“What should we do with this?” Kaz nudges the pie with this beak.
My whiskers twitch happily. “What do you think?” I open my snout and dig in. Kaz pecks at the other half. “Scrumptious, right?” I mumble through a mouthful of cheese.
“Well, it’s no grass seeds,” Kaz says. Crumbs sprinkle out of his beak. “But it’s not bad.”
When every glob of cheese and speck of crust is gone, I roll onto my back. My belly heaves up and down, stuffed full. “Now I can think,” I say.
Kaz stretches out his feathers. “What was all that stuff you said before about your brother?”
I roll back onto my stomach. My paws are still stained with tomato sauce. I busy myself by nibbling it off.
I know what the other rats say about pigeons.
More feathers than brains.
Dumb enough to walk right past a human.
I look up. Kaz is watching me. I nibble at another speck of sauce. Kaz might be a pigeon and he might fly with a nasty flock, but he got me out of that dumpster and out of that restaurant. I don’t know what he is exactly, but it isn’t dumb.
“I’m looking for my little brother,” I tell him. And suddenly the words pour out of me. I blurt it all: about my subway station and my parents and Lulu and Oggie, and how I used to tell Oggie these incredible stories, as if I were Raffie the Unstoppable, but they were all made up. “And then Oggie tried to be like me,” I say quietly, “and he got stolen away in a cage!”
“Whoa.” Kaz shakes his beak. “Those must have been some powerful stories.”
I look away, ashamed. “They were just stories,” I mutter. I look back at Kaz. “The only good thing is, the boy who took Oggie left a notebook behind. I read the address on it and—”
“You read it?” Kaz cuts in. “Like read it? You know how to read?”
I nod. “My parents taught me. It helps us determine the good forages from the bad ones. I’m slow at it, though. You should see my sister, Lulu. She’s a reading whiz. But I’m sure the notebook said 220 Central Park West.” I twitch my tail nervously. “I think that’s where Oggie is.”
“Central Park,” Kaz says dreamily. “That’s what first got my attention about you, you know that? You kept talking about Central Park. I always wanted to go there. But I’m not allowed to fly long distances because of my wing.” He gives his jagged half wing a flap. “Ziller won’t let me.”
“Is Ziller your dad?” I ask.
“No.” Kaz balks. “He’s the leader of my flock. I don’t got parents. I mean, I guess I did at one point, but I don’t remember them. I’ve just got Ziller. And he’s one nasty bird. You heard him. He calls me Stumpy because of my wing. He’ll probably kill me if he finds out I helped you.”
“So don’t go back to him.” I jump to my paws. An idea is pulsing through me. “Come find Central Park with me instead! You said you’ve always wanted to go there. I can’t fly either. We can walk—or, well, waddle—there together.”
Kaz cocks his head. For a while, he says nothing. “Wanna know something about pigeons?” he asks finally.
“It’s ‘want to,’” I correct. “Not ‘wanna.’”
Kaz shoots me a look. “I mean yes,” I say quickly.
“We pigeons have crazy good senses of direction,” Kaz says. “No pigeon will ever get lost, let me tell you that. We’ve got the sun to guide us. We’ve got landmarks to lead us. We’ve got our brain compasses—”
“Your what?” I interrupt.
“Our brain compasses,” Kaz repeats. “We can just feel in our brains which way to go. It’s all to help get us home if we’re lost. But…” Kaz swishes his wings. “Maybe I can use it to get us to 220 Central Park West instead.”
My breath catches in my throat. “What are you saying?” I ask.
“I like you, Raffie. You got good vibes.” Kaz snaps his beak thoughtfully. “And there’s nothing left for Stumpy in this ’hood. I’ll come with you. That’s what I’m saying.”
I’m so excited, I jump up and run a lap around Kaz. “So how do we get there?”
Kaz closes his eyes. He cocks his head. He spreads out his wings and flexes his talons. Finally, he opens his eyes.
“We’re not close, I can tell you that,” he says. “We’ll have to cross a river. Then we’ll have to get from the bottom of the city all the way to the top.”
My tail droops between my paws. “How do we do that?”
