Furious Jones and the Assassin’s Secret (19 page)

It sounded like the steps were getting farther away. I crawled out and peered over the cash register. Douglas was halfway down one of the aisles. I stood up and bolted for the door.

Douglas heard me and started running toward the door too. I was probably twenty feet closer to it than he was, but I had to stop and wait for the stupid automatic door to open.

Come on! Come on!

Douglas was now ten feet away.

“Stop, Furious!”

The door opened and I sprinted down the sidewalk. Douglas's car was directly in front of me. The car door was still open, and the engine was running. Could I steal the car?
I had never really driven before. My grandpa used to let me drive his squad car on the country roads of New Canaan, but he was always right there with me.

I looked back—he was fast. I didn't have a choice. I had to steal the car.

I jumped off the curb and ran for the car. I slid into the front seat, slammed the door shut, and stomped on the gas. And the engine revved, but the car didn't move.
Crap!
Douglas was now just a few feet away. I slid the center lever to
DRIVE
, and the car started to roll. Douglas was now pounding on the rear window. I stomped on the gas again, and the car raced forward. I checked the rearview mirror as I sped across the parking lot. Douglas was bent over, catching his breath. I kept the gas pedal to the floor as I pulled out onto the highway. The tires screeched as I jerked the car hard right to avoid hitting a crappy old Honda. It was Mike.

M
y hands were shaking as
I drove down the highway toward downtown Galena. This entire thing kept getting worse. Now I was a car thief. It seemed like there was no way out of this mess. If I got caught now, I would go to jail. And then Douglas would take me. And probably kill me. Maybe Betty was right: Maybe I was the hanging man. Maybe this thing was going to end real badly.

I slowed down to ten miles under the speed limit. I needed to ditch the car quickly. I turned left onto Main Street and decided to park in the alley behind Dirty Gert's. It was dark and out of the way. Maybe the car would go unnoticed for a couple of days. Hopefully, I'd be long gone by the time someone found it.

I pulled up next to a Dumpster and left the keys in the ignition.

I jogged down Main Street to the bluff stairs. It was almost eight o'clock when I reached Betty's. No one was around. I went directly to the Second House and closed my door.

Now that Douglas knew I was in Galena, I wondered how long it would take him to find me here. Galena was a tourist town with lots of inns. And I had used a fake name. And Betty didn't seem to be too technologically advanced. She used a clipboard instead of a computer. There would be nothing for the CIA or FBI to track. I figured I was probably safe for now.

My phone rang. It was Emma, but I didn't feel like talking. I just lay on the futon for a couple of hours thinking about my dad. Trying to figure out what I should do next. And what I would do once the book came out. If I didn't find Anton before the book came out on Thursday, he would disappear. Would I have to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder? And where would I live? I had no friends or rela­tives to live with. I supposed I had a lot of money now, from my dad. But even if I survived Douglas and Anton, would the government let a twelve-year-old kid have the money? And they certainly wouldn't let me live alone. I would have to live somewhere and go to school somewhere.

How was I going to get out of this mess? My grandpa had said that Dad had even reached out to some of his powerful
friends and they weren't able to help him. If the Salvatore crime syndicate had truly infiltrated organizations like the CIA, how was I going to stop them? How was I going to stop Douglas? How was I ever going to be safe?

I sat up and looked around the room. The adrenaline rush from running from Douglas and stealing his car had left me starving, even after having eaten my Snickers bar, but I didn't want to risk leaving. I looked down on the floor and picked up the
Galena Gazette
. Maybe there would be an ad for pizza. I could order a pizza and not have to leave.

I glanced through the paper, but the only mention of pizza was Cannova's. Cannova's was the place where Jimmy the British assassin-for-hire had worked. It was probably best to just go hungry.

I set the newspaper back down and noticed the photo of Attorney General Como on the front.

