Really lucky.
How else could I explain a friend like Casey?
It was Friday, so after school Marissa, Holly, and I all went to the mall. And while Marissa shot up aliens and other Creatures of Darkness in the video arcade, Holly and I sat nearby and traded off listening to CDs. And even though we were there a long time, I still didn't feel like going home when Marissa had to leave.
There's really not a whole lot happening in a seniors building.
So when Holly said, “You want to come over for a while? I'll probably have to do some chores, but…,” I jumped on it. “Sure! I don't mind. Let's go sweep up some fur!”
She laughed and off we went. And I did call home to let Grams know where I was, but pretty soon I was calling her again, because Vera and Meg invited me to stay for pizza. Pizza! I love pizza. I hardly ever get it, though, because Grams is into steamed fish, broiled chicken, and broccoli. I don't care what you do to steamed fish, broiled chicken, or broccoli, it's never going to taste like pizza. And please, don't put those things on a pizza. That's like having to do homework at the movies.
Anyway, Meg and Vera ordered an extra large, extra cheese, extra sausage pizza. And it turned out to be an extra fun dinner. We didn't bother with anything but pizza and soda, and we played rummy while we ate.
And then, when the pizza was about gone, Vera looked at Meg and said, “Remember how you used to have pajama parties when you were their age? Your girlfriends would come over and you'd giggle all night?”
“Sure,” Meg said, breaking into a smile. “Some of the best times of my life.”
Vera made little twitching faces at her. “So?”
Meg figured out what Vera was twitching about, because she said, “Say… I think that's a great idea.” She turned to Holly and me. “What do you two think about having a slumber party tonight?”
Holly and I looked at each other and said, “Cool!”
So I called Grams again, and since she thought it was a fine idea, Holly and I set up sleeping bags on the floor in front of the TV while Meg and Vera cleaned up and then made themselves scarce.
Now, we didn't start off by watching TV. We played cards and talked, played backgammon and talked some more… and we covered everything from cats at the pound to “cats” at school. We even made a list of girls we thought were card-carrying members of the Cat Club.
Top of the list, of course, Heather.
But there were a lot more girls on the list than just Heather and her friends. And when we sat back and looked at it, Holly laughed and said, “Half these girls hate each other.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Could you see them calling the meeting to order? It'd be like, Rrrrrarrrrh! Rrrreeeerrrrh! Rrraaaahrrr!”
“And Hsssss! Hsssss! Hsssss!” Holly said, putting up claws.
“A real claw-your-way-to-the-top club!”
“Yeah!”
So we laughed about that some, then Holly whispered, “I'm snacky, are you?”
I grinned. “Always.”
“I wish we had some popcorn. We could stay up late and watch old movies or something.” She flipped through the TV listings, and after a minute she said, “Hey! There's an I Love Lucy marathon on. You like her?”
“Sure.”
She went into the kitchen and started rummaging though the cupboard. “We've got to have popcorn.”
But they didn't. So I said, “Crackers are good.”
“Nah. They fill you up too fast.”
“How about those?” I said, pointing into the cupboard.
“Rice cakes?” She pulled a face. “Besides, I think they've been in there for, like, a year.”
“Well, Maynard's is right down the street, but I've only got about thirty-two cents on me.”
“That's not a problem.” She opened a cookie tin and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “Let me ask Vera.”
When she came back a few minutes later, she whispered, “They're both sacked out!”
“Really?” I looked at the clock—it was almost nine.
She nodded. “They get up at five, so they usually crash early—I guess I didn't know it was this late.”
“So do you want to just forget it?”
“I'm not ready for bed… are you?”
I shook my head.
“So let's go.”
She scrawled a note and we tiptoed down the stairs, through the Pup Parlor, and out the front door. And as we passed by Slammin' Dave's, I said, “Looks like they're closed for the night.”
“Thank God,” Holly muttered. “I sure hope Officer Borsch is right about today being El Gato's last day.”
