The Further Adventures of Jack Lime (12 page)

“Just the part about Darla,” she said.

“Right, Darla, the newspaper's photographer,” I said. “She was short with pink hair and a nose ring. After you finished explaining things, she stepped over to us and told us her version of events.”

“I arrived, um, a little after twelve,” Darla started, “and was just about to take some photos of Mariam when the lights went out. There was, like, some screaming and stuff, and then the lights came back on. I heard Tyler say, ‘That's him!' or ‘Get him!' or something, and saw him pointing at the gym door, so I just turned and, like, snapped a photo.”

“May I see it?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” she said.

“The picture,” I said, pointing at the large camera she was holding in her hands.

“Oh, this isn't a digital camera,” she said. “I develop my own photographs, Jack. You'll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“You don't use a digital camera?” I asked.

“I'm an old-fashioned kind of girl,” she said.

“I can appreciate that,” I said. “Just let me know when it's ready.”

That's when Tyler burst in on our conversation. “I don't suppose you're going to bother finding my Captain Marvel #146, Lime!”

“Just tracking down a few clues,” I said.

“Chatting up chicks don't count, punchy. I thought you'd be trying to find out which way the little snot went.”

“That's a great idea, Tyler,” I said. “Why don't you lead the way?”

Tyler stomped out of the gym and I followed along behind him. At that point I was feeling pretty good about my chances of solving the case. I had a room full of eyewitnesses; it'd been less than half an hour since the crime had been committed, and Darla might be able to show me a picture of the crook within twenty-four hours. The problem was I didn't know where the clues were going to lead me. If I did, I would've dropped the case faster than a burning match in a dynamite factory.

“Dropping a burning match in a dynamite factory would be a terrible idea, Jack,” KC said.

“Exactly,” I said.

“Sometimes you surprise me.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” I said.

Wednesday, October 30, 12:44 p.m.
Iona High, The Back Lot

I asked a few people if they'd seen anyone dressed in black sprint by with a runaway comic book. They all pointed us in the direction of the rear doors. We followed the perp's trail outside and into the back lot. There were a few kids huddled under a tree, trying to stay out of the rain, and we stepped over to them.

“Yeah, sure I saw him,” a tall, lanky kid said. “The dude was dressed in black and wearing a ski mask. He came out and ran into the woods over there.”

I started toward the spot he was pointing at, but Tyler grabbed the poor sucker by the scruff of the neck and yanked him close.

“Why didn't you stop him?” he snapped. “Are you chicken or something?”

The kid, who was at least a foot taller than Tyler, looked around frantically for some help.

“I … I … I … don't …” the kid stammered.

“You, you, you, don't what?” Tyler said, pulling back his fist.

“Let him go, Tyler!” I yelled. “We don't have time for a shakedown. For all we know, the crook who swiped your comic is squatting in the trees right now.”

Tyler looked disappointed, but he let the kid go and hustled past me into the woods.

I shrugged an apology to Tall and Lanky. He ignored me and ran back into the school. I guess he didn't want to deal with Tyler anymore. Who could blame him? I was beginning to feel the same way.

Wednesday, October 30, 12:49 p.m.
Iona High, The Back Woods

“Over here, punchy,” Tyler yelled. “Quick!”

He was squatting beside a muddy trail that cut through the trees and was pointing at four fresh footprints in the mud along the path. I searched the area for any other prints, but the perp must've veered off the trail.

“That could be our man,” I said, taking a close look at the nearest print. “Then again, who knows? It could belong to anyone.”

“What are you saying? We give up?”

“No, Tyler,” I said, “it just means we can't go jumping to any conclusions, but it would make sense for the crook to cut through here. These woods are only about fifty yards thick, and then they open up onto a street on the other side. Whoever took your comic could run through here, hightail it to the street, stash the comic somewhere, lose the ski mask and then stroll back to the front of the school like nothing happened.”

“So what now?” Tyler asked.

“Let's have a look around,” I said. “Maybe something will turn up.”

Before we had a chance to start, the bell rang.

“It'll have to wait,” I said. “I've got to get to class.”

“What d'you mean?” Tyler said, stalking behind me. “We just got started!”

“What I mean is that I just wiggled my way out of a serious situation with Snit. If I step out of line, and I mean just a little, he's going to toss me out of school so fast it'll make my head spin.”

