Griffin wandered through the living room, marveling at the organized chaos around him. He looked under a few of the stacks of books, mail, DVDs, newspapers and magazines, vinyl record albums, grocery sacks, cookie sheets, owners’ manuals, and award plaques for “salesman of the month.” He couldn’t see any old lottery tickets lying around. It was all junk, but in Mr. Fielder’s mind, it was where it was supposed to be. And anyway, the odds of winning the lottery even once were astronomical. The likelihood that Tobias Fielder had hit the jackpot again was so tiny it was off the scale. It just didn’t happen.
Eventually, Griffin managed to drag a fascinated Darren away from Mr. Fielder’s stories of press conferences and giant cardboard checks. They were tripping their way through the flotsam on the porch when a terrible sight met their eyes.
There were the bikes at the curb. Griffin’s was lying in the road.
Luthor was gone.
Where’s the mutt?” asked Darren.
“Oh, no!” Griffin groaned. “The leash must have slipped off when he knocked the bike over. Come on, we’ve got to find him!”
“Don’t look at me,” said Darren. “That dog hates me.”
“He hates everybody! Don’t take it personally.”
They got back on their bikes and cruised through the streets of Green Hollow.
“Luthor!” bellowed Griffin.
“Just look for terrified people running away from something scary,” Darren advised.
“It’s no joke!” Griffin exclaimed anxiously. “If we lose that dog, twenty of Luthor wouldn’t make up the savage beast we’ll have to face when Savannah finds out.”
“What’s all this ‘we’ stuff?” Darren snapped back. “It wasn’t my idea to bring him on the ticket hunt!”
They traveled the length of the main drag, branching off onto alternate side streets. Luthor was nowhere to be found. They were almost back to the train station when Darren swung over and grabbed Griffin’s arm, nearly pulling him off his bike.
“Bing — look!”
Griffin followed his enemy’s pointing finger. Just across the street, a row of gleaming motorcycles was parked outside a glass-front diner.
“He couldn’t be in there,” Griffin said impatiently. “They wouldn’t let a dog in a restaurant.”
“Not the mutt,” Darren insisted. “The guy on Mike’s video — the one who moved last year. The motorcycle guy — Jerry-maybe-Harry.”
Griffin pulled up short. Several of the choppers sported the HAWG WILD logo, the same message that their suspect wore on his leather jacket.
Griffin was torn. The plan or the dog. Which came first? He thought of Luthor’s long powerful legs. In the time it took to interview these bikers, the Doberman could be in Pennsylvania.
But Jerry/Harry could be here now….
“Okay,” Griffin said at last. “We see if the guy’s there, ask him about the ticket, and then straight back out to search for Luthor.”
They turned into the parking lot, leaned their bikes against a mailbox, and started for the restaurant’s front door. As they passed the line of parked motorcycles, Darren paused to admire a gleaming Harley-Davidson on the end. “I’ll bet these cost more than some cars!” He reached out and touched the shiny mirror. “It’s awesome! Look at the balance of the thing!”
Griffin started to say Darren, don’t! But it was already too late. Darren gave the chopper a solid shove. The Harley tipped over into the Honda beside it, which in turn knocked over the Kawasaki next in line. One by one, the motorcycles keeled over like dominoes, crashing to the pavement.
A moment later, the diner door flew open and a cascade of bikers poured out, each one bigger than the next, all mad as hornets.
Darren pointed at his companion. “It was him! He did it!”
“I did not!” Griffin squeaked, but his words were lost in the stampede of bikers. It figures, he thought, strangely detached from his predicament. Out of all the risks in my career as a planner, it took Darren Vader to get me killed!
“You’re going to be sorry about this!” grunted the leader in a voice that seemed to emanate from the bowels of the earth.
And then a bark rang out even deeper and more threatening than the voice. A blur of black-and-brown fur flashed onto the scene, putting itself between the bikers and the two cowering boys. Now it was the motorcycle gang that was backing up. It was one thing to be tough. It was quite another to be tough while facing those jaws.
