I Owe You One (9 page)

I should've been grossed out, but it was pretty funny. “Did that really happen?” I asked, wondering if Zach was pulling my leg.

“Yup.” Zach's face was totally serious. “I think it's on the hat company's website now.”

I hoped Frank wasn't planning on being around any elephants.

Just before we left the shop for the day, Frank sent another email.
17-mile detour. No motels. Sleeping in truck.

I tried not to feel too guilty that night as I lay in my soft bed in clean pajamas. But then I spied my Spider-Man comic in its plastic cover, and I didn't feel so bad.

The next morning, Zach opened the shop while I went over to give Mrs. Minton an update.

“Frank's on his way to get the transmitter,” I told her.

“Is there going to be enough time?” Mrs. Minton asked, worry etched on her face. “The race is in five days.”

“Sure,” I said, trying to ooze confidence.

“What about the tower? Is it fixed yet?”

I didn't answer right away. I'd been so obsessed with getting the transmitter, I'd totally forgotten about the tower.

“Not quite done yet,” I said. Inside, I was panicking. How dumb was that? What good was a transmitter if there was no tower or antenna?

What could I tell her that wasn't a lie? I didn't know how I could possibly get a ninety-foot tower fixed and upright in five days.

A man isn't afraid to ask for help, Wes.

“You don't happen to know anyone with a really tall ladder, do you?” I joked. Well, I was only half joking. It was going to take something really tall to lift that tower back into position.

I could feel Mrs. Minton's eyes on me. I looked at the ground.

“I wonder if Steve could help,” she said.

“Steve?”

“Steve Anderson. He works for Harrington Hydro.”

“Why would someone from Hydro help me?”

“As a favor to me, I guess,” she said. “I helped Steve train for the World Karate Championship a few years ago. He won a silver medal. Now he has that nice tall bucket truck. I'm sure if I asked him, he'd be happy to help.”

I'm sure I looked stunned. Mrs. Minton taught karate? Was there anything she couldn't do?

As good as her word, Mrs. Minton arranged for Steve and his crew to go over and fix the tower the next day. I went over and saw them hammer the bent pieces straight and try to fit it all together again. It was a bit like a jigsaw puzzle. I hoped that it wouldn't take too long. Mr. Anderson assured me that if they didn't finish by nightfall, it would be done by the next day. I thanked him and then left, hoping I didn't owe
him
some kind of debt now too.

The next day was pretty quiet at the shop.
Windshield cracked by turkey vulture
was the next message from Frank. I didn't know what to make of that. I was starting to feel very glad I had stayed home.

Tornado warning
came next.

I was starting to wish we weren't getting updates.

The next one made my stomach ache. It said simply
Lost
.

“He's never going to make it, is he?” Zach asked.

Day three had us hovering around the computer, afraid to look. Had Frank made it or not? We didn't hear about any tornadoes touching down or hijackings of ice-cream trucks, but we still worried.

When we did get up the nerve to check, the mailbox was empty.

Finally, just after lunch, another email.

“Well, did he get the transmitter or not?” I asked Zach who was on the computer.

“Doesn't say. Just says,
Arrived
.”

“I guess that's good news, right?”

“I guess,” Zach said, but he didn't sound all that convinced.

Day four:
Baby on board
.

“Please tell me he means the transmitter and not a real baby,” I said to Zach.

“I dunno. With the kind of trip he's been having, that could mean anything.”

Day five:
Construction. Taking shortcut.

“That doesn't sound like a good idea,” Zach said.

Then:
Delay from shortcut. Enjoyed Pittsburgh.

“Pittsburgh? What's he doing in Pittsburgh?” I asked.

“We're never going to see him again, are we?” Zach replied.

Against all odds, we did see him again. He rolled back into town on day five, the ice-cream truck belching black smoke and making strange rattling sounds. He opened the door to his shop, walked past us straight to his desk chair, sat down, put his head in his arms and fell asleep.

