Zengo pursed his bill and exhaled as he stared at the spot on the roof where the daredevil motorcyclist had taken his shot.
The detectives returned to the Kalamazoo City Dome security offices just as the security guard was being loaded into a squad car, presumably for questioning. The parking lot was filled with cruisers, flashing lights, and blaring sirens. Officers of every ilk had descended upon the scene, prepared for battle. Zengo and O’Malley watched as Sergeant Plazinski took full command of the situation. Just as they were arriving, a tall and lean Dome security officer extended a paw to Plazinski.
“Sergeant Plazinski? Captain Jake Mitchell. I head up security at the Dome and I am horrified by what just happened.”
“What are your employees hiding, Captain?” barked Plazinski. “Why were my boys denied access to your records?”
“I’m sorry. I would never instruct my guards to obstruct justice. That guard will be replaced immediately.” The feline looked from Plazinski to O’Malley and Zengo, and then back to Plazinski. If this guy wasn’t telling the truth, he was sure a convincing actor. Perhaps he should be shooting a movie here too, thought Zengo.
Mitchell continued, “My team and I are fully committed to cooperating with the Platypus Police Squad.”
“Right you are,” snapped Plazinski. “And you’re coming to the station to answer a few questions alongside your friend there.”
“I, of course, will be more than amenable to assisting you in your investigation,” purred the chief of security.
A Lincoln Town Car with tinted windows rolled onto the scene. It came to a stop right before Plazinski. Out stepped Mayor Saunders. Before Plazinski could blow his lid, Saunders held up his wing.
“I cannot apologize enough for the shortcomings of the security team here at the Dome,” said the mayor smoothly.
“You mean to tell me you didn’t instruct the security force to withhold information?” Plazinski spat.
“Of course not. I genuinely thought that Captain Mitchell had everything under control here.” The mayor and the captain eyed each other with mistrust.
“Well, clearly they didn’t, Mayor,” continued Plazinski. “There’s obviously something going on here. I’m just glad that I didn’t listen to your requests to let this situation sort itself out.”
“I owe you my most humble apology, Sergeant. Please know that one weak link does not represent the entire team here at the Dome.”
“We’ll see about that, Mr. Mayor. I’ll be assigning my own officers to the Dome immediately. There will be a member of the PPS on the ground here twenty-four-seven.”
Plazinski lumbered off toward his car. He turned back to look at the mayor as he opened the door. “Oh, and by the way, Mr. Mayor—say cheese.”
Derek Dougherty was there with his camera, and started snapping photos. “A few words, Mr. Mayor. Is it true that the Dome security force has gotten in the way of a Platypus Police Squad investigation?”
The mayor’s assistant stepped forward and held his hand toward Derek’s camera. “There will be no questions at this time!”
Zengo felt a tug at his arm. “C’mon, kid. We could use a good hot dog after all this.”
“But didn’t you just have a—”
“Never you mind, kid. I’m hungry. Let’s get outta here.”
FRANK’S FRANKS, 2:50 P.M.
O’Malley ordered four dogs with extra chili. Zengo watched, amazed. Everyone works through stress in his own way, he thought.
“What do you want, rook?” said O’Malley. “It’s my treat.”
Zengo looked over the menu. Not much here that anyone would consider healthy.
“I’ll take the tofu dog, just ketchup, please.”
O’Malley glared at his partner. “You serious? Fine. Whatever.” O’Malley turned to the pimpled teenager working the booth. “I’ll have a tofu dog for my friend here. Maybe a side of bark and an order of twigs while you’re at it.”
“Hey, I’m just watching out for my heart, old-timer. Maybe you should do the same.”
O’Malley paid for the dogs and took his number slip. “Yeah? A lot of good your salads and tofu did you back in that alley.”
Zengo really didn’t have an answer for that. He searched for the right words, so as to not sound wimpy in front of his partner. “Guess I was just taken a bit by surprise.”
“Rule number one, rookie. Always expect surprises. You don’t act fast, you’re no good to no one.”