Griffin found his voice at last. “It was an accident! We didn’t mean any harm!”
“Call off your monster!” someone shouted.
It was worth a try. “Luthor — it’s okay!”
The Doberman backed up a few steps, but maintained his defensive position in front of the boys.
“We’re really sorry. We just need to talk to Jerry, or maybe Harry.”
There was a confused murmur among the bikers. Finally, one of them said, “You mean Perry?”
Griffin took a hard look and decided that, yes, this was the man from the store’s video. “You buy lottery tickets at Mike’s Woodstock Market?”
“What’s it to you?” Perry demanded.
Griffin told him about their search for the missing ticket. “Mike told us you changed apartments around then. What if you forgot to check those numbers and the ticket got stuffed in a suitcase or box during the move?”
The big bearded man brayed a harsh laugh. “Take it easy, Sherlock. I checked the ticket.”
Darren stepped out from behind Griffin. “How can you be sure? It was a year ago.”
“I matched three numbers — forty-six bucks. That night, I heard on the news that one ticket won the whole thirty million. So my forty-six bucks stopped looking so good. Yeah, I remember. That kind of thing you don’t forget.”
Griffin and Darren exchanged a look of frustration. Three suspects. Three dead ends.
And only four days to go.
How’s your dad coming along with his allergist?” Savannah asked.
Victor looked blank for a moment, then said, “Oh — uh — pretty good, I guess. The pills weren’t working, so they switched him to shots. The doctor says it’s a slow process.”
“Oh,” she replied, disappointed.
He was instantly worried. “Sorry, Savannah. I wish I could take Penelope home so you could get your dog back.”
“None of this is Penelope’s fault,” she said firmly. “Luthor would have needed this tough love sooner or later anyway. I’ve got no one but myself to blame for that. He’s spoiled rotten and I’m the one who did it to him. And who could be angry with Penelope? She’s such a joy.”
They both watched the cat, who was amusing herself by scrambling up a flight of carpeted stairs and rolling down. Cleopatra was playing, too, but the monkey’s heart didn’t appear to be in the game today. She seemed listless, her swing at half arc, her bounce all but missing.
“I think your monkey might be sick,” Victor ventured, concerned.
Savannah sighed. “She misses Luthor, too. They were inseparable, you know.”
Victor did know. Savannah had already told him at least fifteen times.
“I’m not much better,” Savannah admitted bleakly. “Last night, I went crawling through the bushes outside Griffin’s house. Can you imagine that? Skulking like a ninja on the off chance that I could catch a glimpse of my sweetie.” She brightened a little. “Oh, well. One day, all this will be over. Luthor will learn his lesson, and we’ll be one big happy family again.”
“And my dad’s allergies will get better,” Victor added helpfully.
Despite Savannah’s assurances, he was starting to get an uneasy feeling on his daily visits to the Drysdale house. Victor had done amazingly well since moving to Cedarville. After the bullying he’d endured at his old school, this town and these friends meant the world to him.
Yet he couldn’t escape the feeling that the whole situation was on shaky ground. His passport to this new life had been stamped when Savannah h
ad taken in Penelope. Not that Savannah, Pitch, Logan, Melissa, and Ben were so shallow that they’d turn their backs on him over a cat. Still, it was time to find something else that would cement his position within the group. But what? Another animal wouldn’t work.
Whatever it took, he had to find a way to make it happen. These new friends were too important to him — especially after what he’d been through in Bass Junction.
He was on his way home, his head swimming with these thoughts, when Darren Vader stopped him on Honeybee Street.
Although the two had barely spoken before, Victor felt an instant connection. Both had been victims of cruel bullying, so there was an unbreakable bond between them. And Victor was full of admiration for the way Darren had stood up in front of the entire school and faced down his tormentor, Griffin Bing.
“Hey, Victor, how’s it going?”
“Pretty good. How about you?” Victor replied. Then he added cautiously, “Any more problems with Griffin?”
“Forget him,” Darren scoffed. “You know what? I actually think he did me a favor.”
