Travis looked to see what Willie was talking about. He could see another room back behind huge steel doors–“LORD STANLEY’S VAULT,” the sign overhead said. There were more lights in there and what appeared to be another, smaller trophy.
And the two men were there, too!
The shorter, dark one had his camera out again. He was flashing pictures as fast as he could. But not of the cup, of everything else: the walls, the vault doors, the base the trophy stood on.
What were they up to?
“Wait here,” Travis said to Nish.
Nish turned back, hardly caring. He could get Data to push him if necessary. But anyway he wasn’t much interested in leaving the cup he was planning to carry around Maple Leaf Gardens.
Travis circled wide around the other trophies so he could come up on the entrance to the smaller room without being seen.
There was no one in the vault but the two men, still taking photographs. It made no sense.
Travis kept close to the wall and edged to the doorway. He could hear the taller man talking.
“It’s perfect,” he kept saying. “Perfect.”
“No one can see from any of the other areas. There’s only the one surveillance camera, the main alarm, and a secondary alarm on the display case. We plan it right and we can be in and out of here in less than thirty minutes.”
The man with the camera stopped and turned, scowling.
“Keep it down. You wanna tell the whole country?”
The tall one laughed. “The whole country will know soon enough–and they’ll pay whatever it takes to get this baby back, believe me.”
Travis could feel his legs shaking, and it wasn’t from the CN Tower run.
Travis hurried back to the group around the other Stanley Cup. They were taking so many pictures and talking so loudly that he couldn’t get a word in edgewise. But even if he could, what would he say? That there were two men over there plotting to steal the real Stanley Cup? What if someone pointed? What if the men called him a liar? What if he ended up in trouble just trying to alert someone? He would tell Muck; Muck would know what to do.
The custodians of the trophy room asked the Screech Owls if they would mind moving on to let some of the other visitors closer. Travis was happy to leave–it would give him a chance to get to Muck before the two thieves left the building. Muck would tell the security people and they’d know how to stop them.
“Let’s go back down to the souvenir shop,” Travis suggested.
“Yeah, let’s,” Derek agreed.
They had all seen the store as they’d come in, and all had vowed to get back in time to buy something to remember their visit by.
“I need a T-shirt,” Nish said. He always had to have a souvenir T-shirt from every tournament. Always.
“Maybe they sell Hall of Fame underwear,” Willie suggested, to great laughter from the rest.
“Very funny,” said Nish. “Now push.”
Travis saw Muck as the coach came out of the Hall of Fame’s store. He and Nish had just dropped off the wheelchair, thanked the workers for it, and Travis was helping Nish, who was back on his crutches, out through the turnstiles. He could tell from a distance that Muck was not at all pleased.
Muck was standing with two of the Hall of Fame’s security guards and a man in a suit who looked like he ran the place. They were all deep in conversation. One of the security people had her arms full of merchandise.
They drew closer, and Nish saw Andy over by the cash register. He looked shaken. He was with Lars and Jesse and Liz, and they all looked upset.
“What’s up?” Nish said as he hobbled up to them.
“Something to do with Data and Wilson and Fahd,” said Liz. “They’ve got them back in that office there.”
Travis could just make out Data’s head through the window in the office door. He looked as if he was crying.
“They got caught lifting,” said Andy.
Travis turned. “What?”
“They had some T-shirts stuffed into their windbreakers.”
Travis couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Caught stealing? Data? Wilson? Fahd? They wouldn’t steal–would they?
“You gotta be kidding,” said Nish.
“I’m not,” said Andy. “I was right here when they got picked up.”
Yeah, Travis wanted to say, right here leading them on.
“Why would they do it?” Nish asked.
Andy had no answer. Because he knew? Travis wondered. Or because there was no answer?
“There must be some mistake,” Travis said. “They wouldn’t steal.”
Andy gave Travis his sarcastic lifted-eyebrow look. “Yeah, right,” he said.
They had been stealing. The cameras had caught it all, and they were found with the goods stuffed into their windbreakers. That was what the security woman had been holding.
Muck and Mr. Dillinger and Travis’s dad had then met alone with the man in the suit. After a long time, the three men came over to where Data, Fahd, and Wilson had gone to wait with the assistant coaches. Muck and Mr. Lindsay did the talking. Fahd was wiping away more tears. Wilson was sniffing.
The three boys got up and left with Mr. Lindsay and Barry. Muck came over, limping slightly from his old hockey injury. He signalled the rest of the team to follow him to a quiet corner.
“Sit down,” Muck said. They sat. Some on benches. Some on the floor.
Muck took his time. Whether it was for effect or because he didn’t know what to say, Travis didn’t know, but Muck had a look that he had seen only a few times in the past. And Travis didn’t like it.
“You’re not stupid people,” Muck said. “Though some of you, it seems, can still act stupid. I don’t need to tell you what happened.”
He paused again.
“The manager had some good advice for our three teammates,” he continued. “He recommended they go home and tell their parents what they’ve done and what they think about what they’ve done. He said if they promised him that they would do this, he wouldn’t be pressing charges. The three young men are on their way home as we speak. Mr. Lindsay is driving them.
