by Josh Berk
Smiley_Man3000: No way!
I tell Devon all about Melody. I could keep chatting for hours. But then Devon reaches for his phone. He looks nervous again.
Smiley_Man3000: That was my dad. I didn’t realize what time it is. We’re going to go visit my grandfather. I’ll come back later if that’s OK.
HamburgerHalpin: ask him what other corny phrases might turn on a hot blonde
Smiley_Man3000: He lives in a retirement village on the other side of the mountain, so I don’t know if he’s into hot blondes, but maybe he could help you snare a sexy white-haired lady, which, if I remember correctly, is a type you love.
HamburgerHalpin: it is u who loves saggy boobs!!!
Smiley_Man3000: Hey, man, enjoy the Crony.
HamburgerHalpin: thnx again
Smiley_Man3000: Just don’t get addicted.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I am totally addicted to my Crony. As soon as Devon comes back to my house, I gesture with it, hoping he will turn his on. Instead, he motions that I should hand him a pen and paper. He looks pale.
“I shouldn’t have mentioned the evidence box in our chat,” he writes. “I don’t want anyone to know where we got the Crony.” He is obviously nervous. His normally neat penmanship is very shaky. “Hawley would love to catch me and hold it against my dad.”
“That’s cool,” I write. “Let’s talk about other stuff. We’ll never mention that again. Just fire up the Crony.”
“Addict already?” he writes. I smile. “I really think it was someone who didn’t get a playing card who committed the crime,” he writes back.
“I guess our first question should be, Are we sure it was a crime?” I write. “Weren’t they saying he might’ve just fallen?”
“That’s what I wanted to tell you! My grandfather was talking about it. He used to be a cop too and has been kept in the loop. And my dad brings him case files.”
Devon’s penmanship has returned to its fine form. I am tired of writing, however. So I scribble: “I thought we were going to switch over to the Crony.”
“Go ahead.”
HamburgerHalpin: u were sayin’?
Smiley_Man3000: My grandfather’s been following the Chambers case. He’s constantly online.
HamburgerHalpin: he’s not into those conspiracies like thetruthisnot.com is he?
Smiley_Man3000: What’s that?
HamburgerHalpin: it’s a crazy conspiracy site. they post stuff like ideas about how karl rove blew up the world trade center
Smiley_Man3000: What’s their take on the Chambers case?!
HamburgerHalpin: they think pat was killed by a cia hit man to convince mr. c not to divulge any more information about the whole casino bribery thing. they believe this goes all the way to the president
Smiley_Man3000: So you like this site?
HamburgerHalpin: no they r nuts
Smiley_Man3000: How come you were on there, then?
HamburgerHalpin: oh it came up when i did a search for alternative news stories about the chambers case
Smiley_Man3000: Nice! I bet your computer skills will prove to be a crucial tool in our investigation. My dad and grandfather think that it really was a murder. The CSI types did some calculations on the angle that he landed, and they think he was pushed.
HamburgerHalpin: whoa. u r a crucial tool too
Smiley_Man3000: Plus, they found coal dust in his hair.
HamburgerHalpin: so?
Smiley_Man3000: My grandfather thinks that whoever pushed him whacked him on the head with a piece of coal–it would’ve knocked him out immediately. That’s why no one heard him scream or anything.
HamburgerHalpin: i have wondered why i didn’t hear anything
Smiley_Man3000: Funny! So, listen … Oh, wait, you can’t.
HamburgerHalpin: not funny
Smiley_Man3000: Sorry! Couldn’t resist. So, I told my dad and grandpa that everyone had access to coal: it was all over the place. But he said a buddy of his from the force told him they recovered the murder weapon. It had no fingerprints on it, which was weird, but they learned that it was bituminous, not anthracite.
HamburgerHalpin: and?
Smiley_Man3000: Well, remember those “future diamonds”?
HamburgerHalpin: yeah talk about lame
Smiley_Man3000: I put mine in my memory box.
HamburgerHalpin: you would
Smiley_Man3000: Those are actually real pieces of coal, but since Happy Memory is no longer active, they have to fly the souvenir coal in.
HamburgerHalpin: so?
Smiley_Man3000: The “future diamonds” were flown in from an active mine in western PA where they mine, get this, bituminous coal–just like what was found in Pat’s hair. So it had to be someone who was on the tour who killed him!
HamburgerHalpin: that doesn’t help narrow it down too much
Smiley_Man3000: Probably it was someone from our class!
HamburgerHalpin: maybe it was the ghost of dummy halpin
Smiley_Man3000: Ha-ha.
HamburgerHalpin: u have any theories frank?