The pimpled teenager spoke into a microphone. “Number thirty-two, your order is ready, number thirty—”
“I’m right here, pal.” O’Malley threw his number down on the counter and grabbed his tray. The detectives walked across the square and sat at a nearby bench, shaded by the neighboring park’s trees. O’Malley scrunched up his nose as he picked up Zengo’s tofu dog.
Zengo sighed. “Just give it here.”
O’Malley held one of his chili dogs in his webbed hand and considered it for a moment. “Ya know, rook, it ain’t easy doing what we do. I’m sorry I gave you a hard time back there. Anyone can freeze up in the moment.”
“You didn’t.”
“Well, I have a bit more experience with this kind of thing than you do. Enough to know that I can trust myself in situations like that. You should do the same.”
“Got it,” said Zengo, taking a bite of his tofu dog.
O’Malley lifted his dog. Chili oozed out of the bun and onto his lap. “Aw, crud!” O’Malley reached for napkins and attempted to clean up the mess.
“Hey, Jonathan, isn’t that your dad?”
It was O’Malley’s middle son, flanked by a gang of giggling teenage boys. O’Malley raised his hand to wave.
“Hey, Johnny! How was school?”
All the boys chimed in unison. “Johnnnny?”
Jonathan looked horrified at the sight of his dad furiously trying to clean the inseams of his pants. “Ugh! Dad! You know I go by Jonathan now!”
O’Malley stood up and walked toward his son. “Sorry, Jonathan.” He reached out to pull the kid in for a big hug. Now Jonathan really looked horrified.
“Okay, whatever, Dad, chill.” Jonathan took a few steps backward.
“Where’s your brother?” O’Malley asked. “I thought you were walking him home after school.” Jonathan nodded his head back to the hot-dog stand. Declan, Corey O’Malley’s youngest, was ordering up a few dogs. Like father, like son, thought Zengo as he watched Declan devour the dogs while he approached the group.
“Dad! Jonathan’s friends didn’t believe me when I told them that you know Chase Mercy!” Declan took the last bite of his hot dog. “Go on, tell ’em!”
“Do you really?” asked one of the boys.
“Well, I did,” said O’Malley.
“Cool!” said one of the boys.
“Do you think you could get us his autograph when he comes to town?” asked another.
“He totally can. Right, Dad?” Jonathan asked.
O’Malley puffed up his chest. “Sure, Jonathan. Though I had to admit, back when I knew him, I never would have thought I’d one day be asking Chadwi—Chase Mercy for his autograph.”
O’Malley’s walkie-talkie went off. It was Plazinski. “O’Malley! Come in, O’Malley!”
O’Malley grabbed the radio. “Sorry, kids, duty calls.” He sat down next to Zengo and spoke into his radio. “O’Malley here.”
“We shook down the guard. Looks like the mayor and the Dome security captain weren’t just feeding us malarkey. This guy is a real piece of work. We’re not getting anything out of him, and we can’t hold him any longer without charges.”
“Hmpph,” said O’Malley.
“Clearly that guy was trying to hide something from us,” said Zengo.
“We also questioned Jake Mitchell. Not a single member of his team is a rat, physically speaking.”
“Sure as hay are a bunch of rats in the figurative sense,” grumbled O’Malley. “And what about the motorcyclist? Anyone
pick him up?”
“Nowhere to be found,” said Plazinski. “But we have every police outfit in the state looking for him.”
“They won’t have much to go on,” complained Zengo.
Plazinski cut Zengo’s pity party short. “I’m going to need you boys to make a trip out to Walhalla. Go out and talk to the mayor’s Dream Team. After this security debacle, I want to know everything there is to know about the people chosen to work the Dome project. Somebody has it out for Kalamazoo City and I want to know who!”
“Roger that, Sergeant!” O’Malley returned his walkie-talkie to his jacket’s inner pocket.
“So, we’re after a rat in Walhalla?” asked Zengo as O’Malley scarfed his last two chili dogs.
“Yup. Only problem is—that city is full of ’em.”
“It’ll be like finding a needle in a haystack.”
“More like a needle in a needle stack. C’mon, kid. Let’s get a move on.”
HIGHWAY 70 WESTBOUND, 3:20 P.M.