Kaz waddles to the edge of the truck. I scurry over next to him. “There,” he says. I look up. Hanging in the dark sky is another floating road. This one has two enormous arches at either end. They glitter with lights as cars zoom beneath them. “Another floating road,” I breathe.
“That’s called the Brooklyn Bridge,” Kaz says. “Humans take it to get over the water, from Brooklyn to Manhattan.” Kaz turns to face me. His eyes gleam with excitement. “Maybe we should too.”
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CHAPTER
12
Don’t Chicken Out
I stick close to Kaz as we make our way onto the Brooklyn Bridge. The sky is dark, but lights twinkle above, setting the bridge aglow. My paws tense. I can feel the lights grazing my fur, brightening me up for anyone to see.
I scurry up the railing on the side of the bridge and duck into a shadowy spot. At the other end of the bridge is a long line of buildings. There are so many of them, one after another after another, glittering in a giant constellation of lights. A shiver slides down my back. The city looks so big. A rat could get lost over there.
“I was hoping there wouldn’t be lots of people at night, for your sake,” Kaz says tightly. “But I guess that’s not happening.”
I tear my eyes away from the city and look at the long wooden pathway that runs along the center of the bridge. It’s filled with humans. They’re walking and running and biking and taking photo after photo. In my shadowy spot on the railing, no one notices me. But the lights only get brighter up ahead. There’s no way I’ll make it across the whole bridge without being spotted.
Kaz flies in a crooked circle above me. “I think our best bet is to go down there.” He points a wing to our right. Below us is another lane, sunken beneath the wooden pathway. It’s packed with cars. They creep slowly forward, inching toward the city.
“A traffic jam,” Kaz says thoughtfully. He pauses in the air, flapping directly above me. “That gives me an idea.” He perches on the railing next to me. “Raffie, I know exactly how we’re gonna get into the city.”
“Going to,” I correct him. “Not gonna.”
Kaz snaps his beak impatiently. “Do you want to hear my idea or not?”
I nod.
“We’ll hitch a ride!” Kaz announces.
“Itch a ride,” I repeat. “Of course. I was thinking the same thing.” I scratch at my side with my paw. “Um … exactly how itchy do we need to be?”
“Nah, not itch. Hitch. It means we’re gonna borrow a ride,” Kaz explains.
“Going to,” I say again.
The feathers on Kaz’s neck ruffle. “What does it matter?”
“I … well…” I curl my tail in my front paws. “It just does,” I sputter. “I tell stories, Kaz. And in a story, every word is important.”
I look down, thinking of the last time I told Oggie exactly that. It was just the other night. We were curled up in my shoe box together, and I was telling him a Raffie the Unstoppable story. It was my most exciting one yet: Raffie the Unstoppable had just escaped the E word—only to end up stuck in the Roadway. “There were rattraps and poison at every turn,” I told Oggie in a hushed voice. “Raffie the Unstoppable was worried he’d finally met his demise.”
“Don’t chicken up, Raffie the Unstoppable!” Oggie gasped.
I stopped the story to correct him. “The saying is ‘don’t chicken out,’” I inform
ed him.
“So?” Oggie said. “I was close enough, right?”
I shook my snout. “It’s like I’m always telling you, Oggie. Every word is important.”
Oggie nodded and snuggled closer. I could feel his little heart beating against my fur. “Okay, don’t chicken out, Raffie the Unstoppable!” he cheered.
My throat closes up tight at the memory. I take a deep breath and turn my focus back to Kaz.
“Fine,” he says, with a shrug of his wings. “We’re going to hitch a ride. Better?”
“Much.” I pause. “But, um … what exactly does that involve?”
“All we’ve got to do is sneak inside a car,” Kaz explains. “It can’t be that hard. I’ve heard chipmunks talking about doing it and we all know how lazy chipmunks are—”
“Wait,” I interrupt. “Did you just say ‘inside’? Actually inside a car? With a human?”
Kaz nods. “That’s how you do it.”
My stomach turns. I can think of about a hundred things that can go wrong in that scenario. But I hear Oggie’s voice in my head. Don’t chicken out, Raffie the Unstoppable! I take a deep breath. Oggie is somewhere over that bridge. I have to get to him. “Okay,” I say. “How do we do this?”
“We need to look for two things,” Kaz instructs. “An open window and a backseat with no heads bobbing in it.”
