The Great Bike Rescue (5 page)

I crossed to the bus stop. The posted schedule listed three different routes. The teenagers I'd seen there on Saturday might not have been lookouts, they might have been waiting for a different bus. But it was still a great place for watching the street.

I sat on the bench and tried to look like I was waiting. Number 7 bus came and went. I was still sitting there. Number 22 bus came and went. I was still sitting there. Number 16 bus came and went. Now someone was sitting beside me. It was the guy with the black T-shirt.

He'd come up from behind—who knows how long he'd been watching me. Now he was sitting beside me, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees. He clasped and unclasped his hands, turned his head first one way, then the other. Muscles. That's what this guy had. Muscular biceps. Muscular forearms. Muscular shoulders. Muscular neck. The tattoos curled around his muscles like snakes. Some of the tattoos
were
snakes.

“You watching for him too?” he asked. “The bike thief?”

Was he talking to me? I didn't want him to be talking to me. There was no one else around. He was talking to me! My voice came out as a squeak.

“Kind of,” I said.

“Your bike get stolen?”

I nodded.

“Mine too,” he said. “Over a month ago now, but I still come by just in case I can catch the little sneak. I don't like bike thieves.”

“Me neither,” I squeaked.

“Trail bike. Best I'll ever own. If I ever catch the guy who took it…”

He smacked one fist into the open palm of his other hand. Yup, muscles. Then he stood up.

“Let me know if you ever spot anyone acting suspicious. I liked that bike a lot.”

He strolled away down the street. I watched him go. I couldn't believe it. The guy with the muscles and tattoos was on the same side as me!

I think I was in some kind of shock because I only half noticed what happened next.

A woman on a sleek racing bike rode up to the corner store and braked to a stop. She took off her aerodynamic helmet and hung it off the bike. She leaned the bike against the front of the store and went inside.

She'd been inside about five minutes when it hit me. No cable. No lock. A bike that was definitely worth a few dollars—maybe even thousands of dollars—was sitting right there. Everything was perfect for a thief.

I waited. I watched. I waited. I watched.

Twenty minutes. That's how long the woman was in the store. Twenty minutes.

When she came outside, the bike was still there. She put on her helmet, slid her expensive bike shoes onto the pedals and rode away. I was peeved all the way home.

Peeved because someone's bike didn't get stolen. What was wrong with me?

“Levi?” Dad must have been listening for me because he came to the top of the stairs as soon as I got in the door. “A girl called for you. She said she'd call back later.”

“I don't know any girls,” I said.

“She didn't say her name,” said Dad. “But she asked for you.”

The phone began to ring. Dad looked at me with one eyebrow raised. We waited.

Our phone is set so the answering machine and the speaker come on at the same time. It was Riley, and he was so excited he barely waited for the beep.

“Levi—call me the second you get this. A man on Riverview Crescent saw the posters. He found your bike!”

Chapter Seven

My bike! Yes!

But how could it happen? I hadn't put up any posters. I called Riley back right away.

“My sister and I put
both
bikes on the posters—yours and mine,” said Riley. “Didn't I tell you? Not the reward posters either—the first ones. You don't have to worry about a reward. He left a message while I was at soccer. I've got his address. Get over here right away!”

I ran all the way to Riley's place. Even then, it seemed to take forever. My bike! Someone had found my bike!

Riley was waiting out on the street. We took turns riding The Flame and jogging beside it so we could get there faster. As soon as we turned the corner onto Riverview Crescent, I saw it. Leaning against the front of a large brick house, a black and silver bike was gleaming in the sun.

It was unbelievable. It was amazing. Bright and shiny and wonderful. A man was outside clipping the hedge. He came toward us as we hurried up the walk.

“You look like two kids on the trail of a lost bike,” he said. “I found it in the bushes, out where I go walking. When I saw your poster…”

Bright and shiny and wonderful. I stared at it in awe. Bright and shiny and wonderful. And slowly I began to realize why the words kept going around in my head.

I looked at Riley—he was so delighted.

I looked at the man—he was so pleased.

I looked at the bike—the bike looked so, so good.

My heart sank. I was about to ruin it all.

“It's not mine,” I said.

“Sure it is,” said Riley. “Look at it, Levi—right color, right make, right size…”

“I
am
looking,” I said. “That's the problem. Look at the handlebars, Riley. The grips are perfect. Your dog chewed the ends off mine.”

“So…someone put new ones on,” said Riley.

“My bike had scratches on the frame from all the times I wiped out on our jumps,” I said. “And the reflector was bent from when I missed the bridge in the ravine. And my tires don't match the way these do. And—”

“All right, all right,” said Riley. “I get it.”

All three of us just stood there silently. Looking. Wishing.

The man rubbed his chin.

“Well, you know…” He began slowly, drawing out the words as if he wanted me to understand something. “This bike was abandoned. I don't think anyone else is going to claim it.”

I understood. I could take it if I wanted to. Even if it wasn't mine. I was way more tempted than I wanted to admit. For the first time, I could see, just a little, how a person might think something
should
belong to them.

