Griffin stared at him, his eyes twin lasers. “You wouldn’t dare!”
Darren seemed surprised. “It wouldn’t take much daring from me. You’re the ones who are going to get into a ton of trouble.”
Griffin read Darren’s mocking expression and knew that the threat was very real. Darren had been his nemesis since kindergarten. He wouldn’t hesitate to sell them out.
It had all come down to either/or. Either let Darren in or give up the plan altogether.
He looked from face to face at Ben and the team. One at a time, they nodded.
Pitch was last. “It can’t hurt to have a muscle-head around.”
Darren beamed. “You won’t regret this.”
Griffin regretted it already.
17
The next day, Logan Kellerman started up the walk at 530 Park Avenue Extension, a package under his arm.
Eli Mulroney was sitting on his porch, just as Griffin and Ben had been certain he’d be. “He’s always there,” Griffin had said. “We passed by that place a dozen different times. He might as well be a pink flamingo on the lawn.”
“What can I do for you, son?”
Logan beamed at the old man. “I live at 530 University, and this parcel was delivered to our house by mistake. Are you” — he consulted the label — “E. Mulroney?”
“That’s my name. But I’m not expecting any packages.”
Logan stepped onto the porch and showed the old man the label — fresh from the printer of Melissa’s computer.
Mr. Mulroney looked bewildered. “That’s me, all right. Who’s it from?”
Logan shrugged. “It doesn’t say. Maybe there’s a card inside.”
The old man produced a lethal-looking pocketknife and neatly slit the taped sides of the carton. Several hundred Styrofoam peanuts scattered across the porch.
“God bless America!” he roared at the mess. Then he pulled out a magnetic chess, checkers, and backgammon set, a box of dominoes, a deck of cards, and a Monopoly game.
“No note?” asked Logan.
“I’m not reaching in there! Those fool peanuts stick to your hand and you can’t shake them off!”
“Well, it must be from someone who knows you like games,” Logan persisted.
“I hate games!” Mulroney snapped. “Although” — his eyes gleamed — “I used to be a real whiz at backgammon. Of course, that was a long time ago.”
Logan sensed the opening and went for it. “I always wanted to play backgammon. Would you teach me? You know, if you have time?”
The old man raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t a kid like you have something better to do than pal around with an old geezer?”
This is it! thought Logan. Time for his talent to shine. He cultivated a wan look that was part shy and part sad.
“Not really. We just moved here. I haven’t made any friends yet.”
“Pull up a chair, son. What’s your name?”
Logan’s heart was pounding. His first real acting job. And this one could bring in the biggest paycheck this side of Hollywood.
That night, the heist team gathered in the Bings’ garage for the unveiling of Griffin’s new plan. The SmartPick leaned against the wall, standing like a sentry over the crowded workbench, the nerve center of the operation.
THE GREAT BASEBALL CARD HEIST — ROUND TWO
The Team:
(i) GRIFFIN BING: Team leader and blowtorch operator
(ii) BEN SLOVAK: Lieutenant and tight spaces specialist
(iii) SAVANNAH DRYSDALE: Dog whisperer
(iv) LOGAN KELLERMAN: Nosy neighbor neutralizer and lookout #1
(v) ANTONIA “PITCH” BENSON: Second-story woman
(vi) MELISSA DUKAKIS: Electronics and lookout #2
(vii) DARREN VADER: Muscle and miscellaneous
Rendezvous Point: Water Tower
Entry Point: Skylight
“Okay” — Griffin turned to Pitch — “how do we get in?”
“We’re going to need a twenty-four-foot extension ladder,” she replied. “That’ll get us to the edge of the roof.” She produced a photograph of the rear of the Palomino house. “See that vent pipe? We’ll loop a rope around it. Then we can climb up and over to the skylight, which is right here” — she pointed — “just below the peak on the east side.”
“Sounds simple enough,” said Griffin.
“If you’re a mountain goat,” Ben added nervously.
