Spy Cat

  Benjie put his hands on the flat sides of the washer and tugged, trying to pull it away from the building far enough for him to squeeze in behind it. If he was in back of the washer, the bad guys might not see him when they drove past.

  But the washer was too heavy. He couldn’t slide it on the rough gravel, and it weighed too much for him to lift. He couldn’t move the dryer, either.

  I’ll have to crouch beside the washer or dryer, Benjie thought. The men won’t see me if they come from the other direction.

  But what if they didn’t? What if they came from the side he was on? The headlights would pick up Benjie’s striped shirt and dark jeans against the white appliance, and he would be trapped.

  Benjie hesitated. Which way would the men come? He had a fifty-fifty chance of choosing the right side. He decided those odds weren’t good enough, not when his life was at stake.

  Benjie yanked open the dryer door and stuck his head inside. He would fit.

  He put one leg in, then sat in the dryer while he lifted the other leg in. He had to sit doubled over, with his knees drawn up under his chin.

  Leaning out, he grabbed the bottom of the door and pulled it almost all the way closed. He didn’t shut it completely because there wasn’t any handle on the inside and he feared he wouldn’t be able to get it open again. It wouldn’t do him any good to save himself from the bad guys only to suffocate in a clothes dryer.

  He felt like a pretzel, with his arms crossed under his knees and his shoulders hunched over.

  Instead of being smooth, like the outside of the appliances, the dryer drum had ridges every foot. When Benjie tried to lean back to get more comfortable, one of the ridges pressed into his backbone.

  It was black as midnight inside the dryer, and Benjie felt too confined. He had heard that some people get panicky in elevators or other small spaces, and he could see why.

  Seconds after he got inside the dryer, he heard the van approaching. For a brief moment its headlights lit up the small crack where the dryer door was open.

  Benjie held his breath. Keep going, he thought. Don’t stop.

  He heard the van pass. The crack of light dimmed and was dark again. He heard the crunch of the tires moving away.

  Benjie let his breath out.

  He waited, in case the van went by again. He didn’t know how many rows of storage units there were in this complex, but he was sure the bad guys would drive past all of them, looking for him.

  They knew he was on foot. They knew he couldn’t have gone too far. They might drive past all of the storage units more than once before they gave up and left without him. It would be a mistake to get out of the dryer too soon no matter how uncomfortable he was.

  Good spies are patient.

  Benjie sat as still as if he were a load of laundry forgotten in the dryer. He didn’t like being in there, but it was the only hiding place he had. A good spy does whatever is necessary to save a life, especially his own.

  He decided he would count to five hundred before he climbed out of the dryer. By then, surely the men would be gone.

  One, two, three . . .

  Benjie began the long count.

  * * *

  Gravel spun out from behind the van’s rear tires as Vance went around the corner from one row of storage units to the next.

  “Where IS he?” he asked. “We were only parked there for ten minutes. How far can a little kid get on foot in ten minutes?”

  Porker didn’t answer. He didn’t know where the kid was, and he didn’t know how far a boy could run in ten minutes. He knew only that his shoulder hurt where the cat had scratched him, his hand hurt where the cat had bit him, he had hunger pains, and now Vance was worked into a snit. Nothing about this day had turned out the way they had planned.

  “Let’s go,” Porker said. “Leave him here.”

  “We can’t. He said he got the license number.”

  “No little kid is going to remember a license number, especially when he’s scared out of his wits.”

  “He wasn’t too scared to get away from us. Even if he forgets the number, he can describe the van. He can identify us.”

  “Come on, Vance. Let’s leave. If you’re so worried about the van, we’ll ditch it. We’ll wipe it down so there aren’t any of our fingerprints inside, and we’ll report it as stolen. We’ll say it’s been missing a couple of hours. That’ll give us an alibi in case the kid does remember the license number.”

  “Sometimes you surprise me,” Vance said. “That isn’t a bad idea. We’ll get rid of the van and hot-wire a car to drive home in, and nobody will be able to connect us with the burglaries.”

