cooking oil onto the floor. Within seconds, the oily fire had oozed out onto the grill and started to spread across the other worktops. Henry ran to the fire and tried to put it out with the apron he was holding. But it was obvious that he wouldn’t get anywhere doing that.
Sloane left the room while Felix got out his phone and called 911. Silk and his father tried to run off but Art kicked them back down. Jim took off his jacket and tried to smother the flames on the counter near him.
“Princeton,” Digby said.
Digby threw me a box of salt and he took a bag of flour. We tried throwing handfuls of each onto the flames but the fire was moving fast. It really wasn’t until Sloane came back with the chemical extinguisher that we had a chance of beating it.
Finally, Sloane got the fire mostly out and the small flames that sporadically erupted from the smoldering appliances were easily doused by bursts from the extinguisher.
Art pointed at Silk and his father with his gun and said, “These two idiots stood on the street corner yelling at each other about coming to kill you.”
“And you waited fifteen minutes before coming to see if we were all right?” Digby said.
“We were about to come in but . . .” Art pointed at me and smiled. “Looked like she had it all under control.”
When we heard the fire engines’ sirens approaching, Digby said, “What? You dialed 911 less than five minutes ago.”
“The station’s around the corner from here,” Henry said.
The sirens were getting louder.
“Digby,” I said. “Do we let them go?” I pointed at Silk and his father.
“Let them go?” Art said. “Why would you do that?”
Digby thought for a long beat before saying to Art, “If I give de Groot what he wants, can he give these idiots money and walking papers to get out of town and stay gone?”
“Instead of finding out what happened to your sister?” Art said. “That’s not the original deal.”
“I know,” Digby said. “I’m asking to change the deal.”
“So, you’re saying that you’re going to give up on finding out about your sister if we get these two out of town, then?” Art said.
“That’s right.”
“Digby!” I said. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Wait, no. You can’t do that!” Henry said.
“Henry, listen to me,” Digby said. “Unless I get rid of them, they’ll never stop trying to get at you. Their tiny little lizard brains will never let it go. And you can’t spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder.”
“Digby . . .” Henry said. “You can’t.”
“Sure I can. When you asked me what you should do, I’m the one who told you that you shouldn’t let them get away with it,” Digby said. “I did this to you. So let me do this for you. I’m changing the deal.”
Art and Jim traded looks that I thought were suspiciously happy. My feeling that there was something off about the whole thing increased further when Art smiled and said, “Deal.”
“Deal? You don’t have to make any phone calls? Ask your supervisor?” I said. “Just like that? Deal?” I turned to Digby. “Are you hearing this?”
Art looked at me and said, “He likes the deal.” He picked up Silk by the scruff and said, “Or would you prefer to talk about it when the police get here?”
“Deal.” Digby prodded Silk’s dad to his feet and said, “Let’s go.”
Art pulled the car around to the diner’s back door and we forced Silk and his father into the trunk of the sedan. After Digby and I got in the backseat, Art drove around to the front of the diner.
“Slow down,” Digby said.
Art pulled over and we watched Henry talking to the firemen for a moment.
“Okay. Let’s go,” Digby said.
Sloane and Felix were standing next to Henry and as we passed, Sloane raised her hand at us on the sly. She mouthed, “Thank you.” The Ice Queen understood exactly how much Digby had given up. Maybe there was hope for her yet.
TWENTY-ONE
Silk and his father banged on the trunk and hollered for a little while but things got a lot quieter after Art pulled over, popped the trunk, and Jim shushed them with a few bone-crunching punches. After that, we got on the freeway on-ramp and settled in for a peaceful drive to de Groot’s hilltop lair. Or so we thought.
“This isn’t the way to Bird’s Hill,” Digby said.
“We need to make a stop,” Art said.
“Excuse me?” Digby said. “I’m not giving it to anyone but de Groot himself.”
“Just relax, kid,” Jim said. “This won’t take long.”
“Stop the car,” Digby said.
Art sighed but pulled over. He turned in his seat and said, “Digby, I know you don’t have any reason to trust us. But like I said . . . I’m the friend you didn’t know you had. We’re taking you to exactly where you need to go. Can you be patient?”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere in a car I’m not driving,” Digby said. “I don’t have much of a choice.”