Maybe Como could help. He was a powerful man. I could call Como and tell him that I needed help. I could tell him that the Salvatore crime syndicate was behind my mom's, dad's, and grandpa's murders. I could tell him they had a crooked CIA agent. And I could tell him I had proof. Which I was hoping was true. If Bailey was who I thought she was.

I pulled out my phone and did a search for Attorney General Como. The Attorney General had a Web page at the Department of Justice. I clicked on the Contact Us button
and called the phone number. I figured there would be no one in his office this time of night and the odds of me getting through to him were extremely slim, but I thought I'd try. I could leave a message that was detailed enough that someone might feel compelled to actually give it to him. I clicked on the phone number and it began to dial.

There was a generic voice asking me to leave my message and someone from the justice office would follow up. I left a message.

“Hello, my name is Furious Jones. I am a friend of Attorney General Como and the son of Robert Jones. I was with the attorney general the night my father was killed and I would very much like to speak to him. I'm currently in Galena, Illinois, and I have information regarding the murders of both my parents.”

I left my phone number and asked that Como get in touch with me as soon as possible. I figured that was a message that would be difficult for an assistant to ignore.

I
woke up a little
late, brushed my teeth, and smelled my T-shirts to see which one I could still wear. Today's
Galena Gazette
was under my door. The newspaper featured a photo of the Happy Puppy Dog Food Company and a headline reading: GRISLY DISCOVERY IN GALENA FACTORY. I threw the paper on the floor next to the newspaper with Como's picture on it. I was running late for school and didn't have time to read about Anton's latest kill.

I opened the door and peered out into the hallway. Betty wasn't around. I felt bad about walking out on Betty's palm reading yesterday, but I didn't have time for that stuff today. Today was Wednesday, and I was almost out of time. I had to ask Bailey about the witness protection program today. I
had to ask her why the Salvatores would want her dead. That ought to be a fun conversation.

I walked down the stairs—the living room was empty. I decided to wait for Mike out on the porch. It was even colder today. I rubbed my bare arms as I pulled out my phone and called Emma. She answered on the first ring.

“Are you okay? I've been worried sick about you. I left you a message last night.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn't get the message.” Which wasn't a lie. I didn't realize Emma had left a message.

“How is the undercover work going? Did you find the witness?”

“I think so,” I said.

“Is she willing to talk to me?”

“I don't know yet. I'm going to ask her later today. Do you think you could come to Galena?” I asked. “If she is willing to talk, we need to get this story out quickly.” I was still hoping there was enough time left to tell the story and catch the killers before they disappeared. They would be gone once the book was released tomorrow night.

There was a long pause and then Emma said, “I don't know. I doubt my teacher is going to just let me leave.”

“Even for a big story?”

“I'll see what I can do, but I might just have to talk to her on the phone.”

I jumped as the door opened behind me.

“There you are, Finbar.”

It was Betty. I motioned to her that I'd be with her in a minute, but she kept talking.

“What are you doing out here without a jacket? Come on in and warm up.”

“Is that Betty?” Emma asked. “Oh, I love Betty. Put her on so I can say hi.”

“Seriously,” I replied.

“Yes!” Emma said enthusiastically.

So I handed the phone to Betty. “A mutual friend of ours would like to say hi.”

Betty didn't seem worried, confused, or shocked. She grabbed the phone and started talking like it all made perfect sense.

“Hello?” Betty said into the phone.

“Oh yes, dear. Of course I remember you. How wonderful to hear your voice again,” Betty said. “Well, how is it that you know Finbar?”

I held my breath as Betty listened to Emma's answer. I hoped she didn't
say
Finbar who?

B
etty continued to talk to
Emma as she walked back into the house. Was I supposed to walk in after her? Was she going to bring my phone back? Or had Emma accidentally told her who I really was? Maybe she was calling her cop client friend right now.

But she came back out several minutes later with my phone in one hand and another necklace in the other. This necklace didn't have a giant eye on it, though. This one looked even worse.

