The Further Adventures of Jack Lime (11 page)

“Yeah,” I said, “it was pretty stupid.”

“Well, at least she's got her painting back. Now she still has a chance to win,” he said. “That's the important thing.”

“You're probably right,” I said.

“Now what?” he asked. “I guess I have to go admit everything to Mr. Snit, huh? But before you haul me in, Jack, give me the chance to talk to Madeleine? I want to tell her the truth myself, okay?”

“I don't think that will be necessary,” I said.

“What do you mean?” he asked, standing up.

“I mean, this was a crime of passion,” I said, “plain and simple. You did something stupid to impress a girl. I can relate to that, believe me. But you're going to owe me a favor, Julian, and it's going to be a real doozy.”

“Oh, thank you, Jack!” he said, hugging me. That's when KC Stone stepped into the room.

“Whoops,” she said. “I didn't mean to interrupt something.”

“We're just finishing up,” I said, pushing Julian away. “And you're not interrupting anything important.”

“Thanks, Jack!” Julian said again.

“Forget about it,” I said. “Now am-scray before I change my mind.”

“Am-what?” he said.

“Get out of here!” I said. Julian didn't need to be told twice.

“I don't suppose you've got anything to put on the record for the newspaper, Lime?” KC asked.

“Not today,” I said.

“When you do have something to say,” she said, “you'll make sure I'm the first to know, right?”

“Absolutely,” I said, stepping into the hall. “Now why don't we get back to that art show?”

“Actually, Jack,” she said, “I think you need to go have that shower. You kind of reek.”

“Let me know how it all turns out.”

“Only if you tell me what just happened here?”

“No can do, kiddo,” I said, walking away.

“Fine,” she said. “Oh, and Jack, if you call me kiddo again, you'll have more than just some rank BO to worry about.”

I walked outside, into a clear autumn night, and felt a little better about the world, even if I did let KC have the last word. All I cared about at that moment was scarfing down some of Grandma's meatloaf and having a long, hot shower. Life was good — for a little while, anyway.

Friday, November 1, 4:21 p.m.
A street with no name, Grandma's House

KC Stone sat at my grandma's kitchen table with a big slice of pumpkin pie, a glass of milk and a notebook lying in front of her. Her red hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing a black T-shirt with the words “I'm sorry for your loss, but it's my gain” printed across the front.

“You're sure you want to do this, Lime?” she asked.

“Stone,” I said, “you've been hounding me for an interview since I cracked the Richie Renfrew case. Now you're asking me if I'm sure I want to do this?”

“Professional courtesy,” she said, pulling a pencil out from behind her ear.

“Where should I start?” I asked, pushing my half-finished float to the side.

“From the very beginning, Jack. How did you get involved with this case?”

“You know how I got involved in this mess,” I said.

“For the benefit of my readers,” she said with a wink, “just pretend I don't know anything.”

“That shouldn't be hard,” I said.

“Hardee-har-har. Now quit wasting time and get started.”

Wednesday, October 30, 8:19 a.m.
Iona High, My Locker

It all started on Wednesday morning when a scrawny kid with hair so blond that it was almost white walked up to my locker.

“Are you Jack Lime?” he asked. He had big blue eyes that kept darting around, up and down the hall.

“Who's asking?” I said.

“My name's Jake Clim,” he said, “and I need help.”

“Join the club,” I said. “What's the trouble, kid?”

“I'm new around here and a couple of guys, big guys, have been bothering me,” he said, his voice trembling a little. “They told me to meet them at the train station at lunch. They said to bring fifty dollars or they'd beat me up.”

“And you want me to make them back off?” I said. This kid was small, and I wondered what sort of no-good dirty bum would put the screws to such a helpless sap.

“No,” he said, pulling out a small camcorder, “I just want you to come down to the train station today at lunch and record them pushing me around. Then I'll show it to Principal Snit.”

“Look,” I said, “I've been through this recording bit before, and it doesn't always go down smoothly. Why don't I just have a chat with them, man to thugs?”

“Just take the camera,” he said, thrusting it into my hand. “And get them off my back!”

“You'll owe me a favor for this, kid!” I called, but he was already scurrying away. I grabbed my books from my locker and headed to the cafeteria. I had this figured for just another run-of-the-mill case where an innocent rube gets hustled by some oversized goons, and then yours truly steps in and saves the day. Unfortunately nothing about this case was going to be run-of-the-mill.

Wednesday, October 30, 12:15 p.m.
2 Main Street, The Train Station

It was raining buckets of cats and pails of dogs as I hustled down to the train station. I was soaked when I arrived and slipped into an out-of-the-way corner where I stood dripping and waiting for the goons to show up. I milled around for ten minutes, holding Jake's camera and keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of a shakedown, but nobody showed. I was about to take a stroll around the station to see if I was missing something when Jake came through the front doors. He was wearing a yellow raincoat and holding an umbrella with a duck-shaped handle. No wonder the poor kid was getting hassled.

