Isabelle Shows Her Stuff: The Isabelle Series, Book Two (10 page)

Reluctantly, Guy crawled out of his hiding place. He pulled up his jeans to see if the caterpillar had left any marks on him.

He'd come back later, Guy told himself. He was disappointed about not seeing Mrs. Stern. It had been an adventure, coming to her house by himself. But now his adventure was over.

Chapter Nineteen

Guy skipped his way down Mrs. Stern's street and, wouldn't you know, soon came upon a vast clump of violets, growing wild. They were fragrant and delicate, colored white and purple. He picked all his hands could hold. Tomorrow he'd return and pick more.

“Well, hello dere.” The large boy, larger even than Philip, loomed in Guy's path, blocking the way. He had slick, dark hair and an earring in one ear. He smiled and his eyes almost disappeared. His gums came down low over his teeth.

“Hello.” Guy sidestepped him, not eager to make friends.

“Come on.” The boy reached out his hand and took Guy's. “I want to show you something.”

Guy knew he shouldn't go with strangers. His mother had told him that and he'd seen movies in school. He sidestepped in the other direction and said, “I have to go home.”

The boy kept smiling and pushed back his greasy hair. “It won't take a sec, I promise. I've got something to show you, something you're gonna like.”

He laid his arm around Guy's shoulders and steered him toward whatever it was he had to show.

Guy looked nervously over his shoulder. There was no one in sight, no one who would hear him if he cried “Help!” But it was broad daylight. Nothing could happen. He was safe.

There were two others, three in all. One had a mustache that looked like a little mouse lying asleep on his lip. The other one wore a black leather jacket with
MONSTER
written on the pocket.

Monster is right, Guy thought. And he longed for Isabelle. She'd know what to do. She'd fix their wagon.

The one with the gums said, “It won't take a sec, I promise.”

“You already promised once,” Guy said.

“Little wise guy, ain't ya?” Fingers tightened on Guy's neck. He pulled away. The fingers followed.

They were grouped around something Guy couldn't see.

“Looka that! Looka the little bugger!” cried the one with the mouse mustache. Guy heard a noise. It didn't sound like any noise he'd heard before. He thought maybe it was an animal caught in a trap. The sound the animal made sent chills up and down his spine.

The group shifted and Guy looked and saw what it was that had made the terrible sound. It was his dog. At least, he thought it was his dog. A tin can weighted down the feather duster tail. The eager amber eyes were dull. But Guy was sure he saw the tail wag feebly as the dog looked up at him. It must be hard to wag a tail with a tin can tied to it, Guy thought. He put out his hand. The dog tried to get to its feet and was shoved roughly back down.

The dog lay still, its sides going in and out, in and out. It was breathing. It was alive.

The boy with
MONSTER
written on his pocket lit a cigarette and held it dangerousely close to the dog's matted fur. The smell of burning filled the air.

Guy couldn't help himself. “Don't,” he said, knowing it was a mistake. “Don't hurt him.”

The cigarette touched the dog's fur again, and this time the dog howled.

“Gutsy little bugger, ain't he?” Did they mean the dog or did they mean Guy? Hard to tell.

Once again the dog thrashed on the ground, trying to get up. Guy bent down to help him. His hand was kicked away. Suddenly, it was cold. The sun had gone.

“You like dogs, huh, kid? Little kid like you oughta have a dog of his own, right? You want this one? He's got no place to go. You want to buy him?” Their mouths stretched tight in joyless laughter.

“Yes,” Guy said. “I'd like him.”

“Well, whaddya know? The kid wants to buy our dog. How about that?” They widened their eyes at each other. “How much do you think this here dog's worth? A lotta bread, right? A whole lotta bread.”

“I can get some money.” The dog watched Guy. It tried once more to rise and got pushed down with the sharp point of a big stick one of them held. This time the dog closed its eyes and lay still.

“I'll go home and get some money,” Guy said, through trembling lips. He tried to hold his mouth stiff so they wouldn't see he was afraid. He must be brave. If only Isabelle were here, she'd punch them all out, she'd holler and shout and run. Or someone would come.

“My father has some money.”

