Sammy Keyes and the Wild Things (23 page)

TWENTY-EIGHT

It did take a while to sort everything out. Adults can be so . . . I want to say dense, but that's not it. And it's not bubble-brained, either. I mean, it isn't that they can't process what you're telling them because it'll shatter them—it's more like their brains can't process it because of
who's
telling them.

I mean, how can
we
know more than they do?

We can't possibly be right.

Or telling the truth.

We're
“kids.”

But a condor in a cage is pretty powerful proof, and after they finally accepted that we
did
know more, that we
were
right
and
telling the truth,
then
we had to suffer through a whole rash of I-can't-believe-you-
did
-that's.

It was so dangerous!

And lawbreaking!

The utter
gall
of it all!

I wish someone would invent a calamine lotion for adult overreaction.

I'd buy buckets.

Anyway, in the end, the evidence spoke for itself and the birdnappers became jailbirds. A cop at the showdown told us that poaching an endangered species can get you a sentence greater than armed robbery, and if that's true, I can't say I'm sorry that they'll be facing real time in the big cage.

Quinn wasn't sorry, either. He got to face off with Janey right there on the tarmac, and even though she put on this
huge
act of how she hadn't known what her father was doing and how she really
loved
Quinn and still wanted to
see
him, he's no birdbrain. He laughed in her face and said, “The only place I'll see you is in court.”

Later, when we were hanging out by Big Mama, he put his hand on Cricket's shoulder and there were actual tears in his eyes. “How can I ever thank you?” he asked her, then kissed her on the temple.

She blushed deep red and I could tell—that was all the thanks she needed.

Grams, on the other hand, was horrified when she heard what had happened. “Grayson Mann?
The
Grayson Mann? That can't be!”

“His real name's Oswald Griffin, Grams. And I'm sorry to break it to you, but his news days are over.”

Turns out I was wrong about that. He's been on the news a
lot
. KSMY's competing station out of Santa Luisa has had a
field
day covering the story. And believe me, they haven't been waiting around for him to fix his hair before shooting him.

Anyway, in the days that followed the showdown on the tarmac, a couple of things happened.

First, I went back to the Kuos' and actually unpacked my very stinky backpack and returned stuff to Robin. I saw Gary a lot while I was at the Kuos', and it made me really happy that he'd gone from being a pimply porcupine holed up in his dungeon to a guy who was in and out all the time, joking with his sister and being . . . I don't know . . . one amped teenager.

He was especially hyper when he found out via his connections on the Internet that the Birdman was
not
the man we'd seen at the airport. “He's not really a Bird
man,
” he told us, “he's Bird
boy.
He's a twelve-year-old spoiled-to-death
prince.
”

“No!” I said. “Was he that kid we saw at the airport?” “Must've been—which is why he snagged that briefcase of cash!”

We'd already been told that there was probably nothing that could be done about someone from another country trying to buy a condor—that our national laws didn't cross into foreign territories. So maybe Birdboy won't get nailed, but Quinn vowed to shut him down, and between him and Gary working Internet angles, I have no doubt that'll happen.

We also found out from Quinn that Grayson-slash-Oswald said he didn't want to actually
hurt
Marvin, but he'd had to shoot at him because he'd attacked him and
thrown up
on him while he was trying to secure Big Mama.

“He
barfed
on him?” I asked.

Quinn nodded. “It's a defense mechanism.”

No kidding.

But anyway, Grayson was also apparently totally miffed that he'd been busted by kids. “He thought he was so clever,” Robin told us, “leaving false clues everywhere. Between Luxton Enterprises, throwing beer cans around inside the Lookout, calling the taxidermist, using Vargus's name on the horse rental form . . . he was sure everyone would be completely bamboozled.” She grinned at Cricket and me. “Guess he never met a good Scout.”

Uh-oh.

Anyway,
while I was at the Kuos' unpacking and stuff, I came across that fax we'd gotten from Trail Riders. And seeing it gave me this little hiccup of an idea, which, the more I thought about, the more I wanted to try and pull off.