Victor made a face. “I don’t see how pushing you around could qualify as that.”
The story Darren told was a real eye-opener. Until then, Victor had not known the full details of the hoax that had sent Darren sifting through garbage all over town. But the goal of that search — the unclaimed thirty-million-dollar jackpot — was one hundred percent real! Darren had taken Griffin’s bullying and turned it into something positive! He’d interviewed the owner of the store, examined his security video for last October 6, and even created a list of possible purchasers of the missing ticket.
“I just know I can find it,” Darren finished. “But the time is running short, and I’m only one guy. If only I had some help — just a few more people — I’m sure I could bring a lot of happiness into somebody’s life. And I’ll bet that big winner would give us a reward, too.”
At that moment, Victor understood exactly what he had to do to solidify his position with his new friends. How many times had they referred to Griffin as The Man With The Plan? That’s what he needed — a plan for them to carry out together. And Darren had just given him one. Even if they never got anywhere near this legendary Giga-Millions ticket, working toward a common purpose would be worth fifty cats living at the Drysdales’.
A plan! Why hadn’t he thought of that?
“Let’s talk to the others,” Victor urged. “I know they’ll be anxious to get in on this.”
“There’s a problem,” Darren admitted. “Those guys don’t trust me.”
Victor was mystified. “Why wouldn’t they trust you?”
“It’s Griffin’s fault. He’s been bad-mouthing me since we were in diapers. They hate me because he hates me. I never even had a chance with them.”
Victor, who knew what that felt like, was instantly sympathetic. “We can fix it. I can fix it. They’re really nice kids. If we explain things, I’m positive they’ll see the light.”
Darren shook his head sadly. “There’s no time to work all that out. We’ve only got four days before the ticket expires.” He put on a brave smile. “Thanks for trying, man.”
“We can still do it,” Victor insisted. “You’ll be a totally silent partner. I’ll tell everybody the whole thing is my idea.”
Darren had tears in his eyes. “You’d do that for me?”
“Totally. And when it’s over, we’ll set the record straight. They’re great guys, but they’ve got a blind spot when it comes to Griffin Bing. We’ll give them a chance to get to know the real you.”
Victor took stock of himself. A new friend, the perfect plan, a black mark against Griffin, and — who knew — maybe even thirty million dollars.
This had been a good day.
The sight had become a familiar one, even to Ferret Face — Melissa, hunched over the computer in her room, working her technological magic for a plan. The little creature peered out of Ben’s sleeve, watching alongside the team as the shy girl expertly guided her fingers across the keyboard.
It had taken the tech whiz no more than thirty seconds to access the security camera footage from Mike’s Woodstock Market on her laptop. Now a procession of head shots flickered on the screen at breakneck speed — thousands of them, flashing one after the other.
“I’ve created some new facial recognition software,” she explained from behind the curtain of stringy hair. “The program is comparing the people from the security camera to the images on the DMV database.”
“DMV?” Victor echoed.
“Department of Motor Vehicles. I hacked into their mainframe. These are all the driver’s license photos in New York State. It isn’t foolproof,” she added apologetically. “If the winning ticket was bought by somebody out of state, we won’t be able to identify him or her.”
“Shame on you,” Pitch said sarcastically. “That kind of carelessness could get you kicked out of evil genius school.”
At that moment, Melissa’s printer whirred to life. The team gathered around as it spat out three pages of names and addresses.
“This is awesome!” Victor breathed in genuine admiration. “Melissa, you rock!”
Ben bit his lip. Maybe Victor was blown away by Melissa’s talents, but nobody else was. How many times had the team witnessed Melissa’s electronic miracles? Maybe that explained the bad taste in Ben’s mouth. Team meant Griffin’s team, and Griffin was not around to be a part of this. It didn’t feel right.
Victor was fine. Victor was great. Meeting new people and making new friends was a good thing, wasn’t it? Of course it was!
“All right.” Victor examined the list. “Here’s what we’re going to do….”
