Adventures In Babysitting Part 1

Adventures In Babysitting.

Elizabeth Faucher.

Chapter 1.

It was going to be a great night. In fact, maybe one of the best nights Chris Parker had had in her whole life. In fact - she smiled at her reflection in the mirror, fluffing her already twice-washed hair with a styling brush.

Her tape deck was playing so loudly that the perfume bottles on her dresser were shaking, but she turned the volume up even higher, singing along with the old Crystals' song "Then He Kissed Me." Which, with any luck, was an appropriate song for the night ahead.Chris danced over to her closet, trying to decide which dress to wear. She had already tried on - and rejected - several, but Mike was going to be here any minute and - the blue one. Long and silky, sophisticated and elegant. A perfect dress to wear to the best French restaurant in the city.She took her bathrobe off and slipped the dress on over her head, zipping it up the back, then danced over to the mirror to see how she looked. Pleased by the results, she took Mike's picture down from the corner of the mirror, smiling back at it. He was seriously handsome - maybe the most handsome guy she had ever seen. And tonight they were going to drive into Chicago to Le Ciel Bleu to celebrate their anniversary. She danced the picture over to her closet, looking for just the right pair of high heels.Shoes selected, she danced over to her bed, carefully lying down to wait."This," she told her picture of Mike, "is going to be the greatest night of my life."The doorbell rang, and she jumped up. He was here! They had been planning this date for days, and she knew he would be wearing a dinner jacket, maybe carrying some flowers for her, maybe - the doorbell rang again. She snapped off the tape deck, cheeked her reflection one last time, and ran downstairs to answer it.Smiling in antic.i.p.ation, she threw the door open to see Mike standing there with his hands in his pockets."Hi!" she said, then saw that he was wearing an old, ripped sweat shirt and jeans. "Hi," she said again, uncertainly.He didn't quite look at her. "Hi, Chris.""I, uh," she touched her hair self-consciously, "I guess I'm overdressed.""No, no, I - " He shifted his weight, still not looking at her. "It's just - I have to cancel."She blinked. "But - it's our anniversary.""Yeah, I know." He looked in the direction of his car: a red Firebird with the license plate "SO COOL." "I'm really sorry, I - see, my little sister got sick and my folks are going out tonight."Chris tried to smile, wanting to be a good sport. "You have to stay home?"He nodded. "She's got the flu or something. It's pretty bad. I was gonna call you, but" - he held up a small drugstore bag - "well, I had to get this for her, so - so I thought I'd drop by.""I could come over there," Chris suggested. "Help out." She grinned. "We could make chicken soup or something."Mike shook his head. "No, you don't wanna be there. It's contagious. And - and my Mom doesn't want anybody in the house.""Oh." Chris leaned against the door jamb, hoping that he couldn't see how disappointed she was. It wasn't his fault his little sister was sick. "Tell your sister I hope she feels better.""Sure." He gave her his most charming smile, the first time he'd really looked at her. "We'll do the French restaurant thing next week.""Oh, okay." She smiled back, feeling a little better. "When?""Not sure," he said. "Friday or Sat.u.r.day. Anyway, I'd better go - my sister's waiting." He paused. "You're not upset about tonight, are you?""No," she said quickly, then smiled. "Well, yeah. But I understand."He smiled back. A killer smile. "Girls like you come along once in a lifetime."She moved to kiss him, but he waved her away."Contagious," he said."Oh." She stepped back, rather deflated. "Right.""Right," he said, and headed for his car.She watched him go, managing a brave little wave as the car peeled out of the driveway. Then, she slouched back against her front door, not even caring if she wrinkled her dress. So much for the greatest night of her life.It was later, and Chris's best friend Brenda Pidgjocki had come over to commiserate. Brenda paced back and forth, her gla.s.ses bobbing in indignation as Chris sat on her bed amid the debris of her dately preparations: discarded dresses, the nylons with a run in them, makeup, curlers, blow-dryer."Contagious?" Brenda said, for about the fourth time. They were both seniors in high school, although what with the gla.s.ses and being slightly overweight, Brenda wasn't enjoying adolescence quite as much.Chris nodded. "That's what he said."Brenda shook her head, sitting down on top of Chris's desk. "He's lying.""Brenda! Mike wouldn't lie on an anniversary," Chris said."Anniversary of what," Brenda said, "Pearl Harbor?"Chris ignored that. "Since we've been going out. Three months and four days - ""Two hours, and three minutes," Brenda finished, shaking her head. "I don't get why you're making such a big deal about him.""Because he's the best thing that's ever happened to me.""He's the only thing that's ever happened to you." Brenda picked up one of the college catalogs lying on the desk. "That's why we have to get out of Oak Brook and go away to school.""You sound like my mother." Chris turned on her makeup-mirror lights and put on fresh lipstick and more eyeliner. She turned toward Brenda, indicating her face. "This is what I would have looked like tonight."Brenda grinned. "Cleopatra?""Oh." Chris grinned, too. "I was going for Alexis Carrington.""Carrington Colby Dexter," Brenda said instantly."Morel Carrington Colby Dexter," Chris corrected her, and they both laughed.Downstairs, the telephone rang."Probably my stepmother checking up on me," Brenda said grimly. "She's driving me crazy.""Oh, come on," Chris said, without conviction. "She's not so - ""One of these days I'm going to spike her Tab with cyanide," Brenda said."I thought she was getting nicer."Brenda shook her head. "Only when Dad's around."There was a knock on the door, then it opened, and Chris's mother came in."Hi, Brenda," she said pleasantly.Brenda straightened up, very polite. "Hi, Mrs. Parker.""Chris, Mrs. Anderson is on the phone," her mother said. "She wants to know if you can babysit for her tonight."Chris groaned. "No, tell her I can't.""Why not?"Chris fell back onto the bed. "Because I want to stay home and be depressed.""Think of it this way," Brenda said. "Sitting for the Andersons will make you even more depressed.""Why don't you go?" Mrs. Parker said. "You could use the money, and it'll take your mind off things. You can work on those college applications."Chris rolled her eyes. Her mother was a lot more enthusiastic about the applications than she was. "I can't," she said. "What if Mike calls?""I'll tell him you're at the Andersons'," Mrs. Parker said, already on her way out of the room."I'm too old to babysit," Chris said after her. Especially for the Andersons.The best night of her life was turning into the worst one.

Chapter 2.

