Home Alone 2

  Gradually, the shock began to wear off. That's right, he thought. Those jerks are in Florida . . . I'm in New York.

  A big smile grew on Kevin's face. Hey! This could be great!

  December 23

  Miami Airport, Florida

  1:25 P.M.

  The McCallister clan stood around the baggage carousel, staring out the windows. They could see a few palm trees and one or two senior citizens. But mostly they saw rain . . . thick sheets of it pouring down like a waterfall.

  "Great way to start a vacation," Kate said with a sigh.

  "Look at it this way," Peter said. "It can't get worse." The bags were starting to come down the chute and Kate turned back to the carousel.

  "Everybody takes their own luggage!" she shouted.

  As the first bag came around, Peter picked it up and read the name tag. "Give this to Kevin," he said, passing the bag to Kate, who gave it to Leslie.

  "Give this to Kevin," Leslie said, giving the bag to Rod.

  "This is for Kevin," said Rod, who gave the bag to Megan.

  "It's Kevin's bag." Megan handed the bag to Fuller.

  Fuller took the bag and turned to give it to Kevin, but Kevin wasn't there. Fuller turned to Brooke instead.

  "Kevin's not here," he said, giving her the bag.

  Brooke gave the bag to Sondra, who gave it to Linnie.

  "Kevin's not here," Sondra said.

  Linnie gave the bag to Kate, who was busy passing out the other bags.

  "Kevin's not here," said Linnie.

  "Kevin's not here," Kate said as she handed the bag back to Peter.

  Peter stared at her.

  "What'd you say?"

  "I said . . ." Kate's eyes went wide and she screamed. "Kevin!"

  The Miami Airport police were housed in a small green cinder block office near the main terminal. Kate and Peter sat in two uncomfortable wooden chairs across a desk from a heavyset, red-faced officer named Bennett, who was making notes on a yellow legal pad.

  "Where did you last see your son?" Officer Bennett asked.

  "In O'Hare Airport," Peter said. "We dropped the bags off curbside and he came into the terminal with us."

  "Most people get separated at security checkpoints," Bennett said. "Are you sure he got through security?"

  "I don't know," Kate said, looking quizzically at Peter.

  "We were late for our plane," Peter explained. "Everyone ran to the gate."

  Bennett nodded. "And when did you notice your son was missing, ma'am?"

  "Uh, not until we picked up our baggage here," Kate said.

  "I see." Bennett wrote something on the pad. "Has the boy ever run away from home?"

  "Absolutely not," Peter said.

  "Has he ever been in a situation where he's been on his own?" the police officer asked.

  "As a matter of fact, this has happened before," Kate admitted with a nervous laugh. "It's sort of become a family tradition."

  "Oddly enough we never lose our luggage," Peter added.

  Bennett raised a curious eyebrow.

  "He was left home by accident last year," Kate explained.

  "That's what my wife meant about the family tradition," Peter added.

  Officer Bennett nodded. "We'll call Chicago and notify them of the situation. The odds are that's where he is. It's very unlikely he'd be anywhere else."

  December 23

  New York City

  2 P.M.

  In the backseat of a taxicab crawling through traffic, Kevin studied a New York City street map. He'd just visited the World Trade Center and done some sightseeing in Chinatown. Central Park was his next stop, but as he got out at the corner of 59th Street and Fifth Avenue, his attention was diverted by a grand-looking hotel with tall columns and polished brass doors. A well-dressed man in a gray topcoat and a woman wearing a fur were standing under the flag-lined portico.

  "The Plaza Hotel." Kevin imitated Ben Brenner's voice. "New York's most exciting hotel experience!"

  Kevin was just about to cross the street into the park when he saw a woman with long stringy gray hair and dirty disheveled clothes coming toward him. A bunch of mangy New York pigeons were perched on her head and shoulders, and dozens more clustered on the sidewalk around her feet.

  "Oh, sick!" Kevin was disgusted by the sight, and quickly turned away. He could visit Central Park later.

  Not many blocks away two other recent arrivals to the Big Apple were taking in the sights. Wearing stolen clothes and wool caps, the escaped convicts Marv Murchens and Harry Lyme strolled through a bustling Manhattan fish market past dozens of white-coated workers unloading cargo from trucks.