  “Good. So let’s get out of here. I’m starving.”

  Vance made a U-turn and went back the way they had come.

  “What are you doing? The exit is the other direction.”

  “Did you see that washer and dryer that somebody left outside their unit?”

  “What about them?”

  “They looked almost new. No point in leaving a brandnew washer and dryer outside, asking to be stolen.”

  Porker groaned. “I’m tired, Vance. And I thought you were in a hurry to get rid of the van.”

  “It’ll only take us a couple of minutes to put those appliances in our own unit.” Vance saw the washer and dryer in the headlights again. He approached them slowly this time so he could get a better look. He pulled up beside the two appliances and stopped with the rear door of the van next to the washer.

  “We’ll get three hundred dollars for this set,” he said. “Not a bad profit for five minutes of work.”

  “I’ve worked enough today. My back hurts, and I’m hungry.”

  “Can’t you think of anything but food?”

  “Can’t you think of anything but money?”

  “Three hundred bucks will buy a lot of french fries. Besides, you owe me one for trying to keep that wild cat and getting us stuck with the kid in the first place.”

  “Oh, all right.” Porker opened his door and stepped out. “It’ll be faster to take them than to talk some sense into you.”

  Vance got out, too. Their shoes made a crunching sound on the gravel as they walked toward the washer and dryer.

  16

  Pete crouched on the porch steps while his tail swept wildly from side to side. He tried to hold it still, but when he was nervous his tail had a mind of its own, completely out of Pete’s control.

  Sirens and flashing lights and strangers talking were enough to make most cats run for their lives, but Pete stayed where he was. He was the only one who knew what had happened to Benjie. If he was going to help Benjie now, he needed every scrap of information he could get.

  He had given up trying to tell the people about Benjie and the van and the two men. Every time he spoke, they thought he wanted food. As if he could eat at a time like this!

  Pete listened as Alex told the sheriff and his deputy what had happened. Mrs. Sunburg told her part of the story, too, and before she had finished, Mrs. Kendrill drove up.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Everyone spoke at once, telling her about Benjie and about the burglary.

  “He’s still missing?” The color drained out of Mrs. Kendrill’s face, and she leaned against her car as if she might topple over without support.

  Sheriff Alvored made a call on his cell phone, reporting that Benjie was missing. Soon a second sheriff’s car pulled up behind the first one; Deputy Harper and Deputy Ebbin got out. Then Mr. Kendrill arrived, and the stories got told all over again.

  Mrs. Sunburg explained how nobody had answered the door when she came over to look for Benjie. “The cat was hurt, too,” she said. “When I called the police, I should have told them that Benjie lived in an area that’s been burglarized recently. Perhaps they would have come more quickly.” She twisted the bottom of her sweater as she talked.

  “It isn’t your fault, Gramma,” Mary said. “You did what you could.”

  “Do you have a rec
ent picture of Benjie?” one of the deputies asked. “One that we can take to give to the media?”

  “We have his new school picture,” Mrs. Kendrill said. “He brought the packet home on Friday, and I stuck the large one on the fridge. Come on in.”

  “Mary and I will go home,” Mrs. Sunburg said as the others headed for the house. “Call if we can help.”

  Rocky hesitated but stayed were he was.

  Alex could tell that Mary wanted to stay, too, but her grandma took her by the arm. “We don’t want to be in the way,” she said. “We’ve told them everything we know.”

  When the people started toward the front door, Pete jumped off the porch into the shrubbery, intending to wait until the last person went inside before he followed. There was less chance of getting accidentally stepped on if he went in last.

  He landed in the dirt beside one of the laurel bushes—and saw what looked like a word scratched in the dirt. Pete went closer, his nose to the ground. His whiskers twitched as he inhaled deeply.

  Benjie had been here. His scent was everywhere in these bushes, and a twig that lay in the dirt next to the word smelled strongly of Benjie, too.