The Anderson kitchen was in chaos. The Anderson kitchen was usually in chaos. The pot of macaroni on the stove was boiling over; the television on the counter - tuned to a rerun of the horror movie Gorgo - was blaring.Brad Anderson, who was fourteen, sat on a stool to watch the movie, oblivious to the impending disaster on the stove. There was a loud hiss as the water boiled over onto the burner and he jumped, waving his hands over the bubbling to try and make it stop. It foamed over all the more, and he s.n.a.t.c.hed the pot up, holding it timidly.Sarah, his sister, came roller-skating almost out of control into the kitchen from their garage. She was wearing a grey plastic winged helmet, a red vinyl cape, and a grey plastic breastplate over her sweat shirt. The Terror of the Fourth Grade. A plastic sledgehammer was hooked through one beltloop, and she'd slung a Gremlins knapsack over one shoulder. Still skating full-speed, she pa.s.sed the television, changing the channel to a Thor cartoon."Hey!" Brad protested, unable to hit her with his hands holding the macaroni pot. "Change it back!"Sarah ignored him, taking a large sketch pad and a box of paints from her knapsack. Each of them had a large "Please Return To" address label with her name and address on it. Sarah was, as a rule, very possessive."Guess what," she said cheerfully.Brad put the macaroni pot down on the counter. "Mom'll kill you if she catches you wearing skates in the house.""She has to catch me first." Sarah said, unperturbed. "Anyway, guess what?"Brad put a spaghetti strainer on the counter, then lifted the pot up to dump the macaroni in. "I don't care, wing-head. Change the television back.""The strainer should be in the sink," Sarah said just as he started to dump the macaroni in, hot water splashing all over the counter."Aw, man!" he said, frustrated. He dropped the pot, the macaroni sliding across the counter, and turned to scowl at his sister."But that's not the news," she said, skating out of the kitchen to safety. She grinned back at him. "Mom got Chris to babysit for me."Brad stiffened, almost smiled, then rushed out of the kitchen. Very amused, Sarah skated after him, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to unlace her skates.Brad tore into his room, over and through a pile of dirty clothes, toward the mirror over his dresser. He stared at his reflection, seeing that he was breaking out a little on his chin."Oh, no," he said, and threw open the top dresser drawer, searching for some acne medication. Fast.Outside, Chris pulled her parents' station wagon into the driveway. Oh, yeah, this was exactly what she felt like doing tonight. Very grumpy, she got out of the car, making sure she had Cosmopolitan and Glamour with her. Her mother, helpfully, had put her college applications into the bag, too. Seeing that she had everything, Chris pushed up the sleeves of the sweat shirt she'd changed into, grabbed her coat, and walked up to the front door, where she rang the bell.Mrs. Anderson, wearing a black evening gown and putting on her earrings, opened the door. "Hi, Chris," she said. "Sorry for the short notice - thanks a million for this.""No problem," Chris said halfheartedly. "Glad I could help out."Mrs. Anderson closed the door once Chris was inside. "Wait right here," she said. "I've got a list for you."Chris nodded, sitting on a chair in the front hall, wishing that she were somewhere else. Anywhere else.Upstairs in her bedroom, Sarah lay on the floor, painting a picture of her favorite cartoon hero: Thor, G.o.d of Thunder. There were already at least twenty or thirty painted pictures of Thor hanging on her walls. Thor, not unlike Sarah herself, always wore a Viking helmet and a cape. He also always carried a great steel hammer as a weapon. Rather like Sarah's plastic one.Lowering her brush, Sarah examined her tubes of paint, looking for red. For Thor's cape. Among the paint lay a wrinkled tube of Clearasil.Brad burst into the room. "Did you take my Clearasil again?"Sarah nodded, holding it up. "I ran out of brown."Brad s.n.a.t.c.hed it from her, finding the tube empty. "Oh, great." He dropped it. "Now what'm I supposed to do?"Sarah offered him another tube, "Want some orange?""I can't use paint!"She held up her picture. "Hey, what do you think ? I figure it's my best one yet.""You wasted my Clearasil on another picture of Thor?"Sarah looked at the picture happily. "Thor's my hero."Disgusted, Brad kicked his empty tube of Clearasil under her bed. "Thor's a jerk.""He is not!"Brad just left the room, Sarah right behind him."Take it back!" she said.Brad turned, making a moron face at her."Take back what you said about Thor!" she said, stamping her foot.Brad made another face, backing down the stairs, not noticing Chris sitting in the front hall.Sarah, following him, did notice. "If you don't take it back, I'll tell Chris about all those love poems you write about her."Brad stopped, scowling. "You better keep your mouth shut.""Chris'd love to hear how you draw her name in hearts all over the walls at school," Sarah said, smiling sweetly.Brad sighed, conceding defeat. "Okay, okay, I take it back. Thor's not a jerk.""Thank you." Sarah smiled down at Chris. "Hi, Chris."Brad turned, saw that Chris had been there the entire time, and almost fainted. Sarah, giggling, ran past him and into the family room."So." Chris raised an eyebrow at him, the mystery of the hearts all over her school solved. "It's you.""Me? Who, me?" Brad almost fell down the stairs trying to avoid Sarah's roller skates. "What?""Never mind." Chris started to take off her coat, Brad hurrying down the stairs to help her."Hey, you look great," he said, fumbling in his attempt to get the coat off. "I mean, really. Your hair, your eyes. . . ."Chris shook his hand off, removing the coat herself. "What about them?""They're so - so, uh - well placed," he said.She sighed, taking pity on him. "Brad. Relax."He nodded, then swallowed. "Let me, uh - " He took her coat. "Terrific coat. That's not from Sears, no way. Unh-unh, too cool for that, it's - ""It was my grandfather's.""He has great taste," Brad said.Had. "He's dead.""I'm sorry," Brad said, hanging onto the coat awkwardly.Chris took it back, hanging it over a chair.Mr. and Mrs. Anderson came downstairs; Mrs. Anderson holding her list, Mr. Anderson holding their overcoats."h.e.l.lo, Chris," he said, looking smashing in his dinner jacket. As Mike probably would have."Hi, Mr. Anderson," Chris said."Come on into the kitchen," Mrs. Anderson said, and they all followed her.Sarah was sitting on the stool, watching cartoons and stuffing herself with an oversized bowl of Fruit Loops. The soggy macaroni and water were still all over the place, and Mr. and Mrs. Anderson stopped in mutual horror."Brad did it," Sarah said, not looking away from the television."Brad, clean that up this instant!" Mrs. Anderson said.Brad, looking sheepish, reached for some paper towels.Mrs. Anderson watched to make sure he really was going to clean it up, then turned her attention to Chris. "Here's the list," she said, handing it to her. "If you need to reach us, we're at the reception at the a.s.sociates Building. The number's by the phone."Chris nodded, putting the list in her pocket."And," Mrs. Anderson frowned at her daughter, "make sure Sarah doesn't wear her skates in the house.""That's right," Mr. Anderson said. "Sarah, Chris is in charge now, okay?"Sarah shrugged. "Sure. Can we go to Haagen-Dazs?"Mrs. Anderson shrugged, too. "Sure. Just don't go after eight o'clock." She looked back at Chris. "Brad's spending the night at a friend's, so you don't have to worry about him."Undeniably grateful, Chris glanced in his direction. Brad nodded a sad little nod."Also," Mrs. Anderson said, "Sarah's just over a virus, and - ""It's been two weeks!" Sarah said.Mrs. Anderson ignored her. "Give her aspirin in an hour and once before bed."Seeing a candy bar on the counter, Brad reached for it."Brad, no chocolate," his mother said. "Your acne."Brad dropped the bar, flushing, "Mom.""Can I stay up till midnight?" Sarah asked."Nine," her mother said."Eleven," Sarah said."Ten," her mother said."Ten-thirty," Sarah said.Mr. Anderson interceded. "Sold to the Viking. We really have to go."Mrs. Anderson nodded, putting on her coat. "But no later, Sarah. And no TV after ten.""But Creeping Terror is on tonight," Sarah said. "And Dad promised I could - ""All right, all right," Mrs. Anderson said, letting her husband herd her toward the garage. "But after that, turn it off.""You guys behave now," Mr. Anderson said."We will," Brad said."We should be home by one," Mrs. Anderson said to Chris. "Take good care of my baby."Chris nodded. "I'll guard her with my life." She stood at the door with Brad and Sarah, waving as the Andersons pulled the car into the driveway. Then the garage door slid back down, leaving the house very quiet."Let the babysitting begin!" Sarah said in a formal, Olympic voice.Chris just looked at her.

