The Fourth Stall

by Chris Rylander

  Willis stood up and looked at Vince, seeming nervous for the first time.

  “What’s going on?” Vince asked.

  I almost had to stifle a laugh. That was all Vince could think of to say? He has never been too good at confrontations. But it didn’t matter. Vince’s mere presence seemed to be enough.

  While Willis probably could have taken on both Vince and me in a fight, he didn’t even try. He just pushed past Vince and ran out the door. But then, something told me he had been there only to send us a message anyway, and that message had been delivered.

  “Are you okay? What happened?” Vince asked.

  “I’m fine, thanks to you,” I said. “He was just waiting for me, I guess. Jumped me before I could lock the door. He was basically threatening me for helping Fred. What are you doing here anyway?” I asked.

  Vince looked at the floor and shrugged. I waited for an actual explanation.

  When he realized a shrug wasn’t going to be enough, he said, “I was just stopping by to go over our finances.”

  I nodded. Vince had been spending a little more time at the office than usual lately. He must have been getting pretty nervous about the Cubs possibly making it all the way this year, and us being able to get to a game. I know I was.

  “Well, thanks,” I said. “I hate to think how that might have ended had you not shown up.”

  “How did he know that we’re helping Fred?” Vince asked.

  I shook my head. Though after some thought the answer seemed pretty obvious. If Staples had employees all over the school, one was bound to have seen Fred in line here yesterday and then just put two and two together.

  We’d just have to be more careful from now on. Now that Staples knew I was trying to protect Fred, we were all going to be targets. Which meant I really needed to get more information on Staples and his business. I didn’t like the idea that he knew more about what I was doing than I did about him. For all we knew, Joe, Vince, and I were the last three kids in the school not working for Staples. The more I learned about this whole mess, the more I realized that it might end up being much more than a simple case of playing bodyguard for a third grader.

  That was the first order of business later that day during morning recess: getting as much information as I could on Staples and how his operation worked at my school. I needed to know what we were up against. This was becoming a pretty serious situation, so I reluctantly had Joe hang the “Closed for Plumbing Repairs” sign on the door.

  When Fred showed up, Vince went out to take care of some business from earlier in the week and I sent Brady and Joe with him for protection. Vince was pretty big—he was almost half a foot taller and thirty pounds heavier than me—but he wasn’t much of a fighter and, as I’ve said, had never been very good at confrontations. I locked the office after they left and sat down to talk to Fred.

  “Okay, Fred, let’s start with all the kids you know who work for Staples besides Barnaby,” I said.

  “I don’t remember hardly anybody, and I don’t know all their names,” he said.

  “It’s okay, Fred; just tell me what you can remember.”

  “Okay, umm, well, when I saw him, he usually was with like maybe three or four other kids. They’re all in high school, except Staples, of course—he doesn’t go to school. One of them is his second-in-command or whatever. His name is PJ. He’s got short spiky hair and I think he plays hockey and baseball. He’s a real jerk, too. He’s always making fun of everybody. I don’t really know the names of the other ones, but they’re all pretty tough. Two of them wear grungy clothes all the time and they have tattoos and stuff like that.”

  Great. Just great. Staples had a posse of high school kids and all I had was a few seventh graders if I was lucky. I tried not to let my concern show.

  “Go on,” I said.

  “Well, umm, I only ever met Staples a couple times, but the times I did were at his house. Well, not like inside his house. He has a shed or something that he uses for his office. I don’t even know if he’s got parents; I mean, his office was pretty dirty. I bet he doesn’t got parents.”

  I nodded. Bad kid with a bad home life. That isn’t unusual, at least not according to TV shows I’ve seen. Getting to a kid outside of the school system was going to be tough, mostly because there were even fewer rules out there.

  “Where is his house, Fred?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. They always blindfolded me until I was inside. I don’t think anybody knows where he lives except for those four high school kids.”

  “Okay, what about here at my school? How does his business work here?” I asked.

