by Nic Saint
“We called her last night, to tell her about what happened, but she didn’t seem overly concerned.”
“She seems to think Nicky and Jay ran into town to go to the movies or to the mall.”
“We told her Nicky wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t just go off on his own. But she laughed and said we didn’t know Nicky as well as she did, and then hung up on us.”
“So there’s another little boy missing, and we weren’t even told?” said Chase with a frown.
“Is it possible that they did go into town?” asked Gran. “That they did go to the movies? Boys being boys, I mean.”
Both parents shook their heads decidedly. “No way,” said Alma. “Nicky knows not to do that.”
“We’ve always been very protective of him,” Mark explained.
“Maybe a little overprotective,” Nicky’s mother added.
“We were so happy when we had him, and also afraid of losing him, that he knows not to run off without telling us and scaring us half to death in the process.”
“No, ma’am,” said Alma decidedly. “Someone took our boy. Just took him like that.”
Chapter 27
Colin Duffer watched the angry crowd that had gathered outside his shop with concern. He didn’t like the crowd, even though he knew he should. The crowd irked him, but at the same time the crowd also showed that their strategy, once deemed so risky and outrageous, had won through to success in spite of the odds.
“I hate those people,” he said.
His brother, watching the mob scene with an air of detachment, retorted, “Don’t hate them. Love them. They are our customers, Colin. Our hapless, dimwitted customers, and they’re all crazy about our product.”
“Yeah, so crazy that they’re about to knock out our windows and drag us out into the street so they can beat us up.”
“Nah, they’ll never go that far. Though it would be a testament to their enthusiasm for the Duffer.”
Colin sighed. “You do realize we’re losing money, don’t you? And not making it?”
“As soon as we’re fully stocked on Duffers again we’ll be swimming in cash, buddy. It’ll be like printing money, and we don’t even have to go through the tedious process of installing a printing press and becoming counterfeiters. All we have to do is create more Duffers. Easy as pie. Or sausage.”
“So what’s taking so long?”
“Technical issues. Our technicians are working on it. When you move to a fully automated production process there’s always kinks to be ironed out at first. But as soon as everything is up to speed we’ll be able to crank out twice as many Duffers as before.”
“We should never have built that new plant,” Colin grumbled. “We were doing fine.”
“You can’t stop progress, little brother. Or have you forgotten about the Chinese?”
“Setting up a production line in China shouldn’t pose a problem,” Colin admitted.
“Though we’ll have to tweak the formula, of course.”
“Of course,” Colin agreed.
“We did a blind taste test in Beijing last week.”
“And?”
“They loved it! Absolutely loved the Duffer!”
“Do you think we could try the Chinese formula over here?”
“Why not? But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s stick to the tried and true for now.”
“For now,” Colin agreed. They both stared at the seething masses protesting on the sidewalk, then Colin said, “Did I tell you that a reporter dropped by the house earlier?”
“No, you didn’t. What did she want?”
“Oh, the usual. The history of the Duffer, for a puff piece in the Gazette.”
“Soon there will be puff pieces in the Times, Good Housekeeping, USA Today…”
“Do you really think all this exposure is a good idea?”
“A good idea! It’s free publicity, bro. And besides, all publicity is good publicity. So keep the bloodhounds from the press coming, and we’ll keep serving them Duffers.”
But as Colin watched the mob shouting slogans about bringing the Duffer back, he couldn’t help experiencing those niggling doubts playing havoc with his nervous system.
Chris might be the glass-half-full kind of guy, but he wasn’t. He also knew the tremendous risks they had taken—and were still taking. Then again, every successful business person took risks. Their father had taken the same risks, and their grandfather before him. Their current risks might be a little bigger than theirs, but the rewards they’d reap would have made papa and grandpapa proud. At least if they managed to get the new Duffer into stores. If not, that mob would destroy them as soon as praise them.