Chapter 3.

Now that the Andersons had left, it was time to turn into an authority figure."Okay," Chris said, making her voice very businesslike. "Let's get this place cleaned up, okay, Brad?"As he started to answer, there was an urgent coded knock on the back door."I'll get it," Brad said. He hurried out to the back hall, opening the door."Hi," his best friend, Daryl Coopersmith, said. He wasn't as tall as Brad, but He was much skinnier, with bright red hair. He was famous for both the hair and the extra-large digital watch he always wore. He tried to get inside as Brad practically rhumbaed with him to keep him out. "You spending the night at my place, or what ?" Daryl asked, trying to get past him."No," Brad said, pushing him back. "Not anymore."Daryl grinned. "Chris is here, isn't she?""No.""Yeah, she is - I saw her go in the front. And that's," he held up a toothbrush, "why I'm spending the night here tonight.""Forget it," Brad said."You kiss her yet?""Don't be crude." Brad pushed him. "Get out of here, okay?""Listen to you," Daryl said. "You fall in love, and suddenly you're a cla.s.sy guy."Brad glanced back at the kitchen, hoping that Chris hadn't heard. "I have not fallen in - ""What's she wearing?"Brad gritted his teeth. "Clothes. Now, get out.""Wait, you have to see this month's Playboy," Daryl said, taking a magazine out of his jacket. "There's a girl who looks just like her."Brad shoved him all the way out of the house, slammed the door, then locked it.In the family room now, Chris tuned the television to MTV, while Sarah snooped through her purse, examining the college applications to Northwestern, University of Michigan, UCLA, and Columbia.Brad came into the room, still slightly out of breath from his scuffle with Daryl."Who was that at the door?" Chris asked.Brad shrugged, flopping down on the couch. "Stray dog.""A what?""Are you going to college?" Sarah asked, holding up the applications.Brad saw them and panicked. "You're going to college? Away?""No," Chris said, putting the applications back in her purse."Whew," Brad said, almost under his breath.Sarah grinned. "Calm down, son."The phone on the end table rang, and Chris got up to answer it."It's probably Mike," she said."Mike?" Brad said quietly.Chris s.n.a.t.c.hed up the phone. "h.e.l.lo?""Will you accept a collect call from Brenda?" an operator asked."What?" Chris shook her head. "I mean - sure.""Chris?" Brenda said, sounding as if she were crying.Chris cupped a hand over her free ear to hear better, ignoring the fact that Sarah was rummaging through her purse and Brad was at the front windows, gesturing for some boy to go away. "Brenda, where are you? I can't hear you.""Chris?" Brenda said, still crying."What's wrong?" Chris asked, hearing a lot of background noise. People, motors, someone making announcements."I'm in trouble, Chris."Chris sighed. "You're always in trouble.""No, I'm really in trouble." Brenda cried harder. "I did it."Chris gasped in spite of herself. "You spiked her Tab with cyanide?""No, I ran away from home," Brenda said."You what?" Chris reached for the remote control box, turning the volume on the television down so she could hear better. "Where are you?""The bus station. Downtown.""The bus station? Brenda, don't go anywhere," Chris said quickly."I can't." Brenda sniffled. "I spent all my money on the cab getting here."Seeing that Sarah was using one of her lipsticks, Chris grabbed it away from her, balancing the phone on her shoulder."Chris, I need help," Brenda said.That was an understatement. "Yeah," Chris nodded, "you do.""If I take a cab to the Andersons', can you pay for it?""That'll be at least fifty dollars!" Chris said. "I don't have fifty dollars.""Well - can you pick me up?"Chris sighed. "Brenda. I'm babysitting.""I can't call anyone else," Brenda said, sounding frantic. "My father doesn't know. He'll kill me if he finds out.""Brenda - ""I'm begging you," Brenda said. "It's really scary here. I've seen three people pa.s.s out, a bald Chinese lady, and there's an old guy outside trying to get in here with me! Can you please hurry up and get here?"Chris hesitated. "Look, I have my mother's car. I can't just drive it into the city." She flinched as Brenda made a sound very close to a shriek. "What? What happened?""There's a man with a gun," Brenda said. "Get me out of here!""Okay, okay," Chris said, decision made. "Hang up and sit down. Do not move! I'll be there in half an hour.""Hurry," Brenda said. "I think he's going to kill someone! Maybe me!"Chris slammed the phone down. "I don't believe this," she said, searching her pockets for her car keys. "I do not." She found them. "Listen, guys. I have to go downtown. Brad, can you watch Sarah?""No way," Sarah said. "What if the house explodes ?"Chris sighed. "The house is not going to explode.""You leave Brad here and it will!""Look, I'll just be gone an hour, there and and back," Chris said, "and - "Sarah shook her head. "My mother's paying you good money to watch me."Chris put everything back into her purse. "Brad can watch you.""Why would my mother pay you good money to have Brad watch me?"Chris closed her eyes. "Sarah.""Well, why can't we all go?" Sarah asked."Because - ""That guy Mike," Brad said suddenly. "Do you go steady with him?""What?" Chris asked. "I mean, yeah.""Do you like him a lot?""No." Chris shook her head. "Yes.""Which is it?""Yes, I like him," Chris said. "And no, Sarah. Your parents'd flip if they found out I took you into the city.""They'll flip if they find out you left me with him," Sarah pointed out."Yeah, but - who would tell them?"Brad and Sarah looked at each other, then at Chris, smiling innocently. Batting their eyes, even.Chris sighed. "All right, all right, all right," she said. "Come on."

Chapter 4.

