But it was no use. He could already hear Shank’s size-fourteen construction boots pounding in his direction. Next would come a playful punch that could flatten a bull, or “noogies” from knuckles of steel. It had been the pattern all week. There was no getting away from the guy.
“What are you, deaf?” Shank grabbed Griffin’s earlobe and yanked.
Griffin’s tray tilted, and 60 percent of his lunch slid off onto the floor. He joined Shank at his table. What choice did he have? There was no mistaking it — Shank was no ordinary bully like Darren Vader. He was more like a cat playing with a captured mouse, getting maximum enjoyment before killing it. This torturer wasn’t interested in wedgies or shaking you down for lunch money. For him this was sport.
Shank talked like they were best friends, but pain was never far away, coming in the form of vice-grip handshakes, bone-cracking backslaps, and assorted squeezes, tugs, and pinches. The fact that it didn’t happen very often made it all the more horrible. The anticipation was enough to drive a person crazy.
Shank was an eighth grader, a year older than Griffin, but they shared five out of seven classes. The middle school kids were kept together as much as possible to separate them from the high schoolers. Not that classes made much of an impression on Shank. The squat, heavyset boy spent most of his time giving Griffin “friendly” advice on staying safe from their fellow students. Too bad he didn’t have any pointers on staying safe from Sheldon Brickhaus.
“See that kid over by the tray return? His tattoo says ‘murderer’ in Farsi. Check out his backpack. It used to belong to a dead guy.”
Griffin’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What dead guy?”
Big shrug. “How should I know? He’s dead, isn’t he? And look at the punk rock girl with the blue hair. She’s a gangster.”
“No way!”
The shrug again. “Well, either that or she has a really bad attitude.”
“Everyone around here has a bad attitude,” Griffin reminded him. “You have the worst attitude of all, remember? You’re proud of it.”
“Well, in my case it’s kind of a family tradition,” Shank explained. “We get it from my dad. He’s in nuisance wildlife removal. He spends all day facing down bats, skunks, and raccoons. Then he comes home and passes all that sunshine and roses on to the rest of us. I’m sure it’s the same with your old man, right?”
Griffin thought of his parents, who were up nights worrying and meeting with lawyers, all to protect their son from the injustice that seemed to be swallowing him up.
“Yeah, all families are alike, I guess,” he said aloud. So what if it wasn’t true? With any luck, after Friday, he would never have to exchange another word with Sheldon Brickhaus.
9
OPERATION JUSTICE — PEP TALK
1st Draft
“My friends, the great challenge that lies before us …”
2nd Draft
“When unfairness rears its ugly head, we must …”
3rd Draft
“Guys, we have to make this work! I’m drowning at JFK….”
Normally, Griffin knew exactly what to say at the moment a plan was put into action. But nothing was normal about Operation Justice. It was too personal, too serious. When the team met at the rendezvous point in front of the courthouse, all he could think of was: “Let’s get this done.”
Logan Kellerman donned his sunglasses, crammed his hat over his head, and promptly fell down the marble steps.
Griffin and Pitch rushed to rescue him.
“What’s the matter with you?” Pitch hissed. “You’re calling attention to us!”
“It’s the sunglasses,” Logan complained. “They’re so dark!”
“They have to be dark,” Griffin explained urgently. “The suspects could recognize us, especially Dr. Evil and Vader.”
Logan got up from the sidewalk and dusted himself off. “How about a little sympathy,” he complained. “I could have hurt myself, you know. If I fracture my skull, I’m pretty much out of Hail Caesar.”
“Get to your stations!” Griffin ordered.
Logan, Savannah, and Melissa climbed the stairs and slipped into the building.
Pitch, the advance lookout, crossed the street, selected a tall sycamore tree, and expertly shinnied up the trunk. Perched near the top, she waved with her binoculars to signal that she was in position.
Ben pushed Ferret Face out of view and assumed the other lookout spot at the base of the stairs, off to the side, behind some bushes.