“They are no longer members of the Screech Owls.”
Nish couldn’t help himself: “Forever?”
“For as long as it takes,” Muck answered.
No one had a clue what he meant. And no one had the nerve to ask.
“Let’s go back to the hotel now,” Muck said, and he turned to go.
Travis didn’t know what to do. How could he now chase after Muck with a story that two men were planning to steal the Stanley Cup? Why would Muck believe him or anyone else on the Screech Owls after what had happened? Nothing like this ever happened when Sarah had been captain.
And now he couldn’t even tell his father, who had left without a word to take the three disgraced players home. Given the distance, he probably wouldn’t be back.
“Give me a hand, eh?” Nish said, trying to get up. Travis helped his friend to his feet and bent down for his crutches. As he stood up and handed them to Nish, he saw the two men come up the stairs from the Hall of Fame and out the door.
They were leaving. Heading off, Travis was certain, to put the finishing touches to their plan.
Travis had never felt so young and insignificant in all his life. He had gone to the hotel payphones and, with two quarters, made two calls. The first was to the Hockey Hall of Fame, the second to the police.
“Two men are going to steal the Stanley Cup,” he’d said, wishing his voice didn’t sound so young.
“Is that right?” a man at the Hall of Fame had said.
“Yes.”
“Well, we watch it pretty closely,” the man said. “What’s your name, son?”
He couldn’t give it. The last thing Travis wanted was the police and the Hall of Fame security people racing to the hotel to talk to Muck about what a Screech Owl knew about some plot to steal the Stanley Cup. That would be the last straw for Muck. He might pull the entire
team out of the Little Stanley Cup. And Travis, as captain, would never be forgiven by his teammates for such a thing. So far, he hadn’t even told Nish what he knew–or at least suspected. Nish could never keep his mouth shut, and Travis didn’t want the whole team knowing. Not until he’d figured out what to do.
“They really are!” Travis insisted. He knew he sounded like a silly fool. “I heard them plotting to do it.”
“Yes,” the man said. He sounded bored, as if he handled several such calls a day. “Well, if we don’t know who you are, then we don’t know whether to believe you, do we?”
Travis had hung up. Both times. His call to the police was almost exactly the same. Both were utter failures. They thought he was a kid pulling a prank.
Travis gave up. If the Stanley Cup was stolen, so be it–he had tried his best. At least he told himself it was his best.
But he knew it wasn’t.
To no one’s surprise, Muck cancelled the trip to the Leafs game that night. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity lost because three of the team got caught shoplifting. There were bad feelings all round. Most were angry with the three boys for costing them a chance to see a real NHL game at Maple Leaf Gardens. Travis was angry with Andy Higgins, even though he had no proof that Andy had been involved or had put the three up to stealing. He just knew Andy was in there somewhere.
Muck put a 9:30 curfew on the team and did room checks to make sure everyone was where they should be and ready for bed. With Data now back home, Travis moved over into the other bed with Willie so Nish and his injured ankle could have a bed to themselves.
At 8:00 a.m. the Screech Owls were scheduled to play the Muskoka Wildlife–an all-star team made up of players from the three towns in the Ontario resort area–and the winner of the game would have an outside chance of making the final. It all depended on what happened in the Toronto Towers’ next game against the Sudbury Nickel Belts, a team both the Owls and Towers had beaten several times. If somehow Sudbury could beat the Towers, then the Owls would still have an outside chance.
Nish said his ankle was feeling much better. He used only one crutch to go down for breakfast, and by the time they got to the arena he was claiming he was good enough to play.
Muck didn’t think so. But he was three defencemen short, with Nish’s ankle and Data and Willie sent home. Gordie Griffth had already been told to play defence, with Liz moving over to centre the second line and Travis double-shifted to cover the shortage at left wing. Muck said Nish could go out for the warm-up, but he wouldn’t make any decision until they were ready to start the game.
Travis felt great. His legs were back. He hit the crossbar with his very first warm-up shot. His skates were sharp and he had no sense of them being on his feet–the best possible feeling for a good skater. He was sure he was finally going to have a good game and glad that he would be getting extra ice time.
Nish tried, but couldn’t do it. He could barely take his corners.
“Not this game,” Muck told him. “You’d better get undressed.”
“Can’t I just sit on the bench?” Nish asked.
Muck stared at him, then nodded. Nish would at least make it look as if the Screech Owls had enough players.
The Muskoka Wildlife were good. They had excellent skaters, good shooters, and big players. Travis and some of the other Owls found them intimidating just to watch in the warm-up, but Muck said something just before the face-off that made them think they might have a chance.
He called them all around the bench while the Wildlife were down in their own end going through their team yell.
“All-star teams are rarely good teams,” Muck said, seeming to contradict himself. “You put three stars together, you don’t necessarily have a line. You have a situation where everyone is chasing glory, you won’t have anyone chasing the puck. Understand?”
They all shouted that they did, but Travis wasn’t so sure any of them followed Muck when he talked this way. He knew the reason his line worked was because Dmitri had the speed, Derek could make the passes, and he, Travis, could come up with the puck. A line of three Dmitris might look sensational, but who was going to dig out the puck for them?
