Riley Mack and the Other Known Troublemakers

  Before they entered the Pizza Palace, they needed a few details for their final script.

  “Jake, what’d you dig up?”

  Jake swiped his fingers across his smartphone. “Matching that beagle pup through my dad’s facial-identification software, I pegged Grandma Brown’s internet portal.”

  Jake’s dad was a bigger technogeek than he was. He worked for the federal government crunching top secret, cutting-edge code that did something to keep America safe. His mom? She was a professor of metamathematics, the study of mathematics itself using mathematical methods. Jake had very smart genes.

  “It’s a dog ranch called Pampered Pedigree Pooches.”

  “Good work.” Riley turned to Briana. “You got your lines down?”

  “Totally. But I’ll probably do some improv, make it my own.”

  “I’m sticking to the script,” said Mongo, dabbing at the sweat glistening on his brow. Reciting lines always made him nervous so, whenever possible, they tried to keep his lines simple.

  “I see Nick inside,” said Riley. “Remember, everything we say can and will go directly back to the Browns.”

  The four of them entered the Pizza Palace and ambled up to the counter. They placed their orders and carried their slices back to their usual booth. It wasn’t long before busboy Nick was hovering near their table again, taking his sweet time cleaning up the trash in the neighboring booth.

  Riley touched the right side of his nose with his right index finger.

  Mongo glanced at his palm, where he had written his lines with a marker.

  “So, Mongo,” Riley started, “your mom got Noodle back?”

  “Yes. She paid the reward. One thousand dollars.”

  “To a bounty hunter named Alligator Hide McBride,” said Briana, “who is, like, totally awesome. She roams the country helping people find their lost pets. I think they’re going to make a movie about her!”

  “And now your mom bought Noodle an electric shock collar?” said Riley.

  “Yes,” said Mongo, using a napkin to blot more sweat from his brow. “She did.”

  “I hear electric shock collars are awesome,” said Jake. “They don’t harm the dog, who wears a grounding wire on her front paw, but if a stranger tries to touch the dog and isn’t wearing the properly encoded device on his key chain, he gets jolted with over a jillion gigawatts of milliamperes.”

  “Yes,” said Mongo. He glanced at his palm, where the ink was smearing with sweat. “It’s a very effective detergent.”

  “You mean deterrent?” said Riley.

  “Yes. What Riley said.”

  Now Nick moseyed over to their booth, his bus tray slung against his hip.

  “You done with that?” He pointed to Jake’s plate, which still had a full slice of Hawaiian pizza sitting on it.

  “Um, no.”

  Nick nodded. “Say, I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.”

  Riley let a small smirk glide across his face.

  “Did your mom really pay somebody one thousand dollars to get back her puppy?”

  Mongo nodded like a bobblehead baseball doll.

  “Alligator Hide McBride,” added Briana. “She’s famous.”

  “Wow,” said Nick. “A thousand bucks. That’s whacked.”

  Riley touched the left side of his nose with his left index finger. Time for act 2. Mongo exhaled a giant sigh of relief; Briana was the star of the next bit.

  “You think that’s whacked,” she said. “I have a super-wealthy cousin from Texas and she’s coming to town this Wednesday and she says she’s heard about this awesome kennel near here called Pampered Pedigree Pooches where they have the most fabtastic puppies and she is willing to spend ten thousand dollars for this one beagle she saw on their website.”

  “Really?” said Nick, dollar signs flashing in his eyes.

  “Yunh-huh. Of course, her father won’t let her buy a puppy over the internet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, in Texas, they like to ‘look a man in the eye’ when they buy stuff. So, he’ll give her ten thousand dollars but only if she can meet the breeder people at Pampered Pedigree Pooches in person.”

  Riley could see the wheels in Nick’s head spinning.

  “Isn’t that ka-ray-zee?” Briana rattled on. “Ten thousand dollars for a dog? Of course, her father makes billions pumping oil, so ten thousand dollars is probably what they use for toilet paper every day. Just take a stack of bills to the bathroom….”

  “You know,” said Nick, “I actually know somebody who knows somebody who works at that dog ranch you’re talking about.”

