The Complete Screech Owls, Volume 2

by Roy MacGregor

  As the red light flashed on, the arena seemed to explode.

  “ALLL RIGHHHT, MUCK!” Sarah screamed, leaping to her feet.

  It turned out to be the winning goal, as if anyone really cared. The crowd was already on its feet, screaming and cheering as the final seconds wound down and the horn sounded. Even before the referee blew his final whistle, the Flying Fathers and the Maple Leafs Legends were shaking hands and hugging each other.

  Travis watched Muck. The Owls’ coach was grinning from ear to ear. They were slapping him on the back.

  Muck seemed concerned about something else, though. He was looking for Paul Henderson. And when he found him talking to the Flying Fathers’ goaltender, Muck skated over and held his own stick out towards his old friend.

  Paul Henderson laughed and happily exchanged sticks with Muck.

  So, Travis thought to himself, there was a little bit of the kid in Muck Munro. He was after a souvenir.

  “Let’s go,” Sarah said, yanking on Travis’s jacket sleeve.

  Travis turned, about to ask, “Where?”

  “We’re on next,” Sarah said. “We should already be dressed.”

  “I can go.”

  The Screech Owls had dressed without Muck, who was still changing with the Legends. The dressing room was silent but for the determined voice of Wayne Nishikawa, injured defenceman.

  “I can go,” he repeated.

  No one else spoke. Mr. Dillinger had gone off to fill his water bottles.

  Travis figured, as captain, it was his duty to take control of the situation.

  “You can’t,” Travis said gently. “Your wrist.”

  But Nish was already almost dressed.

  “I’ve got my new cast,” he said.

  “What if you get hit?” Sarah asked. There was genuine concern in her voice.

  Nish looked up, smiled. “I’ve got a secret weapon.”

  No one asked what.

  Nish dug into a side pocket of his equipment bag and pulled out a spray can–the same can Mr. Dillinger had sprayed on Muck’s bad leg.

  Freezing.

  “You can’t!” Sarah said.

  “Mind your own business,” Nish said. “I’ve already sprayed my arm once. I’ll do it again between periods.”

  “Where’d you get that?” Travis asked.

  “It was on the Legends’ bench at the end of the game. Nobody was around, so I…borrowed it. I’ll put it back after our game.”

  “You shouldn’t,” Sarah warned.

  “Maybe not,” Nish smiled. “But I already did–so let’s get out there.”

  Travis knew there was no use arguing.

  Travis led the Owls out onto the fresh ice surface, stunned, as he stepped onto the ice, to realize that the huge crowd that had turned out for the big game had stayed! For an ordinary peewee regular-season game!

  He checked the crowd as he waited for his turn to shoot. He could see his parents and grandparents. His grandmother gave him the thumbs-up. He wondered if she had guessed about the trap they had set for Mr. Dickens.

  He scanned the seats on the other side and saw that a section had been set aside for some older men, some of them vaguely familiar. And then he realized:

  That moustache could only belong to Lanny McDonald!

  And there was Paul Henderson! And the rest of the Maple Leafs Legends! And the Flying Fathers!

  They had all stayed to see the Owls play!

  The puck came out to Travis and he kicked it easily up onto his stick blade. Suddenly, there was no noise, just the flick of his skates. He saw Jenny come out, her catching glove yapping at him, her pads skittering as she moved.

  He deked once, moved to the outside, and shot high and hard.

  Crossbar!

  Travis turned and looked up into the crowd. Lanny McDonald pumped a fist at him. He knew! Lanny knew! An NHLer knew that there was nothing so sweet as the sound of a puck on the crossbar–so long as it wasn’t in a game!

  The public-address system crackled. There would be a ceremonial face-off. Travis wondered who it would be to drop the puck. Maybe Paul Henderson himself. That was probably why all the hockey heroes had stayed. He stood by Sarah, waiting for a name.

  But there was none. The public-address system was silent.

  Then all around him the crowd began to rise. All through the arena there was the sound of people getting to their feet. And with it came the sound of applause. A few began clapping at first, and then dozens, then hundreds–the sound growing as loud as thunder.

