Framed (11 page)

T
he green warning light on the PEMA bracelet began to flash the instant Griffin stepped off the curb. He pulled up the leg of his jeans and watched with a kind of self-torturing fascination. He didn’t want to see it, but he couldn’t look away, counting one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi…. Sure enough, after ten-Mississippi, the blinking green turned to a solid red.

“Cover that up!” hissed Mrs. Bing.

“It’s okay if I’m going to school.”

“We don’t have to advertise this mess to the entire neighborhood,” his mother pleaded.

Griffin nodded bitterly. “Right, we’ve got Celia White for that.” Her column in Monday’s
Herald
pretty much implied that Cedarville’s notorious “tween gangsters” had tried to mug Dr. Evil inside
Konrad’s to steal the brooch. The woman had to be the worst reporter in history. Where did she get her facts? Even Egan wouldn’t tell a dumb lie like that. “Look, Mom, I’m fine. Well, maybe not fine, but the anklet’s red, and the SWAT team hasn’t come to arrest me yet. You don’t have to hold my hand all the way to the bus.”

“I’m sorry, Griffin. I guess I can’t help blaming myself for all this.”

Griffin was horrified. “You didn’t do anything!”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” she sniffed. “It’s a mother’s job to see to it that nothing happens to her child. But you’re twelve years old. I can’t protect you the way I did when you were three.”

Griffin never thought he’d yearn to be a little kid again, yet being three sounded pretty sweet to him now. Too young to be sent to Jail For Kids; too young to stand before a judge. Those were definitely the good old days.

At school, he went straight to the office, as per Vizzini’s instructions. Even the grandmotherly secretaries looked tougher at JFK, their expressions unforgiving, their lips thin with disapproval.

“My name is Griffin Bing. I’m supposed to ask you to let the police know I arrived.”

Even in this terrible place, where just about everyone was under a cloud, he stood out as the worst of the worst. How had his life come to this?

The morning was lonelier than usual. Sheldon Brickhaus had been standoffish lately. Griffin should have been relieved, almost happy, but it wasn’t working out that way. Shank was psycho, but he was also company. And Griffin was coming to realize that even creepy, dangerous company was better than none at all — especially in a place where the hours passed like months.

By lunchtime, he was physically and emotionally exhausted just from the effort of keeping himself awake. As he crossed the cafeteria, he noticed that his shoelace was loose and flapping. It might have been like this all morning for all he knew or cared.

He set down his tray, lifted his foot to the bench, and grabbed the laces. It was in the middle of tying the bow that he heard the buzz in the cafeteria.

All eyes were on him — not on his face, but on his ankle. The leg of his pants had crept up, revealing the PEMA bracelet with its solid red warning light.

He ate his lunch in stiff-necked misery. How could he have been stupid enough to show the anklet to the whole school? Especially here, where every last one of them knew exactly what it was and what it meant. How could you hit bottom and then keep going straight down?

As the period drew to a close, several students exiting the lunchroom — the cream of the JFK crop, toughest of the tough — made a point of passing by his table. Nobody said a word, but their respectful nods were unmistakable.

They’re acknowledging me — accepting me!

The only thing worse than attending Jail For Kids was belonging there!

At the end of the line was Shank himself. “You’re some piece of work, Justice. You’re bad, you’re good; you’re guilty, you’re innocent. And now this. What am I supposed to make of that little piece of bling on your leg?”

“What’s it to you?” Griffin mumbled, tight-lipped.

The burly boy’s eyes narrowed. “You know what I think? You’re a spy! JFK planted you here to rat on the inmates they can’t control — like me.”

Griffin felt a stab of fear. He could only imagine
what would happen to him if a rumor like
that
got around. “I’m no spy!” he insisted.

“Then explain it for the dumb people!” Shank pressed the tread of his construction boot against the PEMA bracelet. “How does a Boy Scout like you earn one of these?”

Griffin had resolved to share absolutely nothing with his fellow students at JFK — as if revealing a single molecule of his life might make the nightmare real. But once he started to tell the truth, it was a tsunami. He spilled his guts — how the lost retainer in the display case had convinced everyone that Griffin had stolen the Super Bowl ring; how Operations Justice and Stakeout — designed to prove his innocence — had only served to make him look even more guilty; and how none of the other suspects — human or rodent — seemed to be panning out.