  Pete crept to where he could see the word right side up, being careful not to step on any of the writing. He stood beside it, but it wasn’t a word he. recognized. He tried to sound it out in his mind and realized it wasn’t a regular word at all. Words are made of letters; this was both letters and numbers.

  0 9 4 X C L. Pete concentrated, trying to think where he had seen numbers and letters strung together like that.

  It’s a license-plate number, Pete realized. The cars and trucks all have a combination of letters and numbers on their license plates.

  Benjie must have seen the burglars and decided to spy on them. He hid from them here in the bushes, and he scratched this license number in the dirt using the twig for a pencil.

  Pete knew this was important evidence. He needed to show it to the humans. “Look what I found!” he yelled. He leaped back up on the porch steps and saw that he had waited too long. The front door was closed. All the people had gone inside.

  Pete pawed at the door. “Come out!” he called. “I found something that will help.”

  Alex opened the door. “Good boy,” he said. “You came home.”

  Pete did not go inside. He jumped off the porch and landed beside the laurel bush. “Come here,” he told Alex. “Look what I found.”

  “Get in here, Pete,” Alex said. “This is no time to play games. Benjie’s missing.”

  “I know all about it,” Pete said. “I saw it happen, and now I found what Benjie scratched in the dirt. Come down here and look.”

  “Do you want me to try to catch him?” Rocky asked.

  “No. He’d run from you.” Alex closed the door.

  Pete walked along the edge of the house to the corner, following Benjie’s scent, but found nothing else of importance.

  He went back to the front of the house and sat on the bottom step, waiting for the people to come out. It seemed to take much too long. What are they doing in there? Pete wondered.

  This calls for drastic action, Pete decided. He had to make one of the people look at what he’d found. He threw back his head and shrieked his most bloodcurdling yowl, the one that made it sound as if he were being attacked by a mountain lion.

  Alex flung open the door and rushed out, followed by Rocky. They stopped when they saw Pete on the step. “What’s the matter with you?” Alex said. “Get inside.”

  Pete backed out of Alex’s reach.

  “Is he hurt?” Rocky asked. “My mom’s home. She could drive him to the vet.”

  “I’m not going to the vet.” Pete went into the bushes again. “Look what I found,” he said.

  “If he won’t come in,” Alex said, “I’m not chasing him.” He slammed the door shut.

  Pete forgave Alex for being cranky. He knew Alex was worried about Benjie. People, like cats, are not at their best when they’re upset, and they sometimes say things they regret later.

  Pete sat down on the step and washed his sore ear while he waited.

  At last the door opened, and Sheriff Alvored came out. He stood in the open doorway talking to Mr. and Mrs. Kendrill, who were behind him.

  Sheriff Alvored had a colored photo of Benjie in one hand. He held it up, turning it to the light so that he got a better view.

  “It’s good to have such a recent picture,” he said. “I’ve had cases where the only photo the parents had of their child was two or three years old. Kids change a lot in two or three years. This will help a lot.”

  Pete looked at the sheriff, and at the photo. He could think of only one way to make the people follow him into the bushes so they would find the writing in the dirt.

  Pete took a deep breath and clenched his teeth, knowing it would hurt his sore leg to push off hard enough to jump as high as he needed to go. It’s a good thing he had practiced catapulting every day.

  He stared at the sheriff’s hand, taking aim.

  As the sheriff examined Benjie’s picture, Pete soared upward.

  Mrs. Kendrill screamed.

  Thud! Pete hit the sheriff’s chest, right above his badge. The sheriff automatically raised the hand that held the photo, to protect himself, while the other hand went for the gun in his holster. As Pete dropped backward, he snatched the picture in his teeth.

  Pete landed on his side, sending a sharp pain through his shoulder, but he couldn’t stop yet. He rolled off the edge of the porch toward the laurel bush, still holding the picture of Benjie in his teeth. He carried it under the bush, where the people couldn’t reach it without coming close to the writing.

  All the people talked at once.

  “What was that?” said Deputy Flick as he stepped outside and aimed his gun into the bushes toward Pete.