They exchanged sly glances. “I don't know,”
MONSTER
said. “This here is a very valuable dog. Worth a whole lotta bread, right?” The others nodded, their faces long, their eyes glittering. “I doubt your old man has that kinda bread. This here dog has his papers and all.” At this, they went into gales of laughter, shouting, doubling over, thumping each other. “Papers!” they shouted gleefully.

Guy took a couple of secret steps backwards, toward the street. “How much?” he said. “Tell me how much and I'll get it.”

The one with the gums said, suddenly calm, “A thousand.”

“I'd say more like two.” They all had ceased to smile. Their eyes were small and hostile.

“Maybe we better have a conference,” the mustached one said, biting his fingernails.

“Yeah,” the other two agreed. “But first, we better tie him up so's he don't get lost,” the one with the gums said.

Tie who up? Him? Or the dog? Or both?

The rope was as thick as Guy's wrist. They meant him.

“Let's take him back in the woods and tie him to a tree,”
MONSTER
said. “That way, we're sure he don't get loose.”

They began to argue about where he should be tied up. When that was settled, they argued about who would do the tying. Their voices rose. They forgot everything else—Guy, the dog, everything. The stick was within reach, Guy realized. He put out his arm, remembering the girl on television, smaller than he, who had broken a bare board with her hands. This stick was his weapon, his only one.

“What is this? Will you looka the little tiger!” In a body, argument forgotten, they came at him. Guy swung the stick and landed a lucky, finger-tingling blow on the side of
MONSTER'S
face. A string of swear words came from
MONSTER'S
throat and he fell to one knee. Crouching, circling, the other two came at Guy, one to the right, the other to the left. In a panic, Guy kept swinging, not knowing what else to do. Once the stick stopped moving, he'd had it.

Thunk
! He felt a terrible sharp pain. Something had hit him on the back of his head. He let out a yelp of pain, heard someone say, “What'd ya have to go and do that for?” and another voice said “Cops!” and that was all. That was the last he remembered.

Chapter Twenty

“Lucky the kid has a lot of hair.”

Guy opened his eyes. His head hurt. Eyes as blue and shiny as two marbles stared down into his.

“You all right, kid?” The policeman held out a cup of water and Guy drank some. His head felt like a balloon with too much air in it—swollen, light, ready to take off and fly high.

A second policeman knelt to inspect the back of Guy's head. “Three to one and them big as any man, and they bean the kid with a rock.” He shook his head.

Guy sat up.

“Where's the dog?” he said.

“In the car. He's a little shook up, you might say, but he'll be fine. He's only a pup. Is he yours?”

Guy shook his head. Something seemed to be loose in it.

“No,” he said. “I wish he was.”

“Try standing, son.” The blue-eyed policeman helped Guy to his feet. “Anything broken?” He ran an expert hand over Guy to see if he was in one piece. “Can you walk?”

“Sure.” Guy tottered a few steps. He felt like lying down again. Most of all, he wanted to go home.

“We'll run you home now,” the other policeman said, as if he'd read Guy's mind. “Just check in so's your folks won't worry. Imagine they're already worried, you not home and it suppertime already.”

Guy looked at the police car parked at the curb.

“Am I going home in that?” he said.

“What else? Hop in.”

Guy smiled. He was going home in a police car.

“We'll drop you off, then run the pooch over to the Humane Society,” the policeman said. “They'll fix him up good as new.”

The dog lay on the back seat. Its eyes were closed. Its sides were moving as it breathed slowly, in and out. Guy got in the front seat, sandwiched between the two policemen.

“Where to, chief?”

Guy looked up at them. They meant him.

“Twenty-two Hot Water Street,” he said. The car pulled out. They were on the way.

“Hot Water Street, huh?” the blue-eyed cop grinned. “They'll think you're in hot water for sure when they see you coming home in this.”

Guy's heart hammered. That's what he hoped.

“Excuse me, sir, but do you think you could make your light go?”

“Sure thing. I can even turn on the siren, if you want.”

Guy thought that over. “No thanks, just the light would be neat.”

The patrol car turned into Hot Water Street. Guy closed his eyes tight. Oh Lord, please let them see me, he prayed. Let Becca see me. Please let a bunch of kids be hanging around. Let them all see me. Please, Lord. I won't ask for anything else if you'll just let that happen.