Chris got her coat, made sure Brad and Sarah put on jackets, then closed and locked the front door of the house."Come on, come on," she said, herding them over to the car. "We have to hurry." She stepped aside to let Sarah get into the seat ahead of her, shaking her head when she saw the roller skates. "You're not going to need those.""You never know," Sarah said, stuffing them into her knapsack.Chris started the car. "If anybody asks, we went for ice cream." She glanced over to see if her side mirror was adjusted right, almost screaming when she saw a face grinning at her through the window."Road trip?" Daryl asked.Brad groaned, covering his face with his hands."Where you going?" Daryl asked brightly."Downtown," Sarah said.Chris frowned at her."Zippy," Daryl said. "Can I come?"Brad lifted his head. "No. Go home."Chris swiveled in her seat to look at Brad. "Who is this kid, Brad?""Stray dog," Sarah said."Daryl Coopersmith." Daryl stuck his hand in through the window to shake Chris's. "You're Chris Parker, right?""Daryl, go home," Brad said.Daryl just smiled at Chris. "You must be a great babysitter.""What do you mean?" Chris looked at Brad and Sarah. "What does he mean?""I mean," Daryl stretched the word out, "Mr. and Mrs. Anderson must really trust you, letting you take Brad and Sarah into the city," he paused significantly, "alone."Sarah nodded. "Isn't it great?""So great," Daryl backed away from the car, "that I'm going to get my mother - ""Stop him," Brad said quietly." - to talk to their mother - ""Chris, stop him," Brad said."And maybe," Daryl went on, "you can babysit for me - ""Chris!" Brad said."And maybe, we could drive to New York," Daryl finished. "Just for kicks." He gave Chris a winning smile. "You think?"She sighed deeply. "What do you want?""For you to open the door."Chris shook her head. "Unh-unh. No way."Daryl shrugged, walking away. "Okay, no problem. I'll go see what my mother's doing, and - "Chris looked at Brad. "What do we do?""Run him over," Sarah suggested."Open the door," Brad said.Chris thought about that, sighed, then nodded. "Daryl!"He was already halfway across the yard. "Sorry, can't talk," he called back. "Gotta run.""Get in the car," she said."All right!" He ran back, jumping into the car, looking very pleased with himself. "Hey, Sarah." He winked at her. "Cool threads."Looking even more pleased, Sarah straightened her helmet.Chris turned so she could see all of them at the same time. "All right, look," she said. "You guys give me any grief over the next sixty minutes and I'll end your lives. End 'em. Finito. The Big Finish. Got it?"They all nodded."Good." She faced front, putting the car into gear, pulling out of the driveway. She was way too old for this babysitting stuff.There was a lot of traffic on the expressway, but Chris stayed conservatively in the middle lane. Sarah had coerced her into telling a story, which she did, feeling more surly and cranky by the moment."So," Chris said, well into the story, keeping her eyes on the road, "the babysitter goes upstairs and the sound keeps getting louder. 'Sc.r.a.pe . . . sc.r.a.pe . . . sc.r.a.pe.' Then, the babysitter stops at the kids' room. . . ."Sarah watched her, transfixed; in the backseat, Brad and Daryl scuffled over the Playboy Daryl was refusing to put away."Slowly, she pushes the door," Chris went on. "It creaks open . . . and the kids are safely in their beds." She stopped, hearing the struggle in the backseat. "What are you guys doing back there?"Daryl was distracted by this, and Brad managed to grab the magazine, tossing it out the window."Nothing," Brad said."Unh-hunh." Chris adjusted the rearview mirror so she could watch them more closely.Daryl punched Brad's arm. "That was my father's, stupid."Brad punched back. "Shouldn't have brought it, stupid.""You guys want me to finish this or not?" Chris asked."Yeah!" Sarah said.Brad and Daryl shrugged. Agreeably."All right, all right." Chris frowned, trying to remember where she'd left off. "Okay. When the babysitter looks more closely at the kids, she sees that . . . they don't have any faces.""Oh, gross," Sarah said."It's just - " Chris thought - "a pile of mushy goo.""Like Spaghetti-Os?"Chris nodded. "Spaghetti-Os with meat. The babysitter screams, and turns to run, but there's this big giant hairy guy standing in front of her, and - he raises his right arm, and there's this big metal hook instead of a hand, and he moves the hook to the babysitter's face - 'Sc.r.a.pe! Sc.r.a.pe! Sc.r.a.pe!' "Brad lunged forward to grab Sarah's face, and Sarah screamed. Chris winced at the sound, feeling guilty for having made the story so gruesome."Brad, hold me!" Daryl said in a quavering falsetto. "I'm so scared!""Tell another, Chris," Sarah said. "Please."Brad pointed out through the window. "Hey, look!"They all stopped talking, looking at the Chicago skyline, bright and beautiful in the dusk."Wow," Sarah said, sounding awed. "That's where Thor lives."Chris raised her eyebrows. "Thor?""Well, all superheroes live in the city," Sarah said in a "Don't you know anything?" voice. "Spiderman. Daredevil. Captain America. But Thor's the best. He fights the Forces of Darkness." She looked at the skyline, lifting her sledgehammer in a salute. "Forces of Darkness, beware - here we come!""Bus station, here we come," Chris said.

Chapter 5.