Griffin slipped the walkie-talkie out of his pocket and held it to his ear. “Pitch — Ben — do you read me?”
“Loud and clear,” reported Pitch. “I’ve got a perfect view up here. Whoever it is, I’ll spot the jerk a block away.”
“I’m good, too,” said Ben.
“Check,” Griffin replied. “I’m going in.” He passed through the heavy revolving door and felt a chill that had nothing to do with the courthouse’s oppressive air-conditioning. This was not a happy place for him. On his last visit to this building, he’d been exiled to Jail For Kids.
Put your emotions aside. You’ve got a job to do.
It was five o’clock, so the courthouse was busy. The day shift was leaving, and there was a lineup at the security checkpoint of employees and visitors for the evening court sessions.
It was good, Griffin decided. Just crowded enough so that he and his team wouldn’t get noticed hanging around until their suspect arrived — an excellent environment for a sting operation.
He nodded at Savannah and Logan, who were already in line to pass through security, watching as they took their cell phone cameras from their pockets to run through the X-ray. With those two inside the checkpoint and Melissa and Griffin outside, surely one of the four of them would be able to snap a photograph of the culprit handling the ring. That would be all the evidence Griffin needed.
Now there was nothing to do but wait. It was 5:10 — twenty minutes to zero hour.
“All assets in place here,” he murmured into the walkie-talkie.
“Ow!” came a voice on the other end. Griffin knew from experience what that meant. Ben had dozed off, and Ferret Face had delivered a small nip to wake him up again.
“Everything’s fine,” Pitch confirmed. “You know, Griffin, I can see your house from here.”
“Keep your eyes on the courthouse,” Griffin advised. “It’s almost time.”
“Got it — wait a minute! Red alert!”
“A suspect? Who?”
Pitch sounded disgusted. “Who else? Vader.”
“I knew it!” The crime unfolded in Griffin’s mind: Darren, stumbling on the lost retainer and instantly coming up with a scheme to steal the ring and blame it on his archenemy.
Revenge is going to be sweet!
He gave the signal — three sharp sneezes in a row. The team came to attention, hands on the phones in their pockets.
Griffin’s concentration was broken by Ben’s voice: “Red alert!”
“I know,” whispered Griffin. “Vader’s coming.”
“No!” Ben insisted. “It’s Celia White!”
“Make up your minds, you guys! Who is it? Darren Vader or Celia White?”
“Oh, man, it’s both!” Pitch exclaimed. “Vader off the street, Celia White from the parking lot!”
Griffin gave three more sneezes. He wasn’t sure if he was communicating that this was a new alarm, not a repeat of the first one. But he had to do something.
“Gesundheit,” said the security guard at the X-ray machine.
Griffin melted into the crowd as Darren entered the building and got into line at the checkpoint. Within thirty seconds, Celia White was there, too, a couple of places behind Darren.
Griffin caught a bewildered look from Melissa, who was the only team member not wearing sunglasses. It seemed pointless to cover eyes that were always covered by hair anyway. But now those eyes were exposed and double-wide. The plan had not considered the possibility that more
than one suspect might show up.
There was no time to think about that now. Darren was going through the checkpoint. The four photographers clutched their phones and edged closer.
Griffin watched breathlessly as Darren emptied his pockets and placed the contents in the tray. A few coins and — what was that? A flash of bright metal! He aimed the cell phone, ready to shoot.
A house key. False alarm.
He watched in dismay as Darren passed through the metal detector. Nothing. Not a peep.
Okay, it’s Celia White, then. And Darren came only because the e-mail mentioned money, and he was hoping some of it might stick to his greasy fingers….
Yet, minutes later, the reporter placed her pocketbook on the conveyor belt and breezed through the checkpoint without incident. Griffin almost broke his neck to get a view of the X-ray readout. Car keys, a BlackBerry, assorted junk, nothing more.
By now, Melissa’s eyes were wide as saucers, and all sunglasses were trained on Griffin. Two suspects, no ring. What now?