“It’s not as scary as you think,” Pitch assured him. “We’ll wear climbing harnesses up on the roof. Even if you fall, you don’t fall. I’ll run you guys through a quick Mountaineering 101 before we go. But that’s just to get you used to the equipment. There’s no real danger.”
“Right,” Griffin approved. “Okay, Logan, you’re next. How’s it going with Mr. Mulroney?”
Logan was his usual modest self. “If they gave Academy Awards for heists, I’d walk away with all the hardware. I have created a role so real, so three-dimensional, so heartwarming —”
“Just spit it out!” Darren demanded impatiently.
“He’s teaching me to play backgammon. But it’s so much more. I’ve truly become this character.”
“I should hope so,” said Griffin. “It’s you! You’re playing yourself! And the whole point is to make sure the old guy doesn’t get a whiff of what we’re doing and call the cops. Now what’s your report?”
“Nothing gets Mr. Mulroney out of the chair, that’s for sure,” Logan told them. “He takes bathroom breaks, he makes sandwiches to eat outside. He says he only needs three or four hours of sleep a night. He’s kind of a wing nut, and you know what? I like him a lot. Maybe I’m a wing nut, too.”
“You think?” put in Darren in a voice that dripped with sarcasm.
“Oh, yeah,” added Logan. “He’s really proud of the fact that even at his age, he still has twenty-twenty vision.”
Ben held his head. “You sure there isn’t anything else we need to know? Maybe his rocking chair has radar?”
“No, that’s pretty much it. Except the skylight. You can see it from Mr. Mulroney’s porch, even at night. The streetlight reflects off the glass.”
Ben blew his stack. “When were you planning on mentioning this? When the guy’s dialing nine-one-one on heist night?”
“We’ll have to figure out a way to turn off the streetlight for a while,” said Griffin. “Now, Melissa, have you made any progress hacking into Swindle’s e-mail?”
Melissa parted her hair. “Oh, that’s already done. He has two addresses, one personal and one for business. They both run through the Web site he set up for his store. Every message he gets comes to my computer first.”
“What we need,” Griffin explained, “is a time when it’s safe to make our move. You know, a good three- or four-hour window when he’ll definitely be out of the house.”
“I didn’t see anything like that.”
“How about a weekend out of town?” Ben persisted. “A wedding or a family reunion? Even a big fancy dinner in New York City?”
She shrugged. “Not really. Most of his personal e-mail is just spam. There was something from the New York Rangers Booster Club and a notice from E-Grocer that his twenty-pound turkey had been shipped.”
Griffin was disgusted. “Oh, sure! Like a nasty, obnoxious crook knows enough people willing to sit down and eat a twenty-pound turkey with him!”
“Well,” Logan reasoned, “Thanksgiving isn’t too far away.”
“If you’ve got nothing better to do on a holiday than hang out with Swindle,” Ben said sadly, “you’ve got nothing to be thankful for.”
“This is just peachy.” Griffin moaned. “We’ve got the perfect plan and no chance to try it, because we can’t get that jerk out of the house.”
“Could we try it during the day, when he’s at the store?” Savannah suggested.
“I thought of that,” said Griffin. “It’s just too exposed. The ladder alone would stand out like a sore thumb.”
Dar
ren laughed out loud. “Bing, you’re such a dope! This auction is going to come and go while you sit around waiting for him to go to the movies. Use your brain. If you want him out, get him out!”
Pitch was angry. “We can’t kidnap the guy!”
“He sells sports memorabilia,” Darren ranted. “He’s a Rangers fan. Buy him a ticket to a hockey game.”
“Oh, yeah!” Griffin seethed. “ ‘Here’s a little thank-you gift for ripping us off.’ That’ll work!”
“Maybe we could mail it to him with a letter saying he won it as a prize,” Savannah suggested.
Griffin shook his head. “He’d see through it in a second. You don’t win a contest when you never entered one.”
