The Fourth Stall Part III Read online

I stopped writing and gave him a look. Seriously? He just grinned at me, the match dancing on the corner of his lip.

  “I’m afraid to even ask what the game is about,” I said.

  “Basically, you’re this arsonist, right? And it’s an open-world format game like GTA or Fallout. So you just go around this city and set stuff on fire and then collect more tools of the trade along the way so you can set even bigger fires. And then, once you start burning buildings, you get bonus points for the more people that are inside them.”

  “That’s the sickest thing I’ve ever heard,” I said simply. I didn’t think much more needed to be said.

  “What?” Matches laughed. “You sound like my mom. I know the people aren’t real! It’s just a game.”

  I shook my head. “All right, whatever, Matches. We’ll deliver it to you Friday.”

  He grinned again and got up. I watched the psycho leave, making sure he wasn’t going to start my office on fire on the way out. Man, kids these days. I mean, I liked FPS and war games as much as the next guy, especially for multiplayer, but that game sounded like it was taking it a little too far. Then again, considering the things I’d seen and witnessed the past year while running my business, maybe that game wasn’t all that ridiculous after all.

  Part of me even considered hiring Matches. I mean, a kid like that could cause some massive diversions to attract the Suits’ attention. But then my common sense got the better of me. I mean, there was a limit to the kind of activities I would let myself fund; I had to draw the line somewhere.

  So for the rest of that day we worked as hard as we ever had before. And with us pulling in three times the amount of customers as usual, we made a record profit. So we were off to a good start. But there was just one little problem: I still had no idea how to get the permanent records.

  The next day at morning recess I met up with iBully in my office. I told him what I needed. He could hack into anything, so I was convinced he could get me into the school’s servers. But turns out I was wrong.

  “No can do,” he said.

  “Why not? I thought you could hack into anything within the school’s network?”

  “Well, for one, there are a huge number of files. I don’t think I could get enough uninterrupted time in the school’s mainframe to download them all to my computer to save them to a drive. And also, they’re kept on a separate server than everything else. They’re only on the district’s server, which can only be accessed through Dickerson’s computer.”

  I nodded. “No problem. We’ll break into his office at night. We’ve done it before, broken into a principal’s office. Easy.”

  iBully shook his head again. “No, that won’t work either. It’d be way too detectable and traceable, for one, because he will know he wasn’t at his computer at night. And two, the system that houses the records shuts down for backup and program updates every evening. If we try to get the files once that process has started, we could crash the whole system and erase the files. No, the only way I could get them for you is if you got me into his office in the middle of the day for close to an hour without any interruptions.”

  I sat back in my chair and sighed. That would be impossible. I mean, with the amount of bullies getting in trouble, Dickerson was spending tons of time in his office disciplining them, calling parents, and crying in frustration, probably.

  “Okay,” I said. “We’ll figure something out. I’ll be in touch.”

  I slid a five across my desk for his time. iBully picked it up and left.

  At afternoon recess Vince and I took a quick break to discuss a few cases before we let in the first few customers. So far Vince had done pretty well for himself. Not that I was surprised. He knew the business as well as I did; he only thought he didn’t.

  It was nice to take a quick break to catch up. We’d been working nonstop for two days. The night before, we’d spent the whole evening helping to get the lemonade stands set up so they’d be ready for business after school the next day. We were even going to stock them with Rice Krispie treats. I couldn’t believe how much money could be made on those. They were so cheap to make, especially when parents were footing the bill for ingredients.

  So it had been a busy evening. Vince and I had even established a new after-hours office in the playground behind his trailer. The same playground that we’d first built our business in. We were open every night from five to seven thirty and had been telling kids all day to spread the word, not just to kids around here but to their friends and family at other schools, in other towns. Anybody who needed help could come and get it for a fee behind the slide in Vince’s trailer park playground.

  “So, ready for the ultimate trivia challenge?” Vince asked me after we’d finished discussing our cases.

  “Actually, I think I’ll pass,” I said. “We just can’t waste any time right now.”

  Vince made a face, but he knew I was right. He eventually nodded and grinned.

  “Yeah, it’s like my grandma always says, ‘If there’s work to be done, then there’s no point to stuffing your pockets full of feathers because, after all, a spaceship is only as heavy as the talking goats that are driving it, unless of course they’re transporting gold. Then it’s even heavier. And tastier.’”

  I laughed. Which was nice to do. I hadn’t even taken a break long enough to laugh since my meeting with Kinko a few days before.

  “You mean she actually manages to say all of that without passing out?”

  Vince shrugged. “She’s amazing, what can I say? There’s actually even more to it, but I condensed it to save time.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. And so we went back to our desks in separate corners of the bathroom and signaled to Nubby to start letting the customers in. There was much work still to be done.

  We were pulling out all the stops. I mean, we had to. We had no chance of reaching our goal if we didn’t do anything and everything we could think of to make money. My first customer that night during our after-school office hours in the trailer park playground was proof of that. He was an old friend and former employee who didn’t even go to our school anymore.

  “Hey, Joe,” I said.