“Yeah, well, we all got our problems with Snit! So what?”

“I'll tell you so what, Tyler. If I get kicked out of school, I won't be able to help you find your precious comic book, now will I?”

“Big deal. You haven't found anything anyway, punchy!” he said.

“You're wrong about that. I know the perp has feet that are about the same size as mine.”

“How do you know that?”

“That footprint in the mud is about the same size as my boot,” I said, pointing to my black boots. “So if those prints belong to our perp, we're looking for someone who wears size elevens, or thereabouts, and who's wearing black boots that are probably still muddy.”

“How do you know they're black?”

“Everyone we've talked to said our crook was dressed in black. If the shoes were some other color, they would've stood out and someone would have mentioned it.”

“That's not a lot to go on,” Tyler grumbled.

“It's something to start with,” I said. “So you can stay out here and look for clues all afternoon, Tyler. In fact, I hope you find your comic and we won't have to talk to each other again. But me, I'm going to class, and I'll keep my eyes peeled for someone wearing black boots, about size eleven, and muddy.”

“You do that, punchy,” Tyler said, “and I'll find you later.”

“I hope not,” I said, but he didn't hear me. He was already heading back into the woods.

Wednesday, October 30, 3:14 p.m.
Iona High, My Locker

I did a little asking around that afternoon and found out that Tyler Butt was a thug with a habit of doing some seriously bad things. He'd been kicked out of every school in the city before arriving at Iona High three weeks ago, and he'd already had a few run-ins with some of the local toughs in the Riverside Boys. Besides that, he'd managed to get on just about everyone's nerves in the school, which meant that I had a list of suspects a mile long. I was thinking I'd made a big mistake getting involved with this case when he stepped up to my locker at the end of the day.

“You see any of those black boots, punchy?” he asked.

“Afraid not,” I said.

“Me neither, and I don't like the way things are shaping up,” he said, poking my chest with one hard little finger.

“Did you find anything in the woods out back?”

“Nothing,” he grumbled. “The footprints disappeared.”

“Let me ask you something, Tyler,” I said. “Do you have any idea who would want to steal that comic?”

Tyler thought for a moment. I could hear the wheels turning in his head and they sounded rusty. “Nope,” he said.

“What about somebody who's into comics? Someone who knew you'd have it here today and who would want to add it to his collection? Or someone who might want to sell it?”

“Say, you're on to something there,” he said, poking my chest again. “The little turd probably wants to hock it. Well, they're not going to get away with that, punchy! There's only one place in Iona that deals with used comics, and that's Pop's. You get down there and make sure nobody sells that Captain Marvel #146. You got that?”

“Sure,” I said, “but what are you going to do, Tyler?”

“I'm going to take the train into the city and pay a visit to a couple of comic book shops. I want them to be real clear that if they even dream about buying my comic book off some gutless wonder, they're going to have me to deal with.”

“You think that's a good idea?” I said.

“Just do what I tell you, punchy,” he said. “I'll meet you at Pop's at five. Got it?”

“I got it,” I said.

Based on what I'd heard about Tyler, I figured our perp would be just as likely to run that comic through a shredder for kicks and giggles as try to sell it for a pile of cabbage. But it wasn't my job to think too much. Sometimes I just had to do what my clients wanted me to do, so I headed for Pop's.

Wednesday, October 30, 4:21 p.m.
54 Main Street, Pop's Soda Bar and Comic Book Shop

Pop's Soda Bar and Comic Book Shop is owned by Luxemcorp Incorporated. The suits at Luxemcorp want us to think that some nice old man named Pop runs the place. They want us all to pretend the joint's been around since the time when you could buy a soda and a comic book for a dime and while away the hours listening to the hit parade on the jukebox. Well, I knew there wasn't anybody named Pop and I wasn't a big fan of their fake 1950s shtick, but duty called, so I shambled in and milled around in the comic book section at the back of the store. There were only four other kids flipping through the racks, and none of them were blabbing about a stolen Captain Marvel comic. After I'd spent an hour wandering around, absentmindedly scanning the comics, a portly man with a thick white mustache shuffled over.

“Do you need help finding anything, young man?”

“Just looking,” I said.

“Well, son,” he said, hoisting his thumb over his shoulder at a No Loitering sign, “I'm afraid you're either going to have to buy something or come back tomorrow.”