He squints at me. “In Santa Martina?”
I blink at him. “Okay. Good. Because it’s none of those things.”
“So? What is it?”
I pick up the pace. “A pink trailer.”
“A pink trailer?” He does a little dance around me. “Are you serious?”
“That’s what I’ve been told.”
“A pink trailer would be perfect.”
“It would?”
“Yes!”
“Why?”
He’s still dancing. “He drives a dirt bike with a sidecar!”
“So?”
“He shoots paintballs with a slingshot!”
“So?”
“He has a Jackhammer and gives away Justice Jackets!”
“So?”
“So? Don’t you get it? It’s perfect!”
Well, I don’t really, but if it makes Billy happy, then great.
Now, according to my little mental GPS, we’ve got about two miles to walk. And they would go a whole lot quicker on a skateboard, but since Billy’s got nothing but his dancing feet, I just walk along holding my skateboard, listening to him, uh, prattle for at least fifteen minutes about the awesomeness of life as a superhero. And he’s in the middle of saying something about Justice Jack being “pure of heart” when he interrupts himself to answer his phone. “Ya-lo?” He listens a second, then in a very nasally voice he says, “Please hold while I transfer your call,” and hands the phone to me with a grin.
“Hey!” I say into the phone, and all of a sudden I feel stupidly happy.
“Hey,” Casey says back. “Change in plans?”
“Billy needs a little post-breakup pick-me-up, so we’re going to check out Justice Jack’s secret hideaway.”
“Whoa, wait, what? Marissa broke up with him?”
“Yup.”
“Why?”
“I’ll give you one guess.”
There’s a short pause. “Danny?”
“Bingo. And since the secret hideaway is a trailer way out in the sticks, it should be safe for you to meet us.”
“Way out in which sticks?”
“It’s right after the junkyard. You know where all those eucalyptus trees are? Turn in there, on Harmon. Sandydale Ts off of Harmon. It’s at three-fifty-seven Sandydale.”
“Three-fifty-seven Sandydale,” he repeats. “See you there!”
When I hand the phone back to Billy, he takes it but he’s looking at me kind of suspicious-like.
“What?”
“You’re babysitting me?”
It flashes through my mind that I should deny it, but what comes flashing out of my mouth is, “No way … I’m Billysitting!”
He doesn’t think that’s too funny. “You don’t have to, you know.”
“Tough. You’re stuck with me.”
We walk along like that for a little while, and finally, in a really quiet voice, he says, “Thanks, Sammy-keyesta.”
I grin at him. “Anytime, Billy-beasta.”
* * *
In a way Justice Jack really did live in a secret hideaway. We had a terrible time finding it. I’d gone by the junkyard and that whole area before, but I’d never turned off the main road. And once we did, things started feeling really different. Really … shady.
The eucalyptus trees were huge. And everywhere. And everything was coated in a layer of eucalyptus leaves. It was like a giant blanket of long, flat, sage-colored paper spears that covered up anything that had stayed put too long.
The deeper down Harmon Street we went, the more it felt like we’d entered some strange sort of summer camp. For one thing, the pavement stopped after about twenty yards and the road became narrow and a sandy kind of dirt. And all the side roads were dirt, too, with tilting signposts that looked like they’d drifted over time.
But mostly it felt like a camp because instead of regular houses, there was a weird conglomeration of mobile homes. Some were on leveled ground with steps up and a skirting around them that looked like they’d planned to stay, but there were also a lot of broken-down motor homes and dilapidated camping trailers. Like people had rolled in for just the summer, but then the eucalyptus leaves had blanketed them in an enchanted sleep.
One that made them rust.
Or rot.
Or just collapse.
“I didn’t even know this was back here,” Billy whispers, and for some reason whispering seems like the right thing to do.
“Me either,” I whisper back.
It was also hard to tell where we were. Or where 357 Sandydale was, anyway. The mailboxes were in big groups on posts at the bottom of the side streets, and once we turned up Sandydale, none of the trailers seemed to have numbers.
“Did he tell you he lived back here?”
