Home Alone 3 (2 page)

"Leave, both of you!" Mrs. Pruitt commanded.

Stan and Molly backed away from the door, but not before Stan delivered one final blow. "This is great," he said with a chuckle. "If he scratches his chicken spots, we'll be able to call him Scar Butt."

Alex shut his eyes and fumed.
Kill!

Then he felt his mother's lips press against his forehead. "Don't mind them, hon. I'll make you some soup.

"And I'll bring the TV up from the family room," added his dad.

His mom stood up and patted him on the head. "I'm so sorry you're sick, hon."

"Try not to scratch those things," said his dad.

Together they left the room.

Alex gazed sadly over at the cage where his pet white rat, Doris, was crawling around in the wood chips. There was nothing worse than being the youngest kid.

After putting their youngest son to bed, Jack and Karen Pruitt headed for their basement. They had a week's worth of laundry to fold—not to mention that the laundry room was one of the few places they could talk in private.

"So here's the big question," Mrs. Pruitt said to her husband. "Who is going to watch Alex while he stays home and recovers from the chicken pox?"

"How about your sister?" Mr. Pruitt asked. "Could she watch him?"

"That was my first thought, but she can't," Mrs. Pruitt replied. "She hasn't had the chicken pox. It's terrible when you get them as an adult. I hate to say this, but there really isn't a soul I can tell."

"There's Mrs. Hess," Mr. Pruitt suggested.

"She doesn't like kids," his wife said. "Alex wouldn't go for that. Besides," she joked, "he doesn't drink or smoke."

"What if it's an emergency?" Mr. Pruitt wondered.

"I'm sure she'd be willing to help," Mrs. Pruitt answered. "But I can't ask her to watch him all week."

"I suppose not," Mr. Pruitt agreed reluctantly.

"Do you
have
to go to Cleveland?" his wife asked.

"I'm going with my boss," Mr. Pruitt answered. "I don't think I should cancel. What about you? Is there any way you could work out of the house this week?"

"It's a bad time to try it," Mrs. Pruitt said. "We're in the middle of the postholiday rush. But I guess I'll have to stay home. I don't have any choice. If my boss fires me, that's life."

"There's one other option," Mr. Pruitt said. "Could you leave him home . . . alone?"

"Not a chance," Mrs. Pruitt replied firmly.

"Even if you're at your office just a few miles away?" Mr. Pruitt asked.

"Well . . ." Mrs. Pruitt seemed to waiver. "I guess if he was feeling okay, and I only had to go to the office to pick up a few things."

"Think about it," Mr. Pruitt said. "You have a beeper, a computer, and the phones. Mrs. Hess would be your emergency backup. And don't forget, it's not like we live in a dangerous neighborhood."

"You're right about that," Mrs. Pruitt agreed.

The next morning, Burton Jernigan and Earl Unger were up and about at dawn, setting up for the day's work.

Before they left the ranch house, Jernigan dressed himself in a telephone lineman's outfit, complete with tool belt and hard hat. The hard hat had a tiny camera mounted on the side of it. Secretly, Jernigan was rather pleased with his costume. He liked the way he looked in the rugged workman's attire.

While Jernigan perched atop a telephone pole and took aerial photos of the neighborhood, Unger completed an assignment he found particularly demeaning. Muttering to himself, he sneaked down an alley and into a backyard dog run. As quietly as possible, he slipped a leash onto the medium-sized brown mutt within, then dragged the mutt into the alley.

The blue van rolled down the alley and came to a stop beside Unger. With a sigh of disgust, he slid open the door and shoved the mutt inside. "Last week I was in Monaco stealing the Espaniol diamond," Unger grumbled. "This week I'm in Mayberry stealing Opie's dog. I can't wait for next week."

By the time everyone else on his block had left for school or work the next morning, Alex was already bored of being in his room. He reached for the antique silver bell his mom had placed beside his bed and gave it a firm shake.

Downstairs, his mother put down the phone with a sigh. "Alex! I'm on with the office!"