As Shank listened to this tale of woe, a smirk began to appear on his cinder-block features. And the more miserable, desperate, and tragic the narrator became, the wider the smile grew, until Sheldon Brickhaus was positively beaming.

Griffin was outraged far beyond the point where he could worry what Shank might do to him. “You’re sick, you know that? This is the
first time I’ve ever seen you smile, and it’s only because somebody else’s life is totally ruined! Thanks a lot!”

“I’m not smiling because you’re in trouble,” the burly boy cackled. “I’m smiling because you’re
lucky
!”

“Lucky?” Griffin seethed. “I’m going on trial for something I didn’t even do! And I’ll be found guilty for sure, because nobody’s ever going to believe what happened. The only thing that could get me off the hook is the ring!”

Shank took Griffin by the shoulders, shaking him like a rag doll. “You’re so stupid, Justice — I love that about you! You can’t see the forest for the trees!
Think!
A pack rat — don’t you know what that is? It’s
nuisance wildlife
!”

Griffin stared at him. “You
bought
that fruitcake idea? You think a pack rat found my retainer, got carried to school with it, and then swapped it for the ring?”

“Nuisance wildlife is my family’s bread and butter, man! What you just described — that’s practically Pack Rat Behavior One-oh-one.”

Griffin was thunderstruck. Of all possible explanations of what had happened to the ring — the original four suspects and the Jets-hating
custodian — Savannah’s pack rat theory was by far the craziest. Yet here was Shank acting like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The burly boy was pink with exhilaration. “My old man goes up against pack rats and a whole lot worse every day — and I’ve been watching him for fourteen years! I could catch a pack rat standing on my head!”

“But —” Griffin had given zero thought to Savannah’s rodent story because never in a million years could he have imagined that it might be true. Now his brain was rebooting, examining the problem from every possible angle. “But even if you catch the pack rat, you won’t have the ring. That could be anywhere.”

Shank dismissed this with a wave of his ham-sized hand. “Once I’ve got him, I can make him lead me to the ring. This is
doable
, Justice.”

Griffin regarded his tormentor in suspicion. There was no trace of malice or trickery in Shank’s face. For whatever reason, this bully honestly wanted to help him. Still, he had to ask. “What’s in this for you? What do you care about clearing my name?”

Shank nodded slowly, as if he himself wasn’t sure of the answer. “We Brickhauses — we’re not
exactly a high-achieving family. We don’t
excel
, as the teachers say. In fact, we stink at pretty much everything. But
this
is what we do. For Bill Gates, it’s computers. For us, it’s nuisance wildlife. What are the odds that the skill set you need is going to turn out to be what I’ve got? A million to one? That’s destiny, Justice. It’s meant to be.”

For the first time, Griffin noticed something familiar in Shank’s cement features. It was something he normally saw only when looking in a mirror — the energized excitement of a scheme coming together.

Griffin and Shank had something in common.

The scourge of Jail For Kids was a
planner
!

B
en dragged his feet all the way home from school. Without Griffin walking by his side, the trip was depressing and arduously uphill. Ferret Face may have been the master of the wake-up nip, but he was no replacement for your best friend.

In science, Ben’s new lab partner turned out to be Darren Vader. Like life minus Griffin wasn’t hard enough, Ben had to be paired with one of the possible reasons Griffin was gone in the first place — if it didn’t turn out to be Tony or Celia White or Dr. Evil, or even Mr. Clancy.

Just thinking about the suspect list made his head spin.

“I can’t risk getting acid on my hands during football season,” Darren had announced today.

So Ben did all the work while his partner studied the Seahawks’ playbook. Ben could never bring himself to stand up to Vader, Griffin-style. It was reason number 147 why he needed Griffin back — after
Always admits he’s cheating at Monopoly
but before
Juvie is no place for the greatest friend in the history of the world
.

He could see his house, but he wasn’t anxious to get there, even after a long day at school. Most of the allure of his front door lay in the knowledge that, sooner or later, Griffin would be knocking at it.

Now Ben wasn’t sure that would ever happen again.

A boy wearing construction boots sat on the front walk, dismantling an anthill with king-sized heels. Ben was amazed he hadn’t noticed the newcomer sooner. He was not much taller than Ben himself, but the kid was built like an M1 tank — massive and muscular, with a large, square, crew-cut head.

Spying Ben, he stood. His brawny frame was as wide as it was tall. “You’re Slovak, right? I recognize the weasel in your shirt.”