The Kalamazoo City skyline shrank in the rearview mirror as detectives Corey O’Malley and Rick Zengo drove to Walhalla. The road between the rival cities was nearly empty. They would get to Walhalla with plenty of time to interview the suspects before the end of the workday.
Zengo stared out the window at the dull suburban landscape, brightened only by flashy billboards bragging about Frank Pandini Jr.’s various businesses. He kept replaying the day’s events in his mind, sick to think of how many ways he had blown his chance to prove he was more than just a rookie.
Zengo always used to imagine that being a cop would be just like being in a Chace Mercy movie. Ever since he was a kid, he dreamed of the day that he’d be the one kicking down doors to take out the bad guys, slapping the cuffs on anyone who dared to pull a boomerang on him. He had played the scene in his mind a million times: no sooner would a perp’s boomerang be drawn than Zengo would, with one quick motion, knock the boomerang out of commission and bring the punk’s nose to the pavement.
Yet when the big moment came, he froze. He lost his nerve. It was his partner, out of shape and twice Zengo’s age, who displayed quick thinking and fearlessly ran toward danger. Zengo knew O’Malley had seen a ton of action in his day. But he had assumed those days were behind him. It was another reminder not to jump to conclusions.
O’Malley pulled the car into the fast lane. He rolled down his window and flipped on the radio. As always, it was set to the classic-rock station. But then O’Malley switched it to Z94.3, Zengo’s favorite hip-hop station, the one O’Malley usually called “noise.” Zengo looked sideways to his partner, who didn’t take his eyes off the road. The voice of Zengo’s favorite DJ, Monte Belmonte, blasted out of the car speakers. Was O’Malley trying to cheer him up?
“Hey, Z94.3 listeners! YOU could be in the next Chase Mercy movie! That’s right, Kalamazoo City is becoming Kalamazoolywood when our hometown hero returns to film the next installment of Chase’s blockbuster film franchise at the brand-new Kalamazoo City Dome! Caller seven wins the chance to be an extra in the movie! And stay tuned for a brand-new Scam Jam right after I spin this new track from G-Jellyfish. Z94.3, your only source for today’s biggest beats!” The car filled with deep percussive bass, followed by auto-tuned rhymes laid over synthesized rhythms.
Zengo was feeling better already. “I didn’t realize you were such a big fan of current music there, Corey.”
“Hey, I can be hip,” O’Malley said.
Zengo smirked. “No, you can’t.”
O’Malley smiled. “Okay, you’re right. But sometimes that Monte character cracks me up.”
“Man, when I was a platypup, I would have given anything to appear in one of Chase Mercy’s movies!”
“Well, we all know you have a mug that was made for the silver screen there, dreamboat,” ribbed O’Malley.
“Hey, don’t hate the player,” chuckled Zengo.
“I can’t believe . . . Nobody ever would have pegged Chadwick Mickleheimer for international stardom. If you asked me to pick one person in this whole city who was going to become an action hero, he’s the last one I would have chosen.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time you had someone pegged wrong,” Zengo said with a smile.
“Maybe you’re right. It’s not like I ever really got to know the kid. He always just sat off to the side with an angry look on his face, snapping at anyone who tried to talk to him. To tell you the truth, Squirt was a bit of a jerk.”
Their conversation was interrupted by Monte Belmonte, back on the air. “All right, caller number seven, you are the lucky winner. What’s your name?”
“Hello? Am I caller number seven?” asked a voice Zengo had just heard in person.
“Yeah, dude! You need to get those ears cleaned! What’s your name, kid?”
“Oh, WHOA! Awesome! This is Jonathan O’Malley!”
“WHAAAAT?” screamed O’Malley, clutching the steering wheel so hard he made the car swerve.
“Well, Jonathan, you just earned your way onto the set and into the next Chase Mercy movie. Whaddaya think about that?!”
“Oh man! Oh man! I am so excited! Chase Mercy is the best! He’s totally my hero, dude!”
Zengo didn’t know Jonathan all that well, but he had never heard him this excited. He was even more excited than the time Zengo let the kid try on his lucky leather jacket.
“Jonathan O’Malley, what’s your number one source for today’s bumping beats?”
