Sammy Keyes and the Power of Justice Jack

  The good thing about her being a speed demon is that she has to concentrate on cutting off other cars and flooring it through yellow lights, so she doesn’t really have time to notice people on the sidewalk who are considering jaywalking.

  Or, with her on the road, suicide.

  Still, I was kinda worried that maybe she’d seen me.

  Or that maybe Heather was in the car and she’d seen me.

  And what if they’d already passed by Casey coming from the other direction and realized he and I were going toward each other? What if they were flipping an illegal U-turn right now, racing back so they could bust us and throw Casey out of the house?

  I told myself I was being dumb, but since all the traffic made jaywalking seem even dumber, I went clear down to the corner, waited for the light to finally change, and kept my eyeballs peeled for red sports cars as I crossed the street and made my way back down to Buckley’s.

  Buckley’s Coffee Shop seems like a place that’s been around since the beginning of time. Or at least since before the mall was built. It’s got big windows on each side of the door, with dark green booths and shellacked pine tables shoved up against them. There’s also a long breakfast counter with tall stools, but I’ve only ever gotten a glimpse of it, because there are always old people sitting at the booths by the window. And since old people in restaurants never seem to have anything to say to each other, there’s a lot of staring out the window going on, which makes peeking inside even more awkward than just walking by.

  Sure enough, there are a couple of old guys staring out the window from a booth as I walk by. The High Roller isn’t parked out front, but I’m not surprised by that, either. There’s not much parking on Main Street, so most businesses have parking in back. And since I’m so sure that Billy will be there spying on Justice Jack, and since I’d taken about ten miles of detours and am sure Casey will already be there, I just yank open the door and go inside.

  Right away a really awkward vibe fills the air.

  It’s like the building itself gasped.

  And then every old neck in the place slowly creaks around to face me.

  The big guy wiping down the breakfast counter comes to a halt and just stands there looking at me.

  The cook behind the order carousel freezes in the middle of putting two plates on the pass-through counter.

  Even the bobcat that’s mounted above the back door is staring at me.

  And that’s when it hits me that I’m the only female in the place.

  “Pssst!” I hear from my left, and believe me, I’m more than a little relieved to turn and see Casey.

  He’s sitting in a booth, alone, and when I slide in across from him, he says, “Billy’s not here, and neither is Jack, but I’ve been watching that guy over there.” He nods across the diner. “He doesn’t fit in here at all.”

  Right away I know exactly what he means. Instead of a T-shirt and flannel like everyone else in the place is wearing, this guy’s got on a black button-down shirt and black slacks that are obviously high-end. He’s by himself, scrolling through his phone. There’s no food or coffee on his table, just a pair of shades that pushes his look toward Secret Service, only he’s kinda too scrawny for that. Plus, his hair’s shaggy, in a very un–Secret Service sort of way.

  Casey’s watching him, too. “I think he may be the one Jack’s supposed to be meeting.”

  “He’s not from Santa Martina, that’s for sure.” I look around. “But what about Billy? I really thought he’d be here.”

  “Maybe he did go home sick?”

  “He seemed fine this morning.”

  All of a sudden the big guy from behind the counter is standing at our booth. “You kids ready to order?” His big, broad belly is at eye level, and even him just standing there is really intimidating.

  “Uh … is there a menu?” Casey asks.

  Old guys at the booths near us snicker, and Big Boy just sorta grins. “We make anything. Just tell us what you want.”

  I look up at him. “But how do we know how much it is?” I glance at Casey and then back up at Big Boy. “We’re kinda on a budget.”

  Big Boy nods. “Don’t worry. We’re reasonable.”

  “But—”

  “And there’s always dishes!” an old guy at another booth calls, which makes all his friends cackle and snort.

  “Okay,” Big Boy says, “how about we go at it the other way around. What do you like, and how much you got to spend? We’ll rustle up something for you based on that.”

  But all of a sudden there’s a little commotion by the back door and a chorus of voices calls out, “It’s Justice Jack!”

  “Greetings, good citizens!” Jack bellows, making his grand entry.

