Turn Left at the Cow (20 page)

The giant bullhead rose up in the dark like some kind of prehistoric monster. It wasn't the night-light dark you get in a real city; the two streetlights splashed only small pools of yellow into the blackness. No help from above, either: it was that dying kind of moon, the sliver-thin scythe carried by the Grim Reaper.

I kept my eyes peeled as best I could in case Crazy Carl was hanging out somewhere in town, but there was no sign of him. I turned down the road I was pretty sure led to the dump, and within a few feet the darkness swallowed me up again. As soon as I clicked my flashlight back on, a pair of red-hot eyes glowed out at me from a ditch. Whoever owned the eyes vanished too fast for me to tell, but I sure hoped it was one of Gram's partying raccoons rather than something with longer fangs.

I pedaled faster. Fortunately the road tunneled straight ahead through the dark, so I could focus all intensely on the road surface itself and avoid the worst of the holes. I was also trying to work out how I was going to get the sane person inside of Crazy Carl's head to come out and talk to me, when suddenly my cell started jingling and I just about steered into the ditch.

Had Gram figured out I'd gone AWOL? Had Ma called back with another set of marching orders? I pulled to a stop, fished my phone out of my pocket, and looked at the screen. It was coming from Kenny's house. How could I have forgotten Iz was going to call me?

I hit answer. “Hey. I guess you're home. Did you have fun at Kenny's grandma's?”

“What's wrong? Your voice sounds funny.”

“Uh . . . long story. Listen, I'm not going to be able to meet you tonight.” For some reason, I wanted to keep my little joy ride on the DL. Maybe it felt like asking for bad luck to say anything about what I was doing until I made sure I was right about Crazy Carl.

There was a long pause and finally she said, “Okay,” but in this kind of voice where I knew right away her feelings were hurt.

“Look,” I said hurriedly. Forget luck—I didn't need luck when I had evidence, and the guy clearly knew something. “I really wish I could. But the truth isI'm not there. I'm on my way to the dump to find Carl.”

“You're going to the dump tonight? Trav, are you crazy?”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said. “But listen—my mom found out everything and she's ordered me home. First thing tomorrow. For my own good, she said. I've got to get Carl to tell me where the money is. I mean, I've been thinking it all through—he could even be the accomplice, right? And then when that's cleared up, I can talk Ma into letting me stay after all.”

I was talking too fast and Iz probably couldn't make sense of half of it, but this little jump of panic kept frogging up in my throat, and I knew I had to get moving again soon or I'd chicken out and turn back, wasting my last chance.

“I can't believe you're going to the dump on your own in the middle of the night to talk to some crazy guy you think might be a bank robber,” she said. “Trav, think about what happened today to your grandma's house. Somebody out there is really ticked at you. I think you're being stupid again.”

I guess a couple little near kisses weren't powerful enough to make the evil fairy vanish in a poof of smoke.

“Look, this is the only way I can stay in Minnesota. That's what you want too, right?” I said.

“I want you to stay, but mostly I want you not dead,” she said. “Boys are always such idiots, with all that macho crap. How could you do this on your own?”

“Look, I'll be fine, really. You're blowing this way out of proportion. I'm pretty sure I'm most of the way there already, and Gram says she's never known Carl to hurt a flea. I'll talk to him real quick and come home, and by morning this will all be worked out, okay? I'll get to stay, and we can just focus on having some fun for a change.”

“All I'm saying is that maybe it's not the worst thing in the world that your mom
wants
you home with her,” she said.

Even through the phone I could tell that the Ice Age had returned. There was no way I could answer that comment directly without the risk of being turned into a freezer pop, so I said, “Don't worry so much, okay? It's really no big deal.”

“Fine. Don't listen to me. It's not like I've been right about anything else.” I could hear Iz slam the phone down.

I guess she wasn't buying my “no big deal.”

To tell the truth, I wasn't either. Right about then, my whole little midnight ride of Paul Revere was starting to feel like a very big deal. Or maybe like another very big mistake on my part.

