Sammy Keyes and the Search for Snake Eyes (28 page)

Lena managed to hoof it out of Tigertown on her own, but once we hit Morrison, she just crumbled. And I couldn't tell exactly what she was crying over as she dissolved on the curb, but I could tell it wasn't over anything simple.

Like wanting clean clothes.

Or needing real food.

Or getting to a doctor to treat what had to be a nasty burning rash.

No, these were complicated tears. Ones I couldn't claim to understand.

Marissa and I huddled up and decided we needed to get her to the hospital right away. So while Marissa ran off to get her bike, I sat on the curb with my arm around Lena, thinking about all the things she'd been through. How she'd grown up with a tyrant of a father and a mother who drank. How she'd probably gone looking for family—for protection—only to lose herself to a gang.

And I wondered what it would be like to be a widow at fifteen.

To be a mother at sixteen.

And I thought about Tippy, growing up the same way.
Repeating history as she got older. I could just see it happening. I mean, how could she stay sweet and innocent when the world around her was so cold and hard?

But of all the complicated thoughts running through my head, the one I finally whispered to Lena was “I think you're amazing.”

She just shook her head.

“Really, you are. You broke out. You got away from all that. I mean, the only reason you came back was because of Tippy's birthday, right?”

She looked at me, wiping some tears back. “How'd you know that. You seen her?”

I nodded. “She's fine. She's … well, Social Services is taking care of her because your parents, um …”

She spit in the gutter. “Those dogs!”

“Well, your dad's been arrested because he attacked a police officer and —”

“It's about time!”

I decided to steer away from talking about her parents. “Well, Tippy's seriously in need of a new Barbie, so I'm sure she'll be happy to get the one you bought her.”

Her face turned soft. “She's a little angel, you know?”

“I could tell.”

We were quiet for a minute, then I said, “Anyway, I do think you're amazing. I've never been so scared of anyone in my life. And you stood up to him.” I started laughing, “You cemented his tush to a wheelbarrow!”

She gave me a little smile. “With a little help from some real friends,” she said, then laughed out loud. “Do you think he's set up yet?”

“He's going
no
where,” I laughed, then added, “Nowhere but jail.”

She nodded. “I just want my baby. I just want to feel safe. I just want a sane life, you know?”

“I know,” I said, and really, I did. Not about the baby. No way. But the rest of it—about feeling safe and wanting a sane life—I completely understood that.

And maybe I've got a lot working against that—like a mother who's not actually
in
my life, and no father I can point to, and an address that I can't exactly share with the police—but I do have friends. True friends. And best of all, I have Grams.

Grams.

The thought of her made my heart do a loop-de-loop. Did she still hate me? What in the world was I going to do to get her trust back?

Marissa came riding up all out of breath, saying, “Ready?” So we got Lena on the handlebars and the two of them wobbled down the street as I ran alongside. And I'm sure Lena was thinking of nothing but surviving Marissa's wild ride as we jetted past the high school fields, but Marissa and I couldn't help being distracted by softball because the tournament was still going on.

“Next year,” Marissa vowed, “nothing's going to stop us. I'm going to pitch, you're going to catch—that cup will be
ours
. We'll be eighth graders. Bigger, stronger, faster, smarter!”

“Well, hopefully smarter.”

“And next year we'll have alibis!”

“Next year we won't need 'em. Next year, I'll cement Heather Acosta's tush to a wheelbarrow if I have to!”

We laughed and took one last look at the fields as we passed by. “Yeah, next year,” Marissa said with a sigh. “We'll be down there. Under the lights.”

We decided a police car could get us to the hospital a lot faster than Marissa's bike. Especially since we were going right past the station. So we went inside and the first thing Debra the Dodo said was “Sams! The big man's been lookin' all over for you. He's worried sick! He's on the west side now, scourin' the streets for you!” Then she noticed Lena. “Oh, honey,” she says to her. “You need some new clothes. And a shower. Bad.”

“We've got to get her to a doctor, Debra,” I told her. “She's been locked in a basement for days….”

Debra practically pinches her ski-slope nose and nods. “Uh, who exactly is she?” she asks, like Lena's not even there.

“Pepe's mom!”

She lets go of her nose. “Pepe's mom? Seriously?”

Lena nods. “But his name is Joey.” She looks at me.
“Joey.”

“Sorry. I've got to reprogram myself.”

She turns to Debra and says, “When can I see him?” Her eyes are suddenly brimming with tears as she whispers, “I want to see my baby!”

“Oh honey, he is
fine
. And yes, yes, let me get things
rollin'.” She eyes me. “First call, though, is to the big man. Then off to the hospital.”

“Um, Debra?”

“Yes, hon?”

“Is there a phone I can use? I, um, we'd like to call home.”

“Yes, yes!” She waves an arm. “Come on back. You know your way around!”

She buzzes me in, and I head straight for the phone I'd used before and dial Grams. Seventeen rings later, I hang up and call Hudson's.

He picks up on the first ring, and as soon as I say hi, he calls, “It's her,” over the mouthpiece.

“Grams is with you?”

“Yes. Are you all right? We went down to the tournament and heard about the fiasco. That policeman friend of yours was there, too. All anyone knew was that one of your teammates had been abducted and that you'd taken off running down Morrison. I must say, you've had us
all
worried.”

“I'm fine. We're fine. And I'm sorry I worried you.” I hesitated, then added. “We, um … we found Pepe's mom.”

“You
did
? How in the world …?”

“It's a really long story, and we're taking her to the hospital, but I'll come over as soon as I'm done. Can you keep Grams there?”

“Sure.” I could just see him, winking over his shoulder at her. “I think I can manage that. Say, why don't I fix us
all supper? We have a lot of talking to do, and that may be a nice way to do it.”