Darren was growing exasperated. “Here’s what you do: Stick the ticket in a birthday card with somebody else’s name on the envelope, and drop it in Swindle’s mail slot like somebody delivered it to the wrong house. If this guy is as rotten as you say he is, he won’t be able to resist the idea that he’s cheating somebody out of a ticket. Of course he’ll go to the game. And he’ll stay to the last shot of the final period.”
“Is that how your sick mind works?” Pitch asked, revolted.
“No!” Griffin said excitedly. “I think Darren’s onto something!”
Griffin Bing and Darren Vader had never been friends. Griffin had accepted Darren on the team only because he’d been blackmailed into it. He disliked Darren, but even worse, he didn’t trust him. And in an operation like this, trust was everything.
But now he was coming to understand that Darren brought a talent to the heist that even the boy himself didn’t see.
Darren was so awful that he was actually capable of thinking like Swindle.
18
HEIST DAY: Thursday, October 16
HOCKEY GAME: Madison Square Garden — Rangers vs. Maple Leafs — PUCK DROPS @ 8 p.m.
Swindle LEAVES for NYC: 6:30-7:00
SUNDOWN: 6:41
ZERO HOUR: 7:30
Griffin sat back and examined the time table. It should all go like clockwork. They had the right plan and the right people. They should be able to nab the card and be safe at home before the start of the third period of the Rangers game — even allowing for the odd glitch.
He wasn’t totally comfortable with the idea of the heist taking place the very day before Worthington’s Annual Sports Memorabilia Auction. But there was no way around it. The Rangers were coming off a long road trip, and Thursday was their only game in New York before the seventeenth. It was the sixteenth or never. And never was not an option.
He regarded the single hockey ticket that sat on his desk. Eighty bucks for a jerk like Swindle! His one consolation was that he and Ben had paid for the ticket out of the money that crook had given them for the Babe Ruth card. There was a kind of poetry to it—Swindle financing his own downfall with his sleazy dealings.
Revenge was going to be sweet.
Still, Griffin couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling. Everyone was risking serious trouble by being a part of this. If something went wrong on Thursday, and they were caught, Griffin knew he would have to find a way to take all the blame. This was his struggle, his family’s fate. Ben and the others shouldn’t have to pay for that.
Okay, I admit it. I’m nervous. A little dose of fear is good in an operation like this. It keeps you sharp.
He hit a key on his computer to bring the monitor out of screen-saver mode. Sure enough, there was another message from Melissa. Subject: HOMEWORK, their code word for heist business. Melissa had been sending him copies of Swindle’s intercepted e-mails.
This one was a video clip advertising Worthington’s Annual Sports Memorabilia Auction. Griffin clicked on the link and watched a sixty-second promo video, his lip curling with outrage. The Babe Ruth card was the talk of this year’s event. The announcer called it “the most exciting find in the past half-century.” There was an excerpt from an interview with S. Wendell Palomino. It showed the smirking creep looking on while a conference table of experts oohed and aahed over the Bambino. One of them even compared it to the famous Honus Wagner card. Everyone agreed it was going to sell for a fortune.
“Magnificent!” pronounced a man who was holding the treasure under a magnifying glass. “But why is it so cold?”
The self-satisfied con man had an answer, like he always did: “That’s for all the cold hard cash it’s going to bring in!”
By the time it was over, Griffin was shaking with fury. Whatever doubts he might have had about Thursday night disappeared at the sound of Swindle’s smug gloating. This flimflam artist could not be allowed to profit from his crime.
Sometimes it took an act of thievery to stop a thief.
The sun was setting as S. Wendell Palomino unlocked his door, stepped into the foyer, and keyed in the code that turned off his alarm.
He was in a good mood. It was easy to be in a good mood when you were rich — or at least when you would be on Friday.
He bent over and picked up the mail that had been dropped through the slot.
Bill … bill … magazine … junk mail — what was this?
The blue square envelope had no address or stamp, which meant that someone had delivered it by hand. And to the wrong house, because the notation on the front said: To Uncle Archie With Love.
