Agent Angus (6 page)

Shahid frowns and mutters, “Yeah.”

“What?” I say loudly.

“I said, yeah.” Shahid has caught on and increased his volume.

I grin at him and yell, “I wonder what he put in that stink bomb.”

Shahid yells back, “Whatever it was, it sure was smelly.”

“Too bad,” and then I lower my voice and deliberately garble the next word, “Jasackolon,” and I return to yelling, “Got caught.”

“No kidding,” Shahid shouts. Then he makes his fake name quiet too. “Roboley,” he turns up the volume, “thought he'd get away with it.”

The toilet flushes and we hold our breath. Grunt emerges. He squints at us and says, “Ergh. You guys. Hah. That idjit Rolf deserved to get caught. Nyuh.” And he leaves.

Shahid doesn't display his usual stricken face. He simply casts a sad look at the soap dispenser and sighs. “Did he say Rolf?” he asks.

“That's what I heard,” I reply. “The question now is, is Rolf his actual name? Or is that a Grunt-ism?”

“Hard to say.”

“Yeah.” I ponder deeply for a moment, and then snap my fingers. “I saw Scrawny talking to someone that day, just before he got nabbed by Principal Garnet. If we could ask that guy if he knows a Rolf…but then we'd have to find
him
too
.
”

Shahid emits another weary sigh. If he keeps that up, I may have to mention that it's not a pleasant habit.

But I ignore that for now because my brain is doing that thing again. It knows something that it's not telling me. I concentrate fiercely. I picture Scrawny Rolf outside the school on stink-bomb day. I see him and then, very clearly, I see his friend. “Aha!” I grin at Shahid. “I know where to find them. Do you remember those guys that always hang around the corner store?”

Shahid's eyes widen. “Those guys?”

I nod triumphantly. “You got it. We'll go there after school.”

Chapter Eleven

Our quarry is in sight. Scrawny Rolf and his sidekick are leaning against the brick wall at the corner store, sucking back slushies. Shahid and I have taken up position across the street. We're lurking behind a mailbox.

“Now what?” Shahid asks.

“Well,” I say, “we continue to observe.”

“You don't know what to do, do you?”

He's right. I don't know what we should do. Part of me wants to march over there and demand that Scrawny Rolf hand over Ella's sketchbook. But clearly, he doesn't have the sketchbook on him. He's so skinny, if he held the book to his chest it would stick out on either side of his rib cage. The surprising fact is, I'm bigger than him.

The same can't be said about his buddy. That guy isn't much taller than me, but he's as wide and solid as a bulldog.

“Angus?” Shahid asks. “What do you want to do?”

“I'm thinking,” I say. “On the one hand, we could go over there and interrogate him right now. Or we could wait until they split up.” I realize I like my second idea very much. “They're bound to go home sooner or later. And when they do, we'll follow Rolf.”

“And then what?”

“Jeez, Shahid. What do you think?” I ask.

Shahid emits his weary sigh.

“If you don't stop that,” I say, “I'm going to get very annoyed.”

“Stop what?”

“All that sighing. It's getting on my nerves. You sound like an old man who's…I don't know. Tired of the world.”

He says, “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Forget it,” I mutter. “Look, all we have to do is follow Rolf. If he's still got the sketchbook, he probably stashed it at home. So we'll have to go there to get it anyway.”

“What do you mean, ‘if he's still got it'? Why wouldn't he have it?”

I answer in a somber tone. “We have to be prepared for the possibility that he destroyed it.”

“Oh,” Shahid says. “That would suck for Ella.”

“It would.” I glare across the street at Scrawny Rolf. “He'd better not—Look! They're leaving.”

“Yeah,” Shahid hisses. “And they're coming straight for us.”

My first impulse is to duck behind the mailbox. That's a bad idea. The mailbox isn't big enough to hide us. “Start walking,” I urge. “Now.”

And so it goes for a time, with Scrawny Rolf and his buddy following us.

“Put on the sunglasses,” I tell Shahid.

“I don't have them.”

“
What?
” I don't wait for him to answer. “You forget them now, when we could really use them? We'd be able to maintain a proper distance. Keep an eye on them. Observe when they change direction. All that, without ever looking over our shoulders.”

