Brainboy and the Deathmaster (24 page)

His stupid eyes pooled up again.

“Welcome back, buddy,” BJ said, draping an arm over his shoulder.

Darryl wiped a sleeve of his black jumpsuit over his
face. “I want to go see my old house,” he said.

“Sure, that’s probably a good idea. I’ll go with you tomorrow.”

“I don’t have a key.”

“We’ll take Boris.”

Darryl gave BJ a sidelong look.

“He broke in on Friday,” BJ said. “Where do you think we got the ropes and stuff?”

“Huh,” Darryl said, opening his hand to let the cool rain hit his raw palm.

“That hurt?”

“Sort of. But in a way it feels good.”

“Come on, we’re getting soaked.”

Darryl let BJ pull him up the path through the rock garden, but he stopped again before they reached the front door.

“What is it, bro?”

“Just … how’d you ever find the lab?”

“Later for that. It’s a long story.”

“Well, however you did it, I’ve got to thank you.”

“You’d have done the same for me. What are best friends for—right?”

Darryl grinned. “Right,” he said, holding out his raw hand to shake.

“Later for that, too,” BJ said. “Come on.”

W
hat with a dozen people and a half dozen cats squeezed into the living room, there was barely room for Darryl and BJ.

“Listen up, everybody,” said Mrs. Walker. She was standing in front of the TV, facing the rest of them. “From what I’ve heard, it sounds as if you’re all pretty much alone in the world. And after what you’ve been through, you must be feeling awfully disoriented. I wish to goodness I could take you all in. I really and truly do. But as you can see, it’s impossible. So what I’m going to do is call Ms. Grimsley and—”

“Not Grimface!” BJ cried. “No way!”

“She works for Child Protective Services, sugar pie. I’ll bet she has enough beds in the shelter to—”

“She works for Masterly, Ma.”

“He’s right, Mrs. Walker,” Darryl piped up. “If he finds out we’re alive, we’re done for.”

“I think you’re being a bit melodramatic,” Mrs. Walker said. “But if you really feel that way, then I’ll have to call the police. Or maybe I should call Henry Botts first. …”

“We ought to lie low and find out what’s happening with Mr. Masterly,” said Nina.

“Couldn’t they stay with us for a while at least?” BJ said.

“I could cook,” said Hedderly.

“I’m g-g-good at cleaning,” said Snoodles. “And Abs could do the y-yard work.”

Abs nodded eagerly.

“This kitty’s darling,” said Suki, who was stroking Galileo. “We had two Siamese at home.”

“I think we should all stay together,” Greg said, sniffling.

“Yeah,” Mario and Billy chimed in.

“We could join a think tank and pay you rent,” said Ruthie. “We’re all smart.”

“You’d all have to sleep standing up, dear,” Mrs. Walker said ruefully. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t work.”

“What if we got a bigger house, Mrs. Walker?” Nina suggested. “One with lots and lots of bedrooms. With a nice view of the water.”

Mrs. Walker laughed, her whole body jiggling. “I’m a librarian, sweetheart. Librarians don’t make much money.”

Nina stepped up to her, reached into a pocket of her jumpsuit, and set something on top of the TV. Peering around Hedderly, Darryl saw that it was a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

“Do you smoke, dear?” Mrs. Walker said.

“Of course not,” Nina said, dumping something else on top of the TV.

Hedderly leaned forward, blocking Darryl’s view. Mrs. Walker gasped.

“Where’d you get ‘em, Neen?” Boris cried, squeezing up to the front.

“From down on L. I grabbed them just before I got in my pod.”

“L?”

“You don’t mean to say they’re genuine?” said Mrs. Walker.

Darryl saw Boris hold up something small and glittery to the light: one of the diamonds Mr. Masterly had brought them to study. “Sure looks real,” Boris said.

“They’re the best quality money can buy,” Nina said. “Put it back, Boris. They’re for Mrs. Walker.”

Boris, who’d already pocketed the stone, made a face as he put it back. Craning his neck around Hedderly’s shoulder, Darryl was delighted to see that there was a whole heap of diamonds.

“You could buy a mansion with those, Ma,” BJ said.

“You could buy a friggin’ skyscraper,” Boris said.

“Way to go, Nina!” Greg cried. “Now we can stay together!”

“W-why didn’t I think of it?” Snoodles said, bamming
his skull. “I’m s-s-such a knucklehead.”

“I didn’t think of it either, Snoodles,” Ruthie said, putting an arm around the old man’s bony shoulders. “I’m sorry for ordering you around all the time. It was those darn vitamins.”

“I’m sorry for always making you get me seconds, Hedderly,” said Paul.

“I’m sorry for never getting in touch with you and BJ, Mrs. Walker,” Darryl said.

“Jeez,” Boris said. “If we’re having a sorry-fest, I’m sorry for ripping off your GameMaster.”

“What did you do with it?” Darryl asked.

“Sold it.”

“Boris!” Nina cried.

“I used the money for bus tickets, for cripe’s sake. I was looking for you.”

“Really?” Nina said.

“What do you think?” He made another face as Nina put an arm around him, but he didn’t squirm away. “I’d never have thought to take a bus up to that lab place, though. Beege came up with the GPS idea. Hey, did I tell you we went to Masterly’s house?”

