The Alias Men (3 page)

5

THURSDAY, 2:41 P.M.

I FROZE. THEN I RAISED MY HAND, WAVING
the folded map. “Dropped my paper,” I said as I slipped back in my seat. The lady next to me gave me a confused look.

“It appears our young passenger thought he might make a cameo in
You Only Live Once
.” Greg the guide fake-laughed at his sad joke, and the group joined him.

I felt my stomach drop as I pretended to laugh, too. I'd just lost my best chance to leave undetected. And we were minutes away from my ideal exit point from the tram.

This was not good.

The tram started moving again, and panic spread through my chest. I had to come up with a plan to get off the tourist tram undetected, or this mission would be a bust.

“Next up, we'll get a glimpse of the departments that make the magic work virtually—our
sss
pecial-effects crew,” Greg droned over the intercom. He kept his eyes on me. I needed him to look somewhere else, and for the other tourists to do the same thing.

I needed a distraction.

The tram veered right. I had to hurry up and think of something. An explosion? No dice—I had no way to blow anything up. So what could I do?

“Now, to our left, you can see the restaurant where the stars get their lunch,” Greg the guide went on. Having the tourists' attention toward the left side of the tram wasn't good, because that was exactly where I needed to go. I was running out of time!

Then I saw two guys to my right, walking down the street: one short blond dude, one tall guy with black hair. From the back, the tall one kind of looked like this famous actor. And that's when I had my idea. It wouldn't distract the group for long, but then all I needed was a second to slip away.

So I yelled, “Look! It's David Graham!”

Everyone instantly shifted their attention to where I was pointing. The tourists mumbled.

“Everyone, we may have our first
ccc
elebrity
sss
ighting!” Greg hissed.

But I didn't stick around. I slid from my seat, jumped off the moving tram, and ran between the fake restaurant and a pretend barbershop down a dark alleyway toward the back of Sterlingville's Main Street.

I quickly glanced over my shoulder. The tourists were still stretching their necks to catch a glimpse of David Graham, who totally wasn't there.

Behind the fake storefronts was a wide street. A few golf carts were parked in front of a large warehouse-type building across the street to my left—298 was written in big black letters near the door. A group of people carrying clipboards huddled nearby, but thankfully, they didn't pay attention to me.

To the right, there was another building—299. And I caught a glimpse of a large warehouse to the right of it. That had to be the costume department!

I passed a woman on the phone, and a guy driving a golf cart who gave me a smile and a nod. There was a girl with long dark hair, carrying a big bag, walking in the opposite direction—she looked familiar, and I figured she was an actress or something. Nobody seemed to pay much attention to me, which was a good thing.

I reached the building—300. My hand almost slipped off the door handle, my palm was so sweaty. I reminded myself that this was a simple mission.

Get the hat. Get out. Save my family—and the rest of LA—from evil terrorists. Easy-peasy, right?

Inside, the warehouse smelled a little like old books at a library. There was a front waiting-type area with chairs lining the walls, and a small reception desk. Thankfully, no one seemed to be working.

I slipped behind the desk and into the warehouse. The place was full of shelves that reached the ceiling—it reminded me of this auto-parts place up in Pismo Beach where Dad goes to get supplies. Only here the shelves were filled with furniture from different eras. I passed chairs, tables, and lamps from the fifties, the seventies—even stuff that looked like it belonged in a Western movie.

But where was the hat? Was there a safe someplace?

I turned and went down another aisle. More furniture, and clear plastic containers marked
Bedding, '70s
and
Accessories, Girl's Bedroom
, and
Rolled-up Rugs
. I stopped, feeling hopeless. How was I supposed to find a hat in this giant building?

I had to get to the back half of the warehouse, Black had told me. To the costume department. Then I caught a glimpse of a door at the end of the aisle I was in.
Costumes
, it said in curly black letters. Eureka!

I rushed toward the back of the building. There were windows on either side of the door, but it looked dark behind them. I tried the door. It was open—I couldn't believe my luck. This mission might just be a piece of cake after all.

I found the light switch to the left as I walked inside. Waited for the flicker of the overhead lights. And then my good mood faded with the darkness. This space was as big as the front half of the warehouse behind me, only it was lined with double-high racks of clothing, interspersed with shelves.

I groaned. Why couldn't this just be easy?

But there was no time to whine about it. I had to get to work, before Tour Guide Greg realized I was missing.

I combed the rows of musty-smelling dresses, suits, and coats. There were clear plastic containers with shoes inside, stacked high on the shelves down one of the aisles. I didn't see a safe, so I wondered if maybe the Dangerous Double was hidden in plain sight.