“Justice Jack? No.”
A big red truck is coming toward us along Sandydale, and it flashes through my mind that we could flag down the driver and ask, but I don’t really want anyone to know where we’re going, or who we’re looking for.
The side of the truck says TONY’S TOWING in fancy white letters, and the back end is one of those flat steel beds that tilts down so cars can roll up. The driver’s a big guy with dark curly hair, and let me tell you, he checks us over pretty good. But when we smile and wave, he does, too, and rolls down the window. “You kids lost?” He’s got a Coke in his hand, and all of a sudden I realize I’m really, really thirsty.
“No, we’re fine,” I tell him. “Thanks, though!”
“It dead-ends. You know that, right?”
“Yeah,” I tell him, like I’m an old pro at hiking up Sandydale Lane.
“Well, take it easy!” he says, and as he rolls down the road, my fantasy of being in a TV commercial where friendly people pass Cokes to strangers goes poof.
Billy’s got his mind on other things. “Do you think Justice Jack’ll be mad if he sees us?”
I shrug. “Maybe. Probably.” But then I change my mind. “Actually, maybe not. He’s been trying to recruit me.”
“Really?” he squeaks. “What would you be? The Queen of Clubs? No, wait! The Attitude Ace!” And before I can say anything, he pogos up and down, going, “No, no, no! You could be the Dicey Dame!”
I laugh and shake my head. “Right now I happen to be Umbrella Girl.”
He stops pogoing. “Umbrella Girl? Why would you be Umbrella Girl? That doesn’t fit at all.”
Well, obviously he doesn’t watch the news and there’s a lot to catch him up on, but right then a whistling sound cuts through the air. “That’s Casey!” I put down my skateboard, wrap my hands around each other in one big sort of rounded fist, then blow into the hole between my thumb knuckles. And when a whistling sound comes out, I flap my left hand back and forth, matching the sound Casey had made.
“Whoa! How do you do that?” Billy asks, his eyes all wide.
Casey whistles again, so I do a return whistle and then break it down for Billy. “Lay your hands like this, curve them up, and blow!”
Billy tries it and nothing comes out. “How?” he asks. And since Casey’s whistled back, trying to figure out where we are, I have Billy watch as I make the fist, then blow and flap my hand, warbling out another whistle.
He tries again, but only whooshes air. “You’ve got to teach me! And what you’re whistling sounds like the theme song from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.”
“Huh?”
“You know! That old movie? It sounds just like that!” He shakes his head when I give another whistle. “Where’d you learn how to do that?”
I grin at him. “From Hudson, of course.”
He tries, but gets nothing.
“It takes practice,” I tell him. And I’m about to blow once more when I spot Casey. “Over here!” I call with a wave, and hurry back down Sandydale to give him a great big hug and a smooch. Then we just grin at each other like a couple of fools as we walk back to Billy.
“Hey, man,” Billy says when we meet up. “You’ve got to help me maste
r that whistle. It’s awesome.”
“Sure thing,” Casey tells him. “Maybe on the way back.” He looks around. “So where’s this secret hideaway?”
“We haven’t found it yet,” Billy says. “We’re lookin’ for a hot-pink trailer.”
“I don’t think it’s hot pink,” I explain. “Just pink.”
“How do you know it’s pink at all?” Casey asks. “And how do you know it’s back here? Did Justice Jack tell you?”
“No,” I mumble, and, really, I don’t want to get into the whole backstory of my little chitchat with Officer Borsch. Luckily, it turns out I don’t have to, because just then a familiar sound roars through the air. “Hide!” I say, dragging Billy behind a big tree.
“The High Roller!” Billy cries, ’cause he recognizes the sound, too.
Sure enough, a minute later Justice Jack is tearing up the road on his dirt bike, and there’s someone in his sidecar.
Someone who’s wearing a big bulky blindfold.
“Out, you impostor!” Billy cries after they’ve roared up the road a ways. “That sidecar is mine!” Casey and I grin at each other and shake our heads, but Billy’s already started running. “Come on!” he cries. “What are you waiting for? To the Jack Cave!”