So what else was new? Alex thought, turning his attention to the TV set at the foot of his bed. An exercise program was airing. With a grin, Alex fired his dart gun at the set and nailed one of the exercisers right in the butt. Just then, Mrs. Pruitt appeared in the doorway of Alex's room. She was breathing heavily. Quickly, Alex grabbed the remote for his new toy car. It was a model of one of those off-road vehicles, complete with the roll bar and miniature rubber knobby tires. Alex had discovered that it was excellent for transporting stuff. He thumbed the remote and sent the car zooming toward his mother. An empty, used water glass was affixed to its top. Mrs. Pruitt sighed as she bent down to retrieve the glass. Alex just smiled sweetly at her.

Later that day, Alex decided he was too bored to obey his mother's orders to stay in bed. He got up and dressed himself in a makeshift explorer's outfit, which consisted of a bathrobe, rubber boots, his Darth Vader helmet, and a toy ammo belt. Last but not least, he placed Doris the rat in a camera case and slung it around his neck.

Looking for something to do, Alex aimed his telescope across the street and into old Mrs. Hess's living room. There was Mrs. Hess, walking through her living room with a glass of iced tea in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Alex could even see what was playing on the old lady's TV—at the moment, a commercial that starred a fat, yellow tabby cat.

"Look," Alex told Doris. She poked her head out the lens opening of the camera case. Alex held her up to the eyepiece for a view of the cat. Doris squeaked and retreated into the case.

Alex had an inspiration. Peeking into the camera case, he grinned at his rat. "You think that was amusing, wait 'til you see what I do next."

He sneaked out of his room and into his brother Stan's. Except for the dumb posters of girls in bikinis, Stan's room was pretty cool, especially his collection of air rifles.

"Awk! What's that flunky smell?" Stan's green parrot squawked when Alex tiptoed in.

"Shut up, bird," Alex whispered, and gently removed the rifle scope from one of the air rifles.

Back in his own room, Alex taped the remote from the TV to the rifle scope. His TV was the same brand as Mrs. Hess's.

Alex went to his window. He took careful aim with the rifle scope. He could see right into Mrs. Hess's living room again. Now the old lady was standing in front of a cabinet, splashing a clear liquid into her iced tea. Alex smiled to himself.

Alex held his aim steady and pressed the power button on the TV remote. Across the street in Mrs. Hess's living room, the TV went off.

With a start, Mrs. Hess looked over her shoulder at the TV. She wore a puzzled frown on her face.

Alex clicked the TV back on. Chuckling to himself, he hit the channel changer. Mrs. Hess's talk show disappeared and was replaced by a music video.

Poor Mrs. Hess was now staring at her TV with a look of total bewilderment on her face.

Alex felt deeply satisfied.

The living room of the ranch house was filled with surveillance equipment. There were cameras, scopes, transmitters, cell phones, scanners, dishes. On a long metal rack were a series of disguises. In a case on the floor was a set of untraceable handguns with all serial numbers filed off.

Peter Beaupre sat at his laptop computer, going over stolen information, trying to narrow down the houses on Washington Street where an old lady might live.

Four sleeping bags were spread out on the floor. Earl Unger sat on the red sleeping bag, eating a container of microwave soup with a plastic spoon. Jernigan sat on a folding chair, sharpening a knife with a whetstone.

"What's your best guess on how long we're gonna be at this slumber party?" Unger griped.

"No longer than necessary," Peter Beaupre replied.

"That was helpful," Unger scoffed.

Peter Beaupre was getting tired of Unger's complaining. He pointed at the door. "There's a door. You can use it any time you want, Mr. Unger."

Unger backed off a bit, changing the subject to his less-than-satisfying meal. "I'm eating reconstituted alphabet soup for Pete's sake," he moaned.

"Don't spill any on my bed," Burton Jernigan warned.

"This isn't a bed," Unger snapped. "This is a
bag
. And it's mine."

"No." Jernigan shook his head. "I picked the red one. You picked the green. Alice got blue. Mr. Beaupre took black."

Earl Unger couldn't believe it. "Does it really matter to you what color your sleeping bag is?"

Burton Jernigan nodded. "Yes. I like red."

Peter Beaupre was getting really exasperated, "Please," he grumbled. "Can I have some quiet? I have work to do."

"Mr. Jernigan, you're an infant," Unger stated with a sigh, as he relocated to the green sleeping bag.

While Jernigan and Unger sulked, Beaupre continued his work. One wall of the ranch house was already covered with his research on the families in Alex's neighborhood. Next to an aerial photo of each family's house hung a list of family

members, their ages and occupations, motor vehicle descriptions and license numbers, household pets, and other similar information.

