The Further Adventures of Jack Lime (6 page)

“She's here because I asked her to be here,” I said, bounding onto the path beside Betty. “What are you doing here, Lance?”

“I … I …” he stammered.

“I'll tell you what you're doing here,” I said. “You're here because you got a text from Mike the Bookie, a known affiliate of the Riverside Boys, telling you to be here. You're here because you're Bucky King's lackey, just another thug working for the Riverside Boys. Isn't that right, Lance?”

“It's not true, Betty.”

“He's lying,” I said. “He's lying, just like he lied to you about being down here the other night to help out a few friends. I can prove everything!”

“Oh, Lance!” Betty said, through tears.

“Betty, Betty!” Lance cried, running over to her. “I got myself in too deep. Oh, Betty, I've made a mess of things! I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“What's going on, Lime?” KC asked.

“He's been cheating on you, Betty,” I said, ignoring KC. “He's been cheating on you so that he can take orders from Bucky King and his gang of thieves.”

“You got it wrong, Lime,” Lance said. “I'm not a member of the Riverside Boys. I just lost a little money playing dodgeball. I got a little carried away, but I figured I could win it back. After all, I'm Lance Munroe, right? And I will win it back, Betty. But in the meantime, Mike said he could keep Bucky off my back if I did him a few favors. So I lost a few dodgeball games. It's no big deal.”

“What about the football game on Friday? Don't tell me you didn't plan those last-minute high jinks,” I said.

“I'd never lose a football game on purpose. That'd hurt my chances of getting picked up by a top-flight college, but I said I could make it look like we'd lose. Then we're all winners, right? You get to watch a super-exciting game and I get to look even better than I already am.”

“That's very noble,” I muttered, “but what about the kids who lost their dough betting on that game?”

“Nobody forced them to bet their money, Lime. It's their own fault.”

“You lied to me!” Betty cut in. “You told me you were helping out a friend.”

“I was helping out me,” Lance said.

“That's not the same,” Betty cried.

“I'm sorry,” Lance said, taking her hands. “I just didn't want you to be worried about me, babe. I wanted to handle it myself. I guess I just got in over my head. I'm really sorry. I just didn't see any other way out.”

“Oh, please,” I groaned, but Betty bought it hook, line and sinker. Before I could say cheesy, the two of them were kissing and making up.

“How much do you owe them?” KC asked, from out of nowhere.

“About a hundred and twenty-five bucks,” Lance said.

“Whoa!” I said. “Hold your horses! You only owe them a hundred and twenty-five bones? You should just go out and get a job; you'd pay that off in no time.”

“I don't have time for a job,” Lance said. “It's football season.”

“I'll lend you the money,” Betty said, beaming.

“Well,” Lance started, scratching his chin, “now that I'm mixed up in this, Mike says I need to keep playing along. And he's got this little black book filled with bets, and my name's all over the place. He says if I ever change my mind, he'll hand it over to Principal Snit or Coach Shultz, and then I can kiss a big scholarship good-bye. I'm in kind of a tight jam.”

“You help get people out of tight jams?” Betty said, looking at me with those big brown eyes.

“No, no, no,” I said.

“Oh, please, Jack!” Betty said. “I just know you could help him. Please?”

“That'd be great, Jack! Thanks!” Lance said, patting me on the back. “Some of the fellas on the team said you were a bit of a weirdo, but I always knew you were a stand-up kind of guy.”

“Let me get this straight,” I said, staring up at Lance. “You got yourself into trouble by losing money on dodgeball games and then tried to work your way out of it by making a deal with the devil instead of getting a job and paying off a hundred and twenty-five bucks? And now, since your name is scrawled all over Mike's little black book, if you don't keep following orders, you might end up losing a sweet football scholarship to a big-time college? And you want me to help you out of this mess?”

Lance and Betty nodded.

“Please, Jack. Please,” Betty said, grabbing my hands. I got another whiff of that watermelon bubblegum and my sad fate was sealed.

“Just stay out of my way,” I said, heading down the path. “And when this is done,” I added, turning around, “each of you owes me a favor. A big one.”

They nodded again and I left them standing in the park.

Tuesday, October 8, 4:00 p.m.
29A Main Street, The Diner

When I got to The Diner the next day, Mike was already sitting in the booth at the back, dipping fries into a puddle of ketchup.

“I'm surprised, Lime,” he said. “I didn't think you'd show up. Now where's my book?”

“Where's the money for my bike?”

Mike laid out six twenties and a five in a neat line across the table.

“Give me my book,” he snapped.

“First, take the money back.”

“What?”

“That pays off Lance Munroe's debt, I believe.”

“You're joking.”

“I'm afraid I'm not,” I said. “Take the money and scratch Lance's name out of your book.”

“Why would I?”

“Because if you don't, Lance is going to confess everything to Principal Snit and ask for leniency,” I said. I was bluffing big time, but he didn't need to know that.

“You're bluffing,” he said.

I shrugged and tossed his little black book on the table.