  “Don’t shoot!” said Alex. “It’s my cat!”

  “What is he, an attack cat?” asked Deputy Flick.

  “He took the picture of Benjie,” Sheriff Alvored said, shaking his head as if he didn’t quite believe what had just happened. “Grabbed it right out of my hand before I could react.”

  “Pete’s gone crazy,” Mr. Kendrill said. “Why would he take Benjie’s picture?”

  “He’s never done anything like that before,” Mrs. Kendrill told Sheriff Alvored. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. He startled me, that’s all, flying at me out of the blue like that. I saw him sitting there, but I thought he was a pet cat.”

  “He is,” Alex said. “But he’s acted crazy ever since I got home. He’s scratched and limping and there’s a tuft of fur missing on his neck. Something happened to him this afternoon.”

  “Come here!” yelled Pete. “Come in the bushes.”

  “Alex,” Mrs. Kendrill said, “get that picture away from Pete. Then bring him inside and lock him in the bathroom. We have enough trouble right now without him causing more.”

  “You sure that isn’t some kind of wild cat?” Deputy Flick said. “Listen to him. It’s enough to wake the dead.”

  “He’s scared,” Alex said.

  Alex and Rocky walked past the sheriff and his deputy, who were putting their guns away, and stepped off the porch into the bushes near Pete.

  Pete dropped the picture of Benjie right beside the place where Benjie had scratched numbers and letters in the dirt. He stood beside the photo, ready to grab it again if Alex didn’t notice the writing.

  “This isn’t funny, Pete,” Alex muttered. “The sheriff needs that picture.” He put his hand down to pick the picture up, but he was looking at Pete, not at the ground.

  Pete put both front paws on the picture and stood still. Now Alex couldn’t pick up the picture without first picking up Pete, and he would have to lean down more in order to do that.

  Alex bent over, stretched both hands toward Pete, and stopped. He looked at the dirt next to the photo.

  “Do you see it?” Pete said. “I think Benjie wrote it. He
was here. His scent is in the bushes.”

  “Did you get it?” Mrs. Kendrill said. “If not, I’ll get the smaller photos.”

  Alex turned to Rocky. “Look at this,” he said.

  Rocky squatted beside Pete. “It looks like a license number,” he said.

  “That’s what I thought,” Alex said. He picked up the picture, then beckoned to the sheriff. “You need to look at this,” he said. “Someone has written what seems to be a license number in the dirt under this bush.”

  Sheriff Alvored stood beside Alex while Rocky held back the laurel branches so the sheriff could get a better look.

  “This hasn’t been here long,” Sheriff Alvored said. “It’s right next to the downspout, so it would not be this distinct after water flowed across it. We had a hard rain this morning; this was written after that.”

  “Do you suppose Benjie hid in the bushes and spied on the burglars?” Rocky said.

  “It’s exactly the kind of thing he would do,” Alex said. “One of his books even suggests writing a license number in the dirt if you don’t have pencil and paper available. I remember reading that part to him.”

  “Yes,” Pete said. “Now you’re catching on.”

  “He isn’t going to attack me again, is he?” asked Sheriff Alvored.

  “No,” Alex said. “I think he took the picture as a way to make us look under the bush.”

  The sheriff raised his eyebrows as he looked at Alex, then at Pete, then back to Alex.

  “Take this down,” he said to the deputy. “Zero, nine, four, X, C, L.”

  Deputy Flick wrote the numbers and letters down. Then Deputy Flick spoke into his phone. “We’re issuing an all-points bulletin for this license number.” He repeated the number twice. “The occupants may have a hostage, a seven-year-old boy. Use extreme care.”

  Alex handed the photo of Benjie to the sheriff, who gave it to Deputy Harper.

  “We’ll scan it and send it out right now,” Deputy Harper said. She and her partner headed to their car. “Then we’ll cruise the area.”

  Mr. Kendrill said, “You have a computer in the patrol car?”

  “Deputy Harper is a computer genius,” Deputy Flick said. “Her car is a portable office.”