So I used my favorite weapon one last time to call Trail Riders.

When I had Thomas Becker on the line, I said, “Yes, Mr. Becker, this is Ulma Willis again. Marshal for the United States Department of Fish and Wildlife?”

“Yes, ma'am. Of course I remember you.”

“I'm following up to let you know that the issue with the condor poacher has been resolved and that we were mistaken about Vargus Mayfield. He had nothing to do with it and is no longer under investigation.”

“Oh. Well, thank you, ma'am, for that information.”

Then I told him, “Have a good day, Mr. Becker,” and got off the phone.

After that, Cricket and I went back to Grayson Mann's garage for one final press and peek.

Okay, press and
enter
.

And grab!

But all we grabbed was the cowboy hat and sunglasses. Then we hurried back to the Kuos' and got Gary to drive us over to Vargus Mayfield's.

“Hey, Vargus,” I said when he answered the door.

“Huh?” he said back, acting more like a junior high kid than an almost college graduate.

So we told him what we wanted, and at first he didn't really believe it, but since money was involved, we managed to twist his arm and drag him out to Trail Riders.

Now, since it would have been kinda suspicious for all of us to go inside, Cricket and Gary waited in the truck while Vargus and I went inside to run our little scam. Vargus was looking as much like Grayson as he could, wearing the cowboy hat and sunglasses, and me, I looked like regular ol' me in my ball cap and jeans.

“May I help you?” the guy behind the counter asked, and I recognized his voice from the telephone.

“Yes,” I answered. “My friend here left a one-thousand-dollar deposit on a horse last week. He's here to pick it up.” Mr. Becker was just staring at me, so I kinda dropped my voice and said, “He's a mute, so I have to talk for him.”

Thomas Becker experienced bubble brain for all of three seconds. Then his face clouded a little and he said, “You can't be serious.”

“Why's that?” I ask.

“Because my horse found her own way home!”

“But she
is
home,” I say, sounding calm and
very
reasonable. “Safe and sound.” Then I lean in and say, “It's a very complicated story.”

He checks Vargus over and says, “This is not the same fella that rented my horse.”

“Sure, it is.” Then I add, “I don't blame you for not recognizing him. You probably get hundreds of people in here—especially during summertime.”

His brow furrows and his mouth wags back and forth once before he says, “Nope. That's not him.”

“You need proof?” I turn to Vargus. “Show the man your driver's license, Vargus.”

So Vargus pulls out his wallet and hands over his license, then takes off his hat and shades. And after a minute of ol' Tommy Becker comparing the face in front of him to the one on the license, I say, “I understand there were forms he filled out?”

Tommy looks at me, and I can see his brain sputtering with objections, but before he can actually spit any of them out, I say, “Ulma Willis from the Department of Fish and Wildlife assured us there would be no problem collecting the deposit.”

He takes one final stare at me, then, without a word, he hands back the license, goes to his desk, and returns with ten one-hundred-dollar bills.

“Much obliged, sir,” I tell him, trying to stay cool and calm as he passes the cash to Vargus. Then I move Vargus to the door like he's dumb
and
blind.

Which, in a lot of ways, he is.

Anyway, when we're outside and in the clear, Vargus shakes the fistful of cash and says, “I can't
believe
this!”

I snatch it from him. “You get a
commission,
remember? Not the whole wad.”

So I peel off two of the hundreds, which he seems happy enough with, then I get in the truck and tell Gary, “Let's go!”

After we drop Vargus off, I peel off four more hundreds and hand them to Gary. “It's not a four-eyed viperwing, but it'll fix your exhaust manifold.”

He just blinks at me.

So I shake it at him and say, “We couldn't have rescued Big Mama without you.”

He takes it from me slowly, the biggest grin growing across his face. “You are something,” he says, then drives us home.

So I was real happy about all of that. And the other four hundred dollars Cricket and I delivered to Robin to give to Quinn for the Lookout project.