For Ben, that was the problem. This was a plan. The search for a thirty-million-dollar lottery ticket! Griffin lived for stuff like this. How could they leave him out of it?
Ben caught himself rubbernecking out Melissa’s second-story window, peering in the direction of the Bing home three blocks over. Savannah was doing it, too. For sure she was thinking of Luthor.
The team without Griffin; Savannah without Luthor; Vader at Griffin’s side.
The whole universe was out of whack.
* * *
The Doberman hunkered down just outside the garage, watching intently as Griffin’s father tinkered with his invention.
“You know,” Mr. Bing commented, “I always thought Luthor was a big, dumb mutt, but he’s really smart. Look how interested he is in my work. He can sit and watch me for hours.”
“Yeah, Dad.” Griffin had a theory about that. Luthor wasn’t fascinated by the SweetPick — he was scared to death of it. Every time the U-Bundle mechanism lashed out, he would jump back, and the hiss of the slicing Safe-chete blade raised hackles on the back of his neck. All walks began with a nervous bark over his shoulder at the closed garage door. And when Mr. Bing invited him into the workshop for a closer look, the Doberman refused to budge. The reason Luthor wouldn’t take his eyes off the device was that he was convinced it was coming to get him.
There had been interest in the SweetPick from Brazil. Mr. Bing was currently resizing the harness to match the height of the South American crop, using his son as a typical worker. It was a tricky process that left Griffin wearing the prototype for hours on end while his father fiddled, measured, and ordered parts. Most of the time, Griffin felt like a store mannequin — although he had to admit he’d never gotten so much respect from Luthor as when he was wearing the Dangerous Thing.
“Is that your dad’s new whatchamacallit?”
Griffin turned to see Ben standing before him on the driveway.
“I’m helping my dad,” Griffin grumbled. “He’ll be back any minute. What do you want?”
Ben shrugged. “Just figured I’d come by. Ferret Face misses you.”
Griffin took note of the unmoving lump inside Ben’s shirt. “He looks really excited to see me again.”
“Maybe he doesn’t recognize you in that gizmo. Liste
n, Griffin, the team has something going on, and we thought you might want to get in on it.”
Griffin’s eyes narrowed. “You mean a plan?”
“Not a plan,” Ben said quickly. “It’s more like an activity that everybody’s doing. You know, for a purpose.”
“That’s a plan!” Griffin exclaimed. “I’ll bet it’s Victor’s plan, isn’t it?”
“Well, maybe. But —”
“Then what do you need me for?” Griffin cut him off. “You’ve got the new Man With The Plan!”
“Come on, Griffin,” Ben wheedled. “This can’t be fun for you, either. Fighting with everybody, babysitting Luthor, hanging out with Vader.”
“Go back to Victor and your brilliant plan. I’ve got a little something going myself. And, no, you’re not invited to be part of it.”
Luthor let out a threatening growl, which had Ben retreating to the sidewalk and home. “Well, if you change your mind …”
“I won’t.” Griffin reached out to pat the Doberman. “Thanks, pal.”
Luthor backed away from the SweetPick on Griffin’s chest.
Griffin frowned, his lips forming a thin line. What kind of plan could that guy Victor have? Something useless, probably, like raking leaves.
But he had to admit that Operation Jackpot wasn’t exactly cruising, either. Darren, the coward, wasn’t returning Griffin’s phone calls. One little motorcycle gang, and he was spooked.
The clock was ticking, and there were still forty-four people on the suspect list.
He had to face the fact that Darren was blowing him off.
If this plan was going to have any chance of working, Griffin would have to forge on alone.
Victor regarded Logan in perplexity. The boy had halted halfway up the house’s front walk and now stood frozen in concentration.
“Logan, are you okay?”
“Shhhh!” Logan hissed. “I’m preparing.”
“Preparing what?”
“Getting into character,” the young actor explained. “I’m going to create a role so vivid, so believable that those people will never realize we’re just a regular couple of kids. Maybe I’m a researcher, working for Giga-Millions, doing a study on how long people keep their old tickets.”
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