The Pigeon With the Tennis Elbow (6 page)

The thought sent chills scurrying like mice up and down Kevin's back. “That's right, Ma,” he said. “And Charlie, being a gutsy
pigeon, would let himself be an easy target for any dumb kid with a gun.”

He headed for the door. “Come on, Gin. Let's get moving. Thanks, Ma! We
knew
you'd come up with something!”

8

T
HEY WALKED FOUR BLOCKS
down Colvin Street, asking every kid they met — whether they knew him or not — if he had seen or heard of an injured pigeon.
Usually they'd get the same look, and the same answer, “No.”

They turned left on Mitchell and continued the procedure, sometimes going a full block without spotting a single kid.

“Can't be they're
all
watching that stupid boob tube,” Ginnie said.

“Never know,” Kevin replied.

They had turned left on Carpenter Street when a thought struck Kevin that made him
realize how stupid
they
were for confining their questions only to kids.

“Hey, what's the matter with us?” he said, grabbing Ginnie's elbow and stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. “What's wrong
with our asking grownups, too?”

Ginnie grinned sheepishly. “Why didn't
I
think of that?” she said.

“Sure,” said Kevin. “Come on. From now on we'll ask every living soul we meet if they've seen or heard about Charlie.”

The first two people they met were grownups. Neither was of any help. The next person they met was another kid, a dark-haired
boy carrying a baseball glove and a ball.

Kevin, almost certain what the kid's answer would be, popped the question anyway. “We've lost our pet pigeon,” he said for
the umpteenth time. “Have you seen or heard anything about one around here?”

The kid's eyes opened a fraction wider. “Yeah,” he said. “Somebody shot one a couple of days ago.”

Kevin's heart stopped. Then it started up again, pumping harder than ever. “Wh-where is it? Who shot it? Did he use a B-B
gun?”

“Is it dead?”
Ginnie asked in a husky whisper.

The kid looked at both of them again before answering. “I don't think so. I'm not sure.”

“Where is it?” Kevin said. “Do you know who's got it?”

“Yeah.” The kid pointed at a green, white-shuttered house a short distance down the street. “It's at that house there. Eagan's.”

“Eagan's?” Kevin's heart received another jolt. “You mean Chuck Eagan's?”

“Yeah. You know him?”

“Know him? I sure do! I'm playing tennis with him on Wednesday!”

“
He
shot the pigeon?” Ginnie said, her voice ready to break. “Chuck did?”

The kid's head bobbed up and down as if it were on a spring.

“Come on, Gin!” cried Kevin, already heading for Chuck's house. “Thanks, kid!”

He was at the front door before Ginnie was
even starting up the porch steps. He knocked on it, trying to keep from falling apart as he certainly might have were he not
well secured at the joints.

The door opened. A tall, red-haired woman stood there; her steel-blue eyes coldly looked them over.

“Sorry,” she said. “Whatever you're selling I have plenty to last me for weeks. Good…”

“We're not salesmen, Mrs. Eagan,” Kevin interrupted before she was able to close the door. “We're the O'Tooles. I'm Kevin
and this is my sister, Ginnie.”

The stern eyes softened as if he had spoken the magic word. “Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Eagan, placing a finger against the cleft
in her chin. “You're to play tennis with Charles.”

“That's right. Is he in?”

“Yes. Just a minute.”

She left. A minute later a tall, skinny kid in a T-shirt with the names of universities printed in all directions on it came
to the door. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi, Chuck,” said Kevin. “It's about that pigeon
you shot. Did you kill it? Do you still have it?”

“Why?”

“We — we'd just like to look at it,” said Ginnie.

“It's O.K., if that's what you want to know.”

“Can we look at it? Please?” said Kevin.

Chuck thought a minute. “O.K.,” he said finally, and went back into the house. A moment later he was back, carrying —

“Charlie!” Kevin cried, a lump suddenly clogging his throat. “It
is
you!”

He reached for Charlie, who glanced up at him and then at Ginnie with a surprised look. His wings fluttered as he started
to rise, then went limp as he settled back in Chuck's arms, his beak open, his tongue trembling.

“Is this the pigeon that's been coming to the tennis matches?” Chuck asked.

“Yes,” said Kevin. “He's our pet. We've been looking all over for him.”

“You — you didn't know he was our pet?” inquired Ginnie, a tone of suspicion in her voice.

“No. Why should I? All pigeons look alike.”

Ginnie shrugged. “Well, I just thought…” Her voice trailed off.

“Yeah, I know,” said Chuck. “You thought that I might have shot your pet pigeon to hurt Kevin so that he'd be no good in the
game we're playing on Wednesday. Ain't that right?”

Kevin stared at him. “Now wait a minute, Chuck.”

“Well, that's what she meant, isn't it?” Chuck snapped.

“Yes, that's what I meant, Chuck,” Ginnie admitted, “and I don't want to accuse you of anything, but it's dumb to shoot
any
bird.”

“You know how Ginnie is, Chuck,” said Kevin. “Right or wrong she always speaks her mind.”

Ginnie shot her brother a cold stare, then smiled at Chuck. “Thank goodness he wasn't killed,” she said, and reached for Charlie.

Chuck pulled him back. “His right wing is busted,” he said. “I've put a splint on it.”