  And that’s when we see that Justice Jack has a sidekick with him. Only his sidekick isn’t wearing a torn cloth mask or a frayed towel cape.

  He’s got on a black leather mask, a black bomber helmet, a tight red shirt, bright red gloves, black jeans, and …

  Hudson’s awesome coat.

  And even as covered up as he is, there’s no doubt about it.

  Jack’s new sidekick is Billy Pratt.

  NINETEEN

  “Quite a character,” Big Boy says, watching us stare at Justice Jack and Billy. “You kids knew he was coming? Is that why you’re here?”

  I give him a guilty little shrug.

  “So it’s not an after-school snack you’re looking for.”

  It feels like he’s about to kick us out, so Casey starts scrounging through his pockets and manages to scrape up about three dollars, while I put in thirty-seven cents.

  “Uh-huh,” he says, eyeing our measly pile of cash. Then he takes a good hard look at each of us and nods. “Seeing how it’s your first time here, why don’t we say the Cokes are on the house. And let’s get you a better table, maybe a little closer to the action.”

  We both just stare at him a minute, not really believing our ears. Finally I choke out, “You’re serious?”

  He cocks his head, telling us to follow him. “Welcome to Buckley’s.”

  We wound up in a small booth right across the aisle from where Jack and Billy were sitting with the Man in Black. Billy had given us an impish grin and slipped a finger in front of his lips, so he knew we were there. Jack did, too, although he seemed more worried than happy to see us.

  “So, Jack—” the Man in Black is saying, but Jack cuts him off.

  “With all due respect, good sir, the name is Justice Jack.”

  “He’s no ordinary Jack!” an old guy in the booth next to him says, and everyone else in the place follows up, shouting, “He’s Justice Jack!”

  “And this,” Justice Jack takes the opportunity to announce, “is my faithful assistant, the Deuce!”

  “All hail the Deuce!” the same old guy shouts.

  “Hear! Hear! Long live the Deuce!” the rest of them call.

  Casey and I look at each other like, The Deuce? but Billy’s obviously loving it. He stands up and lifts his arms high like he has legions of adoring fans. “Thank you, good people!”

  Now, the Man in Black is looking a little uncertain. Like, Where am I, and who are these people? He leans forward across the table and says something that we sure can’t hear, and apparently Justice Jack and Billy can’t hear, either, because they lean in, too. And then the three of them have a hush-hush powwow while Casey and I sip our Cokes, hoping their huddle will break up already so we can hear again.

  Finally the Man in Black leans back and raises his voice. “What do you mean, you have to blindfold me?”

  Justice Jack crosses his arms and puffs out his chest. “It’s the way it has to be!”

  Just then a rocking ringtone cuts through the air, and the peanut gallery of old guys calls out, “The Justice Jingle!” as Jack snatches the phone from his belt.

  Casey grins and whispers, “Did you recognize that?”

  “What?” I whisper back.

  “His ringtone.” I shake my head
, so he says, “ ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash’ by the Stones.”

  We go back to watching Jack, whose eyes are wide behind his mask as he checks out the display and shows it to Billy.

  “City Hall?” Billy cries.

  Jack makes a show of putting the phone on speaker mode. “Justice Jack. It’s a good world. Let’s take it back!”

  “Jack, it’s Mayor Hibbs,” comes the voice from the other end.

  “Yes, Mayor!” Jack says in his booming Justice Jack voice. “How may I be of service?”

  “The statue’s still missing and my police force is apparently dumbfounded,” Mayor Hibbs announces, sounding like a junior version of Justice Jack. “I want it back before it’s sold for scrap! I’m willing to make a proclamation! A commendation! A dedication! What’s your pleasure?”

  “My pleasure?” Justice Jack asks.

  “Would you like a Justice Jack Day? Keys to the city? Your own float in the Christmas parade? Any of those! Just find my statue!”

  “Consider it done, Mayor!” Jack booms, and the entire restaurant starts chanting, “Justice Jack! Justice Jack!” as he clicks off.

