Mascot to the Rescue! Page 6

  “Kids?” The ticket seller looked surprised. “The girl looked to be…what? Sixteen? Seventeen?”

  Zack shook his head. “She’s thirteen.”

  “Thirteen?” He was astounded. “She looked much older. Acted like it, too. Very self-assured young lady.”

  “Yeah, well…she gets it from her mother.”

  The ticket seller finally got it. “You’re her dad. I mean, you flashed your badge and everything, so I knew you were a cop…but you’re her dad.”

  Zack knew that he really shouldn’t be showing his badge around and acting as if he were still on duty. He typically didn’t even carry it with him. The work he did at the police station was strictly on a volunteer basis—something to do so he wouldn’t go completely crazy. But he’d stopped at home and gotten it before heading out to investigate Kelsey’s disappearance. It was a way to get things done, especially in a town that didn’t have a lot of police officers.

  “Yeah. That’s right. I’m her dad.”

  “You should be very proud. That’s quite a young lady you’re raising.”

  “Thanks,” said Zack impatiently. “Where were they going?”

  “New York City. Port Authority.”

  He hesitated and then asked, “Round-trip tickets?”

  “Of course!” The ticket seller started to laugh, and then he saw the expression on Zack’s face and the laughter faded. “Of course,” he said, much more seriously. “Look, officer, I wouldn’t worry about those kids. The boy seemed a little twitchy, but the girl, she’s got a solid head on her shoulders. Kids today, it’s not like when you and I were little. They can pretty much handle anything. They probably just went into the city to see some sights. They’ll be back before you know it….”

  “Would you be saying that if one of your kids took off to New York City?”

  The ticket seller’s gaze fell. “Probably not. I’d probably be out of my mind worrying.”

  “Welcome to my world,” said Zack.

  The squad car that had been parked outside the Miller house was still there when Zack returned, and he brought both Doris and Officer Daniel Wiener up to speed about what he’d learned.

  “If you’re certain they’re up there,” offered Wiener, “we can alert the New York police.”

  Zack smiled bitterly. “It’s New York City, Danny. On any given day they’re investigating thousands of serious crimes. Two kids who weren’t abducted and have been missing for less than a day…that’s not even going to get on their radar. I’m going to handle this.”

  “I’m coming too,” said Doris.

  “What if they come back here?”

  “I’ll call my neighbor. She’ll come over and house-sit. If the kids come home, she’ll call me and we turn right around.”

  “Forget it.”

  Doris stared at him and then said, “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll stay. But call the publishing office first. See if they’re there.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

  Doris headed into the kitchen while Zack pulled out his cell phone, dialed information for the number, and quickly called Wonder Comics. He found himself thwarted, however, by the company’s voice mail system. He was unable to get a human being on the phone. He couldn’t use the automated company directory because he had no idea who to ask for, and his attempts to dial the operator got him nowhere. “How does the operator have voice mail? Where’s the sense in that?” he demanded. Wiener just shrugged.

  “This is ridiculous,” said Zack. “I can be in Manhattan in less than an hour. Danny, you can head back to the station. No use your hanging around here.”

  “What about Mrs. Miller?’ asked Wiener.

  “Tell her to wish me luck.”

  Zack limped toward his convertible parked in the driveway and stopped dead a few feet away.

  Doris was sitting in the passenger seat. She looked up at him blandly. “Hey there.”

  Zack was about to argue and then gave up, saying only, “Just…don’t start telling me what to do, okay?”

  “You’re in charge.”

  He pulled the car out, did a U-turn, and headed down the street.

  “How are you planning to drive to Manhattan?” she asked.

  “Turnpike to the Holland Tunnel.”

  “Take the Lincoln Tunnel. It’s faster.”

  Zack groaned.