  “No! Way!” said Briana.

  “Yep. I could make a few calls. See if a face-to-face could be arranged.”

  “Fab-tastic! Okay, it has to be an appointment after dark on Wednesday because Beulah’s plane doesn’t even land until late.”

  “Beulah?” said Nick.

  “That’s my cousin. Oh—and this is important—tell your friend’s friend that Beulah has to meet with them inside some sort of house, not the actual kennel.”

  Nick’s expression brightened. “She doesn’t want to see the kennels?”

  “No way. She has nyctoagoraphobia. She’s afraid of the outdoors at night.”

  “And you swear her father will pay ten thousand dollars for one puppy?”

  “Maybe more. In cash!”

  “Hang on. I’ll make a couple calls.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Nick handed Briana a napkin with an address scribbled on it.

  “It’s all set up. Nine o’clock. Wednesday night.”

  “Great! Will you be there, Nick?”

  “Me? No. I don’t work there or anything. I just have this friend who has a friend.”

  Briana batted her eyes. “Fabtastic!”

  Riley and his crew spent the rest of Monday and all day Tuesday putting together the final pieces of the plan.

  Riley consulted with Ms. Grabowski about equipment needs and learned that her boyfriend, a crazy animal-rights activist named Andrew—who once chained himself to a supermarket lobster tank, demanding that the seafood department set the crustaceans free, and was already planning a protest of the next Alvin and the Chipmunks movie because it exploited its young rodent stars—was a limo driver out at the airport.

  “He’d really like to help you guys out,” she said.

  Andrew was in.

  So was Dr. Langston at the Humane Society. The vet agreed to treat any “sick strays” Ms. Grabowski just happened to find that week, no questions asked.

  Meanwhile, Jake set to work figuring out the volumetrics in the back of the Mr. Guy’s truck. Then he helped Ms. Grabowski load and outfit it.

  Jamal was busy printing up permission slips and take-home announcements for a bogus fifth grade field trip on Saturday.

  And Mongo?

  He had about fifty pounds of beef to thaw.

  32

  WEDNESDAY NIGHT WAS GAVIN BROWN’S third night of dog duty at his grandmother’s kennel.

  He would be sleeping in a pup tent set up in the path between dog coops. The first two nights, whenever he rolled over in his sleeping bag, the ground underneath the tent squished. It also smelled like dog poop. By morning, so did Gavin. People at school asked him if he was using a new body wash.

  But on Wednesday night, Gavin still hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask his grandmother to help him find a goldendoodle for Rebecca Drake.

  Rebecca.

  It was the memory of Rebecca on the sidelines of the baseball game that kept Gavin going on these long, poop-stinky nights when the five dozen dogs locked in their cages kept whining and whimpering while he tried to fall asleep.

  Like a lovesick puppy, he shrugged his shoulders and sighed.

  His grandmother came stomping into the dog yard with a plastic-wrapped package of peanut butter crackers. She was wearing some kind of fancy safari outfit, like she worked at a zoo or something. Gavin figured it was her official dog-sell
ing uniform.

  “Here’s your dinner,” she said, chucking him the bright-orange crackers.

  “Thanks, Grandma. Why are you dressed like Dora the Explorer?”

  “Because tonight I need to look like I actually enjoy working with animals!” She spit a juicy brown loogie at a pile of dog poop under the beagle hutch. “And tonight you need to be extra vigilant!”

  “Okay,” he said, even though he had no idea what vigilant meant.

  “Our queen bee arrived this afternoon.” His grandma gestured toward a large crate sitting next to the even larger cage holding Apricot.

  “Who’s the new dog?” he asked.

  “Ginger.”

  “She’s pretty.”

  “She dang well better be. She cost me fifteen hundred bucks.”

  “Wow. What kind of dog is she? Another poodle?”

  “Nope. She’s our new goldendoodle.”

  Gavin felt his heart leap up into his throat.

  A goldendoodle!

  He couldn’t believe his luck! He had just found Rebecca her dog!

  “Don’t let anyone touch her, and that includes you.”

  “Yes, Grandma.”