  “Is it always like this?” the Man in Black shouts over the chanting.

  “Some days are busier than others,” Jack shouts back.

  The Man in Black just stares at him a minute, then stands. “Let’s go.”

  “To the hideaway?” Jack asks. “The blindfold requirement still—”

  “Fine. Let’s go.”

  Justice Jack gets out of the booth, waves to all the old guys in the place, and calls out, “Farewell, wise men!”

  “Go get ’em, Justice Jack!” they holler as he and Billy and the Man in Black go out the back door.

  Casey and I slurp down our Cokes, and after Casey slips a dollar under our empty glasses, we head out the back door, too, waving a quiet thanks to Big Boy as we go.

  The Man in Black is already blindfolded and in the sidecar, and Justice Jack is revving up the High Roller. Billy’s squeezed onto the seat behind him with his hands clamped on Jack’s shoulders.

  “Man, what have I done?” I moan as they pull away.

  “Well, we know Billy’s nuts,” Casey says, “but I can’t believe that guy agreed to be blindfolded. I wonder who he is.”

  And that’s when I notice the shiny black car over to our right with a personalized plate that reads SKT AGNT.

  I work it out in my head. “Secret agent?”

  “Maybe a skirt agent?”

  “A skirt agent? What’s a skirt agent?”

  He shrugs. “Got me. But what kind of secret agent would advertise that he’s a secret agent?”

  I pause. “Good point.”

  “So?” Casey asks after a minute. “You ready to go?”

  “Go? You want to follow them?”

  “Sure, why not?” He grins. “Better’n homework.”

  “But—” And all of a sudden I feel really sad. I mean, it would be a lot of fun to ride out to Pair-a-Dice with Casey, only we can’t.

  “What?”

  “I saw your mom roaring down the road right before I crossed the street.”

  “Oh.”

  I can tell he’d completely forgotten how we’re not supposed to be seeing each other, and for some reason what pops out of my mouth is, “Lars and Sasha ran off together.”

  His head snaps up. “Seriously?”

  “Crazy, huh?”

  He looks a little worried. “You’re not thinking …”

  “No!” I shrug and look down. “It’s just sad.”

  “Because they’re doomed?”

  I nod.

  He lifts my chin. “Well, don’t worry. We’re not doomed. We’ll just be smart and work around my crazy mother, okay?”

  I nod. “At least Grams is on our side. And Hudson and Billy and Holly and Dot and even Marissa.”

  “See?” he says. “Not so bad.” He gives me a mischievous grin. “So how about you go one way and I go another, and we meet in paradise?”

  I laugh. “Pair-a-Dice is not my idea of paradise.”

  He gives a cute little shrug. “As long as I’m with you …”

  I throw my arms around him. I mean, what kind of guy says stuff like that? Then I pull back and give him a mischievous grin. “Race ya!”

  “You’re on!” he laughs. “I’ll meet you where the road turns to dust!”

  Then we throw our boards down and hurry off in opposite directions.

  I took the same route I’d taken with Billy, only this time I had no one to talk to as I rode by the junkyard, so I actually noticed some things.

  Like that the junkyard doesn’t call itself a junkyard.

  It’s a salvage yard.

  Sorta like Mrs. Wedgewood is well rounded.

  Really. The place is acres of junk—zillions of cars, tons of old farm equipment, stacks of pipe and rebar, big heaps of tires … and then there’s what looks like the demolition section. Smashed metal of all shapes and sizes … and makes and models.

  And popping up here and there among all the junk are corrugated metal buildings. The one closest to the street has big sprayed-on letters that say OFFICE. One farther back says WAREHOUSE. Another says HUBCAPS.

  Can you believe that?

  A whole building for hubcaps.

  And all this junky mess is surrounded by chain-link fencing that’s topped with coils of razor wire.

  Razor wire.

  Like someone’s going to go, Hey, Fred, let’s break into the salvage yard and steal some junk!

