Sammy Keyes and the Search for Snake Eyes (24 page)

I followed her, trying to sort through everything I
knew about Snake Eyes. And every now and then Marissa would say, “Is this where we turned?” or, “Are we going the right way?” and I'd say, “Yeah, I think so,” or, “Uhhuh,” but I wasn't really paying attention. Then all of a sudden Marissa stops, spins completely around, and whimpers, “Where
are
we?”

That snaps me out of my head and back to reality. And one look around, I know where we are. “Tigertown,” I tell her. “We're still in Tigertown.”

“But how do we get
out
of here?”

“Do you know which way's east? West?”

She just stares at me.

“North?”

“No! Every way feels like the wrong way! There are so many dead ends and curves—I'm twisted all around!”

“Okay…well… what street are we on?”

“I don't know…!”

So we went to the end of the block and looked at the street sign. “Cutter?” I said. “Never heard of it.” I looked down the cross street. It went a block and T-ed into another street that was bordered on the far side by a graffitied block wall. “Well, that goes nowhere,” I said, but then I noticed that the building on the corner down that street was a market. “Marissa, look! Let's go ask at that market.”

So we hurried along, and even though we were obviously in a poor part of town, it didn't seem
dangerous
. Sure, there was graffiti, and a lot of the houses had boards instead of windows, but there were also kids' toys in some of the yards.

We got to the T in the road and went around the corner to the front of the store. The sign said MARIA'S MARKET, and out front there were open crates of bananas and potatoes and onions, and wire stands holding free papers and firewood—it was a whole lot friendlier-looking than Maynard's. Maynard and T.J. are so paranoid about people stealing stuff, you think they'd leave open bins of food out front?

Please.

Anyway, before we went inside, I looked around. To the right, the street curved. To the left, it seemed to go on forever. And the block wall across the street just seemed to divide the road we were on from a newer residential area on the other side. Some of the graffiti on the wall was pretty elaborate. Actually, very artistic. And I could read some of the words, but it was still a struggle to make things out.

Marissa notices me studying the graffiti and moans, “Oh, not the walls again!”

“Marissa, calm down. It's high noon. No one's going to shoot us, okay?”

“High noon? High
noon
? That's exactly when showdowns happen!”

“That was the Wild West, Marissa. This is Tigertown. I wouldn't want to be here at night, but there's nothing going on now.” A man shuffled out of the market carrying a six-pack of beer and got into his car. We could have been light posts for all the attention he paid us, but Marissa started doing the McKenze dance anyway. “See?” she says. “He had a six-pack!”

I eyed her. “You need to hang around Maynard's more.” Then I pointed across the street and read, “
Can't Stop, Won't Stop
—see it? It's in blue.”

“And that's helping us get out of here how?”

“Sorry. It just felt like, you know, a breakthrough. Like it's starting to make sense. Some of it's even easy to read now. I recognize some names from that roll call by the park. Like right there—that says Buzzface and Crawler. And that purple on a diagonal? That's CZR, just like Officer Borsch showed us before, and that big black R swirling around it means that CZR rules.”

“That's just ducky, Sammy. I'm so glad you've had a breakthrough. Now can we please get out of here before
I
have a break
down
?”

My shoulders scrunched way up. “Okay, okay! Sorry!” I broke my eyes away from the wall and hurried into the market.

It was definitely not high noon inside Maria's Market. It was dark and cool and bacon was cooking somewhere in back. “Hello?” I called across the counter.
“Hola?”

“Un momento,”
came a voice from the darkness, and then a woman with graying black hair came from behind the maze of cigarette dispensers and coffee thermoses to the register. She smiled at us and said, “Yes?”

“We're, uh, sorta lost,” I started, but Marissa interrupts me with, “What's the fastest way back to Morrison?” and then starts jabbering away, saying, “I parked my bike there and I have to get back to it. Right away. It's near the railroad tracks? We had to leave it there because —”

I stepped on her foot and smiled at her while I crossed my eyes a little.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, then asks the lady, “Maybe you can just tell us how to get to Morrison?”

She smiles at both of us and nods. Then she points behind her, saying, “Take theeese street theeeese way. Turn right at the donut shop. Will take you to Morrison.”