  Harry stopped and sniffed the cold winter air. "Smell that, Marv?"

  Marv wrinkled his nose. "Yeah."

  "You know what it is?" Harry asked.

  "Fish." Marv replied, looking around.

  "It's freedom," Harry said.

  Marv scratched his head and sniffed again. "No, Harry, I'm telling you it's fish."

  "It's freedom," Harry insisted. "And money."

  Marv suspected the year they'd spent in jail had affected his partner's mind in strange ways, but he knew better than to argue.

  "Okay. It's freedom and money. But it's also fish . . ." Marv pointed at a man pushing a hand truck loaded with crates of fresh cabbage. "And cabbage."

  Harry gave Marv a look. Sometimes he couldn't believe how dumb the guy was. "Come on, let's get going."

  "Where?" Marv asked.

  "Someplace where it just smells of freedom, not fish," Harry said.

  The two escaped convicts left the fish market and walked along a street lined with tall buildings.

  "So what's the plan?" Marv asked as he wrapped some double-sided masking tape around his fingertips.

  "We gotta get out of the country before the cops track us down," Harry said. "I figure we have time for one big score. Then we buy some phony passports and split for good."

  Ahead of them on the sidewalk, a man wearing a fake white beard and a Santa suit was ringing a bell.

  "Please contribute to the New York Children's Hospital," he said, pointing to a small bucket full of change on a folding table. As people passed they dropped coins into the bucket. As Marv and Harry passed, Marv stuck his hand into the bucket.

  "How do you like that?" Marv asked a few steps later, showing Harry the coins stuck to the tape on his fingers.

  Harry couldn't believe what he was seeing. Stuck to his partner's fingers was a dime and four pennies. "That's really smart, Marv. Bust out of jail, hop a truck, ride seven hundred miles to New York to swipe fourteen cents off a Santy Claus."

  "Every little bit helps." Marv peeled the coins off. "And you know what? Now we got ourselves a new name. No more Wet Bandits. From now on, we're the Sticky Bandits."

  "That's very cute," Harry said, rolling his eyes. It was moments like these that made him think he should be working alone.

  Not far away, Kevin was also walking down the sidewalk, unable to get the memory of that disgusting pigeon lady out of his mind. It was so gross. Why would anyone let pigeons hang all over them like that? The thought made him shiver as he waited in a crowd of holiday shoppers for the light to change. The streets were backed up with traffic, and everyone was honking their horns. The "walk" light came on and Kevin followed the other pedestrians weaving in and out of the cars stuck in the intersection.

  Across the street, Harry and Marv also stepped off the curb. Seconds later, in the middle of the intersection, Kevin squeezed between the bumpers of two cars and brushed past the escaped cons. Suddenly Harry stopped and turned around. He caught a glimpse of a kid with blond hair.

  Naw, he thought, it couldn't be.

  "What's the matter?" Marv asked.

  Harry shook his head. "Thought I saw something."

  Marv looked over his shoulder. Seeing nothing, he turned and accidentally bumped into the back of a woman wearing a short, dark coat.

  The woman turned and glared at him. S
he had straight blonde hair and sunglasses and looked like a fashion model.

  "Oh, uh, sorry," Marv automatically apologized. But when he saw how pretty she was, he grinned.

  Whap! She slapped him in the face and walked away.

  "Hey, Marv." Harry couldn't help smiling. "Anyone ever tell you ya got less brains than a toadstool?"

  December 23

  Miami Airport

  2-30 PM

  Officer Bennett was on the phone. On the other side of the desk, Kate tapped her fingers nervously and Peter gnawed on his thumbnail. Just because Kevin had miraculously defended himself against two vicious criminals at home the year before didn't mean he could survive on his own in O'Hare Airport.

  Bennett hung up and shook his head. "Sorry, folks. The police at O'Hare haven't seen him."

  Kate and Peter stared at each other. What if Kevin had been kidnapped? Kate slumped down in the chair, sick with worry. Peter placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  "Do either of you have a recent photo of the boy?" Bennett asked.