It was almost dark now, and they drove in silence for a while. Then Brad leaned forward, resting his arms on top of the front seat."Mike what?" he asked."Mike what what?" Chris asked, driving.Daryl leaned forward, too. "Mike what what what? What are we talking about?""What's his last name?" Brad asked.Chris grinned wryly. "Toddwell. You writing a book?""Mike Toddwell?" Daryl said. "You know him?"Brad sighed. "They go out."Daryl leaned over the front seat, Chris pushing him back so she could see the road. "He's got a Firebird, right?"Chris shrugged. "A lot of people have Firebirds.""Yeah," Daryl said, "but do a lot of people have the license plate 'SO COOL'?"Chris smiled. "That's Mike.""Hunh." Daryl sat back, folding his arms. "He's the guy who beat me up last summer for touching his car. Which I didn't do.""That was Mm?" Brad said.Daryl nodded. "You know it. He - ""Oh, come on," Chris said, taking her eyes off the road long enough to frown at him. "Mike wouldn't do that.""He would, too," Daryl said. "He kicked me so hard I still have the bruise." He lifted his shirt, turning around. "Wanna see it?""No," Chris and Brad said."Yeah!" Sarah said. "Let me see, Daryl, let me see!"There was a loud bang that sounded suspiciously like a tire blow-out, and the car skidded wildly to the right, with Chris fighting the wheel to keep from crashing into any other cars."All right!" Daryl yelled. "Three-sixty!""Oh, no," Chris said, more to herself than anyone else, hearing the steel rim bouncing against the road as she tried to keep the car under control."It's just a flat," Brad said, very calm. "Pull over.""This is great!" Sarah said, hanging onto the dashboard, just as excited as Daryl. "I love it!""To the right, Chris," Brad said. "Go to the right.""Right." Tightly gripping the steering wheel, Chris guided the car over to the side of the road, the shredded tire and rim thumping against the pavement, slowly skidding to a stop.They sat without speaking for a minute; Chris gritting her teeth and staring straight ahead, Sarah and Daryl exchanging "Isn't this great?" grins, Brad frowning."I guess we'll just have to change it," he said."Right." Chris opened the glove compartment, took out a flashlight, then got out of the car, all three kids following her.She unlocked the tailgate, then lifted up the spare tire compartment, finding it - empty. Empty."Where is it?" Brad asked.Chris stared at the compartment, still stunned. "I don't know.""Maybe it's already on the car?" Daryl said, helpfully.Chris gritted her teeth harder, trying to digest this situation. "Maybe," she said. She stood there for a minute, hands on her hips, aware that they were all waiting for her to do something. She let out her breath. "Okay, okay. We'll just have to flag someone down, and go buy a tire - I've got my checkbook, and - " She stopped. Did she have her checkbook? "Oh, no." She ran back to the front of the car, searching the driver's seat for the purse she now remembered leaving in the Anderson's living room. "I forgot my purse - I can't believe I forgot my purse! I don't have my checkbook, I don't have any money - I don't even have my license!""Gee," Daryl said, watching her continue the frantic search, "did you forget your purse?""Yes, you little cretin!" she said, searching under the seat, just in case.Daryl nudged Brad in the side. "I like this girl, Brad. I like her."Brad ignored him, reaching into his pocket. "I have some money.""What, fifty cents?" Chris asked impatiently. "You don't have any money - you're a kid." Frustrated, she gave the flat tire a good, solid kick. "I can't believe this is happening, I can't believe any of this.""She's right." Daryl pushed him off balance. "Don't be stupid."Brad pushed back. "Go walk in traffic, would you?"There was a bright, blinding light behind them and they all turned, squinting to see as a large, indistinct vehicle rumbled toward them on the shoulder."What's he doing?" Chris asked, uneasy."He's going to run us over," Daryl said, "isn't it obvious?"The vehicle came to a slow stop a few feet away from them and idled there, the motor still running. Then, the driver's door flew open and a huge, hulking silhouette - six, or even seven, feet tall - lumbered toward them.With a squeak of fear, Daryl scrambled behind Chris, Brad staying next to her, however uncertainly. Sarah whipped out her address-labeled plastic sledgehammer, stepping in front of all of them."Everyone stay behind me," she said, her voice strong and brave. Thor-like.Chris yanked her back to safety, then lifted her flashlight, shining it at the silhouette's face. It was a man. A large man, with a black s.h.a.ggy beard and deep-set dark eyes. He was wearing some sort of dirty denim uniform and workboots, with a grease-blackened nametag."You kids having some trouble?" he growled. Or mumbled - it was hard to tell.Brad leaned over to Chris. "Was that English?"The man saw the flat tire. "Got a spare?""No," Sarah said, her voice rather small. Un-Thor-like.The man chuckled. Giggled, almost. "You went out on the expressway without a spare?"Brad looked at Daryl, shaking his head. "We're history, man.""Ancient history," Daryl agreed.Still chuckling, the man took his right hand out of his pocket, reaching up to scratch his head. The hand pa.s.sed through Chris's flashlight beam, and they saw that it wasn't a hand at all.It was a metal hook.

Chapter 6.

"Oh, no," Daryl said, panicked. "We're going to die, I know we're going to die."Just relax, stay calm, don't panic," Chris said, pretty close to panicking herself. She took a deep breath and stepped toward the man. "What do you want?""I want to help you," the man said.Daryl grabbed Chris's arm, trying to pull her back. "Don't listen to him - he wants to sc.r.a.pe our faces off!"They all stared at the man. The man stared back, then looked down at his hook."What?" He smiled, waving it. "You're scared of this? Haven't you ever seen a handicapped person before?" He chuckled again. "You must be from the suburbs." He walked back to his vehicle and drove it around and in front of the station wagon.As it pa.s.sed, they saw that "Dawson's Garage" was painted along the side of it. It was a tow truck."I suddenly feel like a total idiot," Chris said.Daryl reached up to put his arm around her shoulders. "Well, if you don't mind my saying so, you look - "Brad gave him a warning look, and Daryl stopped in mid-sentence.Up in front of the car, the man had climbed out of his tow truck, getting ready to attach the station wagon to various cables and straps.Chris moved the three kids up against the car, then pointed her finger at them. "Stay here." She walked up to the front of the station wagon where the man was at work under the front b.u.mper."I, uh, I'm sorry for freaking out back there," she said. "I guess we overreacted."He shrugged. "That's okay. I'm used to it.""Listen, um - " She moved her hand back through her hair. "I appreciate this, but I - we don't have any money. I mean - if you tow us anywhere, I can't pay you."The man straightened up, considering that."We can't even buy a tire, we can't even - my parents are going to kill me." She shuddered. "Their parents are going to kill me."The man looked back at Brad, Sarah, and Daryl standing obediently next to the car. "Why would they want to kill you?""I'm supposed to be babysitting," she said. "I'm not supposed to be taking little kids into the city, or - or any of this."The man moved his jaw, considering that, too. "Okay," he said finally. "I'll tell you what. I'll tow you into town. To the garage. We'll find you a cheap old tire, something to get you home on, okay ?"Chris hesitated. "Oh, no, that wouldn't be right.""What would be right? Leaving you kids alone on the expressway?""No, I guess not." She put her hand out. "My name's Chris. Chris Parker."The man offered his hook. "Pruitt.""Okay." Chris turned. "Come on, you guys, let's go. Mr. Pruitt's going to take us to the garage."Somewhat reluctant, the other three joined them, Chris motioning for everyone to get in the cab of the tow truck."Okay, come on," she said, seeing that they all looked pretty nervous. "It was just a story. Nothing's going to happen. You guys behave now.""Do I have permission to misbehave if he goes for my throat?" Daryl asked.Chris sighed. "Shut up, Daryl.""Yeah, but, what did it feel like?" he asked."What did what feel like?" she asked, not really paying attention."When you shook his claw."Now she looked at him, shaking her head. "You are a very disturbed child."Daryl shrugged affirmatively, almost proud of it.When Pruitt got into the cab and started the engine, they drove in silence for a few minutes, the seat very crowded."Hey, mister?" Daryl asked.Pruitt signaled left, changing lanes. "What, Red?""How - " Daryl hesitated. "How'd you, you know - lose it?"Pruitt grinned, his hook clamped around the steering wheel. "Lose what?""Well - your hand," Daryl said. "Was it in 'Nam?"Pruitt chuckled his gravelly chuckle. " 'Fraid not. Was changing a tire on a big rig, the jack gave out, back of the truck fell on my hand and," he snapped the fingers of his good hand, "popped that sucker right off."Daryl stared at his claw. "What did they do with the hand? Bury it?""Naw. Wouldn't let 'em do that." Pruitt's smile was playful. "I kept it."Daryl's mouth fell open. "You kept it?"Pruitt motioned toward the dashboard. "Got it in the glove compartment."Daryl turned to look at the closed compartment, his face paling noticeably. Pruitt chuckled again, focusing on the road, and Chris and Brad - who had listened in on the conversation - grinned.The tow truck's radio crackled. "Pruitt!" a voice barked.Pruitt picked up the microphone. "Yeah?""Dawson here," the voice said, distorted by all of the static. "I just went by your place."Pruitt stopped smiling. "And what'd you see?""You won't like it," Dawson said."What did you see?!" Pruitt yelled."Well - that car was parked in front," Dawson said.Growling, Pruitt threw down the microphone and stepped on the gas, the truck leaping forward. Chris and the others were thrown back against the seat, too surprised - for the moment - to be alarmed.Pruitt steered the truck, and presumably the station wagon, across four lanes of traffic, horns blaring all around them. He pressed the gas harder, the truck fishtailing wildly, cars swerving out of their way.Chris, Brad, and Daryl hung onto one another in terror, cringing as the truck narrowly avoided accidents; Sarah had the window rolled down, laughing and looking out at the havoc they were causing on the highway. Pruitt, in a rage, was oblivious to all of this, careening up a gra.s.sy embankment and onto the exit ramp."Stop!" Brad shouted, trying to grab his arm. "Mr. Pruitt, please!""Don't you guys love it?" Sarah said, hanging out the window. "This is great!"Chris just closed her eyes. This was a nightmare.