“Thank you!” Marissa said. “Thank you
very
much.”

Now, Marissa's already halfway out the door, but there's a little tingle running down my spine that's making me stay put. “A
donut
shop?”

She nods.

“Uh, it wouldn't happen to be
Peg's
donut shop, would it?”

“See?” she says, smiling at me. “You know your way now.”

Marissa drags me out of there, and as we're doing the get-out-of-Tigertown power walk, I'm trying my best to remember what Officer Borsch said about Peg's. Because I'm
also
remembering that Tippy said something about her sister taking her out for a donut after Snake Eyes hit her. And from the way she talked about it, it seemed that it was close to where they had visited him.

So I only half hear Marissa grumbling, “CZR Rules. Just like Bullfrogs Rule and all that other stupid stuff they put up on Bruster's wall. Well, obviously, we do not. And you know, the more I think about it, the madder I get. That stupid Heather blew the Sluggers' Cup for all of us. We worked really
hard
to get a shot at it, and what did
she do? She totally
stole
it from us. I hope she gets expelled. She's the sneakiest, lyingest —”

Then something snaps in my brain. “Say that again.” “They should tie her up and hang her by her earrings and —”

“No, before that.”

By now I've stopped, and I'm looking over my shoulder, back at the graffiti. Marissa turns around and pulls on my arm. “This is no time to turn into the Sammy Zombie. Let's go!”

It was too late. The Sammy Zombie had taken over. “You said ‘CZR rules.’”

“I said Heather stinks!”

I blinked at her. “Say it fast.”

“Heather stinks!”

“No! CZR rules. Say it fast.”

“CZR rules.”

I leaned in. “Faster.”

“Ceezer rules.” All of a sudden her face turns pale.

I nod and whisper, “Caesar rules. It's his street name. Those CZRs we've seen? They were put up by one Snake Eyes Ramirez.”

She just stands there blinking at me for a minute, then yanks on my arm. “Great. Wonderful. All the more reason to get
out
of here.”

“But Marissa, don't you get it? His name is all over the walls
here
. So he must live around here, not with his mother out on Las Flores.”

“Maybe he works somewhere around here. Either way, Sammy, unless when you said ‘Cross your heart’ you
meant ‘Cross your heart and hope to
die
,’ can we please get going?”

I followed her, but I couldn't stop trying to piece it together. Where would he work around here? It was all residential. And if Caesar the Snake-Eyed Kidnapper did live in this neighborhood, then maybe this was where he was keeping Pepe's mom.

“Sammy! Stop dragging!” Marissa doubled back and started pulling me along.

“Paint. She said something about spilling paint.”

“Who?”

“Tippy. She spilled the paint. In the garage. He got mad and hit her.”

“Okay…?” “It was in a
garage
.”

“So what! There are a million garages in this town!” We walked along without talking, but when we got to the donut shop, I grabbed Marissa by the sleeve and pulled her inside.

“Why do I know we're not here for donuts?” she says between her teeth.

Nobody's inside except a big man sweeping up behind a long glass case that has about ten donuts left in it. But I go right up to the counter and ask, “Do you make some with strawberry creme filling?”

His head's big and bald, and with the stubble on his chin and one cauliflowered ear, he looks pretty burly. Like a chewed-up Mr. Clean. But he nods at me and smiles, showing off his capped front teeth. “Yes, miss. But they're seasonal.”

“Oh,” I say. Then I just stand there like a moron, not knowing what to ask next.

“You come in for one?” he asks me with one eyebrow up.

“No. I mean, yes! I mean, actually, is Peg here anywhere? I was hoping I could talk to her.”

His mouth scrunches from one side to the other, and finally he says, “You new around these parts?”

“Well, we live in Santa Martina, but this is kind of new, um, territory for us, yeah.”

He nods. Slowly. Then comes around from behind the case and just stands there. And I can't help staring, because popping out of the left side of his army shorts is a wooden leg.

A
peg
leg.

“So,” he says. “What do you want to see ol' Peg about?”

My mouth moves up and down like a fish filtering water until finally I sputter, “I'm … I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

“Hey. That's aaaaall right. But give me a little peephole into your brain, would you? What're you here about?”

“Well, um … you got held up about a year ago, right?”

