Liar & Spy (9 page)

And I
do
see.

“Black!” I shout, pointing at the middle dryer. “The clothes in there are all black!”

“Shhhhh.”

“Sorry.” I keep forgetting that the number-one rule of spying is
don’t yell
.

But Safer looks pleased. “It’s time for some field training. You’re going to go through those clothes and see what there is to see.”

“What?”

“I’ll be your lookout,” he says.

“You mean take some guy’s sopping wet clothes out of the dryer and—and what?”

“And go through the pockets. No biggie.”

“No biggie? No
way
.”

“Fine. I’ll do it. You be
my
lookout.” Which I get the feeling was his plan all along.

Safer posts me in the little hallway between the laundry room and the elevator. I’m not watching the stairs because Safer is pretty sure he’s the only person who ever uses them.

I hear the sound of the dryer stopping, like a little sigh, and I glance up at the arrow above the elevator. It’s resting at
L
, for lobby, just sitting there, so I step away and peek into the laundry room.

Safer’s moving fast, grabbing armfuls of black clothes and throwing them onto the Formica table. When the dryer is empty, he shoves his pile to one side of the table, grabs something—a pair of pants—and checks the pockets. Which can’t be easy, because they look pretty wet.

He looks up, calm as can be, and says, “Georges, the elevator is moving.”

I rush out and see that he’s right. It’s on three already, still going up. I watch the arrow move … 4 … 5 … it stops on 6.

“It stopped on six!” I call to Safer, because that’s his floor, but he doesn’t answer.

I hear the motor start up again and keep my eye on the arrow: 6 … 5 … 4 …

It stops on 4. Mr. X’s floor. And if that’s Mr. X’s laundry …

“It stopped on four!” I shout.

“Stay calm,” Safer replies. “Spies don’t freak out.”

“It’s moving again!”

 … 3 … 2 … L.

It doesn’t stop on L.

It’s coming to the basement.

“It’s coming down!” I yell. “To the basement!”

Safer calls back one word: “Stall!”

Stall? I’m going to look like an idiot just standing there staring when the elevator door opens. I quick open one of the garbage cans behind me and grab a bag of garbage. It’s wet from something that spatters my leg below my shorts. I hold tight to the top of the bag and wait.

It’s only when the elevator door begins to open that it occurs to me that waiting in the basement with a bag of garbage makes absolutely no sense. Waiting with a bag of garbage to go
to
the basement, yes. But waiting for the elevator
in
the basement, not so much. I quickly step away from the bag, which is now leaking all over the floor. And smelling kind of bad. Maybe it’ll just be Candy, I tell myself.

It isn’t Candy. And it isn’t Mr. X. It’s Safer’s mom.

“Oh, hi, Georges. I’m looking for Safer. Is he down here?”

“Hi! Um, I’m not sure. I think so. He might be.”

She looks at me funny.

“Is that your garbage, Georges? It’s leaking. Better get it into a can.”

“That? No! I just saw it here. Just now.”

She blinks. “Oh. How strange.”

This is not going well at all. “You know what?” I say. “I was just thinking I should put it into a can. That’s what I was doing—standing here, thinking that. Because it’s leaking.”

“Yes, it is. I think I just said that.” She starts to move past me.

“But then I was thinking, what if someone is coming back for it?”

She stops. “Coming back,” she repeats. “For—the garbage.”

“Yeah! But that’s dumb, isn’t it? I’ll throw it away right now.” I open the same garbage can I took the bag out of, which is a mistake because the bottom of the can is covered with the same gucky brown stuff that’s leaking out of the bag, which, if you are a person who likes to analyze things, might suggest that the bag had actually been in there before.

But Safer’s mom doesn’t ask me about that, because right then the dogs both start barking up a storm in the courtyard. They want Safer.

“Didn’t you come down here with Safer to walk the dogs?” She points to the courtyard door. “Is he outside?”

“Um. He
was
.…”

Safer comes walking out of the laundry room. “Hi, Mom.” He holds up two wet hands. “Just washing up. After the dogs.”

“Good idea,” she says. “Listen, can you stay upstairs with Candy for a little while? I have to run an errand.”

“Sure. I just have to drop off Ty and Lucky.” He looks at me. “Coming?”

“Yeah. I have to stop by my apartment first, though.” Because my leg is covered in smelly brown gook.

I get in the elevator with Safer’s mom, and Safer waves goodbye to us, smiling through the little glass window in the elevator door.

Safer’s mom stares at my sneakers with a funny expression until we get to the lobby. “You’re welcome to join us for dinner, Georges,” she says when the door opens. “It’s Candy’s night to cook.”

“Candy cooks dinner?”

“Why not? I believe she’s planning to make peanut butter and bananas on hot dog buns.”

“Um, that sounds good. But I should check with my dad.”

She nods. “And maybe change your socks, while you’re at it.”

I look down and see that one of my socks has that brown garbage juice all over it. I look up to say something, but the door is already closing.

The phone is ringing before I can get my sneakers off. Safer is very fast on those stairs.

“I have something to show you,” Safer says. “Come right away.”

“I kind of freaked out back there,” I tell him. “I think your mom noticed.”

“My mom is a very accepting person,” Safer says. “Don’t worry about it. Just come up right away.”

“As soon as I wash my leg.”

“Did you say you’re washing your legs?”

“Never mind.”

Upstairs, Safer is in his beanbag chair with a big smile on his face. He holds up a little gold-colored key.

“Seriously?
That
was in the dryer?”

“Pants pocket,” he says. He tosses the key to me, first doing a couple of fakes so I know it’s coming, but I still miss and have to pick it up off the floor. At least he doesn’t laugh.