But if it was, it was a mistake even Iz couldn't stop me from making.

After Iz hung up on me, I just sat there for a long time, wondering if I had completely blown it with her. Even if everything worked out and I got to stay in Minnesota, was she going to give me anything but the cold shoulder?

And even if I did track down Crazy Carl, who was to say I'd be able to make any sense out of his Looney Tunes alien talk?

And even if he did admit to being the accomplice, what if I still couldn't put my hands on the money? There was no telling if he'd repeat the same story tomorrow morning for anybody else. Who would believe he'd confessed about the bank heist to me? The townsfolk would probably see the whole thing as my pitiful attempt to lay the blame on somebody too crazy to defend himself.
Go pick on somebody your own mental-health status, Bank-Robber Boy!

But really, I had to be close to the dump. What did I have to lose at that point, other than a little of my life's blood to a random wandering vampire and/or the swarm of mosquitoes trying to suck me dry?

I kicked off on my bike and kept going. It seemed to take forever, but finally I could tell I was almost there; the rotting-zombies smell slithered into my nostrils. When I pulled to a stop at the gate, the smell tried to smother me from the inside. Once I was done dry heaving, I leaned my bike against the fence. The thick air and my own nerves had me sweating like a roomful of
American Idol
wannabes.

The gate was pulled closed with a padlock and chain; just on the off chance they were rusted out, I tested the gate to make sure it was actually locked. The dark shape of the trailer loomed up inside. Was Crazy Carl nestled all snugly in there with his buddies, the cockroaches?

“Hey! Carl. I gotta talk to you. Come on out here and let me in!”

Nothing.

“Carl!” I rattled the gate. Finally I just hauled myself up and over the chainlink fence and dropped down onto the other side.

I climbed the steps of the trailer and banged on the door. “Yo! Carl.”

Something clattered behind me and I whipped around. I couldn't see anyone. I ran the flashlight beam up and down a mound of garbage. It caught the long tails of two scurrying shapes.

Rats! Literally.

But no Crazy Carl.

I tried the trailer door handle and it pushed open under my hand. It was so small inside that I didn't even have to leave the doorway to see everything. I ran my light across a beat-up old desk and file cabinet, a chair with broken slats, and an empty mattress on the floor. A rusted-out toilet sat in a back corner.

There was no sign of the whacked-out possible felon who was my only hope.

I pulled the door shut behind me. I wandered a few feet farther along the road that wound through the dump, straight into the pits of hell. Plastic garbage bags were mounded on all sides. They glinted in the flashlight beam like butcher knives in the hands of psycho killers. I spied something red and wet and glistening. I made myself keep moving.

The misshapen mounds of trash cast creepy shadows ahead of me. I raised the flashlight higher. I was surrounded by mountains of slime. That first day Gram and I had been out here, I'd watched Carl scramble his way over the piles of garbage. He could be anywhere in that wilderness of waste.

I searched among a million or so bags, but finally I stopped. For all I knew, I was circling the same mound over and over. I was never going to find Crazy Carl like this. The question was, should I keep searching there at the dump, or was he somewhere else?

I was debating my options when I heard a car coming down the road. My gut clenched. I didn't think Crazy Carl had wheels, but I also couldn't figure out who else would be visiting the dump at that time of night. I flicked off my light and scurried behind one of the piles.

I heard a car door slam shut.

“Hey! Kid! I know you're here. The bike's a dead giveaway. Get on out here.”

It was Deputy Dude. How had he tracked me down? Had Iz turned me in?

I was plenty ticked at the thought, but maybe in the end it would save some time. I'd tell him what Crazy Carl had said at the parade and all the stuff I'd figured out about Carl spending money in town. Then I'd point out that it was his deputy duty to help me nail the bank-robbery accomplice. I should have just called him before.

I could hear his heavy footsteps coming closer; he must have climbed over the fence too. When his flashlight beam was arcing toward my hiding place, I stepped out from behind the mound.

“There you are. So the money's out here somewhere?”

The guy had caught on to the whole Crazy Carl theory pretty fast; maybe that was why they let him carry the big gun.