“How was I supposed to know this was going to happen?” he asks. “There was no point in bringing them to school. If I put them on there, a teacher would confiscate them.”

I emit a Shahid-worthy sigh. “Never mind. Here's what we'll do. We'll take turns looking sideways and use our peripheral vision to see what they're doing. I'll go first.” I whip my head over to the right and pretend I'm looking at something across the street. Then I whip my head back into the forward position.

“So?” Shahid asks.

“I think I may have given myself whiplash,” I say.

“Casual,” Shahid chides. “Wandering.”

I refuse to respond.

“Fine,” he says. “Be like that.
I'll
look.”

From the corner of my eye, I see him ease his head to the side. It's quite impressive. Anyone observing him would believe he was simply gazing at the hedge we're passing by. His pace suddenly slows.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“They're gone.” He comes to a complete halt and turns fully around. “I can't see them anywhere.”

“No way.” I turn too and scan the sidewalk behind us. He's right. Our quarry has vanished. “That's impossible. Where could they go?”

“We passed an alley back there.”

“Oh. Really? Well, okay then. Good stuff. Now we can go back and follow them.” We retrace our steps until we come to the mouth of the alley. There, we pause at a solid fence bordering the sidewalk. “This is a blind corner,” I whisper. “We shouldn't enter the alley until we know how far down they've gone.”

“They can't have got too far ahead,” Shahid whispers back. “But they couldn't be too close anymore either.”

“Sounds perfect,” I say.

But both of us are reluctant to move. And it's a good thing we don't. Very likely, some instinct warned us to maintain our position, because the fence suddenly wobbles. At the same time, we hear the squeak of hinges and a gruff voice calls, “Later, Rolf.”

Rolf replies, “Yeah.”

And then the alley gate slams shut and the fence goes into a major wobble.

We wait, listening for Rolf's footfalls. Will he come back this way or proceed down the alley? When it's obvious that the crunching sound of feet on gravel is fading, Shahid and I finally exhale.

“Phew,” I breathe. And then I realize that this is exactly what I'd hoped for. I motion Shahid forward. “Let's go.”

“He'll notice us following him in the alley,” says Shahid.

“So?” I feel brave and reckless. “There are two of us and only one of him. And we're bigger. Let's go get Ella's sketchbook.” With that, I step boldly into the alley.

I see Rolf at once. He's only made it past the next yard down. He's shuffling along, hands in pockets, narrow shoulders hunched. I decide it's best to put a bit more distance between us and his large buddy, so I don't call out to him. Instead, I match my pace to his and keep following.

It takes me a moment to realize Shahid isn't with me. I turn to find him still peeping from behind the fence. I jog back. “What are you doing?”

He shakes his head. “I am not the gangsta type, Angus.”

I blink a few times before I answer. “And you're telling me this because?”

“Because I have no intention of ganging up on Scrawny Rolf.”

I find I need to blink some more before I can answer. “Shahid. You know me better than that. Did you honestly think I plan to hurt him? All I meant about us being bigger is that it seems unlikely he could hurt us.”

“Oh. Okay. We better get going then. It looks like he's in a hurry.”

“What?” I turn, and sure enough, Scrawny Rolf has picked up his pace. “He must have noticed us! Come
on
!” I launch into a run. This time, Shahid gallops beside me, arms flapping wildly.

Chapter Twelve

I don't do a lot of running. It's surprisingly tiring. But determination must count for something, because we gain on Rolf. When I judge that we're close enough, I slow to a fast walk.

“Hey, you. Rolf.” I pause to draw breath.

He turns around and squints at us. “Yeah?”

“I want to talk to you,” I say.

“Yeah?” he says again. His squint intensifies. “Do I know you?”

“No,” I reply. “You do not. But I believe I know you.”

He removes his hands from his pockets. “Izzat right?”

“Yes, indeed.” I puff out my chest. “And I believe that you've done a terrible thing.”

His brows form a knot. “What are you talking about?”

“I am talking about Ella Eckles's sketchbook.” I glare fiercely. “You took it. And I'm here to get it back.”

