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He was formally throwing down the gauntlet. This was not the last battle in this war.

“And for the rest of you watching, remember that a vote for me is a vote against crime. Criminals don't own this city—it belongs to
me
and you.”

I couldn't help noticing that he put a lot more emphasis on the
me
than the
you
.

“Thank you, Mayor Dumfrey. This is Candy Knight reporting.”

Viewers were taken back to the news desk, where the anchorman made a semifunny comment and then went on to another story. My cell phone rang. It was 50-50—Oswald or Julia. I looked at the caller ID. It was Oswald—his home phone.

“Did you see that?” I asked.

There was a pause. “See what?” It was Oswald's mother.

“The news. I was watching the news, the eleven o'clock news,” I explained.

“I'm so sorry to be disturbing you by calling so late,” she said.

“It's not that late.”

“I was afraid I'd wake you up.”

My parents were asleep, but a call to my cell phone wouldn't wake them. But why was she calling me to begin with?

“Oswald is probably long asleep,” she said.

I almost said “Thanks for sharing that” but didn't.

“He's been sleeping a lot lately,” she said. “Probably a growth spurt.”

Or he was just being lazy. Either way, I'd noticed the same thing—he was even falling asleep in class. Early starts did not agree with him.

“Could you please do me a favor and remind him that he has a dentist appointment after school tomorrow?” she asked.

“Sure, I could do that.” At least this call now made some sense…well, not much, but some. I had to admit that Oswald would probably forget his head if it wasn't loosely attached to his shoulders, so a reminder wouldn't hurt.

“It's just so nice of your family to let him sleep over at your house so often,” she said.

“That's never a problem,” I replied.

“I never would have imagined that the dust and paint of the renovations would bother him so much,” she said. “Soon it'll be over, though, and he can start sleeping at home more instead of at your house.”

I knew about the renovations. But she seemed to think he was here tonight sleeping over, and he hadn't slept here in over a month.

“Just remind him about the dentist, and again, thanks to you and your parents,” she said.

“Oh, believe me, I'll tell him,” I said. “Good night.”

I hung up. Oswald wasn't here. His parents thought he was. I knew he wasn't. They had the luxury of thinking he was here, so they weren't worried. I didn't have that luxury—I was worried. I picked up my phone again and punched in his cell number.

Chapter Ten

“Come on, pick it up,” I mumbled as the phone continued to ring and ring and ring.

What was I going to do if he didn't answer? It wasn't like I could call his parents back or wake up my parents and ask them what to do. I guessed I could call Julia and—

“Hey, Ian, why are you calling so late?”

His voice was low and quiet, as if I'd woken him up.

“I guess I just wanted to remind you that you have a dentist appointment tomorrow.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, right after school. Trust me—I know.”

“I believe you, but couldn't this wait until tomorrow? I was asleep.”

“Really?” I exclaimed.

“Could you keep it down? I don't want to wake up my parents.”

“Funny, your mother seemed pretty awake when she called me a few minutes ago.”

“My mother? You've got to be wrong. She's been asleep for a while. Maybe
you
were asleep and dreaming about my mother…and that is so wrong on so many levels, I'm not even sure we can be friends anymore.”

“Oswald. I want the truth. Now.”

There was silence. I almost wondered if the call had been dropped or he'd hung up.

“It's sort of hard to explain, and I'm really not in a great position to have a conversation right now. How about if we talk about it tomorrow?” he suggested.

“How about you tell me now or I'm going to call and explain what I don't know to your parents?”

He laughed. “We both know you're not going to do that.”

He'd called my bluff. He was right. I wouldn't do that.

“Come on, no secrets between best friends. Just tell me.”

“How about if I just show you. Can you get out of the house without your parents knowing?”

“Sure. They're asleep, but I could always wake them up and tell them I'm sleeping at your house. That excuse is working
so
well for you.”

“Come to the northeast corner of Erin Mills Parkway and Dundas. There's a big parking lot. I'll meet you there.”

“But—”

“No buts. You want the answer, just come.”

Chapter Eleven

I rode my bike along the side streets, avoiding main roads where there was still pedestrian traffic. The side streets were less traveled, and the only people I saw were in passing cars, and they ignored me on my bike with no headlight.

I'd decided not to wake my parents. I'd left a note taped to my door—
Sleeping at Oswald's
. If I got home without them knowing I'd gone out, I'd remove the sign, but if they got up and discovered me missing, they wouldn't panic or call the police.

Riding alone at night in the semidarkness, I sort of appreciated the mayor's anti-crime stance. The only problem was, there was a good chance I was going to kill Oswald when I found him. What was he up to? I guessed I wouldn't have to wait long to find out.

I glided into the parking lot. There was no sign of Oswald or his car. Maybe he was behind the building. Slowly moving away from the streetlights and occasional car on the road, I kept going. Still there was no Oswald, no cars, no people. Just plenty of places for a criminal to hide and—

“Ian!”

I skidded to a stop. It was Oswald, but I couldn't see him.

“Where are you?”

“Here.”

I could detect a general direction from the voice but still couldn't see him.

“Over where? I can't see you!”

“Not so much
over
as
up
. Look up.”

I looked up. There he was, five meters above my head, standing on the edge of a gigantic billboard.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said. “What a strange coincidence.”

“What are you doing up there?” I yelled.

He shushed me. “I know we
are
outside, but do you think you could use your inside voice?”

“What are you doing?” I hissed.

“Stash your bike in the bushes. There's a hole in the fence. Come up and see for yourself.”

Hiding the bike did seem like a good idea. Hiding me would have been better. Being at home would have been the best idea. The billboard was behind the parking lot, poking out of a cluster of bushes and small trees. I maneuvered the bike through the hole in the fence and along a little path to a big pole where Oswald's bike was stashed. I wondered why he'd taken his bike instead of his car.