“I don't know. I mean, maybe, but I haven't been able to ask him yet.” I threw an arm up to shield my eyes; the deputy kept shining his light right in my face.

“Look, kid, I don't know what your new game is, but the rules just changed. Now, tell me where you've got the cash.”

At first I figured he had missed the part where Carl had taken my spot on the bad-guy roster. But when I opened my mouth to explain, Deputy Dude changed the batting order altogether. “After I got the phone call from your mother, I knew I didn't have any more time to mess around. And since I didn't find the cash when I searched your granny's house, I figured you'd be heading out to pick it up tonight. You get points for thinking of the dump as a hiding place, kid. But now it's time to hand it over. I liberated all that money fourteen years ago, and I want it back now.”

It was like he was speaking Swahili, and I didn't know how to translate. He finally decided to help me catch up to the story line. He lowered the flashlight beam out of my eyes so I could see, pulled his gun out of the holster, and pointed it straight at me.

“You're the accomplice?” my voice squeaked out. How could he be the accomplice? Crazy Carl was the one at the stores spending the money. That was why I was there at the dump in the first place.

“I don't know that you'd call me an accomplice when the whole bank heist was my idea from the start. All that energy I spent convincing your father to help me out, and then he didn't even hide the money on the island like we'd agreed. I should have figured he'd start second-guessing it all afterward. Idiot never told me he'd stashed the money somewhere else. Stupid on my part to get rid of him before I discovered that.”

I opened my mouth again but this time no sound at all came out. I just did that fish thing, where you keep opening and closing your lips.

“I don't have any more time to waste, kid. You've got exactly ten seconds to tell me where the money is before I shoot you in the kneecap and wherever else it takes for you to tell me what I want to know. Ten. Nine. Eight.”

I was sucking in air too fast. My head was spinning.

“Seven. Six. Five.”

Somebody let out a scream.

I thought I had to be hallucinating. But the deputy heard it too. He whipped around to see who was behind him. I took off like a rabbit in the other direction.

The screaming continued. I just kept running.

I skidded between two mounds of garbage. I careened around a half-buried refrigerator. In between screams I could hear Deputy Death crashing around behind me. He was hot on my trail.

I dropped my flashlight. I didn't dare use it anyway. I smacked dead-on into something hard. I bounced off and kept going. Something slimy slapped across my face.

I kept moving. I scrambled through spots too tight for Deputy Death. I thought I was losing him.

Then something rolled under my foot. My ankle twisted and I went down hard in a pile of garbage. I hoisted myself back up. But as soon as I tried to put weight on my foot, it gave out under me.

The screaming had stopped. Everything seemed to have slowed down. I could hear the deputy's boots squishing closer.

I looked around. Three steps to my left stood an old freezer chest. The top was missing. A mannequin stood inside.

I crawled over to it. Somehow I hauled myself over the edge. I hunkered into the bottom. Something was clogging my throat. I swallowed and tasted my own blood.

There wasn't enough air in the universe for my busted-out lungs. I hid my face in my knees to muffle my gasps. My ankle was pulsing like a bass note pouring out of a lowrider. Sweat waterfalled off me.

I don't know how long I huddled there just trying to breathe. As soon as I could suck air quietly enough, I lifted my head to listen for Deputy Death. My gamble seemed to have paid off; it sounded as if he had moved past me. I looked skyward. I couldn't see any sign of his flashlight beam.

I fumbled in my pocket.
Yes!
My cell phone was still there. I yanked it out and then stared at it. What good did it do me? No way I could risk calling someone and having the deputy overhear. My cover would be blown as soon as I said anything.

Deputy Death's voice cut through the dark. “Might as well give yourself up, kid. I'll get to you sooner or later, and riling me up is just going to make it more painful for you.”

There was nobody I could text. Even with the time difference, Ma would be sound asleep, and Kalooky was off surviving the wilderness.

“Look, kid, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. But I can promise you one thing: the more worked up I am when I find you, the more hurt you'll feel.”