SIXTEEN
We’d lost sight of the High Roller, but the road was dirt and still sort of wet from all the rain, so following the tracks was easy.
So was finding Justice Jack’s hideaway.
“I think that’s it,” I say, pointing past some trees.
“That has to be it!” Billy cries.
Casey eyes me. “Really?”
It wasn’t hot pink—more a chalky pink. And it had faded black trim, so even though it was long and boxy and ugly, it was ugly in a rare, funky-cool kind of way.
“That is the raddest thing I have ever seen!” Billy whispers.
The High Roller’s parked between the trailer and a big metal shed that has palm trees and toucans and a sunset painted on it. And above the shed door there’s a big, bright orange-and-blue sign that says WELCOME TO PAIR-A-DICE.
Next to the Pair-a-Dice shed there’s a frayed hammock strung between two eucalyptus trees, and a sorry-looking round table and chairs. And poking up through the table is a patio umbrella with dried palm fronds strapped onto the top.
Only some of the fronds are missing.
And one of the umbrella arms is broken.
Just beyond the hammock and table there’s a huge pile of junk. Half a truck, rolls of fencing, a stack of wheels, barrels … big junk with loads of little junk all around it. It’s like someone did a claw-grab of the junkyard, swung the load over, and dropped it on the outskirts of Pair-a-Dice. And splattered all over the junk are splotches of red, gold, and glow-in-the-dark green paint. And we’re just soaking all this in when a voice over to our left hollers, “JACK!”
We duck quick behind the trees we’re near, and when we peek out at where the hollering’s coming from, what we see is a middle-aged woman in slacks and a blazer, flying out of a mobile home about a hundred feet away.
“JACK!” she calls again, holding a scrap of paper in the air as she runs toward the pink trailer.
The Pair-a-Dice shed opens, and Justice Jack jumps out, ready for action.
“Three o’clock tomorrow!” the woman cries, wagging the paper. “Buckley’s Coffee Shop!”
“You’re serious?” he calls, running toward her, and even though he’s still in all his hero gear, his voice isn’t Justice Jackish … it’s just Jackish.
They’re right next to each other now, talking at a regular volume so we can’t really hear what they’re saying anymore, but they’re obviously happy and excited about something.
And then a guy wearing a long tan coat and big aviator goggles strapped to his forehead steps out of the shed. “Wassup?” he calls, and even from that one word it’s easy to tell that he’s been drinking.
The woman takes a step back and her voice goes way up. “What’s he doing here?”
“It’s okay,” Justice Jack tells her. “I blindfolded him.”
“I’m here for training!” the goggle guy tells her. “I’m the Royal Flush!”
“More like the Royal Lush,” she shouts at him, then turns to Jack. “Can’t you see he’s been drinking? Or don’t you care?”
Billy’s not paying much attention to what they’re saying. He’s more into what the Lush is wearing. “Wow,” Billy gasps, “that is the most awesome coat ever!”
“It was Hudson’s,” I say through my teeth, and I’m actually pretty ticked off about it. “It was supposed to be a Justice Jacket.”
The woman has grabbed Justice Jack and is dragging him away from the Lush and over toward us. “Must be his mom,” Casey whispers. “Who else could manhandle a superhero like that, huh?”
“You need to stop taking in strays, you hear me?” the woman’s telling Jack. “You will get nowhere if you associate yourself with the likes of that.”
“Aw, come on, Mom,” Justice Jack says, “he’s got nowhere to go.”
“Exactly! That’s his direction and destination, and there’s no way I’m going to let you wind up there, too!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Get rid of him, Jack. Get rid of him now! And don’t bring any more of your ‘assistants’ to the property!”
“How am I going to teach them the ropes? We need to practice our moves! He needs to learn how to wield a weapon! How to take down a perpetrator!”
The woman sucks in a deep breath, closes her eyes, and very calmly says, “Jack, that would be fine if your ‘assistants’ weren’t such losers.”