His eyes sharpen on me and his cauliflowered ear looks like it's wadding up for a fight. “Uh-huh. Punk thought I couldn't chase him down with this thing.” He thumps his leg on the floor. “Didn't expect me to be packin' one of these, either.” He lifts his shirt and there, poking out of the side of his pants, is the black grip of a handgun.
Marissa starts doing the McKenze dance, so he drops his shirt and says to her, “Don't worry, hon'. Don't expect I'll have to draw down on you.”

She gives him a wavery smile while I ask, “So do you know anything about the guy who robbed you?”

“Ramirez? Sure. Good-for-nothing punk. I don't know what he was thinking. Like his bandanna was gonna cover his identity? Ain't had trouble since, though.” He chuckles, “I may
make
a fluffy cream puff, but I ain't no fluffy cream puff.”

“Do you know if he lived around here? Or worked around here?”

He shrugs. “Before he got sent up the river, he
hung
around here.”

“So you haven't seen him, um, lately?”

He studies me a second. “You're tellin' me he's out already?”

I nod.

“Figures.” He hobbles back behind the cases. “He won't dare set foot in here again, though.” He looks at me and says, “Flip that sign over, would you? I've had it for today.”

So I turn the OPEN sign over and say, “But he used to come in a lot?”

“Nah. You know those bangers. They
hang.
On their cars, on the corner. They spend the whole day waitin' for night.” He eyes me. “Which is why I close up early. Part of my survival tactic.”

“But did you ever hear him talk about what he did or where he lived or anything like that?”

“I don't exactly keep an ear to the ground, miss. As long as they leave me alone, I leave them alone. It's when that understanding breaks down that things get ugly.”

He opens the donut case, then stops and looks at me. “The cops'll have a rap sheet on him. It'll show his address if that's what you're after.”

I just shook my head. “That shows that he lives with his mother, and his mother says he's a perfect angel.”

He grins. “God bless mothers.” Then he pulls a couple of donuts out of the case and hands them to us. “Don't have the strawberry cremes, but try these—they'll tickle your tummies.”

Powdered sugar dusted my hand as I took a donut. “Thank you,” we both said to him. “And thanks for trying to help us,” I added.

Marissa chomps into her donut and says, “Wow!” which makes Peg grin and say, “Mango. You like?”

“Mmmm-hmm!”

I'd never tasted a donut so delicious. And as I downed it right there in the shop, I realized I was starving. Starving! “Wow,” I said. “That was great.”

He grins at us and hands us napkins. “Thanks. Being stuck in Tigertown with the world's most delectable donuts can get a tad discouragin'.”

We'd said our good-byes and were on our way out the door when Peg says, “It probably won't do you no good, but they're all the time talking about meetin' at the Palace. Don't know where that is or what that means—and it sure as shootin' wouldn't be in
this
neighborhood.”

“The
Palace
?”

“Yeah. They say stuff like, He's chillin' at the Palace, or, He'll hook ya up at the Palace—you know the way those bangers talk.”

Marissa tugs me along, saying, “We should really get
going
…?”

Peg starts bagging the leftover donuts, saying, “Come back in June. I'll have some strawberry cremes. You think mango's good? You ain't tasted nothin'.”

So off we go, up the street. And I'm thinking, the Palace … the
Palace
… where have I heard that before? And then it clicks. Camo Butt had muttered something about checking at the Palace the first day I met her.

Now, I was following Marissa toward Morrison all right, but I felt like I was hiking in the wrong direction. Like I'd climbed switchback after switchback just to give up and go home.

So I lagged behind, looking at everything, wishing for
something
that would make the whole thing make sense. And Marissa's nearly half a block ahead of me, calling, “Sammy, come
on
,” when I notice a yellow-and-black DEAD END sign with graffiti on it. Thin, silver graffiti, with long messy runs. Even with the runs, though, I recognize it.

CZR.

I look down the cul-de-sac. It's short, only about four houses deep. And the houses look like the ones we'd been seeing—run-down, boarded up, sprayed with graffiti. But at the end of the dead end is a garage door that's
completely
covered in spray paint. Some of it's bright and
artistic, some of it's just a mess. But in the middle of it is something I can read. Something that makes my heart start pounding and my hands start sweating.