  Terry Fogarty was Doris’s next-door neighbor. A middle-aged woman whose hair seemed to be perpetually in curlers, she was sitting in the living room as per Doris’s request, waiting and hoping and praying that the kids would come home safe and sound and all this craziness would be over. So when the doorbell rang, she sprang from the easy chair and ran over as quickly as her stubby legs would allow. She was disappointed when she opened the door to discover that the kids were not, in fact, there. Instead there was a woman with a pinched expression, and standing behind her was another woman, taller, with dark hair and stooping shoulders. “I’m sorry, we’re not interested in buying anything,” said Mrs. Fogarty.

  “We’re not selling anything,” said the taller woman, and she held up official-looking identification. “I’m Ellen Sanchez from social services. Mrs. Farber,” and she indicated the woman standing next to her, “has informed me that there’s a dangerous situation going on here. I’d like to speak to Mrs. Miller, please.”

  “Well…she’s not here at the moment,” said Terry.

  Mrs. Farber’s mouth twisted into a nasty smile. “Let me guess: She’s out trying to find her runaway son.”

  Terry knew this was exactly the case, but she wasn’t about to admit it to this very unpleasant-looking woman. So she just shrugged and said, “I couldn’t say.”

  “Couldn’t? Or wouldn’t?” demanded Mrs. Sanchez. When Mrs. Fogarty didn’t reply immediately, she continued, “We’d like to come in and wait for her, if you don’t mind.”

  “As a matter of fact, I think I do,” Terry told them. “I’m leaning toward slamming the door in your face.”

  “Ma’am,” said Mrs. Sanchez, keeping her voice polite, but there was a cut of iron to it. “You can do that if you want. And then I can go back and get a court order insisting that we be given entrance so we can inspect the premises. And then you’ll have no choice.”

  “Well then,” Terry said pleasantly, “I guess that’s what you’ll have to do, isn’t it? Good day.” With that, she closed the door. Then she leaned with her back against the door and let out a low, long whistle. “Ohhhh, Doris,” she moaned, “what has your son gotten you into?”

  Michael Galton was the president and publisher of Wonder Comics, and he was none too happy.

  A comics veteran of some forty years’ standing, he was built kind of like an egg; he even tended to rock back and forth in his chair as if he were perched on a wall and about to tip over at any time. His mostly bald head added to his general eggish appearance.

  His office was filled with assorted toys, books, and games based on Wonder Comics characters. It was also filled with people at the moment: a Mrs. Miller and Mr. Markus, who were worried about their kids; Florence, the receptionist; and Joe from down in the mailroom—all talking over one another.

  “So let me get this straight. The kids hooked up with this Paul person and convinced him to take them to Kirby,” said Mr. Markus. He talked with a clipped manner, biting off the ends of his words. He sounded like a television policeman.

  “But how could they do that?” said Mrs. Miller. “I mean, what sort of adult would let himself be talked into something like that by a couple of kids?”

  “Yeah, well,” said Joe, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, “Paul isn’t what you’d call a typical adult.”

  “What…does that mean?” asked Mr. Markus.

  Galton stepped in. “Paul is…well, he’s…very trusting. And very eager to lend a hand. And very dependable. So if your kids said that they needed help, then his instinct is going to be to help them. Look, the fact is, he’s my nephew, and I’ve known him since he was a
kid. If your children are with Paul, then they’re in good hands.”

  “That may be,” said Mr. Markus. “But what we need to do—what you need to do…is pick up the phone and call this Stan Kirby fellow.”

  “He doesn’t own a telephone.”

  “He doesn’t…?” Mr. Markus’s voice trailed off. Then he recovered and said, “It’s the twenty-first century. Who in the world doesn’t own a telephone?”

  “Someone who doesn’t want to hear from people,” said Galton. “Mr. Markus”—he leaned forward, resting his hands on his desk and interlacing his fingers—“I co-founded this company with Stan Kirby over thirty years ago. I can only tell you that, as far back as I can remember, Stan’s been his own man. He doesn’t do what everyone else expects him to do. At the height of this company’s popularity, he asked me to buy out his ownership so he could just sit in a studio and write and draw comics. And he doesn’t have a phone. He does own a computer. I think he even goes online sometimes. But he doesn’t read email for weeks at a time.”