  “Well, I don’t remember a lot of stuff, but I think I heard Staples say once that there were ten bookies including me. We all had our own spots where we went every recess, and then kids came to us to place bets. My spot was by the monkey bars in the grade school playground.”

  “How many different kids do you think have placed bets so far?”

  “I don’t know, Mac. Probably like one fourth of all the kids here, but I’m not too sure about that—I’m really bad at fractions. But I do know that Staples almost always finds a way to make sure that most kids lose their bets,” Fred said proudly, as if that was the most valuable piece of information I could get.

  I nodded and smiled at him, but it was obvious that I was already losing control. How could this have been going on without me knowing? Suddenly I felt like I had no power. It felt kind of like when we all went to race go-karts and I had the slowest car. No matter how well I drove, I’d never win because my car just couldn’t keep up. I hated that feeling.

  “Who are the other bookies, Fred?”

  “Okay . . . uh, well, there’s Jacky Boy—he’s stationed by the merry-go-round—and then there’s Andy Aasen and Darren Schmidt, but I don’t know where they’re stationed, and . . . umm . . . I guess I don’t remember any more. I’m sorry, Mac. Jacky Boy was pretty much the only bookie I ever talked to. He was my main contact.”

  “What about the leader? There has to be somebody in charge here, right? I mean, Staples can’t run the whole operation from outside the school, can he?”

  “Umm, I don’t know. I think Staples does have, like, a top guy here or whatever, but I don’t know who it is. It’s not the Collector, I know that—he’s just muscle. I always just gave my money and bets and stuff to Jacky Boy.”

  “It’s okay, you did good, Fred. Real good.” I patted him on the shoulder.

  But there was still a lot I needed to learn. First and foremost, I had to find out who Staples’s top guy at my school was. Second, I needed to know the identities of all the bookies. The way things were going, it could’ve been anyone. I didn’t like thinking that I couldn’t trust my classmates. It was a horrible feeling to have, especially when running a business like mine.

  Chapter 5

  At lunchtime that day I was supposed to meet with Tanzeem, but he never showed up. After waiting for ten minutes I got concerned and sent Joe to find him and make sure he was okay.

  The whole ordeal forced me to close up the office once again, much to the dismay of Vince, and the kids waiting outside the bathroom. In the meantime, Vince, Brady, and I sat in my office and discussed a plan while Fred sat nearby and played his Nintendo DS.

  “What do you think?” I asked Vince, who was fiddling with a baseball again. He would always be the first person I asked, and the last person, too, in case he came up with any genius ideas while I was asking everybody else.

  “I don’t know. I want to get back at that Barnaby Willis guy, though,” he said with an edge to his voice that I’d never heard before. He was generally pretty calm, but when people messed with me, he had a real dark side.

  “It’s okay, Vince. Don’t worry about it. We’ll deal with that greaseball later. At least we know we need to be careful with him. All these other bookies and the guy in charge here are much more dangerous to us right now because we don’t even know who they are.”

  Vince no
dded. I turned to Brady.

  “Don’t you know any of the bookies? I mean, kids are placing bets with them, so it’s not like their identities are some huge secret, right?” I asked.

  “Well, I don’t know, Mac. I don’t really know any of them myself, and I don’t think the kids who do know will tell you anyways,” he said.

  “Geez, way to be positive, Brady,” I said.

  “Yeah, no kidding. Get out of here with all your smiley faces and bright rainbows and flowers and stuff. You’re just choking us with all your corny optimism,” Vince said.

  “Sorry, guys. I’m just trying to be honest or whatever,” Brady said.

  “What about Tyrell?” I asked. “We could hire him to find out?”

  “No!” Vince practically shouted. It startled Brady and me a little, and a brief silence followed. “I mean, well, I just don’t think he’s the right guy for this quite yet, Mac.”

  I nodded. It figured that Vince would say that. Tyrell is basically my secret weapon in desperate times, but his services are not cheap. Vince rarely likes to call in Tyrell for help. And probably especially right now, business slowing down as it had. Vince had even been spending extra time at the office lately, working his Books even after I’d gone home.

