“Griffin — you came!” Ben’s hopeful expression faded as he noticed the hot anger radiating from his friend.
Griffin rounded on Victor. “Hey, Feeney, what’s the big idea of buzzing me with that plane? How’d you like the next flight to be straight up your nose?”
Victor blanched, and Griffin backed off, thinking of the two Neanderthals from Bass Junction. He probably thinks I’m serious!
The others also noticed Victor’s reaction.
“Chill out, Griffin!” said Pitch.
But Griffin was not to be silenced. “I’m sick of this phony playing the bully card! What do you call what he just did to me with that plane? I half killed myself falling off my bike!”
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Victor replied, tight-lipped. “I couldn’t.”
“Really?” Griffin challenged. “Because going by your fan club here, you could fly that thing through the eye of a needle, so don’t tell me it was an accident! I’m not as gullible as these guys.”
“Come on, Griffin,” Ben pleaded. “Hang out a little bit. The plane is really cool.”
“I got a closer view of the plane than any of you! If I hadn’t hit the dirt, it would be embedded in my skull. It better not happen again!”
He stormed away. There were a few halfhearted calls for his return, but not many, and not for long. So much for loyalty.
As he made his way back to his bike, he heard the plane taking off again.
If he’s coming after me for round two …
He looked over his shoulder just as the craft left the ground. As it passed over the group, Luthor made one last attempt to prove that he could play with this new toy better than any cat. Poised on his muscular haunches, he sprang straight up, clamping his strong jaws around the fuselage and wrestling the craft back to the ground. He seemed pretty proud of himself as he set the crushed model down at Savannah’s feet, the propeller still sputtering.
It was the one thing that could have brightened Griffin’s mood. “Nice catch, buddy!” he called, and continued on, laughing.
Not even the sounds of the busy park could cover Savannah’s scolding. “Luthor-how-could-you-look-at-the-damage-you’ve-done-you-broke-Victor’s-plane-it’s-in-pieces-what-were-you-thinking-I-don’t-know-what’s-come-over-you!”
Griffin would never have believed that anything could come between Savannah and her beloved sweetie. His brow clouded. Of course, he never would have believed anything could come between himself and Ben, either, and there it was.
Back on his bike, Griffin was heading for the park entrance when he suddenly noticed he had company. Luthor was loping along beside him like he always loped along beside Savannah’s bike.
Luthor normally terrified Griffin — and pretty much everybody else in Cedarville. But seeing the Doberman’s destructive power unleashed on Victor’s plane made the big guy a friend instead of a threat. “Too bad there’s no dog Olympics. That performance would have been pure gold.”
Luthor continued to follow the bike, even as Griffin started onto the path to exit the park.
Griffin stopped and dismounted. Luthor sat waiting.
“You’d better go back now. Savannah’s calling.”
The Doberman stared straight ahead and didn’t budge.
“Hey, don’t worry about the cat. In the end, you’re the real sweetie.”
Luthor was still as a statue.
With a sigh, Griffin got back on his bike and pedaled over toward where Victor and the group were standing. Melissa was trying to repair the broken plane and assuring Victor that it could be done. The damage was only structural; the engine and propeller shaft were intact.
Savannah stepped forward. “Thanks for bringing him back,” she told Griffin, and turned to her dog. “Luthor, I was worried when I couldn’t find you. Why did you run off?”
Luthor wouldn’t even look at her.
“All right, sweetie. I know what this is about. You’re jealous of Penelope. But why? You’re not jealous of Cleo, or Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, or Arthur, or Lorenzo, or any of the others. You have to accept Penelope the same way.”
Savannah hoped her soothing and reasonable tone and sincere expression would communicate what she was trying to tell him. It was this ability that made her Cedarville’s number one dog whisperer. Yet now, even her most earnest dog whispering rolled off the Doberman’s raised hackles. He was just too angry, too hurt.
“I never thought I’d say this,” Griffin began, “but I’m with Luthor. Maybe you don’t know as much about animals as you think you do, because he’s right and you’re wrong.”