“Hats, I need hats,” I mumbled. These Pandora missions were so stressful, I was turning into Grandpa, talking to myself.

Finally, I found an area with big round hatboxes—this had to be it, right? But which one had the Chaplin hat, my Dangerous Double? Thankfully, each box was neatly labeled:
Ladies, 1930s
and so on. What was Chaplin's hat again? I pulled the picture Black had given me from my pocket, and took a quick glance. Right—a bowler hat. That was what I needed.

I was about halfway down the aisle with the hatboxes when I heard the faint sound of a door opening then closing at the other end of the warehouse, where I'd come in.

I froze.

“Hey, kid!”

6

THURSDAY, 2:51 P.M.

“HEY!” GREG THE GUIDE HOLLERED AGAIN
from the prop area. “You're gonna get me fired. Nobody's allowed to just run around the lot. Come out—I know you're in here!”

I wasn't giving up now. Not when I was so close. So I hurried down the aisle, frantically looking for the bowler hat.

And there it was! It even said on the little label:
Chaplin Bowler
. I couldn't believe my luck when I opened the box and pulled out the hat.

“I'll find you, you little pain in the rear,” Greg said, sounding much closer now.

I quickly stuffed the bowler hat inside my backpack. Then I hurried toward the door I'd come in through, and turned off the light.

“Ah—looking for costumes, are you?” I heard Greg's footsteps nearby. He must have seen the lights go off through the windows by the door.

I should've just left the lights on. Now he had me.

I saw the door handle inch down. I slipped between some poufy Mary Poppins dresses, hoping Greg wouldn't find me.

“You know, you might as well come out,” Greg called as he came in through the door to the costume department. “I already called security.” He closed the door behind him.

I held my breath. These dresses could've used some dry cleaning, let me tell you.

“Sterling Studios doesn't tolerate trespassing, you know.” Greg sounded very close now. “You'll go to kid prison, sport.” He stood right next to me. I could see his white shoes under the dresses. And he saw me, too. “Ha!” he yelled, and reached into the rack of dresses.

But this wasn't my first getaway, in case you're wondering. So I darted deeper into the rack of dresses and then slipped out. Except one of those skirt hoops got stuck on the zipper of my backpack. And before I knew it, I saw the whole rack come down.

Right on top of Greg the guide's head. He struggled, and looked like he was being attacked by all those dresses.

I laughed. It was funny, right?

Then I saw two security guards opening the door to the costume department. And Albert Black was wrong—they weren't surfer dudes. Sure, they were tanned, but they also looked pretty serious about their jobs.

So I quickly turned around, and stared right at Greg. He had a hoop skirt stuck on his head, making him look ridiculous.

But I didn't laugh this time. Because the two guards approached behind me, and I knew there was no way out of this jam.

I was busted.

7

THURSDAY, 3:00 P.M.

THE GUARDS TOOK ME AWAY, RIGHT
after they helped Greg wrangle that hoop skirt.

“Make sure this kid never makes it back onto Sterling Studios property,” Greg huffed on his way out to meet the stranded tourists. “Blacklist him!”

The guards had gotten there on bicycles, but they ended up walking alongside the bikes as we made our way to the small office building near the warehouse.

“What on earth were you doing over there, kid?” the older of the guards asked me. He looked friendly enough.

I shrugged. “Just curious, I guess.” I glanced at the guy's partner, a tall skinny dude with thin reddish hair. He was carrying my backpack with the Dangerous Double inside. I didn't really care what happened next, as long as I could complete this mission.

“You know, we'll have to call the authorities now,” the older guard said. We passed a group of guys, one with a folder, all of them giving us a sideways glance.

“The police?” I said.

I was thinking about calling Albert Black to bail me out, when this skinny guy walked up to us. His hair was bleached blond, he wore brown plastic glasses, and under a leather jacket I saw a Rolling Stones T-shirt. He walked kind of bouncily on bright orange sneakers.

Whoever he was, this odd-looking dude made the guards stop in their tracks. “Mr. Floyd,” the older guard said.

Floyd pointed at me. “Who's the kid?”

“Lincoln Baker,” I said. Mr. Floyd was obviously important, or otherwise no one would have let him get away with wearing that getup, so I straightened. “Everybody just calls me Linc.”

“You're brilliant, Linc,” Floyd said with a big smile. He had a British accent.

The older guard cleared his throat. “Actually, Lincoln Baker here broke into the costume department warehouse. We're detaining him until the police arrive.”