Smiley_Man3000: Well, Chet, if not a classmate, maybe it was our bus driver. He came on the tour too, didn’t he? He always makes me feel a little … unsettled.
HamburgerHalpin: who? jimmy porkrinds?
Oops! An unguarded moment. Devon looks up at me with an odd smile on his face.
Smiley_Man3000: Did you say, “Jimmy Porkrinds”?
HamburgerHalpin: no, you must’ve misread
Smiley_Man3000: It’s still on the screen.
HamburgerHalpin: it’s just my little nickname for him. you know no big whoop
Smiley_Man3000: And you say I’m weird.
HamburgerHalpin: u r weird
Smiley_Man3000: I guess so, but I rarely give nicknames to bus drivers based on snack foods.
HamburgerHalpin: rarely?
Smiley_Man3000: Well, once I did call my old bus driver Cupcake. But she was deliciously cute. Definitely wanted a taste of that frosting.
Smiley_Man3000 actually makes me laugh out loud.
HamburgerHalpin: you pervert. you love bus drivers. you have a total bus driver fetish
Smiley_Man3000: LOL. ROTFL.
HamburgerHalpin: LOL2BIFTLOLIS
Smiley_Man3000: What does that possibly mean, my good man?
HamburgerHalpin: laughing out loud too but I feel typing LOL is strange. i like making up acronyms
Smiley_Man3000: Fabulous. So, think we should check out this Jimmy Porkrinds? I can probably find his real name and address if I get my dad to tap into the school’s files.
HamburgerHalpin: i don’t know. u don’t really think he could be involved do u? what would his motive be?
Smiley_Man3000: Only one way to find out. Tomorrow we check out J.P. the BD. (That’s “Jimmy Porkrinds the bus driver.”)
HamburgerHalpin: i got that
Smiley_Man3000: Good night, Chet!
HamburgerHalpin: u have got 2 stop that … frank
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I keep my Crony under my pillow, set to vibrate, in case Melody needs to contact me for “police business.” Or if maybe my guerrilla toilet love letter inspires a desperate e-mail from one L.P. She might just need someone to talk with?
So when the Crony goes off at about midnight, my heart jumps a little bit. I leap up, check the screen, and see that it is not an e-mail but an instant message.
Smiley_Man3000: Hey, man, are you up?
HamburgerHalpin: i am now
Smiley_Man3000: Sorry to bother you.
HamburgerHalpin: it’s all right. whaddya got?
Smiley_Man3000: I have a new theory.
HamburgerHalpin: is it that jimmy porkrinds is secretly a republican henchman hired to kill pat as revenge for pat senior ratting out the senator?
Smiley_Man3000: No, but that’s good!
HamburgerHalpin: i was kidding
Smiley_Man3000: Oh.
HamburgerHalpin: so what’s
your theory?
Smiley_Man3000: Two words: Miss Prefontaine.
HamburgerHalpin: u think she killed pat?
Smiley_Man3000: There have been all these rumors that they were, you know, involved. Maybe that had something to do with it? To hide it? Because she was jealous?
HamburgerHalpin: omg. i just remembered something. a while ago i was looking at pat’s web page. don’t ask why
Smiley_Man3000: Why?
HamburgerHalpin: i said not to ask
Smiley_Man3000: Sorry.
HamburgerHalpin: there was a password-protected part called chambermaids
Smiley_Man3000: I wonder what that means.
HamburgerHalpin: r u kidding?
Smiley_Man3000: Yes. I’m kidding. I’m sure it was all about the ladies he’s “loved.”
HamburgerHalpin: right. so the little thing above it said “check out the newest addition” and addition was in italics
Smiley_Man3000: So?
HamburgerHalpin: so ADDITION
Smiley_Man3000: So?
HamburgerHalpin: don’t you get it? what if that was like a pun because she’s his math teacher!
Smiley_Man3000: OMG. You are a genius!
HamburgerHalpin: now we just have to hack into that password-protected part and c what we can c!
Smiley_Man3000: It was definitely risky when he called her Claire on the bus. And then you’re saying that maybe she killed him to keep their secret from getting out?!
HamburgerHalpin: if you slept with pat chambers wouldn’t you kill him to cover it up? her career would be trashed plus it’s not like he was ever going to marry her right?
Smiley_Man3000: So, tomorrow I’ll come over, we’ll see what we can find on J.P., and then we can use your computer, if that’s cool, to try to hack Pat’s page.