To his surprise, Savannah nodded sadly. “I agree with you. I’m not the animal expert I thought I was. Luthor is spoiled. It’s not his fault; it’s mine. I gave him my heart without considering the effect it might have on him. That’s why he’s being so willful and stubborn. And the only way to undo the damage I’ve done is by showing him some tough love.”
Griffin bristled. Was that what they were doing to him, too? “I’m out of here,” he said disgustedly. He picked up the fallen leash. “Let’s go, Luthor. You’re coming with me.”
Ben stared at him in disbelief. “You’re not serious!”
But Savannah was pathetically grateful. “Really, Griffin? You’d take him? It would only be temporary — to give the tough love a chance to work. Of course we’ll be together again. Luthor and I are soul mates.”
“I’m not taking him for tough love,” Griffin retorted. “I’m taking him because he needs to get away from that cat.”
“He’ll eat your house!” Ben blurted.
“I’ll never forget this,” Savannah went on emotionally. “If I didn’t know it was for Luthor’s own good, I’d be crying my eyes out at the thought of parting with him — and that he wants to leave me.” To belie this courage, two big tears squeezed from her eyes and rolled down her pale cheeks. “He likes a cotton blanket — polyester is too itchy, and wool makes him sneeze.”
Griffin turned to Victor. “Nice work. You happy now?”
Victor was speechless, and looked highly distressed, although that might have been about his crushed plane.
Griffin mounted his bike. “Come on, Luthor. Let’s go home.”
Luthor followed without a backward glance.
The SweetPick was back.
The photography had been completed, the new patent application signed, sealed, and delivered. Mr. Bing was tinkering with the device on his workbench with the garage door open when Griffin rode up, Luthor galloping alongside.
“Darnedest thing!” the inventor exclaimed. “I picked up the prototype from Daria Vader and there’s a dent in the Safe-chete blade. Must have happened at the photographer’s.”
Face burning, Griffin dismounted and picked up Luthor’s leash. What he needed was to change the subject.
Luckily, he had the perfect topic all cued up. “Dad, I’ve got Luthor with me.”
“Whoa! So you do.” Mr. Bing rushed out of the garage, hastily closing the door behind him. The Doberman had trashed his workshop in the past, and it had taken weeks to set everything right again. The adults of Cedarville weren’t much less intimidated by Savannah’s big dog than their kids were. “What’s that about? Where’s Savannah?”
Griffin took a deep breath. “Well, I was wondering if he could come live with us.”
Mr. Bing stared at his son and then burst out laughing. “Good one, Griffin. No, seriously.”
“I am serious. It’s kind of a long story, but he can’t stay at the Drysdales’. It’ll only be for a little while.”
The conversation soon expanded to include Mrs. Bing. “But, Griffin,” she reasoned, “we’re not a pet family. We’ve never even had goldfish.”
At any other time, Griffin would have agreed with her. But now when he looked at Luthor rejected and cast out, thanks to Victor’s cat, he saw himself rejected and cast out, thanks to Victor.
“He’s got nowhere else to go,” he said simply.
In
the end, one factor tipped the scales in Luthor’s favor. Griffin was having problems with his friends. Perhaps a dog would provide the companionship he was missing.
“A dog, maybe, but that’s not a dog; that’s a moose!” hissed Mr. Bing.
“Don’t be silly,” his wife told him. “Luthor’s well trained. He’s competed in dog shows.”
Savannah stopped by at dinnertime, struggling under an enormous bag of dog food that was nearly as tall as she was. Her eyes, red-rimmed from crying, looked haunted. It had only been a few hours since the incident in the park. But it was obvious that her program of tough love was tougher on her than it was on Luthor.
She kept peering past Griffin in the doorway, hoping to catch a glimpse of her beloved Doberman. “Where is he?”
“He’s in the den, watching TV with my dad.” Griffin couldn’t resist adding, “Like it’s any of your business after you drove him away.”
“He loves Lassie and any of the Balto movies,” she advised. “But no Marley and Me. It depresses him.”