“Is Grams still… mad?” “Hurt more than mad, dear. And worried, of course.” “Well, tell her not to be, I'll get there as soon as I can.”

I got off the phone feeling a whole lot better. And then, sort of on a whim, I punched in the McKenzes' number. When the recorder clicked on, I said, “Hey, this is Sammy, calling from the doghouse. Just wanted you to know that Marissa'll be home soon. Bye!”

I went back into the lobby and told Marissa what I'd done, and she said, “Why?” like I was crazy.

I shrugged. “You were grounded, remember? What if they decided to check out the tournament, too?”

“My
parents
?”

“Well, what if they did and you weren't there and you weren't at home and nobody knew where you'd gone?”

“Oh, right. Thanks!”

Just then Officer Borsch comes barging through the door. “I've been looking all over hell and gone for you!”

Debra leans across the window and says, “He's happy to see you, Sams. That's his way of expressin' it.”

“Sorry, sir,” I said.

“Sir? What's this sir stuff ?”

I just shrugged and changed the subject. “This is Pepe's mom. She needs some medical attention and some clean clothes.”

“You're Lena Moreno?”

“Lena
Martinez
,” she corrects him. “I don't care what no one says. Joey and me was married.”

“But … you're wanted for murder, you know that. You turnin' yourself in?”

Before Lena can say anything I start jabbering away a hundred miles an hour about how Snake Eyes framed her, and what a monster he is, keeping her tied up with duct tape in a basement with black widow spiders dangling around everywhere, and how
he's
the one who murdered Joey, not her. And then I tell him how he recruited some ten-year-old to shoot
us
, only we blasted him with hot water and scared him off and then melted down ol' Caesar's crown and knocked him out and tied him up and sank his sorry backside in cement just to make sure he didn't Houdini his way out of the basement.

And when I finally come up for air, all he says is “You did
what
?”

So I start explaining all over again, only he cuts me short and says, “Wait! Are you telling me that Raymond Ramirez is setting up in a wheelbarrow of cement?”

The three of us nod, and I add, “He'll be fine, Officer Borsch. He'll have a little trouble peeing his pants like I'm sure he'll want to when he wakes up, but he'll be fine.”

He shakes his head like he cannot believe what he's hearing, then says, “Where? Where did all this happen?”

So Lena tells him the street and describes the Palace, and Officer Borsch says, “We should send a unit over there right away, but … I'd also really like to see this for myself.”

“No hurry,” Lena says. “Let him set for a while.”

Officer Borsch eyes her. “We're going to have to take you into custody, you know.”

She nods. “I can face it now. But please, when can I see my baby?”

“Let's get you over to the hospital. I'll try to arrange a visit over there.” He turns to Marissa and me. “Something tells me you're coming along.”

I grin at him. “Only 'cause I know you'd be lonesome without us.”

“Hrumph,” he says, but underneath it, he's smiling.

When we get to the hospital, I help Lena fill out about a ream of paperwork while Officer Borsch fills out a police report. So while I'm asking Lena questions, Officer Borsch is asking all three of us questions, and poor Lena's drooping like a wildflower in the desert sun, waiting for someone to cart her away.

Then she sees him, across the room, in the arms of a woman in uniform.

The Barf Bomber himself.

The Sultan of Scream.

The one and only, unforgettable Poopy Pepe.

Lena cries out and tears stream down her face, and when they let her hold him, she buries her face in his neck and just bawls.

And I can't stop the tears from running down my cheeks, either, because even though I know that life for them isn't going to be smooth or easy, even though Lena's got a lot to get through before she's really free of the past—the two of them are back together.

Right where they belong.

Grams and I have an agreement. I tell her the truth, the
whole
truth, and she trusts me and tries not to worry. It seems like a simple deal to make, but it sure took a lot of crying on both our parts to get there. And let me tell you, we didn't use any dainty lacy handkerchiefs to dab our eyes, either. We honked through a big box of Kleenex and some toilet paper besides.

Grams is trying to trust Mrs. Wedgewood, too, although that doesn't come real natural to her. But I guess Mrs. Wedgewood overheard our fight and had a thing or two to say about the way Grams is raising me, which made Grams wonder about
my
mother and where she had gone wrong raising
her
. So I think the whole child-rearing thing's confusing for Grams, which makes me wonder—if you still don't have the answers at her age, how in the world do you make sense of raising a kid when you're sixteen?

Anyway, Lena was right about Snake Eyes. I guess four beefy cops were slightly creeped out by rafters full of crunchy exoskeletons and decided to carry Two-Ton Tushy up from the basement, wheelbarrow and all. They parked him in front of his palace and chiseled him free.
And for a neighborhood that's closed up its windows and rolled up its heart, Officer Borsch said there were a whole lot of spectators present.

Officer Borsch also told me that hot water makes EZ-CRETE set up fast and hard, so by the time they'd chipped him out of his diaper cast and treated his burns, well, let's just say there's one mini macho man from the west side who's got a new reputation he's
never
going to live down.

And while Lena's not exactly living it up, she and Pepe have found a home. I guess the minute Joey's mom found out the truth, she wanted nothing more than to see her grandson. She wound up posting bail for Lena and inviting them both to stay.

I don't know what's going to happen to Tippy. Officer Borsch says it's under review, whatever that means. And Lena says she's got plans for her, whatever
that
means. At least I know there are people looking out for her, and she's now got a Barbie with all its parts.

I haven't seen the Gangster Girls around, and that's just fine with me. I did ask Officer Borsch to maybe talk to someone at the high school about them, though. I don't know about the other two, but Sonja could probably use some help switching colors. You know, maybe get her back into
school
colors. Back into softball. Because she'll sure never make it around the bases with the team she's
been
playing on.