And so Art pulled back onto the road.
I leaned over and whispered, “Digby? Are you sure?”
Digby kept his head turned steadfastly toward the window as he took my hand and squeezed it.
Art looked at us in the mirror and said, “So, uh . . . are you two . . . together now?”
“Finally,” Jim said.
“Excuse me?” I said.
Jim said, “He means, is it official, because you two hook up all the time—”
“How long have you been watching us?” I said.
“We’ve been watching your little drama playing out since Digby got back into town. But today was the first time we saw you kiss in front of your little gang,” Art said. “Who did not look happy to see it, by the way.”
“Yeah, why is that?” Jim said.
“Probably because Zoe’s leaving next year. She got into a really good school. In New York City,” Digby said.
“I haven’t even decided if I’m going yet,” I said.
“What? Of course you’re going,” Art said.
“And you shouldn’t string him along saying you won’t go when you know you will,” Jim said.
“I’m not comfortable having this discussion with you two,” I said. “Especially since I don’t even know yet if I’m being kidnapped right now.”
“I’m just saying you shouldn’t string him along if you already know you’re leaving,” Jim said. “Like you strung along that last guy.”
“Austin,” Art said.
“Yeah. Austin,” Jim said. “That poor guy.”
“Excuse me. ‘That poor guy’ ran off with my supposed friend,” I said.
“I could’ve told you that was going to happen,” Jim said.
Art laughed. “Oh, yeah? Then how come you didn’t tell yourself it was happening when your own wife was cheating on you?”
“That’s my point. Austin took up with Allie because you were running off with Digby. And now you’re with Digby, you’re running off to New York,” Jim said. “Like I was with my wife, you’re emotionally unavailable.”
“Boy,” Art said. “Divorced Jim knows all the big words.”
“You two are creeps. You feel good about your job? Spying on high school kids?” I said.
“We do what the boss says,” Art said. “But you two are a soap opera. You can’t blame us for getting caught up.”
“And why is he having you watch us? If he already knows I’m getting him what he wants?” Digby said. “Were you supposed to snatch it from me so he can welch on his end of the
deal? I’m here now—why don’t you take it from me?”
Art and Jim just shared a look.
“The boss didn’t send us to watch you. In fact, it’d probably be better if you didn’t mention that we talked before today, okay?” Art said, “Just please. Listen to what he has to say.”
“He knows we’re coming?” Digby said. “I didn’t see you make a call or anything.”
“He knows we’re coming,” Art said.
We drove on in silence for another little while before Digby said, “I need the bathroom.”
Digby poked me in the ribs repeatedly until I also said, “I need the bathroom too.” I actually did need the bathroom.
“It’s only another twenty minutes. Can’t you hold it?” Jim said.
“Look, all the excitement rearranged a bunch of stuff inside,” Digby said. “I need to make a stop now.”
“I have an empty water bottle you could use,” Art said, and then laughed.
“It ain’t that kind of stop,” Digby said.
We got off at the next exit.
* * *
• • •
We pulled into a gas station and got out of the car. “Wait. This place is closed,” I said. “How will we get the keys for the—”
Both Art and Jim pulled out lock-picking kits. “That’s why we carry our own keys to everywhere,” Art said. “Hey, Digby. Where’s yours? I know you carry one.”
Walking slightly ahead of us, Digby patted his pockets, said, “Oh, shoot, I think mine fell out—” and abruptly did a 180 and collided with Art. Digby staggered backward, apologizing. And then his hand came out of his pocket, holding his own lock-picking tools. “Oh, sorry. I moved it to this pocket.”
When we got to the restroom doors, Digby started working on the lock to the ladies’ room. Jim got the men’s room door open in a heartbeat and laughed when he saw Digby was having problems getting mine open.
“Come on, kid. Don’t you want to impress your girl?” Jim said as he and Art pushed open the men’s room door.
“Yeah, yeah,” Digby said. “I almost have it.”
As soon as the men’s room door shut behind Art and Jim, though, Digby abandoned the lock and ran toward the row of gas pumps.
Trouble Never Sleeps Page 16