Ben’s voice came over the walkie-talkie. “Well, Griffin, which one was it? Darren or Celia White?”
“Neither!” rasped Griffin.
“Neither?”
“They both made it through security. They’re clean.”
“But how could that be?”
Pitch’s voice provided a possible answer. “Red alert!”
“Oh, come on!” Ben exploded.
“Another one?” Griffin hissed.
“The Bartholomew kid,” Pitch confirmed. “Heading for the stairs.”
Griffin was so relieved that he almost forgot to sneeze the signal. All right — Darren was here for the money, Celia White for the story. Tony was the one.
The team watched as the gangling eighth grader — Art Blankenship’s nearest relative — worked his way through the line and stepped into the metal detector. Griffin’s grip tightened on the cell phone camera in his pocket. But no alarm disturbed the elevator music in the lobby. Tony didn’t have the ring, either.
Griffin was devastated. Where had the plan gone wrong? Had he missed something?
And then the final red alert came over the walkie-talkie.
“It’s Dr. Evil!” Ben rasped. “And he’s got to have the merchandise! He’s the only one left!”
“Watch yourself!” added Pitch. “This is it!”
Griffin felt his entire body tighten in apprehension as the principal entered the courthouse.
I should have known it would come to this!
There had been reason to suspect the others, but Dr. Egan was his true enemy — the man who had targeted him from the beginning and banished him to Jail For Kids.
The principal looked restless and annoyed, and stared pointedly at the Blind Justice statue beyond the checkpoint. If there were any question as to why he’d come, he clutched a printout of the untraceable e-mail in his hand.
Frowning impatiently, he stepped into the metal detector. The alarm was high pitched and piercing.
The team converged from the four corners of the atrium, cell phones out, shutters at the ready.
“Take a step back, sir,” droned the security guard. “Put your keys, coins, and metal in the tray and try again.”
The principal reached into his pocket.
Griffin stiffened like a pointer. This was it! In another second, the ring would be right in the open! He brought up the camera and leaned into the checkpoint.
Too close.
“Griffin Bing?” Dr. Egan exclaimed.
“Griffin Bing?” echoed another voice behind them.
Griffin wheeled. An all-too-familiar compact figure stood on the exit side of the checkpoint. Judge Koretsky.
Trapped like an animal, Griffin did the only thing he could think of. He brought the cell phone to his ear and said, “Hello?”
Angrily, the principal waved the e-mail printout at him. “Is this your doing?”
“I’d be very interested to hear the answer to that.” Celia White, notebook in hand, leaned back over the divider.
Darren and Tony looked on from behind her, Darren with a self-satisfied smirk. There was nothing he enjoyed more than watching Griffin crash and burn.
At that moment, the walkie-talkie crackled to life with Ben’s anxious voice. “What’s happening, Griffin? Did it work?”
The answer to that, Griffin thought with a sinking heart, was a resounding no.
10
At least this time, Griffin didn’t have to be hauled into court. He was already there.
He sat with his mother and Judge Koretsky in chambers, cringing under the evil eye that was coming in stereo.
“Why would you do such a crazy thing?” Mrs. Bing demanded.
“It was a sting operation,” Griffin tried to explain. “No one believes I didn’t steal the ring, so I have to flush out the person who did.” He turned accusing eyes on the judge. “And it worked perfectly! Why didn’t you search Dr. Egan when I told you to?”
Judge Koretsky’s reply was icy. “We don’t conduct unconstitutional searches on the say-so of a twelve-year-old.”
“But he had the ring!” Griffin insisted. “That’s what set off the metal detector!”
“That metal detector is set off fifty times a day by people who forget to remove their car keys or their cell phones.”
“But it had to be the ring!” Griffin struggled to convince her. “The other three suspects breezed through. Dr. Egan was the only one who beeped! He took the ring to frame me, and now he’s trying to sell it! It’s a legal slam dunk!”