Seemed like the right thing to do.

And while we were there,
she
delivered some good news to
us.

“Marvin and Big Mama are getting released to their habitat on Friday—would you like to come?”

“Yes!” we both shouted.

So, of course, when we told Gary and Casey,
they
wanted to go along, too, and then the day it was going to happen,
Marissa
called. So I asked her if she wanted to meet us at Robin's house 'cause there was a whole caravan going up to the Lookout. The birds were being taken up by Professor Prag and some bird experts, Robin was riding with Gabby and Bella in Quinn's truck,
Billy
was squeezing in somewhere. . . . “It'll be a huge party up there!” I told her. “You've got to come!”

“Wait,” Marissa said. “Aren't condors, like, big buzzard birds? Aren't they really . . .
ugly
?”

“Yeah,” I laughed. “Yeah, they are.”

She hesitated, then said, “So let me get this straight—you're going to waste your whole day letting some big ugly buzzards go?”

“Yeah,” I laughed again. “Yeah, I am.”

“Are you sure you don't want to just come over? I've got a ton of stuff to tell you!”

I was dying to catch up with her, but in the end I said, “I'll call you when I get back, okay? This is something I need to do.”

“All right. Whatever. But call me—I'm dying to talk to you!”

So Marissa didn't go, but I'm really glad I did. It
was
a big party. Even the ride up was fun. Gary'd gotten his truck fixed, so we could actually hear each other without shouting. We told our favorite jokes, did the name game—you know, like, “If your last name's Weiser, don't name your kid Bud”—we did that for an
hour.
And then we
sang.
It was so corny, but it was fun. Cricket and Gary know a kazillion songs. Old musicals' songs, campfire songs, Beatles songs . . .I felt like I was at a marathon campfire gathering.

And then
Casey
belts out, “
Wild
Thing . . . do-do-da-do-do . . . You make my heart sing . . . do-do-da-do-do . . . You make eeeeeverything . . . groovy!” and gives me this real mischievous grin.

So, okay, I totally blushed. And since I was feeling all flushed and embarrassed, I countered by making up my own words.

“
Wild
things . . . do-do-da-do-do . . . You bite and you sting . . . do-do-da-do-do . . . You make eeeeeverything . . .
itchy
.”

Then Gary picked it up, shouting, “C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon,
wild
things!”

“Do-do-da-do-do!”

“You bite and you sting!”

“Do-do-da-do-do!”

“You make eeeeeeverything . . .”

“Itchy!” we all cried, and then busted up.

So the trip up to the Lookout was a blast, and since everyone's vehicle could make it up the last steep five miles, we didn't even have to hike.

Hooray!

When we got to the Lookout, Gary parked his truck but didn't get out right away. He just sat there, real quiet, staring. And when Cricket reached over and held his arm, I realized he was thinking about more than just this place where he hadn't been in ages.

He was thinking about his mom.

Anyway, when we all got out of the truck and joined the others, we discovered that Billy had performed some miracle transformation on Professor Prag on the way up. Ol' Needle Nose was
laughing
. Then he actually came up to me and apologized and said, “We can't thank you enough for rescuing Big Mama.”

Him calling her Big Mama instead of AC-34 totally shocked me, so I said, “You mean
Condorus bigbeakybos
?”

He laughed
real
loud, then shook his head at me and Billy. “Ah, you kids.”

When he was gone, I looked at Billy and said, “What did you
do
to him?” But I didn't really need an answer. It's just the magic of Billy Pratt.

Anyway, we all stood around and watched as Quinn, Professor Prag, Robin, and some condor handlers decked out in safety glasses and protective gloves got Marvin and his mom ready out near Echo Rock. It took three people to manage each bird—one at the head, one at the body, and one at the feet.

They shoulda just wrapped 'em in a tent and been done with it, but whatever.

And then, when everyone and everything was finally all ready, they let go of the birds and backed away.

Talk about anticlimactic. Those oversized buzzards just
stood
there.