It’s a funny little key. It looks like it should open a miniature treasure chest. “I can’t believe you found this.”

“Now we just have to figure out what it opens.”

I think Safer pictures a little box of evil in a corner of Mr. X’s apartment, and he thinks that if he can find it, he’ll save the world, or at least a small part of Brooklyn.

And who am I to say that he’s wrong?

“We’ve got to get inside,” Safer says.

“Inside Mr. X’s apartment.”

He nods. “Exactly. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I say. “
Tomorrow
tomorrow?”

My cell phone rings. “My dad,” I tell Safer, flipping it open. And that’s when I remember that I was supposed to meet Dad downstairs at five o’clock to go to the orthodontist.

“Sorry!” I tell him. “Be right down.”

“I can’t stay for dinner,” I tell Safer.

“Were you staying for dinner?” Candy appears in the doorway. She must have bat ears or something. Either that or she was standing in the hall, listening. “No one even bothered to tell me! I would have bought more bananas!”

“That’s okay,” I tell her. “I really have to go. I have an orthodontist’s appointment.”

“Really? Is your orthodontist in the city?”

“Yeah.”

“Will you be taking the D train, by any chance?”

“Candy,
no
,” Safer says, hauling himself out of his beanbag.

“I’m just
asking
.”

“I’m not sure,” I tell her. “Why?”

“There’s a newsstand on the uptown D platform at Fifty-Ninth Street that sells giant SweeTarts. They’re really hard to find around here.” Her eyes look all lit up. It’s like she’s glowing.

“If you
happen
to be there,” she says, glancing at Safer, “and you
happen
to see them, would you buy two packs for me? I’ll pay you back. I have the money. I can show you the money right now.”

“That’s okay,” I say. “I believe you.”

“And let me know if you’re ever going to Yankee Stadium,” she says. “I got Lemonheads at a store near Yankee Stadium once.”

“Lemonheads?”

“You can hardly ever find them. I saved the box. Do you want to see the box?”

“He’s leaving now!” Safer yells at her, pulling me down the hall. “He doesn’t want to see the stupid Lemonheads box!”

Actually, I’m kind of curious. But I
am
late, and so I let him drag me to the door.

“Tomorrow,”
he says, and he shoves a fresh gum wrapper into my hand.

That night I try to fall asleep before my teeth start aching from the tightened braces. We didn’t take the D train
after all: Dad drove Mom’s car into the city, and we must have both been feeling quiet, because we hardly talked at all. When we got home I pretended that the garbage was full and said I would take it down to the basement. While I was waiting for the elevator, I ran up to Mr. X’s and shoved the gum wrapper between his door and the doorframe. When I got back to the apartment, Dad was already shut up in his room with the door closed.

I get out of bed and spell Mom a note:

OUCH TEETH
LOVE ME

I dream about Ty and Lucky, with their worried-eyebrow looks, staring at that metal door.

Big Picture

Bob English passes me a note in science:

Ghoti.

“Say it,” he says.

“Go-tee,” I read.

He shakes his head. “Wrong. It says
fish
.”

“Um, it definitely does not say
fish
.”

“Sure it does.” He leans forward to point. “
G-h
as in the word
laugh, o
as in
women
, and
t-i
as in
nation
. See?
Fish
.”

My teeth are aching. Mom’s morning Scrabble note said ADVIL, but I couldn’t find any. I tell Bob sorry, I didn’t quite follow that, which is a mistake because he spells it all out for me in another note:

gh = as in the word laugh (f sound)

o = as in the word women (i sound)

ti = as in the word nation (sh sound)

“Okay, now I get it,” I say.

“I’m just demonstrating the absurdity of English spelling.”

“But that’s not the English spelling. It’s spelled
f-i-s-h
.”

Bob sticks his hand into his Sharpie bag and flicks through the pens until he finds the one he wants. “Sure it is. If you want to play the game the way everyone else does.”

Bob English is making less and less sense. But I like him more and more.

Lunch. Tacos. School taco shells smell like plastic, so I drag my tray down to the bagel basket, where Dallas and Carter immediately show up and then pretend they don’t see me.

Dallas bumps me with one shoulder and acts surprised. “Oh, man! Sorry. I didn’t see you, geek. I mean,
Georges
.”

And they walk away, chanting “Geek, geek, geek, geek.”

Typical bully crap
, Mom would say.
Big picture
.

I think about Sir Ott, hanging over the couch at home, and how much I would like to be there right now, kicking back with some
America’s Funniest Home Videos
.

And then I think of all those thousands of dots Seurat used to paint the picture. I think about how if you stand back from the painting, you can see the people, the green grass and that cute monkey on a leash, but if you get closer, the monkey kind of dissolves right in front of your eyes. Like Mom says, life is a million different dots making one gigantic picture. And maybe the big picture is nice, maybe it’s amazing, but if you’re standing with your face pressed up against a bunch of black dots, it’s really hard to tell.

After school, I watch
America’s Funniest Home Videos
and let the phone ring. It rings and stops, rings and stops, but no one leaves a message on the machine.

The third time it starts, I grab the remote and pause the show. It’s one of my favorites: this very serious-looking little girl is sitting in a high chair and counting from one to ten for her grandmother, who isn’t paying attention and doesn’t realize that what the girl is really doing is sticking these baked beans up her nose. “One … two … three …”

“Where were you?” Safer asks. “We have work to do. Don’t forget to check the you-know-what on your way up.”

I start up the stairs, glancing in my most casual spylike way at Mr. X’s doormat as I pass it. But there’s no gum wrapper on the mat—it’s still stuck in the doorframe.

On six, Candy answers the door.