“Mom!” Justice Jack looks over his shoulder quick to make sure the Lush didn’t hear. “Don’t be so heartless! He just needs a chance.”
She snorts. “And a bottle of whiskey.”
“Mom!” But he looks down and shakes his head. “Look, I’m having trouble finding someone reliable, all right?”
“So just don’t have an ‘assistant’!”
“Superheroes always have an assistant!”
She tosses a glare over her shoulder. “You’ve got to be able to do better than that!”
He’s quiet a minute, then says, “There is this girl.…”
His mom’s ears practically perk right off her head. “A girl? Is she … Does she …?” Her eyes narrow down on him. “Is she another stray?”
“No!”
She studies him a minute. “Does she have a job?”
He shakes his head. “She’s still in school.”
“School? Good! So she’s smart?”
“She’s really smart.”
“So? Have you asked her?” And before he can answer, she goes, “You need to get out there and ask. I’ve told you this your whole life. Don’t be afraid of girls. You’ll get nowhere by not asking.” She wags a finger at him. “This could be good. This could be really good. Broaden the appeal. More people will relate.”
“Yeah, but—”
Now, the thing with eucalyptus trees is they have these pods. Hard pods. They’re like brown wooden rocks dangling up among the leaves. And since these trees were big, they had pods to match. They were, like, an inch across, and were all over the carpet of leaves we were standing on. No woodland creature plucked them and placed them there, either.
They fell there.
And you know that old expression, The bigger they are, the harder they fall?
Well, right as Justice Jack is about to answer his mother, one of those big rocky pods goes bombs away and pelts Billy on the head.
“Yow!” he yelps, then looks at me like, Uh-oh!
We pull back quick and hold our breath while everything goes dead quiet.
“Who was that?” Mama Jack says, and before you know it, Justice Jack has pounced around the trees and is standing there like he’s ready to wrestle down a bear.
But then he realizes it’s me.
“Sammy?” he says, blinking at me through his m
ask. “How did you—”
“Oh, great,” his mom says, because she’s there now, too. “You let kids follow you?”
Billy steps forward and gives Justice Jack a snappy salute. “I would be honored to take on the role of your assistant, sir! I would be trustworthy and reliable and proudly wear the Mask of Justice.”
“The Mask of Justice!” Jack says, and you can tell he’s warming up to Billy fast.
“No!” the mom says. “He’s just a kid. You won’t be taken seriously if you—”
“Batman had Robin!” Justice Jack exclaims. “And … and …”
“And Captain America had Bucky!” Billy cries.
Casey and I look at him. “Bucky?”
“Yeah! He was an orphan and he was awesome!”
“Go,” Mama Jack says, pointing down the road. “You kids go and don’t come back!”
“Yeah, go!” the Lush says. “And quit trying to steal my gig!”
“Get him out of here, too!” the mom demands, pointing at Lushy. “And don’t bring him or any other strays here again. They’ll ruin everything!” She turns to go, then turns back. “And do it now! I have to get back to work!”
Well, she storms off, and you can tell Jack is torn. And embarrassed. I mean, what kind of superhero gets bossed around by their mother?
Jack snaps the goggles off the Lush and tugs off Hudson’s coat. “Come on,” he says to the guy—who now definitely looks like a bum. “Maybe you can train on your own.”
“You’re firing me?” the guy says.
“We need to regroup. Find a better strategy.” Then he moves in closer to us and drops his voice. “I don’t know how you found me, but I could use some decent help.”
He ends this little plea by looking right at me. So I put my hands up and shake my head, but Billy squeals, “Me! Pick me! I’m telling you, I’d be an awesome sidekick!”
I put my arm out like I’m keeping Billy back. “Your mom’s right—we’re just kids.”
But Jack’s not giving up. “There’s nothing more noble than the cause of justice. You’re never too young to help make the world a better place.”
Then he whips out a card and hands it to Billy.
“No!” I cry, but Billy snatches the card anyway.
“I need someone twenty-four-seven,” Jack says. “Crime waits for no one.”