  Travis followed the direction of the crowd’s stares.

  The Zamboni entrance was open. Muck was there, and Muck’s big hands were on a wheelchair.

  And in the chair was Data!

  The clapping became a roar as the crowd realized what was going on.

  Muck pushed out and the chair rolled onto the ice. Data slowly raised the one arm he could move. He had his Screech Owls jacket on. He was smiling.

  Travis turned to look at his teammates. Sarah was bawling, her glove uselessly wiping at the huge tears dropping off her cheek.

  Muck rolled Data along the blueline, passing by each Owl, and Data reached out to tap the gloves of each player. Muck stopped, and stared hard at Nish before moving ahead down the line, shaking his head.

  When they got to Travis, Data held his hand up for Muck to stop again.

  Data looked up and smiled a bit crookedly. “I know what you did,” he said. “Thanks.”

  Travis tried to speak, but he couldn’t. What could he say? It was his fault, after all, wasn’t it? It was his idea to go “hitching.” If he’d never done that, Data would be standing on the blueline instead of sitting in a wheelchair.

  Muck pushed Data ahead, but not before taking one quick look at his captain. Muck’s eyes seemed to be begging an explanation. But he would never get one.

  Sarah and the Orillia captain took the ceremonial face-off. Sarah picked up the puck and presented it to Data with a kiss on the cheek and a long hug. Travis could see that she was still crying. And she didn’t seem to care who knew.

  If the Owls had ever played a greater game, Travis couldn’t remember when. Every player seemed at the top of his or her game.

  Data had been given a special place between Muck and Mr. Dillinger behind the bench and he cheered as loudly as he could. Muck never said a word. Not to Nish about his arm. Not to Travis about what Data had said. But Travis wondered how much Muck knew.

  Sarah sent Dmitri in on a breakaway halfway through the first period for the first goal, then scored herself on a beautiful backhand deke. Travis got the third, and Wilson the fourth.

  Late in the final period, with the Owls up 4–1, Travis noticed Nish wincing.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  But Travis knew the freezing was wearing off. Nish could barely hold his stick, but he wouldn’t quit.

  Sarah won the face-off and dropped the puck to Wilson, who spun back and bounced a pass off the backboards onto Nish’s stick.

  Nish started to rush. He moved out slowly at first, then jumped across the blueline, picking up speed.

  Sarah was straight up centre, expecting the pass. But Nish held on. He carried in over the Orillia blueline and circled. He faked a pass to Travis, stepped into the slot, drew back his stick, and pounded the puck as hard as he could.

  It almost went through the back of the net! Travis, circling at the side of the net, watched the twine spring and then shoot the puck back out as fast as it had come in.

  The whistle blew; the referee was signalling a goal.

  Nish was already halfway to the bench, crouching over to cradle his arm.

  “Get–me–the–puck,” he said to Travis, grunting with the effort.

  Travis skated to the linesman, who was coming back with the puck. “Don’t blame him,” the linesman said as he handed it over. “Hardest shot I ever saw in peewee.”

  Travis skated back to the bench. He held the puck out towards Ni
sh, who was bent double, holding his arm. Nish looked up, shook his head.

  “For–Data,” he said. “Give–it–to–him.”

  Travis skated further down the bench and handed it to Data. Data took the puck in his good hand as if it were an Olympic gold medal.

  Muck shook his head. “Nishikawa can play this game when he wants to,” he said.

  “Too bad we can’t freeze his brain, too,” Sarah said under her breath.

  The Screech Owls had won their rematch. When the final horn blew, the Orillia team lined up and shook hands, and then, in a move Travis had to admire, they skated to the Screech Owls’ bench, where they took turns tapping their gloves against Data’s outstretched hand.

  As Travis watched he realized Data was still holding on to Nish’s puck. He had never let go.

  There was still one small matter of unfinished business. Before the Zamboni came out, the doors nearest the stands opened and all the Maple Leafs Legends and Flying Fathers came down onto the ice to an enormous cheer from the crowd.