Chapter 7.

The truck sped down narrowing city streets, into a poor neighborhood. The houses, on tiny plots of land, were small and unkempt, with dirty, peeling paint. The lawns, mostly unmowed, had old cars or rusty pickup trucks parked on almost all of them, or so it appeared, as the houses whizzed by at eighty miles an hour.They squealed around a corner, the truck barely staying on the road, the station wagon swinging out behind them."Hey!" Chris protested. "That's my mother's car - watch out!"Pruitt jammed on the brakes and they were all slammed forward against the dashboard."Can we do that again?" Sarah asked brightly.Pruitt shoved all of them back, reaching for the glove compartment."Oh, no." Daryl covered his eyes in horror.Pruitt ripped open the compartment, which was empty except for some maps - and a large revolver. Chris, Brad, and Sarah stared at it; Daryl still had his eyes covered."Is it a hand?" Daryl asked, his voice shaking."No," Brad said."Whew." Daryl lowered his hand. "Good.""It's a gun," Brad said."Oh, no." Daryl covered his eyes again.Pruitt leaped out of the truck, the gun clenched in his good hand. He ran to a small blue house with dangling shutters, past a crimson Cadillac parked in the driveway. He kicked in the front door of the house and there was a woman's scream from somewhere inside.Chris and the others stared out through the windshield, watching in some fascination."What's going on?" Brad asked.There were several gunshots, another scream, and the distinct sound of a fist hitting something. Or someone. A man - not Pruitt - crashed through the front window and over the porch railing, landing in the gra.s.s. He scrambled up, his nose bleeding, and ran toward the Cadillac.Sarah yanked Chris's arm to get her attention. "What is going on?""You, uh, you familiar with the Ten Commandments?" Chris asked.Sarah shrugged. "Sure. I mean, I guess."Chris nodded. "That man just broke one.""I hate it when people worship false idols," Daryl said. "I hate it!"Chris just looked at him.Pruitt appeared in the broken front window, a plump blonde woman hanging onto his arm. She was screaming, pleading with him, as he aimed his revolver at the running man. Just as he fired, she grabbed his arm, and the bullet smashed through the tow truck windows instead.Chris and the other three screamed as the bullet barely missed them, then Chris got a hold of herself, opening the door and pulling them all out."Where do we go?" Brad yelled."Out of the way!" Chris yelled back.Pruitt was aiming his gun once more, but his wife managed to grab his arm again, the bullet shattering the windshield of the station wagon."Hey!" Chris yelled at Pruitt, her hands on her hips. "That's my mother's car!""Maybe you shouldn't yell at him when he's firing," Daryl said quietly."Right," Chris said and turned just in time to see the other man, totally panicked, about to run right into them. Which meant, any second now, a bullet might - she grabbed Brad's arm, Daryl's belt, and Sarah's knapsack strap, pulling them all toward the Cadillac. "Move it! Over there!" She hustled them inside the Cadillac, just ahead of the man. "Go on, hurry up!""Hey!" the man yelled. "Get out of my car!"They all tumbled into the backseat, tangled and out of breath."Lock the doors," Chris ordered.Brad and Daryl reached for the locks which, suddenly, snapped down all by themselves. A guy, probably in his early twenties, popped up from underneath the front seat. He was black, wearing an old leather jacket, faded jeans, and Air Jordan sneakers. He gave them a malevolent scowl and they all screamed.The man outside the car banged on the windows, trying to get in, then fumbled in his pants pocket for his car keys. Out of bullets, Pruitt tossed his gun away and ran outside. Seeing all of this, the guy in the car dropped back down and connected two wires underneath the dashboard. There was a small spark, then the car started.The man outside had found his keys, but just as he unlocked the driver's door, the guy in the car hit the gas and the car skidded out of the driveway. Chris and the others - for the second time tonight - were thrown back against the car seat.The car sped through the streets of Pruitt's neighborhood into an even darker, deadlier side of town as Chris and the two boys tried to collect themselves. Sarah, grinning away, had unzipped her knapsack, taking out a candy bar which she very calmly unwrapped."Well." Chris tried to straighten her hair. "Thanks, mister. You saved our lives.""Chris," Brad said, patiently. "He's a car thief. This is a stolen car.""No way," she said and glanced at the front seat, where the guy gave her a confirming grin in the rearview mirror. She sat back. "Oh, my."Daryl leaned over to Brad. "This chick is losing it, man.""I am not!" Chris said.Sarah held out her chocolate bar. "Anyone want candy?"Chris slapped Brad's hand away as he reached for some. "Acne, remember? And Sarah, you shouldn't - " She yanked the aspirin bottle out of her pocket. "Aspirin! I'm supposed to give you aspirin!"They watched her as she clawed at the childproof cap, struggling to open it. "I'm not losing anything," she said. "I'm still in control here! Got it?"There was a brief silence."You know," Sarah said, searching inside her knapsack again, speaking in the exact tone of a television announcer, "beef jerky is really the best thing for people on the go. In fact - "The guy driving made a strange sound - possibly a strangled laugh - then jammed on the brakes. "I steal cars," he said. "I don't steal kids. Get out."No one moved, and he pushed up the electronic locks."Go on," he said. "Get out."Slowly, they got out, Sarah handing him what was left of her candy bar."Wait," Chris said uneasily, looking around the dark, deserted street. "I don't even know where we - "The car pulled away.

Chapter 8.