  “Okay, we’ll hold off on Tyrell for now. I guess maybe that would be overkill,” I said.

  “Yeah, you better just talk to Ears, Mac. He’ll know,” Vince said. “And at a much cheaper price.”

  Ears is my main informant. Gossip, fights, detentions, teachers’ lounge drama, canceled tests, who is dating who—you name it, Ears has the story. Heck, he could probably even tell you what the principal ate for dinner last night. That’s obviously where he got his nickname, because he always hears things other kids don’t. That and he also has huge floppy ears.

  “Well, let’s go find him, then,” I said.

  Brady stayed behind to watch Fred, but we locked the door just in case. I don’t normally like to run errands myself, but with Joe out looking for Tanzeem and my lack of trust in just about everybody outside our business right now, I had no other options.

  We stepped out the doors to the lower-grade side of the playground. I squinted in the bright glare of the low morning sun, and after my eyes adjusted to the light, I noticed that almost everyone was looking at us. It’s like in the movies when someone does something stupid or some guy walks into a bar or room he shouldn’t be in and the music stops and then everyone turns and looks at that guy. That’s how I felt just then.

  We walked forward a few steps and the kids in front of us all backed away, forming a path. Their mouths hung open and their eyes were the size of hockey pucks. I don’t come outside much anymore because I’m usually too busy taking care of business in my office. I almost expected one kid to take off his jacket and lay it out on the ground in front of us so our shoes didn’t get dirty.

  “Okay, you all need to mind your own business,” I said.

  After a pause that I thought would last forever, the kids gradually turned away and resumed their games or conversations or whatever they had been doing.

  Ears was known to hang around with a gossipy group of girls near the old metal slide. Kids stopped using that slide a while back because it was so slick that chances were you’d crash at the bottom and get a mouth full of gravel. Now, though, everybody stayed away from the slide entirely unless: A) you were a snarky girl with designer clothes; B) you were looking to get ridiculed by said girls; or C) you were a smooth-talking, good- looking guy with an actual chance to date one of the gossipy girls. I’m still not really sure why they tolerate Ears hanging around all the time, because he wasn’t all that good-looking or smooth-talking, but they did. There’s a lot about girls that I’m sure I’ll never understand.

  “There he is,” I said as we stopped next to the teeter-totters.

  Vince nodded.

  Ears stood in the middle of the pack of girls as usual. He was talking and they were all listening intently, then suddenly he waved his arms around like he was telling some crazy story, and the girls burst out into snickers and giggles. Ears laughed and pointed at the shoes of one of the girls and said something and they all laughed even more. Except for the girl he pointed at—she just shuffled her feet as if she wanted to bury them into the ground.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “Let’s do it,” Vince said.

  As we approached the pack of girls, they turned and stared at us, whispering to each other and giggling. It was a little annoying.

  I made eye contact with Ears. When he saw me, his eyes grew to the size of hubcaps. Then he tore away from the slide and went straight down the hill, his shoes skidding on the gravel.

  Vince and I looked at each other and took off after him.

  We both sprinted down the slope. I almost leaned forward too far and went down face-first into the hard ground, but Vince caught me and held me steady. At the bottom we veered right in pursuit of Ears, who was running across the football field toward the baseball diamond.

  Ears had a good head start on us, and neither Vince nor I are track stars, but luckily Ears is pretty uncoordinated and was even slower. I had pulled ahead of Vince slightly and was getting ready to give up because I was so winded. Then Ears tripped and fell.

  I pushed my legs just a little harder. Ears climbed back to his feet and kept running for the chain-link fence at the end of the field. I closed the distance quickly and dove for his legs. I wrapped my arms around his knees and he hit the ground hard.

  I got up just as Vince got even with us. We lifted Ears to his feet by his jacket.

  “Please, Mac, don’t hurt me. I’m sorry, Mac,” he said.