“He seemed real… determined about that.”
“Well, good.”
So we got to Maynard's without any detours, and zipped right in. And I was all prepared to get snapped and yapped at by T.J., only T.J. wasn't there.
An Elvis impersonator was.
No kidding. He had thick black sideburns, slicked-back hair, big fashion shades, and a sparkly white jumpsuit.
After I got over the shock of seeing Elvis behind the counter, I said, “Hey there.”
He nodded, real cool-like. “Hey, little sister.”
Holly gave me a secret roll of the eyes because the guy wasn't just trying to look like Elvis, he was trying to sound like him, too. “Where's he think he is?” she whispered. “Las Vegas?”
“Maybe he stowed away in the McKenzes' luggage,” I whispered back.
So we chuckled about that a little, and when we brought the popcorn up to the counter, I smiled at Elvis and said, “So what's T.J. up to tonight?”
“Why you askin' little sister? Are you lonesome tonight?”
I laughed. “I'm not big into Elvis, but that's a song title, right?”
He gave me a cockeyed grin. “Yes, it is. And your teddy bear's gone to the fights.”
“The fights? Around here?”
He rang the popcorn through. “You ask a fool such as I?”
It was a weird conversation, but Holly whispered, “I think that's another song” as she handed him the money.
Then I remembered that T.J. had asked Gina—uh, Madame Nashira—whether he was going to win money on Friday. And there was this happy little hiccup in my brain when I realized I knew an Elvis song that fit perfectly. So I laughed and said, “Well, if he's got money riding on it, he'll be checking into the Heartbreak Hotel tonight—T.J. always loses!”
A smile spread wide across Elvis's face. But then he tried to look serious as he nodded and said, “Now, don't be cruel. That boy's no loser. Why, inside I'll bet he's a hunk-a hunk-a burnin' love.”
“T.J?” I laughed. “He ain't nothin' but a hound dog!”
Well, Elvis just busted up. And as he gave Holly the change, he said, “There ain't nothin' I like more than a hard-headed woman—thanks for makin' my night.”
It was the most fun I'd ever had at Maynard's Market, so I said, “Anytime, Elvis! Wish you worked here full-time.”
We walked back up to the Pup Parlor, laughing about Elvis having landed in Santa Martina and how crazy it was that there were Elvis impersonators all over the globe, and what was the deal with Elvis anyway?
When we got back upstairs, we tried to quit laughing so we wouldn't wake Vera and Meg, and tiptoed through the darkness toward the kitchen. But just as Holly's getting ready to press on the stove light, there's this loud thud outside, followed by a crunching slam. So we zip over to the window and what do we see?
Tony and the Bulldog, getting into Tony's van.
The van fires up, does a quick three-point turn, and zooms up the alley toward Wesler Street.
I whisper, “You think they're stealing something from Slammin' Dave?”
“Stealing something?”
“Well, it sounded like they threw something heavy in the back of the van… didn't it? And he was with the Bulldog….”
Holly shrugs. “Maybe we've got the Bulldog all wrong. Maybe we thought he was a bad guy because we thought he was El Gato.”
She looks out the window again. “Besides, Dave's back door's not busted open or anything.”
“But Tony has a key!”
“A key? Why would he have a key?”
“He's the janitor!”
“So? We sure wouldn't give him a key to the Pup Parlor if he was cleaning for us.”
“But… but we saw him lock up that place across town, remember? That Kustom Heat and Air place?”
“Maybe they gave him a key, but we sure wouldn't. And I bet Dave wouldn't, either. I mean, why?”
“So what's he doing here then? With the Bulldog?”
“I have no idea. But I don't think he's stealing stuff. Maybe he's just giving the Bulldog a ride somewhere.”
I look back out the window. “But why meet in a back alley? When Dave's is closed?”
We both stood there a minute, and finally Holly said, “Well, they're gone now. And what are we supposed to do? Call the police? What would we say? We heard a thump and saw a guy zoom off in his own van?”