The judge glared across her desk. “When it comes to the law, I’ll keep my own counsel, thank you very much. Now that we’ve heard your theory, maybe you should listen to mine: You concocted this whole thing to learn the value of the stolen Super Bowl ring so you’ll know how much to ask for when you find a buyer.”
Griffin turned pale. “But that’s not true!”
“When the time comes, this court will determine what’s true and what isn’t. Meanwhile, I’m going to put a stop to your ability to engage in this outrageous behavior. As of this moment, you are under house arrest. You may leave your home only for school and medical or court appointments.”
“But how am I going to clear my name?” Griffin blurted.
The judge was sympathetic but firm. “If you are truly innocent, the system will discover it.” She turned to Mrs. Bing. “I’m relying on you to see to it that your son obeys this ruling. I’d rather not have to direct the police to enforce it.”
“You won’t have any more problems with Griffin,” Mrs. Bing promised. “I’ll get him straight home.”
As they left the courthouse, Griffin turned to his mother. “Thanks for not calling Dad.”
“Oh, I called him,” she replied. “He’s on his way back from the big library in New York City. He’s interrupting his vole research to see if he can talk some sense into you. Fat chance.”
“What choice did I have?” Griffin demanded. “Nobody believes I’m innocent!”
“You’re innocent of stealing the ring. Dad and I have faith in that. But this foolishness today? You’re one hundred and ten percent guilty! And God only knows who else you’ve dragged into it. If I call Estelle Slovak, is she going to tell me Ben was in his room doing homework at five thirty?”
Griffin remained silent. That was the one thing that had gone right. The rest of the team had managed to avoid being caught up in this disaster. It had been a classic Code Z — the moment when a plan was broken beyond repair. At least his friends were in the clear.
“Don’t you see?” Mom went on. “When you pull a crazy stunt like this, you make yourself look guilty even if you have an airtight alibi!”
“Well, what am I supposed to do?” Griffin challenged. “Nothing? While they banish me to Jail For Kids? While they threaten me with juvie and a criminal record? While I pay for somebody else’s crime?”
“What we expect you to do,” his mother said sternly, “is trust your paren
ts to look out for your interests. And trust our lawyer to do the right thing for you. Mostly, we expect you to obey the judge and stay out of trouble until this horrible ordeal is behind us.”
That was the most devastating blow of all. Slammed with house arrest, unable to prove his innocence, Griffin was at the mercy of the justice system. And everybody knew that the justice system didn’t always work. There were guiltless people rotting in prison, and even on death row, because they’d been framed, just like him.
The Man With The Plan believed in planning, but mostly he believed in action. To stand idle while his entire future went down the drain was the ultimate torture for a guy like Griffin Bing.
The cafeteria at Cedarville Middle School was a crowded, boisterous place. At one corner table, however, the tone could not have been more subdued. All eyes were on Ben Slovak as he made his way from the food line to join them.
“Well?” Pitch prompted. “Did you see him?”
“If you could call it that,” Ben replied tragically. “I was down on the corner and I waved at him when he came out to catch the bus to Jail For Kids.”
“You didn’t even talk to him?” Melissa barely whispered.
“Just on the phone over the weekend. I’m supposed to stay away from him. My mother read Celia White’s new column and hit the roof.”
“Yeah, did you see that?” Logan breathed. “It’s a good thing she can’t print kids’ names, because she knew we were all there, helping Griffin. That kind of bad press could ruin my acting career.”
“Would you stop thinking about yourself for once?” snapped Savannah scornfully. “Think about Griffin. House arrest! Just looking at my Luthor, tied up in our yard, reminds me of how Griffin must feel. If he’s half as depressed as poor Luthor —”
“Depression is the least of his worries,” Pitch put in. “He’s in major, major trouble. He’s going to take the fall for this, and we all know he doesn’t have that ring. Egan does.”
Ben nodded. “There are good principals and bad principals, but Dr. Evil is in a class by himself. How could anybody do this to a kid?”
Pitch was bitter. “We can’t let him get away with this.”