“If you don’t want him depressed,” Griffin said stonily, “ditch the cat.”
Despite her heartbreak, Savannah was adamant. “I couldn’t do that to Penelope, and it would be wrong for Luthor, too. I’d be telling him that he can get what he wants through bad behavior. Think of the message that would send.”
“Luthor doesn’t get messages,” he reminded her. “He’s a dog.”
“Animals may not read and write and speak our language, but they have a social and emotional intelligence far greater than humans.” She handed over two dog dishes and a hard rubber bone riddled with large bite marks. “Here’s his toothbrush. Don’t forget to add a drop of lemon to his water. It helps calm his stomach. And he shouldn’t sleep in a drafty place….”
She had several more instructions, but she started sobbing, and Griffin couldn’t make out what she was saying. Had he not been so angry with his friends, he would have been overcome with sympathy.
“Yeah, well, you know where to find him when you come to your senses about the cat.” He was tempted to add: And you know where to find me when you come to your senses about Victor. But he held his tongue. He wouldn’t give her — or any of them — the satisfaction.
* * *
Luthor turned out to be a surprisingly good houseguest. Although bedding was set out for him in the basement, he chose to bunk with Griffin. There was no one to tell him he couldn’t. Aside from some snoring and the occasional thrashing nightmare, he was a quiet roommate. At least, Griffin was delighted to wake up alive after that first night.
Even Mom and Dad were beginning to appreciate the advantages of having a dog around. Luthor doubled as a living, breathing garbage disposal unit. There was virtually nothing the Doberman wouldn’t eat. His appetite was as broad as it was never-ending. And Dad had already filed for a reduction in his home insurance rates because there was now a watchdog on the premises.
“I pity the poor burglar who tries to make a move on the SweetPick now,” he chortled.
The main disadvantage of hosting Luthor was Savannah herself. She called ten times a day with “useful” tips on the care and feeding of an oversized Doberman. After the first few hours, Griffin stopped answering the phone whenever her number appeared on the caller ID. If she wanted to speak to him badly enough, she’d come over in person.
That’s who Griffin was expecting when the bell rang rather insistently after dinner on Sunday — Savannah, with another squeeze toy, or doggie treat, or coat-thickening shampoo with flea repellent.
He flung the door wide and announced, “Would you please —”
There stood Darren Vader with his usual ingratiating smile. “Anyway,” he greeted Griffin, “we should definitely start working on our plan.”
“We have no plan,” Griffin told him. “And stop acting like we’re in the middle of a conversation.”
Darren used his superior bulk to bull his way through the door. “Thanks for inviting me in. Now, the problem as I see it —” He found himself face to fang with Luthor, who was wearing his most unfriendly expression. “What’s he doing here?”
Griffin grinned. “Luthor’s with me now. He keeps away undesirables, so you better go home.”
Darren snorted a laugh. “You’re a great kidder. So check this out.” From his pocket, he produced a ratty piece of paper and unfolded it.
That was all there was.
“A little short on specifics,” Griffin commented.
“I figured that’s your department,” Darren explained. “You being The Man With The Plan and all that. So basically, it’s like this: We go to the convenience store in Green Hollow where the winning ticket was sold. We ask to see the owner, engage him in conversation —”
“And of course he remembers every lottery ticket he’s ever sold from a year before,” Griffin finished sarcastically. “Never mind that the winner might have been bought by a guy who was passing through town on his way to Alaska.”
Darren shrugged. “It’s possible, but the odds favor somebody local who plays Giga-Millions every week.”
“Yeah, but a store like that has hundreds of customers. Ben’s dad gets coffee there every day on his way to work —”
Griffin fell silent. He would have loved to kick Darren out, but something about this line of reasoning rang a bell inside his planner’s brain. According to Ben, the owner knew Mr. Slovak so well that he always had his coffee waiting for him, just the way he liked it.
If he remembers coffee habits, chances are he remembers lottery habits, too.
“I recognize that face!” exclaimed Darren, pleased. “It’s your Man-With-The-Plan face!”