  “What was that all about?” I asked, trying not to yell too harshly. He was still generally a good guy and a frequent employee, after all.

  “I don’t know, I’m sorry,” he said between gasps for air.

  I studied him as we all took a few moments to catch our breaths. His ears looked as huge as ever. But other than that, he was a mess. His eyes were droopy and puffy and his hair, tangled and greasy. If he was old enough to grow facial hair, he’d probably have had a mountain-man beard so huge that there’d be birds nested in it.

  “What’s going on, Ears? You look terrible,” I said.

  He shook his head and avoided my stare.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Staples, Ears? Huh?”

  He just looked at his feet.

  “You’re really in that deep? I don’t believe it,” I said.

  He scratched his neck and grimaced. I could tell he felt horrible.

  “Look, Mac, you see, the thing is . . . well, I happen to owe Staples a ton of money and . . . well, he said that he was going to kill my cat, Mac. And I really love little Nevernude. He’s the best cat ever, and the only way to get Staples to wipe clean my debt was . . . well . . .”

  I sighed.

  “Sorry, Mac. I promised Staples I wouldn’t help you anymore. I just can’t. I knew I never should have placed those bets,” he said, and then looked at the sky and shook his head.

  “What else, Ears? You wouldn’t have run like that just because you agreed not to help me. You’re in even deeper, aren’t you?” I said.

  Ears continued to avoid my stare. After a long pause he finally said, “I’m sorry, Mac. He asked me a bunch of questions about your business.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Just basic stuff, I guess. Like who works for you and where your office is, and I can’t . . . I shouldn’t even be telling you this much, Mac. He’ll kill Nevernude! I didn’t even want to help him, I swear, but . . . my cat. Haven’t you heard about some of the things he’s done? I heard a few years ago that he once kidnapped two cops and then made them eat three whole cases of doughnuts and two gallons of coffee and now they both have diabetes and no feet! What would you do if you were me?”

  I shook my head. Kids can be so gullible. I mean, I was sure that some of the legends about Staples were true, but how could a
ny kid believe that one?

  “Whatever, Ears.” I said, and nodded at Vince. He released his grip on Ears’s jacket and stood next to me.

  I shook my head and turned to leave.

  “I’m sorry, Mac,” I heard Ears call out as we walked away.

  I just waved my hand without stopping or looking back.

  “We’re going to have to find out who the top guy is some other way,” I said as we headed back up the hill.

  Vince sighed and took out his baseball and tossed it in the air.

  “Any ideas?” I asked. “Still sure you don’t want to hire Tyrell for this one?”

  Vince shook his head. “No, Mac. We just can’t be tossing around money like that. I think we should just go after Jacky Boy. If we put a little pressure on him, I bet he’d squeal. He’s kind of a little weasel.”

  I nodded. Jacky Boy was a slimy little kid. But I couldn’t complain too much, because he was one of my best sources for getting test answers and copies of homework assignments and stuff like that. At the same time, it didn’t surprise me at all that he would become a bookie. That kid would do anything for money. Once he ate a pear covered in barbecue sauce for a dime. He’d probably eat his dog’s poop for a fiver.

  “I got one for you,” Vince said as we reached the top of the hill.

  “Now?”

  “Sure, why not? Whose numbers are on the flags flying above the left and right field foul poles at Wrigley?” Vince asked.

  Vince and I were always challenging each other with Cubs trivia. We each claimed to be the bigger fan, so we were always trying to prove it. The trick was to pop questions at the weirdest times, to catch each other off guard. The only rule was that you had to know the answer to any question you asked without having to look it up.

  “Oh, come on. Billy Williams, Ron Santo, Ryne Sandberg, Greg Maddux, Fergie Jenkins, and Ernie Banks,” I said. “I thought you actually had a tough one for me.”

  “I thought that was a tough one,” he said with a grin.

  Joe was waiting outside my office when we got back. Tanzeem was not with him.