We’re both quiet as we scan the cars crawling past. A silver van has all its windows shut. A bright yellow car has an open window, but three heads bob in the back. A rusty, white car wobbles past. Smoke curls up behind it. Its windows are open, and the backseat is empty. “How about that one?” I suggest.
“Nah.” Kaz shakes his beak. “That’s one old nasty car.”
“It’s called vintage,” I say knowingly. My gaze lands on a long black car. Its back windows are open, and I don’t see a single head bobbing behind the driver. “There’s one,” I exclaim.
Kaz flies into the air to get a better look. “That’s good,” he says. “Real good. It’s a limousine, which means it’s got a window separating the front seat from the back seat. The driver won’t suspect a thing.”
Kaz flies down to the car lane. He twists his head back to look at me. “Come on,” he yells.
I start down the railing. It’s so bright up here, I feel like I’m on display. Down below, the line of cars inches forward. A driver looks out his window. His eyes land on me. His eyebrows shoot up, and I swear I can hear his battle cry, even from all the way up here. I try to move, but it’s like my run-in with the thief all over again. I can’t move my legs. I can’t move my tail. I can’t even breathe.
“What’s taking so long, Raffie?” Kaz flies over. His wings flap in front of me, blocking me from the man’s view. “Hurry or we’ll miss the limo!”
I draw in a shaky breath as I look up at Kaz. It’s not the same as with the thief. This time, I’m not alone. “Fly in front of me,” I instruct. I scurry down the rest of the way with Kaz protecting me from sight. I blow out a sigh of relief when my paws hit asphalt. But the instant I see the cars, I freeze up all over again.
I’ve seen cars back home, of course, but I’ve never been this close to them. I’m so close I can smell the humans inside. The cars are monstrous. One run-in with a tire and I’d be flatter than a juice box on the subway tracks. “I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” I say.
“Nah, it’s a great idea.” Kaz nudges me forward with his beak. “We both want to get to Central Park, right? Well, this will make it easier.” Next to us, the cars screech to a standstill.
“Now’s our chance to get close to the limo.” Kaz pushes me forward again. Suddenly I’m snout to metal with the limo door. “We just need to get through the window,” he says.
I look up. Between the open window and me is a long stretch of shiny, smooth metal. I paw nervously at it, testing it out. Metal is the hardest material to get a grip on—especially when it’s this smooth.
The car moves forward. The tire just barely misses my tail. I leap backward. My heart is thudding so wildly I can feel it all the way down in my paws. “I—I can’t do this,” I call up to Kaz. My voice sounds strange, all high-pitched and strangled. “I don’t have wings to fly me up to that window, and if I try to climb the door, I’m going to slip and fall and get crushed under a tire. I can’t get to Oggie if I’m nothing more than a splatter on the Brooklyn Bridge!” The last part comes out a little more like a scream than a sentence.
Kaz cocks his head thoughtfully. “I got this.” He swoops downward and stretches out his talons. “Grab on,” he says.
“Grab on?” I repeat. The limo moves forward with a lurch. I back even farther away.
“Hurry!” Kaz says. His talons dangle above me.
I’m shaking all over as I lift onto my hind legs and latch on to Kaz’s talons. He rises slowly into the air, taking me with him. We wobble to the left. We wobble to the right. I look down. The ground is suddenly far beneath us.
Kaz grunts as he flies toward the limo’s open window. “Hold on tight,” he says. He dives in beak first. I tumble in after him. His talons slip from my grip. I go plummeting down for the second time that night.
I crash into a seat. My snout is smushed against leather. My tail is jammed under a belt. Slowly, I pull myself up. I spit out a mouthful of seat lint. “You okay?” I mumble. I turn around to find Kaz.
Instead, I find myself looking at the tiniest, prissiest dog I’ve ever seen. She has fluffy white fur, a sparkly pink collar, and nails painted pink to match. Her tiny snout is perfectly trimmed and her long, pouffy ears stink like roses. Slowly, she lifts her head off her silky, pink pillow. “Did you really just interrupt my beauty sleep?” she sniffs.
CHAPTER
13
Let Sleeping Dogs Lie
“Are you seriously in my limo right now?” The dog skitters backward in her silk bed. Her sparkly collar glitters. “No way.” She waves a paw at me. “Just, go. Be gone!”
