The Fourth Stall Part III

by Chris Rylander

  If there was such a thing as a video dictionary and you looked up the word “chaos,” the definition would be footage from the stock market exchange floor. One time I caught my dad watching some news show on CNN where they were talking about the stock market and they were showing footage of the exchange floor that day. It was madness; I swore I even saw one guy standing on a desk holding a live chicken. He was threatening to douse the chicken with a glass of water while doing some sort of weird barefoot dance. And two other guys in the background were on the ground wrestling, and I saw one of them bite the other one in the cheek. And that’s not even mentioning the dude in the panda suit who was starting small fires near the elevators in the background and then putting them out with two-liter bottles of Pepsi.

  Anyways, the point is that was exactly the atmosphere of our office that Monday.

  There were kids piling in during every recess and all during lunch. Vince and I were in overdrive mode trying to get through enough business to hit our goal, but we knew that the number was within reach. All either of us could think about was later that day, stealing the permanent records.

  The main obstacle we faced would be, of course, getting all three secretaries and Dickerson out of the administration offices for at least a full hour at the same time. Something that had never happened before during a school day. In fact, the only time they were ever even out of the office at the same time at all was during fire drills, but that was usually just for like ten minutes at the most. And iBully was adamant that he needed at least an hour.

  But luckily, we had Vince. And he had come up with one of the most brilliant plans either of us had ever concocted.

  Stage one was for me, Vince, and iBully to head to the library, which was adjacent to the administration offices, where we could watch the plan unfold without looking too suspicious. The plan was for no one else to enter the offices but us three and Tyrell, who insisted on finding his own observation point. If any of us was caught, it would obviously be instant expulsion, so I didn’t want any more kids involved than were absolutely necessary.

  I checked my watch; stage two should be starting at any moment.

  Sure enough, after about ten more seconds, Dickerson came exploding out of the administration offices. He turned down the hall, walking in that stiff way adults do when they need to move quickly but don’t want to run. Then after a few steps he gave up and just took off running.

  So he’d clearly seen his car getting towed. I knew from all the time I’d spent in his office the past year that he sat facing the window and that his parking space was right there, the one directly across from the window.

  Getting a car towed was actually pretty easy. We just had My-Me call the towing company pretending to be Mr. Dickerson complaining that an unauthorized vehicle was parked in his spot. The tow company obviously would have no idea that they were actually towing Dickerson’s car. The way towers work is they get a call for a tow, they make the tow. They run a simple business, which means they don’t ask questions; they just make money.

  As soon as we saw Dickerson run out the door at the end of the hall, it meant phase three should already be under way. So Vince, iBully, and I left the library and went to the nearest boys’ bathroom just down the hall. We each occupied a stall and stood on the toilet, waiting for the chaos to begin.

  By then Matches should have already started his fire just outside the cafeteria windows. I know, I know. I said there was a line and that I’d never actually pay a kid to set our school on fire and blah, blah, blah. But the thing is, desperate times call for crazy stuff to happen.

  Just pulling the fire alarm would clear the building for only fifteen minutes maximum. But a real fire would clear it for at least forty-five minutes, maybe even for the whole day. Or so I hoped . . . If I was wrong, our plan was doomed.

  You might be wondering why we had Dickerson’s car towed when the fire thing would work to clear out everybody. Well, the thing is Dickerson’s job when there was a fire was to keep sweeping the building for any kids left behind. So, this way, if he was distracted with the tow-truck guys, he wouldn’t be able to do that. Or so I could only hope.

  Anyways, we didn’t have to wait long before we heard the fire alarm. Matches assured me that he could start a fire big enough to cause a panic, yet one that would stay reasonably under control. I hoped he was right. If the fire spread inside, the four of us would all get cooked like holiday hams.

  We waited in the bathroom, standing on the toilets. Pretty soon the door burst open and a teacher made a pass-through, checking for any kids who might have been in there. He got down on his knees to check for feet and then was gone. We waited for five more minutes to make sure the school was cleared and then we made our move.

  Out in the hallway we could smell smoke. I was suddenly very concerned that Matches had started a fire that would actually burn the whole place down. I shook it off and joined Tyrell at the door to the administration offices. He was already working on the lock with his trusty lockpick gun.

  In just a matter of minutes he had us inside the administrative office area and then a short time later into Dickerson’s actual office. We stayed low so we wouldn’t be seen by everyone outside.

  “Okay, do your thing,” I said to iBully.

  He sat down at Dickerson’s desk, making sure to stay hidden right behind the monitor. He plugged a flash drive into the computer and started clacking away at the keyboard.

  I poked my head up just enough to see outside. There were throngs of kids milling around, laughing and joking. Teachers doing head counts. And Dickerson was still out there simultaneously arguing with the tow-truck driver while trying to deal with the mess of his school being on fire. I saw two fire trucks coming up quickly from down the street.

  I slid back down and looked at Vince. Now all we could do was wait and hope that it took the firefighters a while to get everything under control.

  After what felt like forever but was only a little over half an hour, iBully finally said, “Almost done. I just need like ten more minutes.”