“If Lance squeals, you and Bucky are going down, along with your whole gambling operation. If you let him off the hook, we both walk away from this, and nobody's the wiser.”

Mike snatched up the money and the black book.

“You're done with Lance,” I said.

“I might be done with Munroe,” Mike said, standing up, “but we're just getting started with you, Lime.”

Mike stormed out just as KC Stone waltzed in.

“Did I miss something big?” she asked.

“If you had arrived five seconds earlier, Stone, you would've blown everything.”

“Well, I'm glad I have impeccable timing,” she said, sliding into the booth. “I don't suppose you want to tell me what just happened? I'm sure it'd make a great story for the paper.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn't do it for the publicity.”

“It might help your detective agency,” she said. “Attract some business.”

“I don't need help with that,” I said.

“At least tell me if you managed to get your bike fixed.”

“How do you know about that?”

“I'm a journalist, Jack,” she said. “I have my ways. Remember?”

I shook my head. “It's still going to need some work.”

“I don't suppose you'd like to buy a girl a drink,” she said. “It's hot out there today.”

“What'll you have?”

“Right about now, I think a root beer float would hit the spot,” she said.

I smiled.

“I think we might get along after all,” I said.

“Don't bet on it, Lime,” she said. “Don't bet on it.”

Thursday, October 10, 8:26 a.m.
Iona High, My Locker

It was a dismal day. It was raining and cold, the kind of cold that seeps under your skin and eats away at your bones. I trudged into school, soaking wet, and headed straight for my locker. I didn't feel much like talking to anyone, especially not KC Stone, but there she was, standing in front of my locker with a waif of a girl who had long black hair and skin so pale that she'd pass for a vampire in downtown Transylvania.

“How's life?” KC asked.

“Wet,” I said.

“That's a weather report, Jack. I was wondering how
you're
doing, you know, personally speaking. It's a question polite people ask these days.”

“Are you here to give me a lesson on manners, Stone, or is there some other reason why you keep getting in my way?”

“This is Madeleine Summers,” she said. “She needs your help, and she needs it fast.”

Madeleine blushed and looked down at the ground.

“You know I'm trying to get out of the private-eye racket, right? It's bad for my health and my bank account.”

“I wouldn't be here if it wasn't an emergency.”

“Maybe this isn't a good idea,” Madeleine said, in a whisper.

“Come on, Jack,” KC said. “Madeleine is an innocent victim. You can't let something like this happen to her.”

“Something like what?” I asked.

KC opened her mouth to explain, but then her eyes darted over my shoulder and she clammed up quick, fast, in a hurry.

“Mr. Lime,” a deep voice said from directly behind me.

“Principal Snit,” I said, turning around. “What brings you down here this miserable morning?”

“You do,” he said. “We need to have a chat, young man.”

Whenever Snit uses the words “young” and “man” together, I know there's going to be trouble, so I didn't put up a fight and stepped in line behind him like a good little robot. We didn't get far before KC grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.

“Jack,” she said, shoving a phone into my hand, “you must've dropped your cell.”

It's a long and sordid story, but I don't own a cell, so her giving me that phone was a bit of a surprise. I decided to play along and see where this was headed.

“Thanks, Stone,” I said, “I wouldn't want to go anywhere without this.”

“No,” she said. “You might miss some very important text messages.”

“Just make sure I don't see it or hear it, Mr. Lime,” Snit said. “I don't want any interruptions during our meeting.”

“I'll be in touch soon,” KC said, and she headed back down the hall. I had to hand it to her; KC had a lot of spunk, but that didn't mean I was going to take this case. I had other things to do, like dealing with Snit and that black cloud he had hanging over his head. I had a sneaking suspicion that this meeting wasn't going to be all sunshine and lollipops. And you know what? I was right.

Thursday, October 10, 8:34 a.m.
Iona High, Snit's Office

Snit escorted me to his office and we sat down at his desk.

“Jack, I'm not going to beat around the bush. Yesterday afternoon a student told me that you stole his personal property.”

“What?”

“He says that you cornered him in the boys' bathroom and took his diary. He also said you demanded one hundred and twenty-five dollars in order for him to get it back.”

“That's ridiculous!” I said, jumping out of my seat. “That's not what happened at all! Mike is lying to you, Mr. Snit!”

“I didn't mention any names, Jack.”

“Oh, come on! We both know who we're talking about, and I'm telling you he's lying!”

“So you admit that you cornered Mike Anderson in the boys' bathroom?”

“I wouldn't say he was cornered, exactly,” I said.

“Did you steal his diary?”

“Diary? Is that what he's calling it? That's a hoot!”

“Did you take his diary, Jack?”

I wanted to tell Snit the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I wanted to explain to him that I'd borrowed Mike's betting ledger to save the school's new football hero, Lance Munroe, from Bucky King and the Riverside Boys. But that would mean playing the snitch, and I wasn't willing to do that, even if Mike “The Bookie” Anderson was willing to sink that low.

“I may have momentarily borrowed a small black book that belonged to Mike Anderson,” I said, “but I can assure you it wasn't a diary.”

“Do you still have it?”