“Oh, I just love that little Emma so much,” Betty said. “She has such a wonderful aura. You're lucky to have her as a friend.”

Was Emma a friend? I guess she was quickly
becoming one. “I agree,” I said.

Betty handed me my phone and lifted the necklace high above her head.

“This is a very strong amulet,” Betty said. “Very strong magic. It'll help.”

She motioned for me to lean over so she could put it on me. It looked like she had sewn some sort of small burlap sack to a piece of rope. I almost vomited at the smell as I leaned forward.

“What's that smell?” I asked as my eyes watered and my nose started to run.

“That's ghost pepper and garlic. Ghost pepper is a million times hotter than cayenne. In India, they use it to ward off evil.”

“Evil?” I asked.

“Yes, and elephants. They smear it on fences.” She placed it around my neck and tucked it into my shirt on top of the eye amulet. “Just keep it tucked in and you won't even notice it.”

I looked down. It looked like I had a small pillow under my shirt now.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Just make sure to leave it on, okay?”

“I will.”

“What time is your friend coming? Do you want to wait inside?”

I looked down at my phone. It was already quarter
to eight. It looked like Mike wasn't coming. We actually hadn't talked about him picking me up. . . . I guess I just assumed.

“Maybe I was supposed to meet him at his place,” I lied again. “I'm going to walk over there. Thanks again for the amulet.”

I started up High Street, toward the stairs, but then I remembered Douglas. I couldn't just go walking down the side of the highway. What if he drove by? What if they found his car and the cops were all down on Main Street right now? I decided to try to find a less-traveled route to school.

I took a left at the end of Betty's block and continued to climb the steep streets that zigzagged toward the top of the bluff. I pulled out my phone and mapped a course that kept me off all main roads and highways. It looked to be an hour on foot. I had no problem missing Nonnemacher's class, but I had to hurry if I was going to make it in time for nutrition with Bailey. Somehow I had to ask her about the witness protection. I had to find out who was trying to kill her and why. And I had no idea how I was going to do that. Maybe Emma would make it up here after all. She was a journalist. Maybe she would know how to approach the topic without freaking Bailey out.

I
walked for forty-five minutes
on dirt country roads until I finally saw the school. The bell to end first period rang as I opened the door. Good. I couldn't handle seeing Nonnemacher today. I just wanted to get together with Bailey. Maybe I'd even show her the chapters of my dad's new book. If she was the girl in the photo album, Emma could write the story, and maybe we could catch Anton.

Mike wasn't in class when I walked in, so I decided to sit next to Bailey.

“Okay, class. Settle down. Are we ready to begin?” Metzel asked.

“Today you're going to work in your small groups. You will be
making some decisions today, right? You will be deciding on your dish—the healthy dish you will share at our potluck tomorrow. And, like we discussed yesterday, it must promote good cholesterol.

“Okay, guys,” Metzel continued, “let's break into our small groups and get to work.”

Finally!
I turned to Bailey.

“So, what are you thinking? Salad?” I asked.

“Salad? We can do better than salad,” Susan interjected.

“Okay. What? Like fish?” I was the last guy to comment on healthy eating. And I suddenly remembered I was starving. I hadn't eaten a thing since I'd washed the Snickers bar down with a Coke last night.

“How about something with pork?” Susan said.

“Pork?” I questioned.

“Yeah. My cousins live over in Dubuque. My uncle is a hog farmer and he swears that pork is the healthiest meat you can eat. I guess Iowa raises more pork than anywhere in the world. His farm smells god-awful, but it's really, really healthy, I guess.”

“Pork is healthy?” I asked.

“Actually, Susan,” Bailey said, “your uncle is right. Pork is low in cholesterol.”

“Okay, let's make pork chops,” I said.

“My uncle gave me a great pineapple-and-pork recipe.” Susan was excited now. “We could make that. It's delicious.”