“Z94.3!”
“All right, listeners, you’ve been warned, it’s time for a Scam Jam!”
Zengo turned down the radio. “So, O’Malley, looks like your kid is going to be in the Chase Mercy movie.”
“Like heck he is,” sneered O’Malley.
“What was all that talk about getting to know people better?” asked Zengo.
“That was before,” said O’Malley. “Now that my kid’s mixed up in this, he’s nothing but a good-for-nothing phony. And besides, they’re filming at the Dome, and it ain’t safe there.”
Zengo smiled. “Right. But remember the whole we’re-trying-to-make-the-Dome-safe thing?”
“Honestly, I wouldn’t mind if the Dome got dismantled and sold for spare parts,” said O’Malley. “At least that way the city would recoup some of the money wasted on that junk pile. And Chase Mercy is nothing but a chump.”
O’Malley switched over to the classic-rock station and stepped on the gas, while Zengo dropped the subject and tried to block out the music. It wasn’t easy—it reminded him of being in a dentist’s chair. How could anyone listen to this stuff? It belonged in a time capsule, not in a twenty-first-century squad car.
“We’ll be right back with more groovy hits after a few words from our sponsors.”
Another familiar voice came across the radio, in an ad Zengo had heard so often on Z94.3 that he practically knew it by heart. He was surprised to hear it played on Radio Old Fogey.
“Hi, this is Frank Pandini Jr. Don’t you deserve the best out of life? My five-star restaurant Black and White serves the best fish in Kalamazoo City, as voted on by Kagat’s. Or head to Bamboo and enjoy the best root-beer float in town and a swank nightclub atmosphere. Pandini Enterprises is here to serve. Your life, better!”
Finally the Walhalla skyline was in sight. Walhalla was stuck on itself—filled with snooty people who looked down their noses at the hardworking people of Kalamazoo City. Having once sworn he would never return, Zengo was nonetheless proud to be there in his official capacity. It was time to get some answers from Mayor Saunders’s Dream Team.
“Let’s prep a little, rook,” said O’Malley.
Zengo opened his laptop. “First stop, Audrey Davis, tourism guru. Second stop, Walhalla University. We’ll visit a class taught by Dr. Frederick Treeger, one of the world’s leading experts on amusement park rides. . . .”
“And the designer of the rides at the Kalamazoo City Dome,” said O’Malley.
“Exactly,” said Zengo. “
According to the registrar’s office, he’s the most popular professor at W.U.”
O’Malley chuckled. “Who wouldn’t want to take a class from a guy who’s behind the next generation of loop-de-loops?”
“And last, we’re going try to track down Maurice Robertson, head of Robertson and Sons Construction.”
“That’s the crew that built the Disaster Dome,” said O’Malley.
“Exactly,” said Zengo. “And according to my dad, the Dome is only the latest disaster Robertson is responsible for. Even so, he always seems to land the big fish.”
“You sure your dad isn’t just a tiny little bit jealous of Robertson’s success?” asked O’Malley.
Zengo considered. His dad’s construction firm had fallen on hard times in recent years. Maybe he wasn’t giving Robertson a fair shake. “It’s possible,” he said. “I’ll hold off my judgments until we can gather our own information.”
“That’s the way to go, rookie,” said O’Malley. “You’re catching on. Good boy.”
Zengo clamped his bill shut. He would show O’Malley what he was made of. Then maybe O’Malley would stop calling him rookie once and for all.
STRIVE INC. MAIN OFFICES, 3:40 P.M.
“Ms. Davis, two gentlemen to see you,” said the office manager as she opened the doors to Audrey Davis’s sprawling corner office. The tourism guru was hunched over a scale model of a miniature golf course. What was she promoting—an amusement park for insects? Zengo looked around the room. There were some other models showcased in Davis’s office—a miniature version of the Kalamazoo City Dome, a miniature version of an upscale mall.
“Well, well. Two of Kalamazoo City’s finest. A bit of an oxymoron, I know, but a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen.” Audrey extended her wing for a shake.
Platypus Police Squad : The Ostrich Conspiracy (9780062071675) Page 5