Alice was on the floor of the ranch house, happily gluing Monopoly houses to a 3-D representation of the neighborhood. The gang was just about ready for action.

Alex stood at the top of the stairs, arguing with his mother. He had tired of tormenting Mrs. Hess, and now he was bored again. He wanted to join his mom in the living room. However, Mrs. Pruitt was not cooperating.

"But I feel a lot better now," Alex told her.

"I don't care," said his mom. "You're not coming downstairs. You're sick and you have to stay in bed."

"Will you come up and talk to me?" Alex asked.

"I've been up and down the stairs twenty times today, Alex," his mom said. "We talked and talked and talked. I have to finish my work. I have to make dinner."

"Did you know that Mrs. Hess puts booze in her iced tea?" Alex asked.

"Were you using your telescope to spy on Mrs. Hess?" his mom asked.

"Obviously," Alex replied. "I'm not telepathic."

"Knock it off," his mother said sternly. "It's rude. You wouldn't like somebody doing it to you. If you feel so much better, maybe you should start your schoolwork."

Alex thought it over. "I don't feel
that
good," he decided.

As if it wasn't bad enough to have the chicken pox, Alex also had to deal with his jerkface brother and dweebazoid sister. He was sitting at his desk that night when he heard them in the hall outside his room.

"School really rocked today," Molly was saying. "It's so cool that we got money."

"Yeah," said Stan. "Ten bucks just for showing up."

At his desk in his room, Alex straightened up.
They got ten bucks just for showing up at school?

"It was enough to just meet the Chicago Bulls," Stan went on, "but to get ten bucks from them was just too cool."

Alex felt his eyes go wide.

"How come they did that?" he heard Molly ask Stan.

"The government arranged it," Stan explained. "It's a one-time only reward for kids showing up at school."

The Chicago Bulls!
Alex jumped out of his seat and dashed into the hall.

Both Molly and Stan looked surprised to see him.

"You met the Bulls?" Alex asked, astounded.

Stan nodded. "Guess it pays to stay healthy, huh?"

"I can't believe it!" Alex cried in agony.

"You didn't tell him about the slam-dunk contest, did you?" Molly asked.

"Slam dunk?" Alex gasped.

"One-on-one with Jordan," Molly said.

He'd missed a one-on-one with Michael Jordan in his own school? Alex's knees suddenly felt weak. He leaned against the door jam. "I feel faint."

Suddenly, Molly started to laugh. "He bought it! What a dork!"

Alex straightened up. Stan was grinning evilly at him. "I didn't think chicken pox affected the brain. I was wrong."

They'd been goofing on him, Alex clenched his fists.
Kill!

The next morning, Alex lay in bed with the thermometer in his mouth again. He'd watched TV all morning. Now he was watching the weather channel, where an announcer was talking about a powerful front moving in from the west and picking up moisture from a low pressure area coming up from the Gulf of Mexico. At the same time, a blast of Arctic air was going to sweep down from the Rockies. The result looked like a major snowstorm heading for Chicago.

Excellent, Alex thought with a smile.

His mother was coming up the stairs. Alex picked up his semi-automatic bubble gun and hid it under the covers.

His mom came in. But instead of wearing slacks and a sweater, she was wearing her business clothes.

Alex frowned. "How come you're all dressed up?"

"I have to go to work for a little while, hon," his mom said apologetically, and took the thermometer out of his mouth. "You're just a hair over ninety-nine."

Alex made a face. "Didn't you tell your boss that I'm desperately ill?"

His mom nodded. Alex took out his bubble gun and shot a stream of water bubbles at her.

Mrs. Pruitt smiled crookedly and took the gun away. "Thank you, hon. Yes, my boss knows you're sick."

"What about the Family Leave Act?" Alex asked.

"I just have to pick up some work, sign some papers, and show my face," his mom explained. "I'll be gone an hour at the most. I've called Mrs. Hess and told her you were going to be alone. She—"

"You called Mrs. Hess?" Alex wrinMed his nose. "She knows I'm going to be alone?"

"She said if anything comes up, she'll come right over," Mrs. Pruitt explained. "She wasn't happy about it, but she agreed."