“Ferret,” Ben corrected nervously, all while
thinking,
Who is this hulk, and what does he want with me?

The newcomer grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Sheldon Brickhaus. We’ve got a mutual friend.”

Light dawned on Ben. This was Shank from JFK! Crushed fingers were a small price to pay in exchange for a lifeline to Griffin.

“Is Griffin okay?” Ben asked.

Shank let go and stomped on some escaping ants. “He told me to bring you up to speed on the plan.”

The plan! Never before had those words been such music to Ben’s ears. Had Griffin actually found a way out of this black hole?

“There’s a plan?” he barely whispered.

The reply was a slap on the back that very nearly knocked him flat.

“Welcome to Operation Dirty Rat.”

Shank was completely unruffled when Luthor approached him with teeth bared. “Cute puppy,” he commented mildly.

“Why did you bring the dog?” Ben asked Savannah. The Doberman was a fact of life at the Drysdales’, but he expected Melissa’s house to be Luthor-free.

“It was the only way I could get out,” Savannah explained. “My parents are all over me except when I’m taking care of the animals.”

The team sat in a circle on the floor of the small bedroom. Melissa, the hostess, started the meeting with the click of a mouse. Griffin’s face appeared on her laptop screen.

“Thanks for coming, everybody,” he greeted them. “Guys, meet Shank. Shank — the team. Now, we all know there’s a possibility that Savannah’s pack rat is at school, and that he’s got the Super Bowl ring hidden there somewhere. The objective of Operation Dirty Rat is to catch him and get him to lead us to his stash.”

“And we do this
how
?” asked Pitch in amazement.

“Piece of cake,” Shank said confidently. “It’s kind of a family tradition for us Brickhauses.” He helped himself to a potato chip from a big
bowl and tossed one to Luthor, who caught it in midair.

“Shank’s our nuisance wildlife specialist,” Griffin informed them. “He’ll be running the operation with me.”

“With
you
?” echoed Savannah. “You’re under house arrest. How are you free to go rat catching at the middle school?”

Melissa supplied the answer. “Griffin’s PEMA hub transmits a unique code to a monitoring system in the police station. If I can hack in and clone that code, I might be able to rig a pocket transmitter to send the same signal.”

“Which will tell the police I’m at home being a good little boy,” Griffin finished.

Melissa nodded. “So long as the unit is within range of the bracelet. Which it will be, since you’ll keep it with you.”

“What about the rest of us?” asked Savannah.

“The school’s never empty,” Griffin told them. “Teachers and administrators come in at odd hours to work on things. They can’t find out we’re there ring hunting. And don’t forget Mr. Clancy. Remember — there might be more than one rat in this scenario. Just because we’re after the rodent
doesn’t mean we’ve eliminated the other suspects. We have to be careful.”

“What do you want us to do?” asked Pitch. “Create a diversion?”

Shank shook his head seriously. “We need more time than that. First we have to catch the pack rat. Then we have to follow him to the ring.”

“No diversion lasts that long,” Ben agreed darkly.

“Except one,” Logan put in.
“Hail Caesar.”

Griffin frowned. “The school play?”

“Wednesday is opening night,” Logan enthused.

“But the school will be full of people!” Ben protested.

“People watching the play,” Logan amended.

“Not when they’re going to the bathroom.”

Logan assumed an expression of haughty dignity. “I have created a Julius Caesar so riveting, so multidimensional that no one will be going to the bathroom. For my Caesar, they’ll hold it in.”

Shank regarded Logan oddly. “Is this kid for real?”

Pitch nodded. “He does a scooter wipeout that could win a Golden Globe.”

“It’s perfect,” Griffin decided. “Logan’s play is
our cover. Melissa’s on electronics, Shank handles nuisance wildlife, and we’ve got Savannah as our rodent behavior expert. Pitch on climbing; Ben for tight spaces. It’s a plan!”

They went around the circle. All groundings and punishments would be over by Wednesday, all team members ready and willing. There were nods of agreement and determined grunts of “We’re in” and “Let’s do it.”

Shank was impressed. “Man, I thought I was in the middle of a dweeb convention! You guys are my kind of people!”

An uneasy murmur was punctuated by the smack of Luthor’s tongue as he helped himself to the rest of the chips.

None of them wanted to be Shank’s kind of people.