  That was the first time Gavin Brown ever lied to his grandmother.

  Well, the first time that day.

  A few hundred yards away, on the other side of the dark trees ringing the secluded puppy mill, Jenny Grabowski backed the Mr. Guy’s Pet Supplies truck up the rutted dirt road to the padlocked gate.

  Riley, Jamal, and Mongo hopped out of the cab. Yes, it had been a tight fit on the bench seat.

  The three guys ran around to the rear of the truck to slide out the loading ramp.

  “When I give you the signal, roll up the cargo door,” Riley said to Mongo.

  “Okay. Can I wear the mask?”

  “What mask?”

  With a great deal of squeakage, Mongo pulled a rolled-up rubber Frankenstein mask out of his jeans. “I figured I’d be like Nick when he stole Noodle.”

  “We’re not stealing these dogs,” said Riley. “We are simply aiding them in their voluntary flight to freedom.”

  “Oh.” There was a moment of silence. “So, can I wear the mask?”

  “Sure, Mongo. Enjoy.” Riley turned to Jamal. “You ready to pop open a few cages?”

  “Definitely. Only no crawling around underneath this time, hear?”

  “Not unless we have to.”

  “By we you mean you, right? Cause these are new pants, man.”

  Riley turned back to Mongo.

  “When the dogs go in, help them find a berth.”

  “Got it.” Mongo’s voice was muffled because he had put on the Frankenstein mask.

  “Try to keep things cozy. No crowding.”

  That’s when Riley’s earpiece buzzed.

  “This is Riley. Talk to me.”

  “Riley?”

  “Oh, hi, Mom.”

  “Is that how you always answer your cell?”

  “Only when I’m totally psyched about a math problem.” He gestured for everybody to stay quiet. Fortunately, the crickets were cooperating.

  “That’s why I’m calling. You forgot your math book.”

  Riley thought quickly. “That’s okay. Jake’s mom has it.”

  “Dr. Lowenstein has MathThematics?”

  “Mom—she’s a math professor. She has ’em all.”

  “You’re home by eleven, right?”

  “Right. Mr. Lowenstein said he’d give me a ride.”

  “All right. Study hard. I miss you.”

  “Miss you, too, Mom.”

  He thumbed off the call and checked his watch. He had an eleven o’clock curfew because it was Wednesday, a school night. That meant the Gnat Pack, aided by two willing adults, had less than two hours to pull off Operation Doggy Duty. Riley realized being a kid made this caper business a whole lot harder than it probably needed to be.

  Now Ms. Grabowski strolled around to the rear of the vehicle. She looked troubled.

  “Um, Riley?”

  “Yes, Ms. Grabowski.”

  “That five hundred dollars I took out of the cash register…”

  “Don’t worry. Briana will bring it back.”

  “Good. Because while Andrew and I are totally happy to help you guys because we both believe in animal rescue—even slightly illegal animal rescue—my boss has no idea we’re using his truck or his money or the fact that we’re, basically, stealing the police chief’s mother’s property….”

  “I told you: we’ll only take the dogs who willingly choose to climb into the back of this truck. And the cash is just a prop to help Briana establish her Texas oil tycoon cred. We won’t lose a single bill.”

  “Right, right. But when can Mr. Guy have his truck back for deliveries?”

  “You told him about the gas and brake pedal problems? The recall alert?”

  “Yes. I read the whole script you and Briana wrote. He knows we have to keep the truck off the road until the safety inspector comes by to check it out next week.”

  “Then we’re all good,” Riley said with great confidence, even though his stomach was churning. This was his biggest operation ever. He had never had this many plates up in the air, spinning on poles, before. He just hoped he wouldn’t be spending the rest of his life sweeping up broken dishes if everything came crashing down around him.

  “We’re good for a week, Riley,” said Ms. Grabowski, sounding just about as stressed as Riley felt.

  But, he couldn’t let it show. The guy running a mission never could. His dad had taught him that, too.

  “A week should be all we need, Ms. G.” Riley grinned, gave her a jaunty two-finger salute, and snapped his night vision goggles down into place. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Jamal and I have to go accidentally pop open a few locks.”