  “Hey, Mac,” he said with a huge smile. “I heard you wanted to see me?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “I’m glad word got to you.”

  “What’s going on? How’s the old school? High school is awesome, by the way. You and Vince are going to love it.”

  We chatted a little while about how his year was going, and then I filled Joe in on the situation. I left nothing out. Besides Vince, Joe had been my oldest and most trusted employee for the past four years.

  “Man, that’s a pickle,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “But how can I help?”

  “Spread the word. I mean, I know high school kids might scoff at coming to a seventh grader for help, but I have to think they have just as many problems, if not more, than we do, right?”

  Joe thought this over and then nodded. “Yeah, well, I don’t know if they do have more problems, but they definitely complain about everything more.”

  “Right. So spread the word. You can act as the business front there. We’ll even split profits with you. You take customers, bring their problems to me, we’ll fix them, and then get back to you. Or tell you how to fix them. Anything they need, we can help them.”

  Joe took a long time to mull it over. Which was fine. If he was in, I wanted him to be sure. Eventually he did what I knew he would. You can always count on guys like Joe to do the right thing.

  “Okay, I’m in,” he said. “I’ll see if I can drum up any business at the high school.”

  “Perfect,” I said. “Just meet me here every night at six and we’ll go over your business dealings. I never thought I’d end up having someone open a franchise.”

  Joe laughed and then stood to leave. “Before I go, though, could I hear one grandma quote, you know, just for old time’s?”

  I looked at Vince,
who was grinning from ear to ear. Nothing made him happier than getting requests for grandma quotes. Well, okay, maybe Cubs victories made him happier, but grandma-quote requests were definitely a close second.

  “Joe, my grandma always says, ‘Let no sapphires of the Bombay variety go to waste, lest you want to end up inside a closet crying and wearing a Richard Nixon mask while your grandpa tries to feed applesauce to the lamp in the living room.’”

  Joe burst out laughing and then clapped Vince on the shoulder in a friendly way. He waved good-bye to me while still chuckling and then hopped on his bike and rode off. I signaled to Nubby to let the next customer through.

  It was Staples. And he had brought a guest.

  Kinko.

  “Hey, Mac,” Staples said. “I came to check in on things.”

  At first I thought Kinko had told him something. But clearly she didn’t, since Staples hadn’t pounded me into eel food. Staples had been filled in on all of our operations and had even been helping when he could. Delivering supplies to lemonade stands in his car, buying us various movies and video games that we wouldn’t have been allowed to due to our age, stuff like that.

  “Good,” I said, eyeing Kinko warily. She just sat there next to Staples and grinned at me.

  “Isn’t this great? Her jerk foster parents let her come with for once; we’re going to a movie,” Staples said.

  He was beaming. His sister had finally agreed to let him treat her to something fun. But I knew it was an act. She had probably agreed to go with him solely to spy on me.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m Abby.”

  “Yeah, we, uh, met at your school several weeks ago near the playground . . . remember?” I said.

  She shook her head, still grinning at me. The most evil smile imaginable.

  This was awkward.

  “So there are kids at our school talking all about your school,” she said.

  “Oh yeah?” I played along.

  “Yeah! I guess there’s this kid, Mac, who goes here who owes a ton of money to this guy at our school named Kinko. And kids are saying that Mac’s really gonna get it if he doesn’t come through. I mean, Kinko is pretty psycho. Nobody crosses Kinko.”

  I swallowed. Or tried to.

  “See?” Staples said. “Listen to that! Her school is messed-up. We have to fix this.”

  “Yeah, fix this!” Kinko said, and then giggled, pretending that she had no idea what Staples meant.

  I nodded.

  “Boy, I sure do feel bad for this Mac kid, though,” she said. “They said he’s running out of time. The kids at my school are crazeeeeeee. Just for a kid sneezing too loud they’ll, like, steal his shoes and start them on fire and melt them down into a puddle of rubbery goo and then make the kid’s dog eat it all! Crazy, huh?”

  Staples nodded. “I told you Thief Valley was rough. Anyway, let’s go. The show starts soon.”

  He reached out for Kinko’s hand, but she ignored it. Instead she got up, wiped her face with her sleeve, and winked at me.

  Staples gave up and put his hands in his pockets and started walking back toward his car with Kinko walking next to him. She turned back toward me and drew her index finger across her throat while smiling, then started skipping out ahead of Staples toward his car.

  I looked at Vince, and he was almost white like a ghost. I then realized that had been his first in-person glimpse of how truly diabolical that little third-grade girl could be. I cleared my throat and motioned for Nubby to usher over the next customer.

  It was a young girl, maybe first grade. She was bawling and had snot running down her dirty face. I sighed and glanced at Vince, who managed a smirk. Sometimes working could actually be kind of fun, and other times it was, well, work. I put on a fake smile and greeted the wailing first grader, deciding that she likely wouldn’t be able to even pay me enough to be worth the time. But if I was going to do this, I was going to do it right, which still meant not turning away customers, no matter how small or poor or snot-faced they were.