“Ella…what?” The knot on his brow deepens. “Wait a minute. You're not calling me a
thief
, are you?”

I maintain my glare. “Yes. That's exactly what I'm doing. And I'd prefer that you don't play dumb with me.”

It's possible that, like my brain, other parts of my body know things that I don't. I certainly don't tell myself to dodge sideways. But I dodge just in time to avoid Rolf's swing. Then, as if it has a mind of its own, my arm takes a swing at him. It misses by quite a lot, but I don't have time to worry about that, because here comes another jab from Rolf.

I manage to avoid that one too. Then my other arm gets in on the action. It swings way up, and on the way down it almost connects with Rolf's fist. Suddenly, both of my arms are whirling like the rotor blades on a helicopter. Not exactly like that, because my circles are vertical whereas a helicopter's are horizontal. But the action is similar.

As near as I can tell, Rolf's arms are doing the same thing. It's terribly shocking. I'm forced to close my eyes. Occasionally our fists bounce off each other, and it really hurts. I'm becoming exhausted, but have no idea how to make it stop.

And then a voice roars, “Enough!” I feel a pressure on my forehead. My arms drop to my sides like dead things, and I crack open my eyes.

Shahid stands between us with one hand pressed against my forehead and the other against Rolf's. His giraffe arms force us farther apart as he asks, “Do you two have any idea how stupid you look?”

My brain refuses to picture it.

Rolf croaks, “Please don't tell anyone.”

“Especially not Ella,” I say.

“Who,” Rolf demands, “is this Ella?”

“Hah,” I say. It's impossible to form a fierce glare with Shahid's hand pressed to my face, but I try. “She's the girl you think ratted you out. So you stole her sketchbook for revenge.”

“Say what?” Rolf rolls one eyeball up toward Shahid. “Is this little dude crazy?”

“I'm bigger than you,” I tell him. “Did you or did you not set off the stink bomb in school last week?”

Rolf shrugs. “Yeah. So?”

“Did you or did you not get caught by Principal Garnet?” I wriggle to increase my glare power and add, “Shahid, would you kindly remove your hand?”

“Are you going to start flailing again?”

Together, Rolf and I say, “No.”

“Fine.” Shahid's tone is grudging. “All you have to do is back away.”

I can't believe I didn't realize that. I back beyond Shahid's reach and give my head a shake. I look over to see Rolf doing the same thing. For some reason, this annoys me. “Well?” I ask him. “Principal Garnet caught you, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. But I'm pretty sure it was that troll in the can who told him.”

The troll in the can. I ponder that for a moment before asking, “And you think I'm crazy?”

He rolls his eyes. “You know who I mean. Everyone knows about the guy in the stall. He practically lives there.”

I suddenly get it. “You mean Grunt?”

Rolf shrugs. “I don't know his name. But he's always in there, listening to other people's business.” He wrinkles his nose. “And he never washes his hands.”

“I know,” Shahid moans. “It's so disgusting.”

“Too right,” Rolf nods. “But whatever. I haven't been at school since the bomb. Garnet suspended me for a week.”

I stare at Rolf for a moment. Then I find I can't look at him. He's telling the truth. I know he is. That means he couldn't have been in the art room the next day. He didn't steal anything. My mouth feels dry. I swallow.

“Rolf,” I mutter. “I owe you an apology. I thought—but I guess that was all in my head. Never mind. The point is, I don't think you're a thief anymore. I'm really sorry.”

He shrugs his thin shoulders. “Whatever, man. Sounds like you were trying to stick up for a friend. That's cool.”

“Really?” I try for a smile. “Thanks. That's very gracious of you.”

The knot forms on Rolf's brow again. He looks from me to Shahid and he raises a finger. It's his index finger this time, and he points it at us. “Here's the deal. No one hears about this. We don't talk about it ever. Especially not in the can. Okay? We all square?”

“Absolutely,” I say. “Square as square can be. Square as my mother's squares. Like her brownies. I swear, she must measure them before she cuts and—”

“I
got
it,” Rolf says. “I've gotta go. I'm late for my paper route.” And he runs away.