HamburgerHalpin: cool with me daddy-o
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I wake up very early the next morning. It is the second weekend morning I am up before noon—an unprecedented streak. I get dressed in a daze and go outside to wait for Devon. I am kicking stones in the driveway as he pulls up and parks his car, a beat-up former police cruiser, on my mom’s flower bed. He does not seem to notice the damage to the mums. Instead, he hops out wearing a happy Hardy grin and clutching a file folder on which he has written “TOP SECRET” in big black letters. I roll my eyes. He laughs, waggles his eyebrows, and then hands me the folder. Inside is a typed note:
Good morning, Chet! I trust you slept well. Sweet dreams of the fair Melody, perchance?
You will be pleased to note that I have already located the address of one James Porkrinds. Our quarry’s name is actually Steven DiCielo—not as poetic as J.P., I agree. It seems that SDC, aka J.P., also drives a bus for my mom’s school. She gave me his name, and I had my dad run a check on him. No criminal background, but I did get an address in an unusual location. He lives just one mile north of Happy Memory Coal Mine. Which raises an interesting question: Why would J.P. make a point of visiting the mine if he lives right around the corner? Wouldn’t he have been there before? Perhaps he went on the tour because he was there to do some harm?
I look up and meet Devon’s eyes so he knows I am finished reading. He looks at me expectantly, like he wants … something? I nod, even though it really doesn’t seem to be the correct gesture. What am I agreeing with? Why would Porkrinds possibly want to kill Pat? Unless … Pat’s death really was a warning to Pat Senior, and someone offered him a wad of cash, and … Probably not. But, then again, who knows? What are we going to do? Break into J.P.’s house? And what are we going to find that could possibly prove anything? A list taped to his mirror?
THINGS TO DO:
SHAVE (HEAD, NOT FACE).
CHOOSE PAIR OF SANDALS FOR MINE TRIP (MY FEET, MY BUSINESS).
DRIVE BUS TO COAL MINE.
CROSS THE PLOT, SMASH THE YELLOW LINE. JOKE A MOLE, SMOKE A BOWL.
JOIN DUMB-ASS FIELD TRIP.
PUSH PAT CHAMBERS TO HIS DEATH AS PER SECRET AGREEMENT WITH CIA.
MUWAA-HA-HA-HA-HA.
DEMAND MORE SANDALS FROM POTUS.
Is Devon just going to go up and knock on his door? Is this all Hardy hijinks to him? Are there fake mustaches and wigs in our future?
Devon takes a fake beard and dark glasses out of his backpack. I give him my most skeptical look. But when he snaps on the beard and glasses—voilà!—a perfect blind rabbi. I give him the universal look that says “Are you freaking serious?” He hands me a pair of glasses and my very own beard. I sign a very simple no. He shrugs and gestures for me to get in the car.
Driving to Happy Memory brings back disturbing feelings. The fact that Devon drives worse than a blind rabbi is also contributing to my shaky mood. It feels like so long ago that we took this same route. My mind goes fuzzy as I remember the scene: Pat handing out his cards, Mindy beaming, Escapone climbing over seats, A.J. looking fierce, and Miss Prefontaine blushing. It all seemed so important, and then, just as quickly, none of it matters at all. Death always seems like something that happens to someone else. I’ve never known it firsthand, except for toilet funerals for childhood fish. Thinking about how I cried back then makes me feel stupid when worse—so much worse—could be lurking around any corner.
As Devon points his cruiser up the mountain, we pass old miners’ homes stained gray from years of coal dust. I see a strange little man sitting on a bench. Is he waiting for a bus? Or just waiting? For what? He has a shell-shocked look in his wrinkled eyes, and he seems as lost as anyone, as me, in this world. I think about what lies beneath the road we’re on. Men died down there. We could be right on top of the spot where old Dummy himself took his last breath. I think of the pain he must have been in as his chest was crushed and his lungs filled with dust as black as death itself. I want to ask Devon to pull over so I can say a little prayer or whatever. But I just wait until we finally arrive at something called Gun Club Road and pull to the shoulder. Devon takes a deep breath and starts typing on his Crony.
Smiley_Man3000: 13 Gun Club Road is a few hundred yards ahead. The home of one Steven DiCielo.
HamburgerHalpin: what do we do now?
Smiley_Man3000: I was sort of hoping you’d figure out the plan from here. You’re the brains.
HamburgerHalpin: i thought i was the looks and the muscle
Smiley_Man3000: You are the brawn. It’s a subtle distinction but an important one.
HamburgerHalpin: what?
Smiley_Man3000: I don’t know. Quit stalling. Make a plan.
HamburgerHalpin: what on earth r we doing here?
Smiley_Man3000: We’re getting evidence to link J.P. to the crime.
HamburgerHalpin: devon please take off that beard. you look like an amish hippie
Smiley_Man3000: Ha-ha.