  Paul Henderson and Frank Mahovlich were carrying a huge rectangle of cardboard, but none of the peewee players on the ice could see what was on it. Muck and Mr. Dillinger were wheeling Data out of the home bench and onto the ice, where the photographers were waiting.

  Mr. Dillinger pushed Data up to centre ice, where, with a grand flourish, Paul Henderson and Frank Mahovlich turned the big cardboard rectangle around for everyone to see.

  It was a giant cheque, made out to something called The Larry Ulmar Foundation.

  The amount was for thirty thousand dollars.

  Again the crowd roared its approval.

  Travis looked back towards the bench and saw that Muck was leaning over and pulling a stick free. It was the one he’d traded with Paul Henderson.

  Muck walked cautiously back over the ice, clearly trying not to limp too badly. He went over to Data and laid the stick across his lap. Data looked down at it, carefully turning the stick over and over with his one good hand.

  It had been signed by all the Maple Leafs Legends and the Flying Fathers!

  So that was it, Travis thought. Muck didn’t want a souvenir for himself. He wanted something special for Data, something other than money that would remind him of his special day.

  Travis wondered if Muck had signed it too. He hoped so. Muck had belonged with the Legends–this day, anyway.

  Data took the stick and waved it at the crowd. Everyone cheered.

  With Muck’s help, Data turned the stick over so he could hold the blade, and he then–very slowly, with some difficulty–lifted the stick so the handle was pointing directly at his team.

  It was Data’s salute to the Screech Owls, his team forever.

  THE END

  ALSO AVAILABLE

  The Complete Screech Owls

  Volume 1

  AND COMING SOON

  The Complete Screech Owls

  Volumes 3, 4, and 5

  Roy MacGregor has been involved in hockey all his life. Growing up in Huntsville, Ontario, he competed for several years against a kid named Bobby Orr, who was playing in nearby Parry Sound. He later returned to the game when he and his family settled in Ottawa, where he worked for the Ottawa Citizen and became the Southam National Sports Columnist. He still plays old-timers hockey and was a minor-hockey coach for more than a decade.

  Roy MacGregor is the author of several classics in the literature of hockey. Home Game (written with Ken Dryden) and The Home Team (nominated for the Governor General’s Award for Non-fiction) were both No. 1 national bestsellers. He has also written the game’s best-known novel, The Last Season. His most recent non-fiction hockey book is A Loonie for Luck, the true story of the famous good-luck charm that inspired Canada’s men and women to win hockey gold at the Salt Lake City Winter Olympics. His other books include Road Games, The Seven A.M. Practice, A Life in the Bush, and Escape.

  Roy MacGregor is currently a columnist for the Globe and Mail. He lives in Kanata, Ontario, with his wife, Ellen. They have four children, Kerry, Christine, Jocelyn, and Gordon.

  You can talk to Roy MacGregor at www.screechowls.com

  Copyright © 2006 by Roy MacGregor

  This omnibus edition published in 2006 by McClelland & Stewart

  Kidnapped in Sweden copyright © 1997 by McClelland & Stewart

  Terror in Florida copyright © 1997 by McClelland & Stewart

  The Quebec City Crisis copyright © 1998 by McClelland & Stewart

  The Screech Owls’ Home Loss copyright © 1998 by McClelland & Stewart

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher–or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency–is an infringement of the copyright law.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  MacGregor, Roy, 1948–

  The complete Screech Owls / written by Roy MacGregor.

  Contents: v. 1. Mystery at Lake Placid–The night they stole the Stanley Cup–

  The Screech Owls’ northern adventure–Murder at hockey camp–

  V. 2. Kidnapped in Sweden–Terror in Florida–The Quebec City crisis–

  The Screech Owls’ home loss.

  eISBN: 978-1-55199-238-9

  I. Title.

  PS8575.G84C64 2005 JC813'.54 C2005-903880-2

  We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and that of the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Media Development Corporation’s Ontario Book Initiative. We further acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program.

  McClelland & Stewart Ltd.

  75 Sherbourne Street

  Toronto, Ontario

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  www.mcclelland.com

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