Uncle Alec opened his eyes. He discovered to his surprise that he’d fallen asleep. He’d been lying on his side on the hard floor and had been sure he’d never be able to find sleep, but somehow his tired body had taken over and shut down for a refreshing nap.
He didn’t feel all that refreshed, though. More as if he’d been put on the rack. He got up and stretched his sore limbs, and saw that Elon in the cell across from him had the same idea.
“And?” Elon asked, a vague hope in his voice. “Any ideas on how to get us out of here?”
“None,” said Alec.
“Hey, you’re the chief of police, man. You’re paid to come up with ideas.”
“Well, I’m sorry to say I’m not a professional escape artist, all right?”
“You don’t have to bite my nose off. I’m just saying. If you can’t get us out of here, who can? I’m just a shelf stacker who got lucky and won Mega Millions.” He glanced over to the third prisoner, still tucked away in his cell right next to Alec.
“Don’t look at me,” Bertie grumbled. “I’m just an insurance broker who got unlucky when his wife decided to favor a hairy bald traveling salesman over her husband.”
In spite of their predicament, Alec laughed. “How can a man be hairy and bald at the same time?”
“Trust me, it’s possible,” grunted Bertie.
They were all silent for a beat, and Alec frowned when he focused on the noise that seemed to be coming from behind the door to his left. “Do you guys hear that?” he asked.
“Sounds like cats,” said Elon.
“Yeah, cats,” Alec confirmed. “And a lot of them.”
Suddenly a bear of a man wearing a mask passed by their cells, put his ear to the door where the caterwauling was coming from, then pounded the door with his fist. “Shut up, you stupid creatures!” The cats ignored his instructions, for the caterwauling continued in full force. “Stupid animals,” the man muttered, then gave the door a kick with his booted foot for good measure and walked away.
“Hey, buddy,” said Elon. “How long are you going to keep us down here?”
“Yeah, I’m hungry,” said Bertie. “When are you going to feed us again?”
But the man didn’t even deign them with a response. He simply walked off and quickly disappeared from view, his feet slapping up what sounded like stone steps.
“He doesn’t look like a serial killer,” said Elon.
“And how would you know what a serial killer looks like?” said Alec.
“No, I mean, he doesn’t give off that serial killer vibe.”
“I think the mask tells it all,” said Bertie.
“What does it tell?” asked Elon.
“Well, if he really wanted to kill us, in a serial-killer way, I mean, would he be wearing that mask? I don’t think so.”
‘You’re absolutely right,” said Elon. “That mask tells a story. That mask tells us that he doesn’t want to be recognized, and if he really was planning to kill us, he wouldn’t be afraid of being recognized, ergo he’s not planning to kill us but only going to keep us here for a while and then…” He broke off, and frowned deeply. “Um…”
“And then what?” asked Alec. “Do you really think he abducted us just for the heck of it, and locked us down here just so he could let us go at some point? Think ag
ain, bud.”
“You don’t have to be such a negative Nelly, buddy,” said Elon, looking hurt. “I’m just trying to keep the atmosphere light and pleasant, you know, for all our sakes.”
“It’s always possible he’s a shy serial killer, though,” said Bertie. “Which would explain the mask. Or maybe he has some sort of facial deformity. The whole cats thing worries me, though. It’s just like a serial killer to have some sort of weird cat fixation.”
“Oh, my god, don’t you see!” said Elon.
“See what?” asked Alec, who was starting to wonder when the comedy double act he was locked up with would stop talking and let him think.
“That’s what’s going on here! Some kind of secret government experiment. There’s us, in here, and the cats, in there, and…” He frowned, and Alec thought he could actually see steam pouring from the poor guy’s ears. But then he deflated. “Nah,” he said. “I thought I was onto something, but it’s gone.”
“Look, you keep forgetting that I saw his face,” said Alec. “So I don’t know why he would wear a mask, since I already know what he looks like. Plus, since I was talking to the guy when I got knocked out, he’s got an accomplice who’s very handy with a club.”
“Food for thought,” said Elon, nodding. “You’re giving me a lot to work with, chief.”