  I grinned at Vince. We were actually going to pull this off. I didn’t believe it. But then Tyrell, who had been keeping watch in the hallway, poked his head inside the office.

  “Uh, guys, Dickerson is coming! The fire chief must have let him back in for something. ETA like seventy seconds.”

  Vince and I looked at each other. Everything else around us stopped. We’d gotten so close to pulling it off that it actually hurt to finally lose like this. It was like the 2003 Cubs play-offs all over again. We still remembered the pain of that relived over and over through highlights, even though we hadn’t even watched it live because we had been too young.

  But then the door to the office opened again, and a small head with neat and perfectly parted hair on top of it popped in, followed by his small impeccably dressed frame. He was holding two cans of spray paint, one red and one black, and was shaking them both up and down.

  “Kitten? How did you know we were in here?”

  He shrugged, staying calm, as always.

  “You guys carry on with business. I’ll take care of this,” he said.

  “Kitten, no! You’ll be expelled,” Vince said.

  “Don’t do it,” I agreed. “You don’t need to do this for us.”

  Then a sickening smile spread very slowly across Kitten’s face. It was kind of like cutting open the devil and staring into the black hole where a heart should have been. Except that, in this case, the devil was on our side.

  Without another word Kitten was gone, the door swinging closed.

  We all sat there quietly, listening to what happened next. I heard Dickerson’s muffled cry as he realized what was about to go down. Then we all heard the noise of spray-paint cans discharging. Dickerson was yelling now. Screaming, actually. I could even picture his red face with that one pulsating vein that he had in his forehead.

  But even above that we heard the laughter. It had to have been Kitten’s. And it sent a
chill deep into my spine. That cold, maniacal laughter followed by sounds of spray paint hitting a Suit would have haunted my dreams for the rest of my life if they hadn’t saved us all.

  But they did save us all. So, instead, I would always remember them with a smile.

  If you think this will be one of those things that you see in movies where the cool sidekick gets shot and you assume he’s dead but then in the end it turns out he lived, then you’re wrong. Because this is real life, not some too-good-to-be-true movie.

  And the fact is that Kitten never came back after that. He was gone. That demented and glorious smile before he left Dickerson’s office was the last any of us ever saw of that mad genius. I don’t know what happened to him, or where he ended up, or if he’s happy or sad or even still alive at all, but wherever he is, I just hope he doesn’t regret what he did for us that day.

  Because he really did save us all. Dickerson of course went chasing after him and likely caught him eventually. But either way the diversion bought us just enough time to finish downloading the permanent records for the entire school and vacate the area before he came back.

  And because of that we made it. That’s right, we actually did it. We made enough money in those six days to pay back Kinko, and we also got her the permanent records she requested.

  It was time for the last phase of the mission: to have My-Me call me in sick again Tuesday morning and make the delivery. I packed the money and flash drive in an old briefcase that I borrowed from my dad’s closet. And tomorrow Staples was going to drive me back out to Thief Valley.

  I was so proud of everyone who had helped us. We’d all accomplished something great. The last step was simply to make it through Monday night and we’d be home free to settle this mess and finally retire once and for all.

  And I’d even be able to sleep easy because we’d hired a few of the bullies to keep watch that night at my house. I mean, a lot of people from all over town knew that we’d been making a ton of money lately, so we just couldn’t be too careful, especially not when we were this close to our goal.

  Great White was stationed out back under my bedroom window. Little Paul was watching the front door, and Kevin patrolled the whole outside of my house. They’d all been able to sneak out easy enough that night without their parents noticing. I mean, these were trained professionals, after all. Besides, most bullies I knew didn’t have parents who paid very much attention to them.

  So I could sleep easy that night, and I needed it. Vince and I had worked ourselves to the bone. I mean, we’d both been getting like three or four hours of sleep each night since we’d started this effort a week ago. Which is why I fell asleep almost instantly that night. And it’s also why I slept literally like a stone, a nonliving creature. I even slept through most of what followed. Which is why I also still mostly blame myself for what happened next.

  I woke to the sounds of rustling. Or, well, I wished I could say that it was as quiet as rustling. Then I wouldn’t have felt so guilty for sleeping through it. But the truth was the intruder wasn’t even trying to be quiet. He was digging through my closet with reckless abandon, tossing things aside with loud clatters.

  When I first woke, I was still groggy, I mean, I hadn’t been sleeping very long and so I was still severely sleep-deprived. I know, I know, I’m basically making excuses now, but the fact is this: I’m still embarrassed about it all. Anyways, I was groggy, and it took me a while to react to the dark shape of a kid digging through my closet.

  And then by the time I’d realized they’d found the briefcase full of cash, it took me too long to get out of bed. I stumbled and tripped over my sheets and ended up face-planting into my carpeted floor. I saw shoes run by me.

  I got up and dove at the dark figure in my dark room. I missed and crashed into my desk, slamming my ribs painfully against the corner. All I could do was lie on the floor next to it, holding my aching ribs and watching as the dark figure climbed out of the window and down the slope of the roof.

  I collected my breath, and the pain subsided just enough to allow me to get up. Or maybe the pain didn’t subside at all, but rather the power of my anger and shock simply covered it up for the time being.