“No, it isn’t!” Griffin snapped. But he had to admit it. The idea intrigued him, and his mind was churning furiously. Yes, the ticket was probably destroyed or lost far beyond recovery. But nobody could be 100 percent sure of that. And focusing the search on the store that had sold the winning ticket was almost planlike — which was astounding coming from Darren, who was normally as creative as a pile of rocks. Even the name — Operation Jackpot — had a nice ring to it.
All at once, he was aware of a yearning the likes of which he’d never known before. It wasn’t for the money, exactly, and not even for the pride and bragging rights of tracking down something that no one else had been able to for almost a year. No, what Griffin craved was the pure glory of a plan.
Victor had taken his team away, his friends away, his whole life away. But this the newcomer couldn’t get his greasy hands on. Operation Jackpot may have started with the likes of Darren. But it was going to prove that Griffin Bing was the one true Man With The Plan.
“We’ll split the money eighty-twenty.” Darren took in Griffin’s disgusted look and renegotiated. “All right, seventy-thirty. I deserve the bigger share, because the whole thing was my idea.”
“It’s not going to work that way, Vader.”
“Don’t be greedy,” Darren admonished. “Thirty percent of thirty mil is still nine million bucks —”
Sensing Griffin bristling at the notion of being called greedy by the greediest kid in Cedarville, Luthor silenced Darren with a sharp bark.
“What I’m saying,” Griffin explained patiently, “is that even if we find the ticket — which is a long shot — it still won’t be ours. It will belong to the person who bought it and forgot about it a year ago.”
“No fair!” Darren exploded. “You snooze, you lose! If it wasn’t for us, the ticket would expire and he’d get nothing!”
“I agree. And whoever it is will probably want to give us a reward. It might even be a big reward. But that’s up to the winner. No matter what he gives us — even if it’s nothing — we’re not tricking him, or cheating him, and we definitely won’t be robbing him!”
Although money wasn’t Griffin’s main goal, he secretly couldn’t deny how much the prospect of that reward appealed to him. He knew from Dad just how risky a career as an inventor could be. A fat check from a happy and ap
preciative Giga-Millionaire would be a much-needed safety net for the Bing family in case the SweetPick turned out to be a bust. If the guy was grateful enough, it could cover college and more. Thirty million dollars was an enormous windfall.
“Fine,” Darren grumbled. “We’ll work out the details when we’ve got the cash.” He beamed. “Looks like we’re partners, buddy.”
Griffin glared at him. “We may be partners, but we’re definitely not friends.”
Mike’s Woodstock Market was a twenty-minute bike ride from Cedarville. It was a tiny convenience store across the street from the Green Hollow train station. A sign in the window declared: PEACE AND LOVE AND PREPAID PHONE CARDS. The inside was cluttered with racks of snacks, groceries, newspapers, and magazines. Large refrigerators along the walls held dairy products and soft drinks. A self-serve doughnut and muffin bar stood at the rear.
Darren elbowed Griffin hard enough to fracture his ribs. He pointed at a sticker on the cash register: GIGA-MILLIONS LOTTERY: AUTHORIZED DEALER.
“We know that already,” Griffin said impatiently. “That’s why we’re here.”
He regarded the clerk behind the counter, an impossibly tall, impossibly thin man in his sixties, with long gray hair and a matching untrimmed beard.
“Mike?” Griffin ventured.
“Guilty,” Mike acknowledged, with a wide smile that was missing at least two teeth. “What can I do for you, man?”
Griffin had trouble taking his eyes off the clerk’s headband, which read FLOWER POWER in tiny beads. An ancient frilled poncho that might once have been a color completed the outfit.
Darren could not restrain himself. “Are you a hippie?”
“No, man.” Mike sighed. “The whole hippie thing went totally commercial. I’m just a guy struggling to be true to himself. What a long, strange trip it’s been. We’re running a two-for-one special on Cheez Doodles, if you’re interested.”
“No, thanks,” said Griffin. “I understand this was the store where that missing Giga-Millions ticket was sold.”
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