  That weekend was huge for us. We had more operations and business ventures running that weekend than we’d ever had before times ten. We had a movie and video game booth set up selling dozens of the newest R- and M-rated titles. We had a test answer and homework blowout, for which Vince and I amassed all of the essay papers, book reports, work sheet packets, and test answer keys we’d collected over the years into one giant file cabinet. We priced all the items and put them up for sale at bargain prices. And they sold like we were selling gold for pocket lint. But then, why wouldn’t they? What kid wouldn’t want to buy enough prewritten essay papers to last him a whole school year for a mere fifty dollars?

  Other things we had going that weekend were the lemonade stand and conjoined baked good/dessert stands. Lots of kids helping us had asked their moms and dads for treats and then they smuggled them out of the house and sold them to us for cheap. We turned around and sold them for slightly more to other kids. You’d think that that might be kind of a lame business, but with so many parents freaking out about eating healthy these days, you’d be surprised at just how many kids were treat-deprived and desperate to pay for a good old-fashioned chocolate chip cookie or brownie.

  Plus, we were just lucky enough to have the hottest weekend of the fall, with temperatures getting up and over one hundred degrees on Saturday and Sunday. And since it was projected to be one of the last nice weekends of the year, everybody was outside trying to take advantage. All of that added up to record profits from the lemonade stands, which Huston ran with an iron fist. And lots of whistle blowing and penalties, such as “illegal use of hands” (for touching the cookies without gloves) or “personal foul” (for trying to embezzle a few bucks from the afternoon sales).

  Joe also came through with some business for us from high school kids. Not as much as I felt was possible, but still enough to generate a few hundred dollars of business. And in this predicament literally every last cent would help.

  We also got some visits from kids we didn’t know from nearby towns. I guessed word had really spread. Many of those kids were starving for this type of help, so out-of-towners and kids from other schools in town really drove up the movie and video game sales.

  Even Staples had found more ways to help out. Some kids offered to pay for pictures with the old crime legend. Sure, I’d taken him down a year ago, but for many kids that didn’t erase the name he’d built for himself. He was still a living legend. And disappearing like he had after our showdown last year only heightened his mysterious and legendary status in some kids’ minds.

  Tyrell agreed to partner with me as well and offered his spy services on a freelance basis to kids. He split profits with me 50/50, and there were a surprising number of kids who hired him to do some spying for them.

  Between all of our new branches at the high school, in the lemonade business, etc., and pulling triple shifts between Vince, Jimmy Two-Tone, and me, we were doing pretty well. And by doing pretty well, I mean we were taking in boatloads of cash.

  Of course it wasn’t all profit. In my economics class that year we’d learned about the difference between gross income and net income, and I don’t want to bore you with specifics, but let’s just say all the money you make isn’t always direct profit that you get to keep.

  This size operation called for a lot of employees. Employees who had to be paid, though many of them were working for a discount. We had to pay helpers, pay for the goods sold, pay for bully protection and bully diversions. And I had to say, they had done a pretty good job keeping the Suits so distracted that they had no idea what I was up to.

  Some of the confirmed diversions I’d heard about included a fight between Little Paul and a pack of third graders that spanned the whole length of the football field and involved raw eggs, a wad of chewed gum, and a bottle of hand sanitizer. Also, Kitten had been on his game, at one point threatening a teacher with a water balloon filled with iodine. He even got a few days of in-school suspension for that one
.

  Other notable incidents included the school sprinkler system being set off not once, not twice, but four times; the return of the Graffiti Ninja, albeit a less talented version; and iBully supposedly planting some small bugs into the school’s network. As of right now, the internet home page for every computer in the whole building was stuck as this website called www.gerbilpoop.com, which is this gross site that probably doesn’t need further explanation. And the school computer guy still hadn’t been able to fix it. All in all, the school was a chaotic mess.

  Which, yeah, I knew was a little risky considering what had happened last year with Dr. George and almost having the school shut down. But this time was different. This time there was no massive test failure to serve as the linchpin. This time it was just a culmination of petty acts of vandalism and sabotage. It was kind of funny, in a way, that we were sabotaging our own school in order to avoid worse sabotage from an outside source. It barely made sense if any at all. But like Staples said, you can’t get out without making sacrifices.

  Normally I’m not the sort of guy who likes to brag about myself. But even I had to admit that we were at the top of our game. Our business had never functioned better, had never made more money. By Monday morning it somehow seemed like we actually might achieve the impossible and be able to pay back Kinko on Tuesday.

  The biggest problem still at hand, of course, was that we had only one day left to get the permanent records. Which is why Sunday night I had called a special meeting with Vince and several select kids. We came up with probably our most insane and complicated plan ever.

  Have you ever seen a movie or TV program that shows the stock market? Not like the scrolling thing on the bottom of the screen on news channels with a bunch of numbers and symbols. I mean, like footage of something called the stock exchange floor. Well, if you haven’t, basically it’s a bunch of people wearing dress shirts and suits running around with papers in their hands, waving and screaming and climbing all over one another.