But the name Masterly cast a pall over the room.

“What if he finds out we’re alive?” Greg whispered.

“Don’t you worry—nobody’s going to lay a hand on you,” Mrs. Walker said. “This is a free country.”

“He’s awful rich and powerful, Ma,” BJ said.

“If you’re all telling me the truth, we can have him arrested,” Mrs. Walker declared. “I’ll have Henry build a case against him.”

“I wish I’d brought his MasterPlan,” Darryl muttered. “That would be good evidence.”

“Maybe we could find it in the rubble,” Nina said.

“Nah, he took it.”

“I wonder if the explosion made the news,” Ruthie said. “Or was it too far away from everything?”

Mrs. Walker turned on the TV. A man in a chef’s hat appeared on the screen, demonstrating a food dicer.

“Will you look at that!” Hedderly said, wide-eyed.

After the commercial the six-o’clock news came on. A woman with stiff-looking blond hair reported that she was filling in for the regular newscaster, who would be back from vacation tomorrow.

“Our top story this Labor Day is the oil spill in Alaska, where teams of conservationists are working round the clock to save as much of the wildlife and waterfowl as possible. But closer to home we have a strange story unfolding—a very strange story. Last night a helicopter crash-landed twenty miles east of Seattle, just north of Lake Sammamish, narrowly missing a roadside tavern called the Stop On Inn. Three patrons and the bartender went out to try and save the pilot.
They had to use a crowbar to jimmy open the door to the half-mangled cockpit—and all they found inside was an infant boy. KING-TV has just gotten an exclusive interview with Chuck Lundquist, one of the men on the scene.”

Darryl was smiling to himself as a red-faced man with a gap-toothed grin appeared on the right half of the screen.

“Tell us, Mr. Lundquist, what do you think became of the pilot?”

“Beats the heck out of me,” the man said, poking at his ear piece.

“Could the pilot have escaped before you arrived at the scene?”

“Houdini couldn’t have got out of that thing.”

“What’s your theory then?”

“I ain’t got no theory. We pries open the door, and there’s this little nipper sitting strapped into the pilot’s seat.”

“What was he wearing?”

“You could barely make him out. He was all swallered up in one of them
Star Trek
outfits, big enough for me. Darnedest thing you ever saw.”

“May I ask what you do for a living, Mr. Lundquist?”

“Logger. Laid off, at the moment.”

“Were you drinking last night prior to the crash?”

“We’d all had a couple. But nobody’d tied one on or nothing like that.”

“Interesting. Thank you for taking the time to speak with us, Mr. Lundquist.”

“Any time, lady.”

Mr. Lundquist disappeared as the newscaster took over the whole screen again.

“There you have it. And in another bizarre twist, KING News has learned that the helicopter belongs to none other than Keith Masterly, founder and CEO of MasterTech. As yet KING News has been unable to get a comment from Mr. Masterly himself, but a spokesman for the company informs us that the helicopter was probably stolen. As for the infant ‘pilot,’ he remains in a coma in Sammamish Hospital. The doctors there hold out little hope—though of course even if the infant lives, he won’t be able to enlighten us as to the circumstances of his presence in the helicopter. Also found in the cockpit were a briefcase and a suitcase, but the authorities have yet to disclose their contents. KING News will keep you updated on this unlikely story as more details come in. …”

The newswoman moved on to the upcoming primaries for Seattle’s mayoral election, and Mrs. Walker flicked the TV off. By then no one was watching it anyway. They were all gaping at Darryl.

“Well,” Darryl said. “Looks like he took it.”

“What did you do?” Nina asked.

“While you were making the fake vitamins, I was mixing up an a new batch of G-17. The first batch was ten parts saline solution to one part compound. This one was full strength. I switched vials when I went up to his room last night. He must have taken his after-dinner dose, and a couple of hours later … well, I guess it kicked in.”

“What on earth are you talking about, child?” Mrs. Walker said.

“It’s kind of complicated,” Darryl said.

“You mean that baby was Mr. Masterly?” Greg squeaked.

Darryl nodded.

“You’re kidding me,” said BJ.

“Nope.”

“Way to go!” cried Billy, slapping Darryl on the back.

“Hooray!” Paul and Suki cried in unison.

“Good thinking, Darryl!” said Ruthie.

Mario held up his hand for a high five, but when Darryl showed him his raw palm, Mario contented himself with giving him another smack on the back.

“I wonder if the MasterPlan was in the briefcase,” Ruthie said.

“Whether it was or not,” said Nina, “I don’t think we have to worry about Mr. Masterly anymore.”

“I don’t understand a single word of this,” said Mrs. Walker.

“I don’t either,” said BJ.

“Me neither,” said Boris. “But if Neen’s happy, I’m happy.”

“Excuse me, Hedderly,” Nina said.

Hedderly moved aside so Nina could get to Darryl. As Darryl’s eyes flicked back and forth between her good lens and her broken lens, his mind flicked back and forth between now and the night she’d shown him the vent: the night they’d seen the moon.

“Looks like we made it, huh?” he said.

Her face broke into a bright smile, making it quite pretty; then she leaned forward and gave him a kiss, making his face as hot as his rope-burned hand.