  Questions coursed through my brain as I pulled on a pair of sweatpants two legs at once and then basically dove out the window after the thief. I landed on the roof and rolled to the edge, gripping the gutter and swinging down so I was hanging above the bushes below.

  It was still a several-foot drop, and even with the bushes there to break my fall, there was a good chance I could shatter an ankle or femur. But those would be nothing compared to letting this punk get away with our money.

  So I let go.

  And it did hurt. But, thankfully, it hurt my sore ribs more than anything else when I crashed down into those shrubs. I’d gotten some scratches across my back, I was sure, but I’d avoided landing on a leg or an arm, and it didn’t feel like I’d impaled myself on any of the branches, so I got up, brushed off, and looked around.

  Great White was involved in a quiet struggle with two kids just as tall as he was. They must have gotten the drop on him because I was pretty sure there were no two kids in our school who Great White wouldn’t be able to take on his own. The two figures were each pinning an arm, and he flailed in an attempt to get free.

  “Mac!” Great White managed to get out when he saw me. “Around front. He went around front.”

  His attackers turned toward me momentarily. And then I saw in the pale moonlight that they were Mitch and Justin. The distraction was just enough for Great White to get an arm free, and he used it to land a right hook across Justin’s stupid face. It was over now. I knew Great White had turned the table and would be able to take care of those two by himself, no problem.

  So I ran in pursuit of the thief. I went around to the front yard. I saw Little Paul sitting against a tree. At first I feared that maybe he’d been knocked unconscious or worse, but as I approached him, I heard snoring. The little punk had fallen asleep on the job. But I didn’t have time to deal with that just then.

  I looked both ways down the street. There was no sign of Kevin, so there was really no telling what his excuse was. But I did catch a glimpse of a shadow moving behind a car a few houses down. And I wasted no time.

  As I sprinted toward the car, the dark figure bolted out from behind it in the opposite direction, the briefcase full of cash tucked neatly under his left arm like a football. I was trying to see who it was, but it was hard to tell in the lighting, and in my current state.

  But then I realized that the car he was just about to get into before I’d spotted him was a blue Toyota. Staples’s blue Toyota.

  It hit me like a slab of school meatloaf across my face. And yet, I should have known all along, really.

  Staples had orchestrated the whole thing. It had been genius. First implanting himself back into my life, then utilizing the whole school rivalry and massive debt. Staples had tricked me into amassing thousands of dollars so he could steal it in one swift move. And since he’d stolen it that night instead of waiting for the exchange the next day, I’d have no proof that it was him, and I’d still technically owe Kinko the same amount of money. She’d destroy me and the school.

  Really, it had been about as brilliant a double cross as was humanly possible. Whether he was after money or revenge, he got them both.

  I pushed myself as hard as I possibly could, and I was actually gaining ground. Staples made a sudden right turn and then hopped clean over a low fence like an Olympic hurdler. There was no way I could do the same, and instead I had to run around it, which gave him at least ten more yards’ ground on me.

  It was obvious now that the thief was headed toward The Creek, toward Vince’s neighborhood. Staples’s old neighborhood.

  My ribs ached, my lungs felt like they were being set on fire by a mob of angry villagers with torches, and my legs and feet might as well have just been amputated because I couldn’t even feel them anymore. But stil
l I ran on, stumbling through the dark.

  I mean, he was carrying at least twenty pounds of extra weight in the suitcase; he had to be just as tired as me. And I was right. As we moved our way farther toward The Creek, darting in and around trees, bushes, cars, through alleys, past barking dogs, I was gaining ground again.

  Actually, I was gaining ground quickly. I thought he must have pulled something because his run was more of a hobbling limp now as he approached the Fourteenth Street bridge, a narrow two-lane road that crossed the large creek that made up the boundary, fittingly enough, of the neighborhood known as The Creek.

  I was going to catch him now; that much was clear. I think he knew it, too, because he was desperately lurching forward in increasingly clumsy steps. For a second I thought he was going to fall flat on his stupid, backstabbing face.

  He ran onto the bridge. The sound of the creek, which was really more like a raging river, was the only noise other than our broken and uneven footsteps. I followed him onto the bridge.

  He kept running—or shuffling was probably more correct by this point. I finally caught him and grabbed the back of his hooded sweatshirt. I reached out for the case with my other hand, and he jerked it away from my grasp as he tripped and finally fell, taking me down with him.

  I landed on top of him, and we both grunted. That’s when I saw the airborne briefcase. It must have slipped out of his hand when he’d pulled it away from me and tripped at the same time. It soared high into the night, spinning like a Frisbee. It seemed to dangle among the stars for several seconds, as if they were trying to grab it for themselves.

  All I could do was lie there on the pavement and watch helplessly as the stars finally released the briefcase and it flew right over the side railing and down into the rushing creek below.

  Staples was on his feet and hobbling away down the street before I could even sit up. I didn’t chase after him. For one, I was winded. And besides, what did it matter anymore? The damage was done. And even if I had caught him again, what would I do? He would beat me senseless.