  “Then we’ve got no way of getting in touch with him. No way to tell him to keep my daughter and Mrs. Miller’s son there.”

  “No, but I can do the next best thing.” He tapped the intercom button. “Sheila? Get me Tom Harrelson, would you?” Anticipating their question, he said, “He’s the sheriff in Northchester, where Stan lives now.”

  “How do you know the sheriff up in Northchester?”

  Galton grinned. “He was a letter hack.”

  “A what?”

  “Letter hack. Used to write letters to our comics all the time. Tommy Harrelson. Had a great eye for detail, ton of imagination. Kept running into him at conventions through the years. That’s the great thing about being in this business a long time: You actually see some of the fans grow up and make something of themselves. Believe me, if anyone can understand the way your boy thinks and can round him up for us, it’s Sheriff Harrelson. In fact, when Stan was looking to move out of Manhattan, to get away from the rat race here, I was the one who talked him into going up to Northchester because I knew Tom was there and would keep an eye on him.”

  Galton’s intercom buzzed at him. “I’ve got Sheriff Harrelson for you.”

  “Thanks, Sheila.” Galton punched the speakerphone button and said cheerily, “Tom. Mike Galton here. How’s it going?”

  “Not too well, Mike, truth to tell,” Harrelson’s voice returned.

  “Why, what’s wrong?”

  “You guys are killing Mascot? How can you kill Mascot? He’s a brilliant character.”

  Zack Markus looked at Mrs. Miller with open incredulity.

  “I sympathize with you, Tom. But that’s how the readers voted. Not much we can do about it. Anyway, that’s not why I’m calling you. We’ve got a bit of a problem, and we’re kind of hoping you and your boys can pitch in before things get a lot worse.”

  CHAPTER 9

  THINGS GET A LOT WORSE

  “Are you being Mascot now?” Large Lass asks him with a skeptical eye. “Or are you being Josh? I really need to know.”

  Mascot hesitates a moment.

  “I’m Josh, Kelsey. Who else would I be?” says Mascot.

  “I, just…I wasn’t sure,” Large Lass tells him. “When you’re being all Mascot-y, you get this kind of look in your eye and your voice gets a little deeper, and that’s how you’re talking now.”

  “I’m talking this way because there’s people all around us and I’m just trying to keep my voice down,” Mascot explains, sounding convincing even to himself. Then he pauses and says, “Y’know…most girls would find Mascot a lot more exciting than plain old Josh Miller.”

  “Yeah, well…I’m not most girls.”

  Having no idea how to respond to that—and frankly disconcerted over the notion that Large Lass would find plain old Josh more exciting than a costumed identity because that’s just not how it’s supposed to work—Mascot glances around the train, making sure that there are no more ninjas hiding in the shadows, waiting to spring out at them. “Okay, fine. So anyway…here’s the thing: We have to remember that people are going to be trying to stop us.”

  “What people?” asks Waistline nervously.

  “Any people. They could come at us at any time, from any direction. And especially we have to watch out for the police. They’re out to get us.”

  “How do you know?”

  Because they’re convinced that Captain Major and I are criminals! Haven’t you been paying attention?

  Mascot realizes before the words come out that if he says that, it’s going to make Large Lass realize that she is, in fact, talking to Mascot, rather than to Josh. He realizes that the only thing he can do is turn back into Josh.

  “Because that’s what happens in the comic,” Josh told her.

  “Right. Right. I keep forgetting that.”

  “What, you don’t believe me after all this?”

  “After all what?” said Kelsey. “Look, Josh…” She tried to smile, but it didn’t come easily. “I’ve just been trying to help you. You know that. I want you to be happy, and it…look, it just hurt to see you so upset. I’m just…I’m getting worried, that’s all. I figured we’d come to the city, see Stan Kirby, and…”

  “And what?”