I waved, and he marched over with short, quick steps, using his umbrella like a cane.

“Give me the camera,” he said. “The case is closed.”

“What do you mean?” I said. “Did they already get to you?”

“No,” he said, grabbing the camera, turning and marching away.

“You still owe me a favor, kid,” I called, but he just kept on going. He didn't even look back when he stepped through the doors.

Wednesday, October 30, 12:22 p.m.
Iona High, The Main Foyer

When I got back to school, I was so waterlogged that my fingers had gone wrinkly. I just wanted to dry off and grab something hot to eat in the cafeteria. So I didn't notice the gaggle of guys and dolls standing around in the main foyer, pointing in my direction.

“That's him,” someone said.

A kid with black hair almost shaved off and a five o'clock shadow broke out of the crowd. “You Jack Lime?” he barked, stepping up to me.

The kid was built like a pit bull, short and thick, and his beady black eyes were giving me bad vibes.

“That's right,” I said.

“Where've you been?” he asked.

“What's it to you, friend?”

“I'll tell you what it is to me,” he spat. “My Captain Marvel #146 just got stolen!”

“Your what?”

“My Captain Marvel #146. A very valuable comic book. My very valuable comic book.”

“And somebody took it?”

“You got something wrong with your brain, punchy? That's what I just said! Now, what are you going to do about it?”

“I'm guessing you want me to find it,” I said.

“You got it right, punchy. So what's it going to be?”

“Who are you, anyway?” I asked.

“Tyler Butt,” he said. He looked like he was expecting me to crack a joke, and I have to admit, I had a few snappy comments on the tip of my tongue.

“Give me the facts while I grab some lunch.”

“No time for lunch, punchy. Just follow me.”

My gut was telling me to walk away from this mooyuk, but I'm a sucker for a good case. So, against my better judgment, I put my lunch plans on hold and started my tragic search for Tyler's missing comic.

“Tragic, Jack?” KC said, looking up from her notepad.

“It was tragic,” I said, holding up my hands. “Tragic for me.”

“Enough with the dramatics. Just stick with the story, okay?”

Wednesday, October 30, 12:27 p.m.
Iona High, The Gym

Tyler led me to the gym, which was buzzing with students. Tables had been set up along the walls where kids were displaying stacks of comic books. There were even a few people dressed up as their favorite hero. A giant banner was hanging across the stage that read “Welcome to the 1st Annual Iona High Comic-Con.” That's when you came up to me, Stone, and said something like, ‘Oh, my hero! Thank goodness you're here! I don't know what we'd do without you!'”

“Lime,” KC said, looking up again, “if you're not going to take this seriously, I'm out of here and you can deal with the fallout all by yourself.”

“Okay, but you have to admit you were happy I showed up.”

“Well, I thought you should definitely be involved with this case.”

“If getting duped and double-crossed is something I should be involved with, then you were right on the money,” I said. “But I'm getting off track. Where was I?”

“You just walked into the gym.”

Right, so I suggested we start with the crime scene, and Tyler took me over to his display table. He grabbed a heavy-duty aluminum briefcase, unlocked it with a small key and took out about a dozen old-looking comic books sealed in plastic bags.

“These are all your comics?” I asked, reaching out.

“Don't touch,” Tyler barked, stepping between me and his comics. “This is just a small portion of my Captain Marvel collection.”

“But only one of them got stolen?” I asked.

Tyler nodded. “The Captain Marvel #146, my most valuable one. The little turd knew what he was doing.”

“Why don't you tell me what happened,” I said.

“My comic got stolen,” Tyler said, his eyes getting wild. “What more do you need to know, punchy?”

I was about to tell Tyler where he could stick his precious Captain Marvel comic when you cut in.

“Tyler, why don't I explain everything to Jack?”

“Fine,” he grumbled, “but be quick about it.”

We moved to the side, and you explained that the Comic-Con was an event where comic book aficionados could show off their collections and buy and trade with one another. You said you got there at about five to twelve while people were setting up, and that at exactly 12:05 (you knew because you checked your watch), Mariam Singh, the Student Council president, got up on stage to say a few words. That's when the lights went out. About ten seconds later, the lights came on and Tyler pointed at the gym doors and shouted, “There he goes!” You turned and spotted someone dressed in black going out the gym doors. That's when Tyler freaked and tried to go after the crook, only some poor sap got in his way and they both went down in a heap. By the time Tyler got outside, it must've been too late, because he came back empty-handed.

“Is that about right, KC?”

“That's exactly right, Lime. Very impressive.”

“Impressive is what I do best,” I said.

“Yes, Jack,” KC said, “I'm always impressed that you get anything done.”

“Thank you,” I said, “but we can talk about me later. It wasn't long before Snit arrived and conducted a very thorough investigation that involved asking Tyler questions for about five seconds. Am I missing anything?”