“What’s taking them so long?” asked Harriet irritably.
“I’m sure they’re talking to Odelia right now,” said Brutus. “And then Odelia will call Chase, and before you know it they will come charging in here and set us all free.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Clarice. “Harriet is right. They should have been here by now. How long has it been? An hour? Two? Even cats as slow as Max and Dooley should have made the trip and returned by now.”
“See?” said Harriet. “Clarice thinks I’m right. And you know Clarice, Brutus. Clarice knows. Clarice is smart. Clarice has been through stuff. So when she says it’s taking them too long, she knows what she’s talking about.”
“I haven’t been in this exact type of situation, if that’s what you’re saying,” said Clarice.
“No, I don’t mean to… I mean… not to make you feel…” She laughed helplessly.
Brutus stared at his mate. He’d never seen Harriet lost for words before, or flustered. Either their current surroundings were having an adverse effect on her, or she was actually feeling intimidated by Clarice. Which was very well possible, of course. After all, he felt intimidated by Clarice practically all of the time and today was no exception.
“I think the only solution will be to claw our way out of this one,” said Clarice now, paying no attention to Harriet’s weird ramblings. She’d been eyeing the door and now walked over. Harriet and Brutus followed her.
“What do you mean, claw our way out?” asked Brutus.
“What do you think I mean, musclehead?” She pointed to the door. “What do you see?”
“Um… a door?” said Brutus.
“And next to the door?”
“Um… the wall?”
“Oh, God,” Clarice groaned. “You wouldn’t survive a day in the wild. See those hinges? They’re only kept in place with a prayer and a whisper.”
“A prayer… and a whisper?” asked Harriet.
“Just give me a paw, will you?” grunted Clarice, and dug a formidable claw into the lowest hinge. Immediately a large chunk of old and rotten cement dropped out.
Brutus exchanged a look of confusion with Harriet. They still didn’t see it.
“That door is hinged,” said Clarice. “But when we do this…” She removed another thick piece of cement. “It becomes unhinged, see?”
Harriet laughed a nervous little laugh. “I think Clarice is becoming unhinged,” she whispered in Brutus’s ear.
“I heard that,” said Clarice. “Now are you going to give me a paw or what?”
And then Brutus suddenly saw the light. “If those hinges drop out…” he said slowly.
“The door drops out!” said Harriet. “That’s brilliant, Clarice.”
“Simple physics,” said Clarice.
“Shanille! Guys!” Harriet shouted. “Come here a minute, will you?”
In a few words Clarice explained the plan, and soon a dozen cats were working away at those old hinges, scraping off cement and rust and working like good little beavers.
“Now isn’t that a sight for sore eyes?” said Clarice as she stood back to admire the work in progress.
“I think your plan is going to work, Clarice,” said Brutus.
“No, I mean, have you ever seen cats work together as a team like that before?”
“Um… well, Max and Dooley and Harriet and I often work as a team.”
“Yeah, but you’re an anomaly. Normally cats are loners. But this… this is beautiful.”
“Yeah,” Brutus agreed. “It’s something, huh?”
“Don’t just stand there with your thumb up your butt!” Harriet yelled to Brutus. “Come over here and help us out, will you?!”
Clarice grinned. “You better do as you’re told, Brutus. Or there will be hell to pay.”
He quickly moved over to where Harriet was digging her claws into the cement. Soon Clarice joined them, and together they made short shrift of the door. And then, suddenly, a wonderful sound: the door was creaking and squeaking, and as Clarice yelled, “Timber!” and all cats got out of the way, the heavy door suddenly dropped down, kicking up some of that ancient and smelly dust. For a moment, no cat spoke. They just stared at the gaping hole. And then they all raced for the exit, and the exodus began.
Chapter 28
The door of the van was opened again, and this time Dooley and I were ready to pounce. Only there wasn’t anything to pounce on! Instead, it was the same story as before: the contents of the van were poured into the dark hole, and since there was only one way to go, all cats fled in that direction. Soon we landed in that same dank dungeon, only this time there was a big difference: there wasn’t a single cat in sight.