She went over to the microwave, but I kept looking out the window. And when the popcorn was done and she'd shaken it into a big bowl, she said, “Look. Tomorrow we'll ask Dave if he's missing anything. If he is, we'll tell him what we saw, okay?”
“Yeah, you're right….”
So we went into the living room, turned on the I Love Lucy marathon, got comfy, and munched on popcorn. Only I kept thinking about what I'd seen out the kitchen window. What were Tony and the Bulldog doing behind Slammin' Dave's? And what was the connection between those two? The Bulldog couldn't need Tony's professional services—he lived at the Heavenly Hotel! So what were they doing together in the alley on a Friday night? And what was that thud? Maybe a wrestling mat?
My mind kept wandering. Searching for an explanation. I played through the places I knew the Bulldog had been: Dave's. The Heavenly. The alley behind the Kojo Buffet. On the West Side near the brickyard…
And then I went through the places I'd seen Tony: At Dave's. On the West Side at Kustom Heat and Air. Delivering Dorito on Broadway… He was also the janitor for First Valley Bank and Tiny's Tattoo Parlor. And, according to him, for nearly everyone in the neighborhood.
So the things Tony and the Bulldog had in common were Dave's, the street with Kustom Heat and Air and the brickyard on it, and… that was about it. Well, there was cats, but that was sort of an iffy connection. I mean, Tony and I had talked about cats and the Kojo Buffet, and he had helped me find Dorito, but he didn't “rescue” them from the pound or haul them around in gym bags like the Bulldog.
Still, I sat there for the longest time, my mind going: Dave's, the brickyard, cats … Dave's, the brickyard, cats… Dave's, the brickyard, cats…
And then, very slowly, a chill worked its way up my spine. I let it tingle for a solid minute, and finally I whispered, “Holly… !”
She was laughing at Lucy, who was stuck out on a ledge.
“Holly!” I said louder.
“What?” Her eyes were still glued to the TV.
“They're doing something with cats.”
She glanced at me. “Who is?”
“Tony and the Bulldog.”
She muted the TV. “You look scary, Sammy. Are you okay?”
I didn't feel okay. “They're torturing them… they're … they're …”
She turned her whole body toward me. “Whoa! Sammy, calm down! You're letting your imagination go crazy. Tony returned your cat, remember?”
I nodded. And now I felt like my whole body had been lowered into ice water. “Because he had him. Probably with a bunch of other cats.” I looked at her. “Which is why Dorito was covered with fleas.”
“But… why would they be torturing cats? Do you think they're in a satanic cult? C'mon.”
“No, I don't think that. But I do think they're doing something with them.”
“Yeah? Like what? And where would you keep a bunch of flea-bitten cats? People would notice! They'd call the Humane Society.”
I shook my head. “Not if they couldn't see them.” My heart was racing now, tripping all over itself to beat faster. “Holly,” I whispered. “Remember that Kustom Heat and Air place? The building we saw Tony come out of when we were taking down flyers?”
“Yeah…”
“Did you notice there was nobody there? The brickyard next door was busy, but the only person who seemed to be around Kustom Heat and Air was Tony. And now that I think about it, there was nothing in the storage yard, either. And the big roll-up door was closed.”
“Okaaaay… so…?”
I was warming up quick. “So why would a janitor be locking up a business in the middle of the day? Especially an industrial place like that?”
She shrugged and shook her head.
“Exactly! You wouldn't unless no one was coming and going. Unless the place was out of business!” I headed for the telephone. “Where's your phone book?”
“Right there,” she said, pointing to a small bookcase.
I pawed through the pages until I found the listing.
“Who are you calling?” Holly asked as I dialed the number.
“Kustom Heat and Air.” I waved her over and shared the phone as a mechanical voice came over the line. “The number you have dialed is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error…”
“See?” I said, hanging up. “They're out of business! Why would a janitor be cleaning a place that's out of business?”