“I gave it back to him on Tuesday.”

“That's not what he says.”

“He's lying!”

“Did he have to pay you one hundred and twenty-five dollars to get it back?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “Kind of. They wrecked my bike!”

“Mike Anderson wrecked your bike, Jack?”

“Did he personally wreck my bike?”

“Yes.”

“Probably not, but he knew who did!” I said, pounding the table with my fist.

“So let me get this straight. You admit that you took Mike Anderson's diary —”

“I borrowed a small black book,” I said, cutting him off.

“You admit that you took Mike Anderson's personal property and demanded he pay you in order to get it back?”

“Sure, I did those things, but I did them to protect a client and get some payback for some seriously rotten things that were done to
my
innocent bicycle.”

“Jack, you can't forcibly take another student's personal property and then demand money for its return. I'm hereby putting you on a one-week, in-school suspension, to begin immediately. And then this matter will be handed over to a disciplinary committee that will determine whether a more serious punishment is warranted.”

“A more serious punishment?”

“This isn't a joke, Jack. You could be expelled.”

“Don't I at least get a chance to face my accuser?”

“That's not how this works. And, Jack, you are not permitted to speak to Mike Anderson in any way. You are to stay away from him. Are we clear on that?”

“Crystal,” I said.

“Good,” he said, standing up, “then follow me. I'll show you to your quarters.”

Thursday, October 10, 8:44 a.m.
Iona High, My Cell

Snit walked me to a charming room just off the main office. It was a little bigger than a broom closet and tastefully furnished with a rickety old chair, a table, a computer from the 1980s and a pile of science textbooks that looked like they'd been eaten by a great white shark and then spit back into the sea.

“I'm going to get your work from your teachers,” Snit said. “And don't think about leaving, Jack. Just consider this your classroom for the week.”

“No problemo,” I said. “It'll give me a nice break from nasty distractions like windows and people.”

Snit glowered and left, shutting the door behind him.

I was itching to track down Mike and share a few kind words, but Snit probably had the office locked down tighter than a Doberman at a kitten convention, so I decided to turn my attention to Madeleine's case instead. I checked KC's phone. She hadn't wasted any time texting me a few facts:

Art exhibit tonight. Madeleine sure to win. Her painting stolen from art room last night. You need to find it before 7!

An art heist was a new one on me, and I had to admit I was curious about the case, but I'd need a few more facts before I could get started. That was going to be tough while I was locked up like an animal, so I figured the best thing to do was to text KC for some more info. That's when Snit burst back in.

“Mr. Lime,” he barked, “hand over that phone.”

“Do you know anything about a missing painting?” I asked.

“No more investigations, Jack, not during school hours and especially not while you're serving a suspension.”

“The girl's name is Madeleine Somethingorother. Do you have any leads?”

“Give me the phone, Mr. Lime.”

“I'm just trying to help somebody out,” I said, handing it over. “Besides, what kind of trouble could I get into while I'm locked up?”

“Stick to your schoolwork,” Snit said, putting a pile of worksheets on the desk. “Oh, and by the way, you've got someone to keep you company for the day.”

That's when things went from bad to worse.

“I believe you already know Bucky King.”

I'm not sure what my face looked like when Bucky stepped into that broom closet, but he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Now, boys, I don't want to hear a peep out of this room,” Snit said, “and this door stays open at all times.”

“Not a peep,” Bucky said, brushing past me and taking the only seat in the house. The chair screeched helplessly under his weight.

“I'll get you another chair,” Snit said, and then he left us alone.

“What are you in for, Bucky — stealing candy from babies again, or were you just ripping their teddy bears apart?”

“I'll be tearing somebody apart soon,” he said, jumping up and grabbing me by the collar.

Before I had a chance to risk my life with a witty reply, Mr. Van Kramp stepped into our cell, pushing a cushy-looking leather chair on wheels.

Van Kramp had replaced Ms. Priggs as the school secretary after she retired last year. He bicycled to work every day, coached the boys' soccer team and was supposedly an expert mountain climber. He had blue eyes and straw-blond hair that always looked like it'd just been cut. He spoke with a British accent and had a habit of walking around in expensive-looking suits that made me wonder just how much a school secretary got paid. Since Van Kramp had arrived on campus, the girls at Iona High seemed to be spending a lot more time in the office.

“I hate to interrupt,” he said, “but Mr. Snit asked me to bring you another chair.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, letting me go and grabbing the chair from Van Kramp.

“You're very welcome,” Van Kramp said, “and let's keep the noise down, chaps. I have work to do.”

“Not a peep,” Bucky said. Van Kramp smiled, flashing us his ridiculously white teeth, and left.

Bucky dragged his comfortable new seat over to the desk, kicked the old one into the corner and laid his head down on the desk.

“Don't wake me up unless Snit's on his way. Got it, Lime?”

I figured the old chair Bucky had been using was about ready to fall to pieces, so I sat down on the ground and started hatching my escape plan. The good news was that there were only two things standing in my way. The bad news was that those two things were Mr. Snit and Mr. Van Kramp.