  Anyway, I’m checking all this out, passing by the big open gate, when a little hiccup happens in my brain. It’s just a tiny glitch in my mental breathing, but something about it kind of throws me. And pretty soon I’m not pumping like I’m in a race with Casey. Pretty soon I’m looking over my shoulder, hearing Mayor Hibbs’ voice in my head: I want it back before it’s sold for scrap!

  So I skid to a halt, turn around, and power back to the office building. It’s not far inside the gate, and besides, Casey had to go the long way, which wasn’t fair.

  A quick little detour would, you know, even things up.

  There’s a pack of dogs snoozing together in a corner of the office, and they perk up when they hear me walk in, but they don’t get up. Two of them have one blue eye and one brown eye, which is kind of scary-looking, especially since the blue is so blue it’s almost white.

  But after they check me over, they just go back to snoozing. So I walk past them and up to a counter where a guy in dark blue coveralls is typing at a computer while talking into the phone that’s cradled at his shoulder. “… Yeah, we got one. It’ll fit an eighty-eight or eighty-nine.… No problem.… Seven-thirty to four-thirty, closed Sundays.… That’s right.… Good enough.”

  When he hangs up, he looks at me and says, “What can I do ya for?”

  “Uh … has anyone come in here trying to pawn a life-size statue?”

  “Uh …,” he says back, “we’re not exactly a pawnshop.”

  “But if someone had something that was big and metal, would you buy it from them? You know, like for scrap or salvage or whatever?”

  “Hmm. Depends on the metal.”

  “It’s bronze.”

  His eyebrows go up. “Solid bronze, or coated? And what kind of bronze?”

  Well, I had no idea. I didn’t even really know it was bronze. It’s just what people who talked about the statue always said it was. And since the clock was ticking, I just decided to cut to the chase.

  “You know the statue in City Hall? The one that was stolen?”

  “No …”

  “You haven’t heard about that?”

  He gives a little laugh. “I try to avoid City Hall.”

  “Well, you’ve seen the softball statue, right?”

  He shakes his head, and I can tell that he really has no idea what I’m talking about.

  “Well, look. If someone comes in here trying to sell you a statue—or pieces of a statue that might add up to sof
tball players—call the police, okay?”

  He shrugs. “Sure.”

  “Actually …” I scrounge through my jeans and dig up Justice Jack’s card, which at this point is pretty bent and rumpled. I smooth it down and pass it over the counter. “Call this guy.”

  “Justice Jack?” he says with a sideways grin. Then he laughs and adds, “I never in a million years thought he’d catch on.”

  “So you’ve heard of him?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  Then the phone rings, and that’s the end of our conversation.

  TWENTY

  Casey was already waiting at the end of the pavement, and after I told him about my junkyard detour and he got done teasing me about being Sidetrack Sammy, we hurried up to Pair-a-Dice, crunching through a bed of eucalyptus leaves as we cut off the road to get in close.

  The High Roller was parked in front of the pink trailer, and there was a bicycle that hadn’t been there before leaning against big metal barrels that were standing between the trailer and Pair-a-Dice.

  The door to Pair-a-Dice was open, and although we could hear noise coming from inside, we couldn’t really tell what people were saying or doing, and there was no way to peek in without being seen.

  Finally Casey whispers, “That sounds like Pac-Man.”

  It did, too. “Want to check for windows around back?”

  He says, “Sure,” so we tiptoe through the leaves, making our way between the side of the shed and the heaping mound of paint-splatted junk. And when we get behind the shed, what do we see?

  More junk and no rear windows.

  There is a big dent and a split in a seam where two sections of corrugated metal sheets come together, though. So I peek through that while Casey puts an eye up to a hole where a large screw that had held two other sections together was missing.

  Now, I don’t know what I was expecting to see. Maybe a few plastic chairs? Some rakes and shovels? Stacks of, you know, junk?

  But instead, I find myself looking at a cross between a cabana, a casino, and an arcade. There’s a Pac-Man machine, which Billy is playing, a pinball machine, a refrigerator, a microwave, an orange velvet couch, a roulette table, a poker table, a slot machine, Lava lamps, a television, and cool tropical decorations everywhere.