The Lord must've heard. Three boys whizzed by on bikes, then turned to stare as the police car slowed, blue lights flashing.

“Which house is yours?” the blue-eyed cop said.

“That one,” Guy pointed. He saw Becca in the front yard. She and a friend were playing fairy princess. Becca had just made a deep curtsey when the car pulled up and came to a stop.

“Not just a little siren?” the policeman asked again. “Just to make 'em sit up and take notice?”

“Well, okay,” Guy said. “But only a little.”

The cop flicked a switch. The siren sounded very loud to Guy. Becca froze. Her friend clapped her hands over her ears and ran behind the big maple tree. The three boys on bikes stood on the sidewalk across from Guy's house, waiting.

First the driver got out. Then the other policeman. Then came Guy.

Becca's hand flew toward her mouth. Then she ran to the house, screaming, “It's Guy! It's Guy! The policeman brought Guy home!”

Becca had some loud voice. Guy had never realized how loud it was until now. He smiled, listening to her.

Across the street the three kids on bikes watched, their mouths hanging open. Up and down the block people came out and stood watching. It wasn't every day a police car, lights flashing, siren sounding, delivered someone to his front door on Hot Water Street.

“What's going on here?” Guy's father came to the door, glasses pushed up on his forehead, newspaper in his hand.

“Your boy got into some trouble, sir,” the blue-eyed policeman said.

“My boy never gets into trouble,” Guy's father said firmly. “He's a good boy. A very good boy. Never caused his mother or me a speck of trouble.”

“He is a good boy,” the policeman agreed. “And a brave one, too.” Then he told what had happened to Guy. And the dog. By this time Guy's mother and grandmother were gathered around, listening. Guy's mother insisted on inspecting his head and then called the doctor to make an appointment to bring Guy to see him. The cut on Guy's head had stopped bleeding; it wasn't even very deep.

“Like I said, it's good your boy has such a fine head of hair,” the policeman said. “Acted as padding when they walloped him.” Then he took out his notebook and wrote down everything Guy could remember about the
MONSTER
, the one with the gums, and the one with the mouse mustache. That's the way Guy thought of it, the mouse mustache.

“All right, that's everything, then.” The policeman put away his notebook. “We're going to run the pooch over to the Humane Society, see what they can find.” He tipped his hat to the crowd. “I'll be in touch.”

For the first time, Guy's grandmother spoke.

“What will happen to the dog?” she said.

The cop shrugged. “Hard to say. Dog's got no license, no identification tags of any kind. Probably a stray. Chances are they'll put it up for adoption. If no one claims it after a certain length of time, well …” The cop shrugged again.

Guy's grandmother, dark eyes gleaming, looked hard at Guy.

“I want that dog,” he heard himself say. “It's like the dog I wanted all along. I think it's the one I wanted. It's a really nice dog. Just the right size. I bet he'd never make a mess or chew things or anything. He'd be a good watchdog too.” Guy looked up at his mother and father.

“Well.” Guy's father cleared his throat. “I guess that could be arranged. Thank you, officer. We'll call the Humane Society within the next few days, see how things stand.”

The policemen tipped their hats.

“Good luck, son,” the blue-eyed one said to Guy. By this time, quite a crowd had gathered, wondering what was going on. The policemen got back into their car and, lights flashing, drove away.

“Come in, Guy, let me have a good look at you,” Guy's mother said. As he turned to go in, he heard Becca say in her loud voice, “Oh, it's my brother. He got into trouble and the police had to bring him home. His name is Guy. Yes, he's my brother. He's eight. Yes, his name is Guy. He's eight. He got into trouble. Yes, he's …”

Guy smiled. If Becca had anything to do with it, everyone in town would know who Guy Gibbs was.

Chapter Twenty-one

“So there I am, my father's driving me to school, and all of a sudden the radio announcer says, ‘An eight-year-old boy fought off three hoodlums yesterday in an effort to rescue a stray dog the hoodlums were holding captive. The boy, Guy Gibbs of Hot Water Street, told police the dog was being tortured by the three and he …' blah, blah, blah,” said Isabelle, filling in for what she couldn't remember.