  “And that maybe he’d talk to you and make you feel better about all this or make you at least realize that it’s all just coincidence. That the things that happen in the comic aren’t going to happen to you in real life.”

  “I’m not sure I have a real life anymore,” Josh told her.

  “The point is, I didn’t know everything was going to get this involved.”

  “If you had,” he said, “would you still have come?”

  Kelsey tried to imagine letting Josh go off by himself on this crazy adventure, and she just couldn’t do it. “Probably,” she admitted.

  “Good,” he said. “So look…when the police come after us—”

  “The police aren’t going to come after us!” said Kelsey, feeling exasperated with him all over again. “Your mom and my dad think we’re off on a school trip! We haven’t broken any laws!”

  “But they’re coming after Mascot in the comic!” Paul blurted out.

  “Exactly!” Josh said triumphantly.

  Annoyed, Kelsey looked at Paul. “You’re just encouraging him.”

  Paul in turn looked to Josh, who sighed with the air of the truly put-upon. “She doesn’t get it yet. But she will. She just has to see it for herself.”

  “Northchester!”

  It was the conductor, walking down the aisle, calling out, “Northchester! Last stop! All passengers must disembark at Northchester!” He glanced at Josh before he passed by, clearly pleased that the pesky boy would be getting off his train.

  “So how do we get from here to Mr. Kirby?” Kelsey asked Paul.

  “Oh, there’s a bus that goes right from the train station and drops me off a block or so from his house. So I figure that’s what we’ll take.”

  They nodded, and as the train rolled into the station, Paul and Kelsey got out of their seats. Josh, however, remained frozen, looking out the window. His eyes were wide and his face turned slightly pale. When Josh didn’t follow them, Kelsey turned back. “What’s wrong?” she said, and then leaned in to see what it was he was watching.

  The train platform opened out into a parking lot, and situated smack in the middle was a police car. A uniformed officer was standing there. He was holding a sheet of paper in either hand and studying the train, glancing from the paper to the train.

  To Kelsey’s surprise, Josh pulled a small pair of binoculars from his pants pocket. “Where’d you get those from?” she asked.

  Mascot smiles inwardly. How can Large Lass be unaware of Mascot’s famed utility pockets, which provide him with whatever tool he needs to handle any situation?

  Josh didn’t bother to answer. Instead he used them to focus on the paper that the police officer was holding. The train was coming in from a si
de angle, so he had a clear view of it. “It’s a picture of you,” he said, “and a picture of me.”

  “How…how did he…?”

  “It’s in the comic. There’s a scene where the police are searching for Mascot and they have a picture of him.” He stared at her. “Do you believe me now?”

  “I…” She shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around it. “Maybe…maybe my dad figured out we were gone. Maybe he faxed pictures to—”

  “To Northchester?” Josh said skeptically. “Come on.”

  “So, what, your answer is that they’re chasing you because they’re chasing Mascot in the comic?”

  “Hey, of the two of us, which one said that this was going to happen, huh?”

  Kelsey didn’t have an answer for that.

  Paul, however, was looking extremely nervous. “Am…am I going to get into trouble? On TV, the police come for you because you did something wrong. Did I do something wrong? I don’t want to go to jail.”

  “You’re not going to go to jail,” Josh told him with certainty. “None of us are. I’m not going down like this. Not without a fight.”

  “You’re not going to fight a policeman!” said Kelsey.

  Josh didn’t answer. Instead he darted across the aisle and peered out the window on the opposite side. “Okay. There’s some kind of forest or woods preserve or something on the other side. If we can get to that without him seeing us, we lose him. We’re in the last car. All you have to do is go out, circle around back of the train, and get to the woods.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m going to distract him so he doesn’t see you guys going.”

  “How?”

  Ninja training.

  “Just get to the end of this car and get ready for the distraction.”

  “How will we know what the distraction is?”

  “Trust me.”

  Josh jumped off the seat, headed into the bathroom, and closed the door. Paul and Kelsey exchanged confused looks. “I guess he really had to go!” Paul said.