  33

  “THERE IT IS!” SAID BRIANA from the backseat of the black stretch limousine.

  She figured this was how she’d be riding around Hollywood someday soon. Only she wouldn’t have the red chaser lights on the floor. They were kind of tacky and made the limo look like a rolling disco. But she’d definitely keep the free soda and snacks in the fridge.

  “You guys? That’s four sixty-seven Sweetbriar.”

  The divider window scrolled down.

  “We see it,” said Jake, who was riding up front with Andrew, the driver. Jake had a huge battery-powered boom box sitting on his lap.

  As they pulled into the gravel driveway, Andrew, a college guy with beatnik facial hair, gave Briana a righteous power-to-the-people fist pump. “Save the puppies, sister!”

  “Will do, bro,” said Briana.

  Jake touched his Bluetooth earpiece. “Riley? We are in position. You ready to rock?”

  “Ready,” Briana heard Riley’s voice leaking out of Jake’s ear. She wasn’t wearing her Bluetooth. Didn’t go with the whole Rich Texas Kid costume.

  “You ready, Bree?” asked Jake.

  She nodded. Fluffed up her teased-out bubble of big hair. “Let’s do this thing.”

  Porch lights flipped on at the house.

  Briana waited for the chauffeur to come around and open her door.

  “Miss Bloomfield?” croaked the cranky woman waiting on the stoop.

  “Yeah, howdy,” she said, straightening her rhinestone-studded cowgirl hat and turning to Andrew. “I’m fixin’ to head on up to the house,” she drawled. “So y’all jest squat on your spurs a spell, hear?”

  Andrew clicked his heels and bowed. The guy was good. A natural.

  Briana glided up the crackled walkway to where Grandma Brown eagerly awaited. The old woman was decked out in some kind of khaki outfit with lots of pockets and a pith helmet. Maybe she used to work the Jungle Cruise ride at Disney World.

  Briana elegantly extended her hand. “I’m Beulah B. Bloomfield. Might I assume that you are the proprietress of Pampered Pedigree Pooches?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Charmed, I’m sure.”
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  “Where are your parents?”

  “Oh, Daddy is busy drilling for oil. ‘Drill, baby, drill,’ as they say.”

  “And your mother?”

  “Shopping for furs and diamonds.”

  “At night?”

  “Yes, ma’am. The stores are a heap less crowded after they’re closed to the ‘general public.’”

  “You bring money, girl?”

  “I sure ’nuff did. Shall we step inside? As you might have heard, I suffer from a very severe case of nyctoagoraphobia.” She dug into her purse and found a fifty-dollar bill to nervously dab at her brow. “And here I am. Outside. At night. Oh, my. I feel about as jumpy as spit on a skillet.”

  “This way,” said Grandma Brown, her surliness softened by Briana’s flash of cash.

  “Thank you kindly,” said Briana as she strode into the house. The instant the door closed behind her, she knew Jake would slip out of the limo with the boom box and head for the shrubs underneath the big bay windows.

  “Can we sit over there, y’all?” Briana gestured toward a sofa pressed up against those windows.

  “Sure. Take a load off. I printed out the puppy pages from the website. Put ’em in that binder there on the coffee table.”

  Briana sat on the couch and opened the hastily tossed-together scrapbook. “Oh, my! So many choices! Why, I don’t know whether to scratch my watch or wind my butt.”

  Suddenly, a very dramatic lady started emoting right outside the window. Actually, she was an opera singer doing an aria by Puccini. When she hit a weird note, the windowpanes rattled.

  “O mio babbino caro…”

  “What in blazes is that?” said Grandma Brown.

  “Oh, that’s just my chauffeur,” said Briana, practically shouting. “He loves him a good opera.”

  “Mi piace, è bello, bello…”

  “Could you tell him to turn it down?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I could, but he wouldn’t do it. He’s deaf as a post. I reckon he listened to too much dadgum opera when he was a young ’un.” Briana fished a one-hundred-dollar bill out of her purse, rolled it up tight, and proceeded to pick her teeth with it. This second flash of cash helped Grandma Brown ignore the booming opera music right outside her window.