Five minutes into the game, the Muskoka Wildlife were up 2–0 on the Screech Owls. Muck’s little speech was starting to ring a bit hollow, but he wasn’t letting up. “Two goals on two individual rushes,” he told them. “You stop the individual, you stop this whole team.”
Muck changed the game plan so that there were two Screech Owls going in to forecheck instead of the Owls’ usual plan of having one go in and the other two forwards holding back. Muck’s hunch was that the Wildlife would be weakest on passing because each all-star player would always be trying to make the big play.
He was right. The first time Travis and Dmitri pressed in on a defender, he tried to step around them. He got past Dmitri, but Travis took the body, forcing the defenceman to panic and dump the puck out blind. Derek snared it at the blueline with his glove, dropped the puck, and hit Dmitri as he circled the Muskoka net. Dmitri waited for the goaltender to make his move–and he did, going down–and then roofed a forehand into the top of the net. The Owls were back in the game.
Not long into the second period “Cherry” Johanssen hit Liz Moscovitz with a breakaway pass and Liz was home free from centre ice in, the Owls all standing at the bench, petrified she would blow it. Liz had speed, but bad luck in scoring. “Stone hands,” she said herself. But this time it seemed she had Dmitri’s hands, deking out the Muskoka goaltender and dropping a light backhand in behind him. Tie game.
Once the game had been tied, Muck’s words came true. The Muskoka Wildlife gave up even pretending to pass and work as a team and turned instead to an endless series of individual efforts. All the Owls had to do was concentrate on the puck carrier and there would be a turnover and the Screech Owls could counterattack.
Cherry Johanssen used his speed to pick up a dropped puck and rushed down the ice with Derek and Travis. They crossed the blueline on a three-on-one, Cherry slipped it under the defenceman’s stick to Derek, and Derek dropped it back to Travis, who faked a shot and slid the puck over to Cherry, who had the wide open net to score.
The Screech Owls had a 3–2 lead. The Wildlife tried frantically to come back, but Jennie never even let a rebound out. The Owls had won the game they had to win.
When the horn blew, the Screech Owls bolted over the boards and the entire team spilled over the ice toward Jennie as if they’d been dumped from a pail. Nish, of course, was right in the middle of it all. The only player on the team who hadn’t broken a sweat.
They lined up for the naming of the Player of the Game. When the announcer began, “Most Valuable Player, Screech Owls…,” Nish pushed out from the blueline to the centre of the ice and did a little twirl. The Muskoka Wildlife, who weren’t paying full attention, rapped their sticks on the ice to congratulate him while his own team booed. “…is the goaltender, Jennie Staples!”
Now the Owls could cheer and slam their sticks. Jennie skated out and collected her prize, a tournament T-shirt. As she skated back she rolled it up and tossed it at Nish, who caught it, delighted.
“Take it,” she said. “You earned it.”
“How so?” Nish asked.
“First game you ever dressed for when you haven’t screened me,” Jennie laughed.
“It’s not ‘screening,’” he protested, “it’s blocking.”
“Whatever,” Jennie said. “It’s still your big ugly butt in my face.”
“You come with me,” Nish said to Travis.
Nish had come up to him in the hotel lobby and told him he had been thinking about the sunglasses and what to do with them.
“You should have taken them back right when Andy handed them to you.”
“I didn’t, okay. And I can’t give them back now.”
Travis didn’t suppose Nish could. How would it look: Nish, nearly two days later, handing over something and saying it must have landed in
his pocket when he dumped the vendor’s table?
“But I can put them back,” Nish said, smiling.
“What do you mean?”
“If Andy can lift them, I can lift them back, don’t you think? I’ll just have to make sure I don’t get caught.”
“You’re going to sneak them back?”
“Reverse shoplifting. Like a film running backwards. C’mon!”
The two of them, alone, started off down Yonge Street. The springlike weather was holding. Nish wanted to try walking without the crutches, and he seemed fine except for a slight limp.
They walked down the other side this time until they were past the Zanzibar strip club–Nish had good reason to steer clear of it–and then, a half-block below, they crossed back over.
Nish had the stolen sunglasses in his pocket. When they reached the vendor’s table he began trying on various glasses and twice asked the vendor for the little hand-held mirror so he could see what they looked like. They all looked ridiculous.
Travis moved on down the street to wait. He was uncomfortable standing there and knew that two young kids would make the vendor suspicious, especially if they weren’t buying anything.
As he was waiting, two familiar faces cut through the crowd outside the Zanzibar. He knew them both immediately–one tall and balding with a ponytail, the other dark with a nasty scar on the face. It was the two crooks from the Hockey Hall of Fame!
They came to a stop right beside Travis, not because they recognized him, but because they were hungry. When Travis turned his back so they wouldn’t recognize him, he saw he was standing right next to a hot-dog vendor, and that was where the two plotters had been headed. They ordered bratwurst and Cokes, and while they were waiting for the vendor to finish cooking the big sausages, they talked.
The Complete Screech Owls, Volume 1 Page 17