“You — you
are
going to give him back to us, aren't you?” Kevin said, fear gripping him at
the dreadful thought that Chuck just might not want to. “After all, he is ours.”

“We'll forget that you shot him,” Ginnie said. “We won't tell anybody.”

“I don't care about that,” Chuck said. “A lot of guys know it already.”

He glanced past Kevin. A second later footsteps sounded behind Kevin and a voice said, “Is that Charlie, your pet pigeon?”

Both Ginnie and Kevin turned around at the same time. Neither one was overly pleased at the sight of the newcomer who, by
now, was on the porch, his hands pressed into his rear pants pockets.

“That's right,” said Kevin.

“I told Chuck that he looked like your pet pigeon,” said Roger Murphy. “But they all look alike. You sure it's yours?”

“No doubt about it,” said Kevin. “Look what he does when I reach for him.”

As Kevin reached for Charlie, Charlie leaned toward him, as if eager to go to him. “See that?” said Kevin. “Now you try it.”

Roger did. Charlie backed away, turning his
head and cooing indignantly. Laughter broke from Ginnie, Kevin and Chuck.

“Guess that proves it, all right,” said Chuck. “O.K., Kev. Here, take him.”

Happily, Kevin took Charlie into his arms. Boy, how he ached to squeeze the adorable bird to him to show him how thrilled
he was that he had him back.

“See you Wednesday,” said Chuck, as Kevin and Ginnie started off the porch.

“Right,” said Kevin. In a softer tone he said, “Got to get you home so I can take a look at your wounded wing, Charlie.”

9

T
HE CRUD GOT ME WITH
one rifle shot while I was perched on a tree in his backyard,” Charlie said angrily. “It feels as bad as the tennis elbow
did when I was a human.”

“What in heck were you doing on a tree in his backyard?” asked Kevin, looking at the splint clamped to Charlie's right wing.
It looked like a good first aid job. Better than he could have done himself.

“Spying,” confessed Charlie. “I was checking him out.”

“Checking him out?” Kevin echoed. “You mean you were watching him practice tennis in his backyard?”

“You get the picture,” said Charlie, his head bobbing. “Well, you want to beat him, don't you? You want to play that Murphy
kid, don't you? And beat him?”

Kevin shook his head. “Charlie, you're impossible. Just plain impossible. You're lucky you weren't killed, you stupid pige
… Oh-oh. I'm sorry, Charlie. I didn't mean that.”

“Yes, you did, and you're right,” said Charlie. “But I was looking out for you. I really want you to beat those kids, Kevie.
Nothing will ever please me more during the rest of my pigeon life than your playing Roger Murphy and beating him.”

“You must have really disliked that ancestor of his, didn't you?” said Kevin, trying hard to control a chuckle.

“Can you blame me?” Charlie said hotly. “He was a stinkpot, I tell you. A stinkpot through and through.”

Kevin smiled and stroked Charlie's soft, velvet-like feathers. “I'll do my best, Charlie,” he promised. “But what if I beat
Chuck and
Roger beats me? He's pretty good, you know.”

“Then I would wish you a tennis elbow. No, no! I take that back!” Charlie said quickly. “I'm sorry. I can't wish tennis elbow
on my worst enemy. Except Wally Murphy. And it's too late for that. Just beat him, will you, Kevie? Let's forget the consequences
till later. O.K.?”

Kevin grinned. “O.K. I think that's the best idea, Charlie. By the way,
did
you find out what Chuck's weaknesses are?”

“A little. He was playing in his driveway with Roger, as you know,” Charlie said. “But they weren't playing seriously. I couldn't
learn much other than he seemed rather weak with his serves. They were only fooling around, and the next thing I knew he had
gone into the house and come out with his rifle. It's a good thing I started off just as he took aim and fired, otherwise
I might've been a dead pigeon.”

Game time between Kevin and Chuck Eagan was at five o'clock on Wednesday. Chuck won the choice to serve or the side of the
court. He
chose to serve. Kevin chose the north side, noting that a soft breeze was blowing from that direction.

Chuck's first serve hit the net for a fault. He tried again, this time driving the ball over the net directly at Kevin. Kevin
returned it with a light stroke, biding his time to get better warmed up. He had promised himself that he would do his best
to beat Chuck, and felt that he had a good chance to do it. At least a better chance than he would have against Roger.

But beating Roger would earn the feather in his cap. Charlie would be thrilled to pieces then.

Don't push your luck, O'Toole. Let's take them one at a time, O.K.?

A poor backhand return on Chuck's part earned Kevin his first point. He scored another on a double fault, a break for him.
Love-30. Then Chuck evened it up with a solid drive that just hit the left sideline. And another that was so easy to hit that
Kevin, in his eagerness
to get it just over the net, drove it
into
the net instead.

Kevin won the next two points on faults, and took the game.

He served the second game and lost it game-15, mostly because of his poor serves. It was 1-all now.

He scored better in the third game, but not much. Someone seemed to have moved the net up a few inches. He just couldn't get
the ball over it. Chuck 2; Kevin 1.

It was Kevin's serve now. His first try was a let. His next was better than he expected, for it bounced sideways, fooling
Chuck completely. Kevin's fans cheered him on the play, though he knew that the bounce was a fluke.