“But we need a ride,” I say. I give her my best wide-eyed, whisker-quivering pout, the one that gets me out of slop cleanup at home. “My name is Raffie and my friend Kaz and I are trying to get to Central Park West to save—”
“Um, did you not hear me?” the dog interrupts. “I seriously cannot have you two in my limo. Do you know who I am? I’m Marigold Rose Valencia the Third, blue-ribbon winning show dog and star of the reality TV show Trust Fund Dog. Mouse stench does not belong in my limo.”
“Mouse?” I exclaim. “Did you just call me a—” I stop short. My fur is bristling all over from her insult, but I need this dog’s help. I clear my throat. “Excuse me,” I say. I use my sweetest voice. “It’s just that I’m actually a rat.”
“Mouse, rat, whatever,” Marigold snaps. “Just leave the way you came in, or I’ll call my chauffeur to save me. ’Kay?”
“The only thing you need saving from is that hairstyle,” Kaz says. He climbs up from where he landed on the floor of the car. His beak is smudged with dirt, and his feathers are rumpled.
“My fur is perfection, thank you very much.” Marigold tosses her fluffy ears. “It better be. I just spent eight hours at Brooklyn’s Prestigious Pampered Poodle Spa. I was bathed in a rose-scented bubble bath. I was fluff-dried by a state-of-the-art blow-dryer. I was massaged and combed, pouffed and coiffed, manicured and perfumed.” She looks appraisingly from me to Kaz. “Which is why I look like this and you both look like … that.” She sniffs at the air. “Hashtag pee-yew.”
“Hash browns?” I ask eagerly. “Where?” I sniff at the air. “Are they all squishy and spoiled?”
Marigold scrunches up her snout. “The only thing that smells spoiled here is you. Please tell me you know what a bath is.”
“Of course I do,” I scoff. “I just took one two weeks ago. The rainwater that drips onto the subway tracks is the perfect temperature for a nice, relaxing bath.”
Marigold makes a strange gagging noise. She probably ate a button by mistake. That’s happened to me b
efore. They look a lot like olives, but they do not taste the same.
“Listen,” Kaz says. “We need a ride. Can we just hitch for a few minutes?” He shakes out his rumpled feathers. One floats across the car and lands on Marigold’s bed.
“Pigeon cooties!” Marigold gasps. “I’ve got the pigeon cooties! Do you know what you’ve just done? Now that I’ve lost Rex, my beauty is all I have left!” She paws frantically at her fur and shakes out her ears at the same time. She looks just like Lulu did that time she accidentally stuck her paw in an electric socket.
I try not to laugh. I really do. But a tiny giggle slips out.
Marigold’s head snaps up. “Don’t you dare LOL at me,” she growls.
I quickly squeeze my eyes shut and cover my ears with my paws. Good thing Lulu taught me what LOL stands for. “I’m not looking or listening!” I say. “Can we have a ride now?”
But with my ears covered, I can’t hear her answer. I open one eye a tiny bit. Marigold is lifting her lips to show me her teeth. They’re straight and tiny and shiny white. She must want to see my teeth in return. I’ve never understood dog behavior. They choose to lick humans. But I need this dog to like me, so I flash my incisors at her. Those are my very best teeth. I can gnaw through almost anything with them.
Kaz knocks me with his wing. “Shut your snout,” he whispers. “Do you wanna get a ride or not?”
“There is no ride to get,” Marigold huffs. “Leave right now, or I’ll alert my chauffeur, Thomas. I’ve spent the last five years training him. All I have to do is give a single howl of fear, and he will pull over the car. ’Kay?”
Kaz and I both look at the window that separates the front of the car from the back. It’s shut tight, and the human in the front is nodding his head to music. “You mean that guy behind the window?” Kaz snorts. “You’ve been making noise this whole time, and he hasn’t seemed to notice.”
“That’s because I haven’t been loud enough,” Marigold insists. “He’s very well trained. Humans are totally intelligent animals, you know. They can be taught to do over one hundred tricks.” Marigold tosses her fluffy white ears. “Watch. I can prove it to you. Do you want some food?”
Raffie on the Run Page 5