“Aw, Sammy, come on. Maybe the owners are getting ready for new tenants. Maybe it was a one-time job.”
“I saw him there twice. And the day I talked to Zippy's owner, she said she saw the Bulldog on that street. Plus, it was after I followed the Bulldog that I got that phone call! Why would he threaten me if I wasn't getting too close for comfort?”
“Sammy, those are really weak connections. You don't know who called you. And so what if you saw Tony there twice? Maybe it takes him more than one day to do a onetime job.”
“Or maybe he's the one who took down the Zippy flyers.”
“But Sammy…”
“Maybe he didn't want those flyers up, Holly. Tony made a point of telling Tiny at the tattoo parlor that I'd found my cat. Maybe he wanted Tiny to take down my flyer so people wouldn't be on the lookout for cats. And hey! The only place we found cats in a sack was at Tiny's—and the garbage sack was just like the rest of the sacks in Tiny's trash!”
“But Sammy, doesn't that point to Tiny?”
“I think it points to his janitor. Plus, think about this — the places we found cats were all near places Tony cleans.”
“He cleans everywhere!”
“Look. I know Tony acts like a nice guy and all of that, but there are too many things adding up to the fact that he's a cat killer!”
“A cat killer? But Sammy, why?”
I thought about it a minute, then stood up. “I don't know, but I think we should try to find out.”
She finally agreed to come with me, if we took a baseball bat, and if we rode our skateboards. “It's the West Side, Sammy. It's night. I'm not going without a way to defend myself. And I'm not going to dawdle. I just want to cruise by the place and come home, okay?”
“Fine.”
So we took off fast, and when we got to the street that Kustom Heat and Air was on, I slowed down and said, “This is it.”
Now, in a residential area you expect there to be lots of cars parked along the street at night—everyone's home. But in an industrial area, the streets are usually deserted— everyone's gone home.
So the minute Holly and I turned the corner, we could tell that something was going on. There were cars parked on both sides of the street for as far as we could see. No people around, just cars. And all of a sudden our skateboards seemed really loud. So I hopped off mine and whispered, “Let's walk by, okay?”
So we were just walking along, keeping our eyes cranked and our ears perked, when I noticed a faded yellow El Camino. I pointed across the street and
whispered, “Hey, look! That's T.J.'s car!”
Holly shook her head. “But Elvis said he went to a fight.”
We walked along more slowly now. Carefully But believe me, my mind was racing. “What if…”
“What if what?” Holly whispered, and I could tell she was nervous, too.
“Well, you remember what Meg said after I won forty bucks at Dave's?”
“No. What.”
“She was upset because the wrestlers had bet on me, remember?”
“Yeah…”
“And she said how people bet on birds and bulls and… just about anything?”
“Oh yeah. She called them basement bookies.”
“Exactly! Well, guess who took charge of the money the day I took a bump in the ring?”
“Dave?”
“You'd think, but no—Tony!”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh—and he seemed to know exactly what he was doing.”
“So you're saying you think Tony is a basement bookie?”
“Or a warehouse bookie.”
“And you think they're betting on… cats?”
For the first time since we'd found Snowball, things were making sense. “Uh-huh. Maybe he's doing something like cockfights, only with cats!”
“But—how do you make cats fight?”
A shadow appeared from around the corner of Kustom Heat and Air. So I yanked Holly into a niche by the north side of the building and said, “They've got someone staked out!” There wasn't much room because we were backed up against a short section of chain-link that marked off the property, but we held our skateboards close and sucked back.
A beefy man strolled out onto the sidewalk and looked both directions. He keyed a walkie-talkie and said something into it, then looked both directions again and strolled back.
When he was gone, Holly whispered, “What are we going to do?”
“Well, we can't go that way—not if someone's patrolling the place.” I looked around. “Do you see Tony's van anywhere?”
She looked, too. “No.” And when I didn't say anything, she said, “So you think maybe he's not involved in this? Whatever ‘this' is?”
I started climbing the fence. “No, I think he is.”