  "I have one." Peter reached into his pocket for his wallet, but it wasn't there. "My wallet's gone.

  "Where could it be?" Kate asked.

  "It was in my travel bag."

  "Where's that?" Bennett asked.

  Peter rubbed his chin and thought. "The last I remember, Kevin wanted it at the airport. He was looking for batteries."

  "You think he took it?" Kate asked.

  "I bet he did," Peter said.

  "Then he could have your wallet," Bennett said. "Were there credit cards in it?"

  "Sure," Peter said. "Credit cards, money, my address book, a camera . . ."

  "We'll notify the credit card companies." Bennett picked up the phone and started dialing. "If your son uses any of the cards we'll be able to get a location on him."

  Kate shook her head wearily. "I don't think Kevin even knows how to use a credit card."

  December 23

  Tme Plaza Hotel

  3:00 P.M.

  If Kevin was going to spend his vacation in New York, he'd need a place to stay. So why not try New York's most exciting hotel experience? As he stepped through the huge brass doors of the Plaza Hotel and into the lobby, he could see that this was his kind of place.

  Several stories above him hung a giant crystal chandelier. The walls were covered with antique tapestries, and in tables all around him were elaborate floral displays in huge blue and white Chinese vases. Kevin pressed the "play" button on the Talkboy: "Guests of the new Celebrity Ding-Dang-Dong! stay at the world renowned Plaza Hotel. It's New York's most exciting hotel experience. For reservations call toll-free 1-800-759-3000."

  Kevin clicked off the Talkboy and smiled. I'll do just that, he thought.

  To the left of the lobby he found a row of telephones along one wall. Unfortunately, the phones were just out of reach. But Kevin quickly found a solution—he piled two thick phone books on the floor and stood on them. Getting the Plaza to accept a room reservation from a kid was going to take a bit of ingenuity, but with the help of his Talkboy, Kevin thought he could do it.

  He had just finished preparing the Talkboy for the call when a woman wearing a gray suit and carrying a black leather briefcase stepped up to the phone next to his. Kevin noticed she was staring at him.

  "You know, in bathrooms they have little toilets for kids," Kevin said. "I guess the people who make phone booths don't care as much about kids as the people who make toilets. Excuse me, I have a call to make."

  The woman quickly moved several phones away. Kevin dialed the 800 number for room reservations and set the Talkboy next to the phone. As soon as the reservations agent answered, he hit the "play" button and pressed his finger against the cassette tape, slowing it down so that his voice sounded deep and mature.

  "Hello, this is Peter McCallister. The father. I'd like to have a hotel room, please. With an extra large bed and a TV and one of those little refrigerators with food in it that you have to open with a key."

  Kevin pressed the "pause" button.

  "Do you have a credit card, sir?" the reservations agent asked.

  Kevin pressed "play": "A credit card? You got it."

  The next thing the reservations agent heard was the account number on Peter McCallister's Visa card. A few seconds later, Kevin had his reservation. Next stop: the hotel reception counter.

  Kevin crossed the lobby. A workman with a buffing machine was polishing the floor and making it so slick Kevin slipped and almost fell.

  "Watch it, son," the man said.

  Kevin regained his balance and walked more carefully. On the other side of the lobby, the reception counter was even higher than the one at the airport. Kevin pulled himself up until he could see over it. A female clerk with reddish brown hair stared back at him curiously. From the gold plate on her black dress Kevin knew her name was Ms. Acivedo.

  "Can I help you?" she asked.

  "Reservation for McCallister," Kevin said.

  "A reservation for yourself?" Ms. Acivedo frowned.

  Kevin had anticipated that question. "Are you serious? My feet aren't even touching the ground. I'm not tall enough to look over this counter. Think about it. A kid coming into a hotel and making a reservation? Not on this planet, ma'am."

  Ms. Acivedo's neatly plucked eyebrows rose. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

  "I'm traveling with my dad," Kevin explained. "He's at a business meeting right now. I hate going to his meetings because he always makes me sit in the waiting room. So he dropped me off here and gave me his credit card. He said you should check me into the room so I don't get into mischief."