Without a qualm, he ripped the envelope open and pulled out a brightly colored birthday card. Inside was written: Happy 50th. Enjoy the game! Love, Maggie and Ted.
A ticket to Thursday night’s Rangers–Leafs game was attached by a paper clip.
A slow smile spread over Palomino’s broad face. Better and better, he reflected, sunny-side-up eyes gleaming.
Well, maybe not for Archie. He’s not going to the game. I am.
19
Thursday — the day of the operation.
Griffin could not remember school time so utterly wasted. Mr. Martinez might as well have been delivering his lessons in Swahili for all that Griffin was listening. His mind was lost in the details of the plan. It was like being scheduled to wrestle an alligator later, but right now you were expected to alphabetize spelling words and pretend it was important.
He could tell the other team members were also feeling the pressure. When Ben went down to the nurse for his allergy medication, he tripped over his own feet on the way out. Pitch was focused and distant. Logan was mumbling to himself more than usual, and his ramblings had nothing to do with upcoming auditions. Savannah was so distracted that she was halfway through her sandwich before remembering to ask the cafeteria ladies if it had been made using dolphin-safe tuna. Even Darren was quiet, withdrawn, and slightly less obnoxious than usual.
As for Melissa, nobody could tell. She might have been freaking out behind that curtain of hair. One thing was sure — she was still on the job, toting her laptop around, monitoring Swindle’s e-mail.
It was after lunch, Zero Hour minus six, when she approached Griffin. “We have a problem,” she whispered.
Griffin tried not to let his trepidation show as he looked at the message on the screen.
Mr. Palomino:
Due to increased media attention, Worthington Auction House has decided to pick up your item on Thursday
afternoon, rather than Friday morning. Our bonded courier will be at your house between 4:30 and 5:00 p.m. Please reconfirm your address: 531 Park Avenue Extension, Cedarville, New York.
Yours truly,
Eric Mansfield, Courier Dispatch
All Griffin’s panic came out through Ben’s mouth. “That’s two hours before we move in!” the smaller boy cried. “Griffin, what are we going to do? We can’t steal a card that’s already in New York City!”
Griffin was practicing deep breathing, struggling to keep control. “Okay — I’m glad this happened. This is good news.”
Ben was appalled. “How do you figure that?”
“Something unexpected happens in every plan. Now we’ve got that out of the way, and we can work around it.”
 
; “The card not being there anymore isn’t something we can work around!” Ben rasped.
“Swindle hasn’t seen this message yet,” Melissa reminded them. “I stopped it before it ever got to his computer. Couldn’t we just answer the auction guy and pretend to be Swindle? We could tell him to come a few hours later.”
“Too risky,” said Griffin, whistling between his teeth. “If they can’t do it, they might try to phone. What would be perfect is if they just got lost.”
“Maybe we could give them the wrong directions,” Ben suggested.
“They’re not asking for directions,” Melissa pointed out. “They’ve probably got one of those satellite navigation systems.”
Griffin’s thoughtful expression bloomed into a wide grin. “Let me see that computer.” He swiveled the laptop around and began to type:
Mr. Mansfield — URGENT! Note address correction.
The town is not Cedarville. It is CEDAR SPRINGS.
Thanks.
S. Wendell Palomino
The three exchanged nervous smiles. Cedar Springs was in Westchester County, sixty miles away.
At 6:30 — Zero Hour minus one — Logan Kellerman rode his bike down Park Avenue Extension and pulled onto the driveway of number 530.
Eli Mulroney was already in his usual spot on the front porch. The only difference in the retired miner’s unbreakable routine was that there were now two rockers out there, separated by a low table that held the backgammon board.
“I’m surprised you’ve got the guts to show your face around here,” the old man taunted, “after how badly I kicked you around last time.”
Logan smiled. “It’s only eleven games to seven.” Losing, but not too obviously, was all part of the acting job. This role would be for Logan what Pirates of the Caribbean was for Johnny Depp.
They set up the pieces, anchoring the board with a stone as protection against the stiff breeze.