After another moment or two of staring—watching the ripples fade?—Mr. B turned and looked around and spotted them. He looked surprised and
concerned, but his tone was pleasant.
“Hey! What are you two doing here?”
“We were on our way home and saw you,” Steve said.
Before Mr. B could answer, a stocky man with longish black hair strol ed up. They shook hands and Mr. B introduced him as Assemblyman Vasquez.
Vasquez … Mr. B had mentioned him last night. Jack had the impression this was a prearranged meeting because neither seemed surprised to see
the other.
“Mr. Vasquez and I have things to discuss back at the house. What are you boys up to?”
“We’re gonna work on the computer,” Steve said.
“I think I’l take a rain check on that,” Jack blurted. “I’ve got a couple of lawns to do early tomorrow.”
True, but not why he was begging off.
“Later,” he said, and trotted away.
But instead of heading home he began running through the shadows. Sure as night fol ows day they’d be walking back along Quakerton Road. To avoid
it he cut through backyards, setting more than one family dog to barking. Jack wanted to reach the Brussard house first.
Now I
But so what? He had nothing better to do. TV offered only summer reruns anyway.
The man he’d seen with Mr. Brussard last night had dropped dead, and now this Vasquez guy they’d mentioned shows up. He sensed something going
on, but couldn’t say what.
No way he could talk to his folks about it—they’d think he was crazy.
Right. That would fly—right out the window. They’d be rubberizing his bedroom.
He knew he should mind his own business, but he couldn’t. He told himself he wasn’t out to solve a crime or anything—wasn’t trying to be the Hardy
Boys—he simply wanted to
He had a good view of the front of the house from here. He’d watched the three of them enter, and now he saw the two men step into the den. After a
moment or two of hesitation—what if he got caught?—he steeled himself and crept forward to peek through the open window.
Mr. B and Vasquez stood facing each other. Steve’s father cradled an open humidor in one arm and was placing a little red box in Vasquez’s hand.
He heard Mr. B saying, “Wel , here it is, Julio. I tried to help Sumter and Haskins, but I don’t think they believed the klazen was such a real threat. Don’t
you make the same mistake.”
Some of what fol owed was garbled as they turned away from the window—then he heard him say, “… tomorrow at dawn, face your back to the sun,
and use it.”
Use what? Was the “it” in one of those little red boxes? Jack was dying to know.
The rest was garbled as wel . Next thing he knew, Mr. Brussard was leading the assemblyman out of the room. Jack darted back into the shadows and
watched the front door. He saw that strange handshake fol owed by good-luck wishes, and then they parted.
When Vasquez was gone, Jack crept back to the window and stared at the humidor.
What was in it? More little red boxes? And what was in
Not knowing was making him crazy.
When Jack got home he found his folks sitting side by side on the couch watching
kitchen for a snack, but instead he sneaked upstairs to their bedroom. He went straight to his father’s closet,