We went back to check on Frank after a couple of hours, but he was gone. I hoped he was resting, because we needed to get started on that transmitter right away. We were running out of time. The race was in two days.

Chapter 16

I was so impatient to get that transmitter hooked up and working that I ran all the way to Frank's shop the next morning.

He wasn't there, and the shop wasn't open. Had he skipped town? I shook my head. Frank wouldn't desert us. Besides, I hadn't given him the comic book yet. Come to think of it, he hadn't given us the transmitter either. I hadn't even seen it. Frank must have left it on the truck.

I went around back to check for the truck. It wasn't there.

Frank must already be working on the tower. Good old Frank. I jogged over to Daryl's place so I could see how things were coming along. I even grabbed a cold root beer at Lee's for Frank.

As the hill came into view, I was surprised to see the tower deserted. No truck, no Frank, no transmitter.

I turned back, confused. If the truck wasn't behind Frank's shop or here at the tower, where was it?

I took off to get Zach. Things were starting to get complicated again.

“Morning, Wes,” Zach's mother said when I knocked on the back door. “Go on up and get him. It's about time he was up anyway.”

I took the steps two at a time. Zach must have heard me coming, because he met me at his door, his eyes still groggy with sleep.

“Zach! The truck's gone!”

Zach rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand “We don't own a truck.”

I hit him on the shoulder. “No! The ice-cream truck!”

“Oh yeah. That truck. Um, I guess Frank's getting a head start.”

“That's just it,” I said. “He's not at the tower.”

Zach looked like his brain was stuck in neutral. “So where is he?”

I could feel disaster lurking just around the corner. I don't know why, but I had a bad feeling about the truck.

A man trusts his gut, Wes
.

“We have to find Frank and that truck,” I said. “Now.”

“All right,” he mumbled, throwing on some clothes and grabbing his cap. “Let's go.”

We tore over to Frank's shop. Part of me thought maybe I was just hallucinating before. Maybe the truck was sitting there after all. It wasn't.

“The truck's not here,” Zach said.

“Thanks for clearing that up, Zach.”

“I'm just saying.” He looked kind of hurt. “Let's ask Mr. Lee. It's his truck, after all.”

We found Mr. Lee filling the rack of air fresheners by the oil display.

“Mr. Lee, have you seen Frank?”

“Frank in store. He fix cash register for Mrs. Lee.”

“Do you know where the
Nice 'n Icy
truck is?”

Mr. Lee smiled. “Sure. I lend it to my cousin. He go to warehouse for me.”

“Did you take the transmitter out?”

“The what?”

“The transmitter,” I said. “The thing Frank went all the way to Florida to get?”

“I don't know about no transmitter. I didn't take anything out.”

I was speechless. The transmitter we had gone through so much to get was barreling down the highway in the opposite direction from where it was needed. I looked at Zach in horror.

“We'll find it in time, Wes,” Zach said.

“We'll need wheels to find it,” I said. “With room for a transmitter.”

“Mr. Elliot has a truck,” Zach offered.

Mr. Lee shook his head. “Mr. Elliot taking load of stones up north. Some crazy lady wants to make pond with them.”

Daryl.

Daryl had a truck. And besides, I still blamed him for all of this.

Mr. Lee said he would go and get Frank. Zach and I would go get Daryl and his truck and come back to Lee's. All I needed now was for Daryl to be off somewhere blowing something up. But finally some luck was with us. Daryl's truck was parked in his driveway, and Daryl himself was just coming out the front door.

“No, no, no and no!” he said before I could even explain to him why we were there. Obviously he was still upset with us about that last little episode with Mr. Elliot.

“Just listen, Daryl,” I said.

“No. I'm not listening. You're nothing but trouble.”

Okay, that was a bit much. Daryl calling someone else trouble.

“We just need a lift, Daryl,” I said. “Everyone else's truck is being used. You're our last hope.”

Daryl tilted his head to one side. “Just a lift?”