With the exception of the one streetlamp they were underneath, the street was pitch black. Somewhere, in the night, there was a scream; in another direction, a man and a woman were having a terrible crashing argument, followed by a gunshot. In the alley behind them, there was the sound of breaking gla.s.s, then the piercing wail of a burglar alarm.It was very windy."Okay, okay," Chris said, as the kids huddled close to her. "Don't worry. Everything's going to be all right."A car squealed to a stop next to them and they were about to run when they recognized the Cadillac. The front window rolled down."I could have left you in a better neighborhood, maybe," the car thief said. "Get in."Seeing that the others weren't going to move, Chris stepped over to the car, lowering her voice. "Promise me you won't hurt these kids," she said. "I'm serious.""I promise," he said.She studied his expression, then nodded. "Okay. I'm Chris Parker."He nodded, too. "I'm Joe Gipp.""Any relation to George?" Daryl piped up from behind Brad.Chris and Joe both rolled their eyes."Get in the car, guys, okay?" Chris said.They got in the car.Sarah leaned over the front seat, holding a small plastic package. "Want some beef jerky, Joe?""Mmm, boy." He pushed it away. "My favorite."They drove for what seemed like a long time, Chris too uneasy to ask exactly where they were going. They were in a warehouse district now, the streets completely deserted, dark empty buildings all around them. The car pulled to a stop in front of a warehouse that appeared to be as abandoned as all of the others.Joe took out an electric garage door opener, pointing it at the door of the building."Um, where are we going?" Chris asked."Crazy," Daryl said, very grim. "Sort of exciting, don't you think?"Joe Gipp grinned and pushed the door opener's b.u.t.ton.The garage door slid up, revealing a brightly lit, active, crowded work area. Joe drove the Cadillac slowly inside. It was very noisy, with almost a symphony of saws, high-powered drills, and revving engines. There were steel girders and rafters everywhere, supporting not only the roof, but hanging sections of cars - trunks and doors and frames and engines.Men were working in every part of the huge room, shirtless and perspiring, making strange shadows in the lights of many lanterns and blow-torches. Working on Porsches and Ferraris and BMWs, engine parts lying all over the place. In one part of the room, there was a stack of tires twenty feet high; in other sections, there were headlights and pistons and fenders, all piled together haphazardly.Then, at the far end, there were rows of finished refurbished cars, all looking shiny and new, with more men polishing and washing them."Okay, call me small town," Daryl said, "but I don't get it.""Don't you watch television?" Sarah asked. "It's a chop shop.""Oh," Daryl said, obviously still not getting it."Don't you know anything ?" she asked, shaking her head impatiently."Thor visits 'chop shops' a lot, does he?" Brad said."No." Sarah shook her head again, her helmet slipping to one side. "Crocket and Tubbs go to chop shops. LaRue and Washington go to chop shops. Even Maddie and Dave go to chop shops.""Oh, come on," Joe Gipp said. "I've never seen Maddie and Dave in a chop shop."Still confused, Daryl looked at Chris, who was slouched down with her eyes closed, rubbing her temples with both hands. "I still don't get it," he said.She didn't bother opening her eyes. Speaking like an automaton, "Thieves steal cars. They bring them to places like this, they put cheap parts in good cars, file off serial numbers, rea.s.semble things so you can't tell what car anything was in in the first place - like, I don't know, a clearing-house."Brad and Sarah applauded her explanation."Oh." Daryl turned to Joe, impressed. "Did you steal all of these?"Joe's shrug was modest. "Pays the rent.""Isn't it kind of - dangerous?" Brad asked."I like danger," Joe said."You should try babysitting," Chris said, slouching lower.Joe stopped the car just past a long table crowded with men in cheap, rumpled suits. Most of them were smoking cigars, and they were all bent over piles of spread-out papers.A tall, very pale man sat at the head of the table, his face cold and expressionless, listening to a fat man reading from a list."Dallas gets the Ferraris," the fat man said. "One Lamborghini to Phoenix. Cleveland needs four Porsches.""Forget it," the tall man said, his voice brittle."But they got an order - ""I said, forget it. I didn't like the way they were running things." He looked around the table with mean eyes. "Cleveland is dead."The other men nodded nervously.A loud bell rang twice and a hulking supervisor walked out to the middle of the room."Quittin' time, boys!" He yelled, and the workers dropped their tools, gathering up their gear.Joe Gipp opened his door. "Okay, hang on a minute, kids.""Look, Mr. Gipp," Chris said. "We have to take our car to Dawson's Garage. See, my friend is - ""Sit tight," Joe said. "Don't be scared." He got out, closing the door behind him."All right," Brad said when he was gone. "You guys let me handle this.""What are you going to do ?" Chris wanted to know."Talk to them," he said, shrugging."I'm the babysitter," she said. "I'll handle this."Brad looked out at the men, a surly, depraved lot if ever there was one. A group of men that pirates would be afraid of. "Um, the thing is," he said, "I have a feeling that they might not be very polite to you." He coughed. "In particular."Chris followed his gaze, then shuddered. "I think you're probably right."Outside the car, Joe Gipp walked over to the supervisor, glancing uneasily at the pale man at the table.The supervisor, Graydon, indicated the Cadillac. "Good job. Got any defects?""A few," Joe said. Which was when Chris and the other three stepped out of the car.Joe groaned, Graydon stared, everyone else in the plant stopped dead.Smiling his most polite smile, Brad stepped up to Graydon, shaking his hand. "Hi, I'm Brad Anderson."Graydon just stared, his eyes staying longest on Sarah and her helmet, cape, and sword."This is my sister, Sarah," Brad went on. "And my friend Daryl Coopersmith, and this is Chris Parker." He looked around, nodding in approval. "Hey, nice place you've got here. Really."Graydon was still amazed. "Thanks.""Yeah, it's really, um - " Brad coughed. "The thing is, we sort of took a wrong turn; and - well, if you don't mind, we'd really like to get out - "Without warning, Graydon turned and punched Joe Gipp square in the mouth. Joe flipped back over the Cadillac's hood.Chris gasped, pulling the kids close to her.With an effort, Joe staggered up and Graydon yanked him over, getting ready to hit him again."Gee, Graydon," Joe said, his mouth swollen. "Don't hold it in. Go on - get mad.""You boosted a Caddy full of kids?" Graydon said.Joe shrugged helplessly. "They got in while I was stealing it. I couldn't let them out - they would've been killed.""We would've," Sarah a.s.sured everyone nearby."Anyway, so I screwed up," Joe said. "Big deal. I don't know why you're so upset.""They know where our operation is!" Graydon said. "They could go to the cops!""Oh, no," Chris said quickly as everyone in the whole place glared at them. "No, sir. We wouldn't go to the cops.""And how'm I supposed to know that?" Graydon asked.Chris and the others looked at each other. Then Brad snapped his fingers."We could put it in writing," he said. "Everybody could sign it, we could go to a notary public - ""Shut up," Graydon said.The tall pale man slammed his fist on the table, then slowly stood up as total silence fell. "Take the Brady Bunch upstairs," he said, then smiled a nasty smile. "We'll take care of them later."

Chapter 9.