There were metal rungs on the pole, forming a ladder leading up. Down here I was hidden by the bushes. Up there I wouldn't be. Then again, I hadn't come out to hide but to find out what was going on, and the truth was at the top of the pole.

I started up the rungs. The first few steps left me hidden, the next ones got me above the bush line, and then I neared the top. Here the pole went through a hole in the ledge, which was much wider than it had looked from below. I poked my head through the hole.

“Oswald?” I called out.

“I was getting worried. You take a wrong turn on the pole or what?”

“What are you—?” I stopped midsentence. I already had my answer, all around and above me. Oswald was standing on a rickety little wooden ladder leaning against the billboard. He was wearing a black hoodie and black overalls—both were splattered with paint. On the ledge were cans of spray paint, and above him some painting had already been done.

“Are you crazy?” I demanded.

“Inside voice, remember?”

“Are you crazy?” I hissed.

“I think you've known me long enough to know the answer to that question.”

“You can't just do something like this. It takes time and talent and—”

“Are you saying the Wiz doesn't have talent?” he asked.

“Of course he has—” Oh my goodness. “You're the Wiz.”

“Oswald, Oz, the Wizard of Oz, the Wiz. I'm surprised you didn't put it together before this,” he said.

I was speechless.

“Could you pass me up that stencil by your feet?”

For a split second, I not only couldn't speak but couldn't comprehend. Finally it clicked in, and I bent down and picked up an oval cardboard cutout. I passed it up to him.

“Does that look like it would make a good egg?” he asked.

“Um, sure—a really big egg.”

“That's what I'm after. And could you do me one more favor? Could you take a bunch of pictures while I'm doing this? I don't have any shots of me working. They'd go great in my portfolio.”

“This is what you meant by your portfolio?”

“I told you I was putting one together for my application to art school.”

“But you didn't say it was these.”

“I did tell you and Julia that I was the Wiz, but neither of you believed me, remember?”

“I remember. We just thought you were joking around again. I don't usually believe half of what you say.”

“Fair enough. The secret is to figure out which half to believe. You guessed wrong.”

He climbed farther up the ladder. In a special belt around his waist was a makeshift holster holding cans of spray paint and some brushes. Just as he was about to start, he pulled a ski mask out of his pocket and slipped it on. It had a skull on it.

“What's with the mask?” I asked.

“It hides my identity…and it's pretty darn cool, don't you think?”

It was cool. The only thing cooler was that I was about to watch the Wiz at work.

I snapped another picture. I'd taken so many, I didn't know how much more memory my phone had. I hadn't been painting, but I'd been working. I'd been up and down the ladder, taking pictures from all angles of Oswald at work. Four times I'd gone out into the parking lot to get a wider perspective on the entire painting. It was impressive, even in the dark. My only fear was that the continual flashes of my camera would give him away. I just hoped they looked like lightning to anybody watching from a distance.

“Well?” Oswald asked.

“It is nothing short of spectacular. A masterpiece.”

Oswald had painted a brick wall. Sitting on the top of the wall was a large egg with the mayor's face, wearing a bib. On its bib were the words
Humpty Dumfrey
. Below it were two little eggs in matching black suits and dark sunglasses. One of them was saying, “I think the yolk may be on us.” And the other replied, “I don't think we can put this together again.” Off to the side were the signature sheep, one of them saying, “I love the smell of raw egg in the morning.”

“I can't wait to see the whole thing in the light of day,” I said.

“I'm afraid you're going to have to wait until after school unless you want to get caught. We have to get out of here before the sun comes up.”

“Oh, of course. I hadn't thought about that.”

Oswald pulled his mask off, stuffed it in the pocket of his hoodie and then removed both the hoodie and his overalls. They were covered in paint—a rainbow of colors that matched those in the painting. Carefully he put them into his backpack, which already held cans of spray paint and the folded-up stencils—eggs, sheep and bricks.

“What about the ladder?”

“Too big to carry. I brought it yesterday with my car.”

“Why didn't you bring the car now?” I asked.

“Cars have license plates. I couldn't risk anybody seeing my car and noting the plate.”

“Smart.”

“Don't sound so surprised. Besides, the ladder is just something I threw together with things the contractors working on my house tossed out. No identifying material, no way to trace it back to me, so we leave it. A souvenir for the mayor, if he wants it.”

“Great, let's get—” I broke off as a car pulled off the road and into the parking lot, its headlights leading the way. We both froze.

“It's a car,” I said, stating the obvious.

“No, it isn't just a car. It's a
police
car!”

Both of us dropped flat, pressing ourselves against the ledge. We were now hidden from view. Unfortunately, the billboard wasn't. All they had to do was look up and they'd see it—although it
was
dark, and the sign wasn't lit up. Maybe they wouldn't.

“They're coming this way,” Oswald said.

Or maybe they
could
see us. I pressed myself even flatter on the ledge.

The police car came to a stop almost right underneath us. The headlights went off, and it got darker. And then the engine stopped.

“What do you think they're doing?” Oswald whispered.

“I think it's customary for them to turn off the engine before they make an arrest.”

“Then I would assume they'd also get out of the car, unless they plan on having us fall directly onto their vehicle. I don't think they've seen us, or they'd be getting out.”

“Maybe they're just taking a break,” I suggested. “Like lunch hour.”

“It's four in the morning, so either it's a very early or a very late lunch,” Oswald said. “Either way, we need to just lay low and wait them out.”

“Even if it's an hour?” I whispered.

“The sun doesn't come up for at least two, so unless you have another alternative you'd like to suggest, what choice do we have?”