But I shook my head.

“No,” I said. “Thanks anyway.”

“Well, at least I tried,” said the man. He gave a little shrug with his shoulders. “And this will work out just fine. I've got a grandson who can use it in a couple of years. It'll be here waiting for him when he's ready.”

He picked up his clippers and turned back to the hedge.

“Take care, you two. Hope your real bikes show up.”

Riley and I talked about it on the way back to his place.

“You should have taken it, Levi. He's supposed to turn it over to the police, but that's not what he's going to do. Did you see the size of his house? He can afford to buy one for his grandson.”

“I can't take someone else's bike!” I said.

“No one would know. I would have taken it if I were you,” said Riley. “Hey, you could take it and give it to me. That's a great idea!”

I looked at him.

“Really?” I said.

He thought for a moment and then frowned.

“Nah,” said Riley. “It's only a great idea for about thirty seconds. Then it's a lousy idea.”

The police could actually charge the man on Riverside Crescent for possession of stolen property. We both knew that from reading websites the other day. But I wasn't about to turn the man in. I was pretty sure Riley wouldn't either.

Did keeping something that you found abandoned make you the same as the person who actually stole it in the first place? The man would happily return the bike to its owner. He just wasn't going to go out of his way and take it to the police station. And yet it didn't feel especially right for him to keep it either. Shades of right and wrong and in-between.

When we reached Riley's house, he went around the side to push the buttons that open the garage door. I rolled The Flame inside. Hanging on the wall was his old chain and cylinder lock, the one with the four-number combination. It reminded me of the story Dad had told about the mysterious kid at his school who had been able to open those kinds of locks. Something had bothered me about the story at the time. Now I had a crazy thought. Had Dad been that kid? Is that why he had acted so strangely when he told the story?

I really wanted to know the answer. It wouldn't help Riley and me find our bikes—Dad wouldn't have stolen them, not even to teach us a lesson, and he certainly wouldn't have stolen other bikes around the neighborhood. But when you have a dad who is as big on responsibility as mine is, and no other family living nearby to tell stories about what he was like as a kid, you can't help but be curious. Here was a chance to do a little “real life” research.

“Are you using your lock anymore?” I asked Riley. “Could I borrow it?”

Riley looked surprised.

“Have you got something you
want
someone to steal?”

“Not exactly. I'll tell you about it if it works. And I'll give it back.”

“Sure, you can borrow it,” he said. “I'm only keeping it as a crazy kind of souvenir.”

I coiled the chain and put it in my pocket. As I headed for home, I began to consider the possibilities. The filing cabinet? The door to the office? I could lock Dad's chair to his desk. If I did it upside down and backward, it would add extra challenge. I didn't want to do anything too drastic in case Dad was in a hurry or in case I was wrong and he couldn't actually figure out the combination. But I did need to give him a good reason to want to open the lock. He wouldn't give himself away without a good reason.

I was still sorting out my options when I turned the corner and saw Emily Grimshaw coming down my walk. She didn't look happy. When she saw me, her expression turned to outright anger. Not the steam-coming-out-of-the-ears kind of anger, but the knives-and-daggers-dancing-around-the-head kind. She walked right up to me.

“Where's your bike? Did the jerk who phoned you want a reward? Is that why he didn't give it to you?”

“How do you know someone called about my bike?” I asked.

“Your dad told me. Where is it, Levi? Did the guy send you back for money? Don't give him a reward. People who are walking along minding their own business don't just find bikes—at least, not where he probably found it.”

“It wasn't my bike,” I said.

The knives and daggers paused in midair. Freeze-frame.

“It wasn't?” asked Emily.

“Nope. It looked the same, but it wasn't mine.”

“You're sure?” she asked.

“I'm sure,” I said.

“Really sure?”

“I know my own bike, for crying out loud,” I said. “I'm sure.”

Poof! The knives and daggers turned to dust.

“Good,” said Emily.

She turned and started walking away. Emily Grimshaw drives me crazy!

“What do you mean
good
?” I called after her. “My bike's still stolen. And so is Riley's!”

She stopped and turned around.

“Actually, that's why I came to talk to you in the first place. Riley shouldn't have put up reward posters. They might mess everything up.”

I sighed.

“I don't like them either,” I admitted. “I already told him they're a bad idea.”

“They're more than just a bad idea,” said Emily. “You need to make him take them down.”

“I can't make Riley do things,” I said.

“It sounds like he's as stubborn as you are,” said Emily. “But he's nicer, so we need to help him out. We'll take the posters down ourselves. Come on.”

“No!” I said.

“It won't take long. It will work better with two of us,” Emily explained. “Afterward, we'll go over to my place. We'll come up with a better idea.”

“I don't want to go to your house,” I said. “Why do you even care about our bikes?”

“Because I know how these things work, Levi,” said Emily.

“Stealing? Yeah, you know all about stealing,” I said. “You…”

But that's as far as I got. We heard the sound of a car pulling up beside us, and we both turned. It was a police car. Emily took one look at it and disappeared.