Floyd nodded, like he was agreeing with the older guard. I guess I wasn't so brilliant after all. But then Floyd shook his head and said, “Forget about all that. Let the kid go.”

I smiled. “Yeah. That's a great idea.”

Floyd studied my face. “For the last two days, I've been watching every bloomin' child in this city audition for my film. They're all awful. But you . . .” He grabbed my chin and moved my face. Studied my profile from each side. “You're just the kid I'm looking for.”

“You're casting him in your movie?” the tall guard asked.

Uh-oh. “I'm not an actor,” I said. “So you've got the wrong guy.”

Floyd shook his head. Pulled a pen and piece of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket. “It's settled. Come to this address—my humble abode,” he said with a smile as he handed the paper over. “Seven o'clock. We're having a little bash to celebrate a friend's Oscar nomination, yeah?”

If it got me out of this jam with Sterling Studios security, why not, right? “Um, okay.”

“You're perfect for the role.” Floyd tucked the paper in my palm. “Be there tonight and I'll make sure my assistant, Larry, gets you the contract for your agent, Lincoln—what was it again?”

“Baker.”

“Lincoln Baker.”
He smiled. “Marvelous.” He turned and waved his hand over his shoulder as he walked away. “Absolutely marvelous!”

The guards looked kind of lost, there on the studio sidewalk. I glanced at the piece of paper in my palm. Stuffed it in my pocket.

“Well, buddy,” the old guard said with a sigh, “I guess you're a movie star.”

I was about to object to this, when the tall guard handed me my backpack. “Good luck.”

“So I can leave now?” I asked.

The guards nodded.

I smiled. I found the Dangerous Double—and got busted—but still managed to walk out with the hat. I saved my family, all in like an hour. It couldn't have ended better than this.

Albert Black would be thrilled, and now I could go back to my aunt and uncle's place to spend the weekend with the Baker clan.

Perfect ending to a perfect day, I thought as I walked past the security shack and back to the café. Albert Black was waiting for me at the curb, about to light one of his stinky cigars.

“Back already, kid?” Black tucked the cigar in the breast pocket of his shirt. “They kick you out?”

I shook my head, and couldn't help grinning. “I got the hat!”

“Shhh!” Black glanced around, but there was only some woman with a stroller trying to get inside the café, too busy to notice us. He relaxed. “Let's see it.”

I got closer. Unzipped the large compartment of my backpack. And reached inside to pull out the bowler hat. “Do we need to be careful?” I asked Black. “You know, so we don't go invisible in the middle of LA?”

Albert Black groaned. “You're gonna wish you were invisible.” He pulled the hat from my backpack and shoved it in my face. “Read the label on the inside.”

Made in China.

“So what?”

“This is a cheap knockoff Chaplin hat—made in the past decade, at best.”

I felt my heart stop. “This isn't the Dangerous Double.”

Albert Black shook his head. “You got the wrong hat, kid.”

“But there wasn't another one. And it said ‘Chaplin Bowler' on the box,” I added.

“It was there when the costume department head died.” Black's face went dark. “Maybe someone beat you to it.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Did that terrorist group get the Dangerous Double?”

Black shook his head. “They're not in the US—not yet anyway.”

“Some safe place, this warehouse,” I mumbled.

Black said, “Word is, William Redding practically lived at that costume department, never even took a sick day. He guarded the Chaplin Dangerous Double. The costume department was a very safe place to keep it. Until he died, that is.”

“So do I have to go back to Sterling Studios? This dude Greg really hates me, and there's some strange director guy in orange sneakers who wants me to be in his movie.”

Black pulled my arm. “Wait—what director?”

“I don't know.” I pulled away. “He said I was perfect for his movie or something. He had a British accent—Floyd,” I added, remembering the guy's name now. “Weird dude.”

“Nigel Floyd—he's a famous movie director, kid.” Black smiled. “This might just work out after all. It's possible someone on that Sterling Studios movie lot took the Dangerous Double before we could get to it. Security around here is obviously tight enough that it has to be a staff member. This person probably doesn't even know about the powers of the Chaplin hat.”

“So now what?” I stuffed the stupid bowler hat inside my backpack and zipped it up.

“Floyd loves you.” Black smacked my shoulder. “This is a perfect way in. We can find out if someone took the Dangerous Double. Steal it back.”

I felt a familiar feeling in my gut, the kind I'd had on my previous missions. Like Pandora just dropped a brick inside my stomach. “I have to go to this party tonight? I'm no actor,” I muttered.

“You are now.” Black grinned. “Welcome to Hollywood, kid.”