  Kevin slid his father's Visa card across the counter and held his breath while Ms. Acivedo inspected it. She seemed to take a long time.

  Oh-oh, he thought. Maybe I did something wrong. He was just getting ready to run when Ms. Acivedo slid the card into a small machine and imprinted a credit ticket. Then she handed the card back to him.

  All right! Kevin slid the credit card into his pocket. It worked!

  Ms. Acivedo called for a bellman. Then she turned again to Kevin. "Do you have any luggage?"

  "Just these." Kevin held up the brown travel bag and his backpack.

  Ms. Acivedo smiled. "I hope you'll enjoy your stay with us. And when your dad arrives remind him that he has to come down and sign a couple of things."

  "My pleasure." Kevin smiled. "You've been most helpful."

  A young bellman appeared at the counter. He was wearing a dark jacket with tails, a white shirt with a black bow tie, and white gloves.

  "Please show young Mr. McCallister to his room," Ms. Acivedo said, handing the bellman a key.

  "This way, sir." The bellman picked up the travel bag and backpack.

  Cool, Kevin thought as he slid a stick of Juicy Fruit gum into his mouth and followed the bellman to an elevator. Seconds later they stepped out onto one of the upper floors. Kevin followed the bellman down the hall and into a large suite overlooking Central Park.

  This is great! Kevin smiled as he walked across the living room and looked into the bedroom. Inside was a large TV, a minibar with a small refrigerator, and a bed that looked bigger than the one his parents had at home.

  Kevin grinned. A huge bed, all for me!

  He opened the refrigerated minibar. Inside was an assortment of drinks and snacks. Kevin smiled. How convenient!

  Next he pushed open the bathroom door. Inside was a whirlpool bathtub, a shower, and a smaller TV. Luxurious! And spacious!

  Kevin returned to the living room. The bellman was waiting by the door.

  "Is the temperature all right for you, sir?" the bellman asked.

  "It's okay," Kevin said.

  "You know that there's a second door out to the hall from the bedroom in case you want to go out that way."

  "Uh, thanks," Kevin replied. He sensed that the bellman was stalling, but he couldn't figure out why.

  "You know how the TV works?" the bellman asked.

/>   "I'm ten years old," Kevin said. "TV is my life."

  "Of course." The bellman smiled. "Did you know that the hotel rents movies? Dial seventy-seven and they'll send up a catalog."

  "Okay, great," Kevin said. But the bellman still didn't move from the door. Kevin didn't understand it.

  "Well . . ." The bellman rubbed his thumb against his fingers. Kevin remembered the skycap doing that at O'Hare Airport. Now he understood. The man wanted a tip. Kevin reached into his shirt, pulled out a stick of Juicy Fruit and gave it to him.

  "And there's a lot more where that came from," he said with a wink.

  "Uh, thank you, sir." The bellman smiled crookedly and left.

  Since the Plaza was a luxury hotel, Kevin decided to investigate the amenities. After a rigorous cannonball session in the pool, he retired to the men's locker room to take some steam. Inside the steam room was a wooden three-tiered bench. Wrapped in a fluffy white towel, Kevin climbed up to the third tier and relaxed. Everything was going quite wonderfully until two men entered the steam room and took seats below him. The room was so cloudy that Kevin had only seen the tops of their heads. He doubted they'd even noticed him.

  "I tell you," one of them said. "The marketing director over at Skilling and Ross is pretty great-looking."

  "I know who you're talking about," said the other. "She's . . ."

  "Excuse me," Kevin quickly interrupted. "If you guys are going to use bad words, I'll have to leave. I promised my grandmother I'd never listen to that kind of talk."

  "Sorry," the first man said. "We didn't know you were in here."

  "It's okay," Kevin replied.

  "So, uh . . . you see the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center this year?" the second man asked the first.

  "Yeah," said the first. "It's bigger than ever."

  They chatted for a few minutes more. Then the steam momentarily parted and Kevin caught a glimpse of something that puzzled him. "Uh, excuse me again."

  The men turned around and looked up at him.

  "Are you guys naked?" Kevin asked.