“Where did they all go?” asked Dooley.
And then I saw it: the door to the dungeon had collapsed and the road to freedom was open. In the distance I could still see a couple of stragglers, so whatever miracle had caused that sturdy old door to collapse had only happened in the last couple of minutes.
So I said, “Let’s go, Dooley. Run!” And run, we did!
Milo, who’d been looking around with a dumb look on his face, said, “Where are my Cat Snax? Where is the Cat Snax team? And where is the plane to Vegas!”
But I wasn’t going to hold his paw and escort him out of there. If he wanted to stay put, he was more than welcome. But since Dooley has a much bigger heart than me, he couldn’t allow that to happen, so he said, patiently, “We have to escape, Milo. Or else we’ll all be locked up in here and then who knows what they’ll do to us.”
He gave us a sheepish look. “Um, yeah, I guess you’re right. Thanks.”
And then we made our way to the exit as one cat, running as fast as our little legs could carry us, which, I can tell you from experience, is pretty darn fast.
And as we raced through the next room in this vast underground lair, I suddenly saw a familiar figure sitting on the floor inside what looked like a man-made cage.
“Hey, Uncle Alec!” I shouted, for it was him. Uncle Alec looked up.
“Max?” he said when he caught sight of me. “Is that you?”
“Don’t go anywhere,” I said. “We’ll go and get help.”
“Go and get help! I’ll stay here!” he said, sounding like a cuckoo clock.
And then we were tripping up a pair of moss-covered, slick stone stairs.
Once upstairs, Dooley said, “Oh, I’ve been here before.”
And so he had. So now it was his turn to lead the way. We all followed him into a room that had once been inhabitable, then onto a windowsill, and following in Dooley’s pawsteps we made the jump down to the ground, narrowly avoiding glass shards, brambles,
and decaying pieces of wood, and then we were out. And free at last!
And suddenly I saw three familiar figures exiting the house next door.
Odelia, Chase, and Gran!
Marco Lynd had just run down to the corner shop for a six-pack and some frozen pizza and was coming up on the old Buschmann house, his trusty dog Boomer on a tight leash, when a strange sight met his eyes. From inside the house, a sea of cats was emerging, and of course no one was there to stop them.
So he broke into a run. “Gordo!” he shouted. “Gordo!”
Releasing Boomer from his leash, he ran into the house, then straight into the kitchen, where he and Gordo had set up their headquarters.
Of course Gordo was watching a game on the small-screen TV. A swarthy man with thick eyebrows, a bushy beard and a distinct stoop, he barked, “Finally! Where have you been, buddy? I’m starving!” And he reached for the six-pack and cracked one loose.
“The cats!” Marco said, panting. “They’re…”
“They’re what?”
“They’re escaping, you moron!”
Gordo’s eyes went wide, and he sprang from his seat, or he would have if he hadn’t tipped his chair back, and it now overbalanced and dumped its occupant on the floor, open beer can and all. The beer doused his beard and made a mess, and by the time Marco helped his buddy up and they were out of the kitchen, the cats were long gone.
“Dammit!” Marco cried, and threw his ball cap on the floor for good measure, then stomped on it. Contrary to Gordo, he was thin and rangy, but that didn’t mean he was in better shape. And he didn’t feel like going off on a wild cat chase.
He searched around for Boomer, and found him whimpering behind a nearby bush, a bloody scratch mark across his nose. “Too many for you to handle, huh, buddy?” he said, patting the dog affectionately. Boomer loved chasing cats, but when faced with a hundred of the damn creatures, he’d clearly had to admit defeat.
Gordo was already on the phone. “Got some bad news for you, sir,” he said. “Yeah, the cats escaped. Yeah, all of them.” He held the phone away from his ear while a stream of profanities burst from the phone, then held it closer to his ear again. “So what do you want us to do now, sir?”