It was absolutely silent for a minute, then Graydon clapped his hands."You guys clear out!" He ordered the workers. "Go on home!"Without hesitation, the workers scrambled for the exit."Get 'em upstairs," Bleak, the pale man, said, several men at the table jumping up. "Now."Daryl nudged Chris. "If we get out of this alive," he whispered, "I'd ask the Andersons for a buck more an hour.""We'll get home," Chris said bravely. "This has all been a big mistake.""What about Brenda?" Sarah asked.Chris swallowed as a man holding a tire iron motioned for them to climb up the steep metal stairs leading to an office. "Brenda's probably better off than we are," she said.At the bus station, the clock read eight-twelve. Brenda sat at the far end of a row of plastic chairs with small, battered televisions attached. Next to her, a bag lady wearing a large pair of broken sungla.s.ses was sleeping. Feeling tired herself, Brenda yawned, taking her gla.s.ses off to rub her eyes. She yawned some more, then put her gla.s.ses back on. Except that they weren't her gla.s.ses - they were the bag lady's. And the bag lady was suddenly gone.Brenda jumped up, frantic, squinting around the bus station, none of the blurry figures resembling the bag lady.Now she was really in trouble. Not only was she stuck in this place where who-knows-what was going to happen to her, but she couldn't see.The men locked Chris and the others inside the grimy little office, then clomped back downstairs. The room was small and cramped, cluttered with old Styrofoam coffee cups and various stacks of papers.Daryl, seeing the current issue of Playboy on top of a desk, glanced to make sure the others weren't looking, then stuffed it under his shirt."Well, that's it." Brad sat down. "We're going to die."Sarah pointed up at the ceiling. "No, we're not."The other three looked up. There was a triangular-shaped opening in the sheet-metal ceiling, shards of metal circling the hole like shark's teeth. About five feet above the office roof, they could see the dark steel rafters of the building roof."Unh-unh," Chris said. "Absolutely not. It's too dangerous. I mean, look at that," she gestured toward the metal shards. "You might poke your eyes out,""They might poke our brains out," Brad said.Sarah nodded. "Brad's right.""Oh, no, Sarah, honey," Chris said, trying to be rea.s.suring. "I'm responsible for you. I'm your babysitter, and - ""Then start acting like one," Daryl said, "and get us babies out of trouble.""Okay, okay." Chris took a deep breath, then climbed up onto the desk. From there, she pulled herself up onto the file cabinet, just below the hole."Can you do it?" Brad asked.She nodded, reaching up through the hole to avoid the spikes, and pulled herself out onto the office roof. Winded, she looked around, trying to figure out her next move.There was a skylight several feet away, high above the chop shop floor, directly above the men at the table. If they walked very carefully along the rafters, they could make it to the skylight and pull themselves out. She looked down again. The rafters were very high."Chris," Sarah whispered, struggling to pull herself out of the office hole.Chris unhooked the corner of Sarah's cape from one of the metal shards, helping her the rest of the way out. Brad clambered up next, and Chris gestured toward the skylight. He swallowed, but nodded. Then Daryl came up, holding Sarah's knapsack, and Chris showed him the skylight, too."No way," he said, barely keeping his voice down."You want them to poke your brains out?" Chris asked."No, but - " He gulped, looking down. "What if I fall?""I won't let you," Sarah said, with Super-Hero confidence.They all smiled at her."Okay, Sarah," Daryl said. "Thanks."Mr. and Mrs. Anderson were having a lovely time. The a.s.sociates Building reception was being held on one of the top floors, with a beautiful view of the Chicago skyline. It was an elegant party, the room crowded with men and women in evening clothes, drinking champagne. A man sat at a piano in one corner, playing show tunes as a background to the many c.o.c.ktail conversations.Mrs. Anderson, who had been calling home on a telephone a waiter brought her, walked back over to her husband, frowning."Multiple murder?" Mr. Anderson asked cheerfully, "or did Sarah just cut off a finger?"Mrs. Anderson frowned. "I got the answering machine."He shrugged, handing her her champagne. "They went for ice cream - they're okay. Chris can handle it.""Sure," Mrs. Anderson said. "Sarah's probably hanging from the rafters by now."In the chop shop, Sarah was hanging from the rafters. So were Brad and Chris and Daryl. They moved carefully, hand over hand toward the skylight, each sliding one foot at a time along the beams.Chris, leading the others, glanced down for a second and quickly looked back up, dizzy. She gripped the rafter with white knuckles and slid forward another step.Sarah looked back at Daryl, who was shaking. "Don't look down," she said.He gave her a weak nod, sliding forward an inch.They crept along the beams, above the table now, the men oblivious to what was happening above them. Chris, almost at the skylight, stretched out her fingers, clasping them around the window sill. Gently, she pushed the window open. The warehouse roof looked very tempting and very safe.Down below, Joe Gipp glanced up, saw them, and stared. Then, quickly, he looked away from them, not saying anything.With the window open now, Chris motioned to Brad, who scrambled out onto the roof. Then, she reached for Sarah, hefting her up and out to him. Daryl was next, shakily climbing onto the sill.Below them, Bleak searched through his papers, then glared at Graydon. "Where's the magazine?" he demanded.Graydon looked blank. "You mean, the Playboy?"Daryl was stuck on the windowsill. Chris was trying to lift him up, Brad was trying to pull. The magazine underneath Daryl's shirt was jarred free and started to fall. They all stared in horror, then Chris let go of the rafter with her left hand. Hanging down, she caught the corner of the centerfold with the fingertips of her right hand, her left hand snapping back to grab the rafter. Written across that page were names, numbers, and dates. Not noticing any of this, Chris pa.s.sed the magazine up to Brad, shoved Daryl out on the roof, then vaulted up after him. They were safe. For now.Below them, Joe Gipp let out a sigh of relief."Where is it?" Bleak asked, still searching for the magazine among his papers.Graydon looked sheepish. "I, uh, I took it upstairs. There was this article on - ""Get it," Bleak said.Graydon ran for the office stairs, Joe Gipp hiding a smile.Outside, Chris and the other three ran for the roof's edge, Brad stuffing the magazine into Sarah's knapsack."Where'd you get this, stupid?" he asked Daryl.Daryl shrugged. "Took it from the office.""You know how much trouble you're going to get us into?"Daryl let out an exasperated breath. "Brad, we're facing ten to twenty in prison for stealing a Cadillac."Chris hurried them all over to a fire escape that led to the street, motioning for them to follow her."At least in prison," she said, "I'll never have to babysit again.""You think they know we're gone yet?" Brad asked, out of breath.There was the sound of a lot of yelling, followed by an engine starting, then the garage door slamming open."Yeah," Chris said. "I think they do."

Chapter 10.

Inside the chop shop, Bleak pointed at Joe Gipp."You," he said. "Drive."Joe backed up, shaking his head. "Hey, come on, they're kids. You going to run them down and kill them?"Bleak's hand closed around Joe's collar, and he brought his other hand up in a fist. "Drive," he said.Joe swallowed, then nodded, and Bleak released him, turning the mean gaze on Graydon."We gotta get that magazine," he said. "The New York notes are in it. We blow this delivery and we're dead."Graydon nodded, very frightened. "If the cops get that magazine - ""You're dead," Bleak said coldly.Outside, Chris led the others down a narrow alleyway, running as fast as she could."Where we going?" Daryl asked, panting."I'll think of something," Chris said.In the car, a black Lincoln Continental, Bleak pointed through the windshield at the alley."Get them," he said.Joe Gipp nodded, slipped the car into Reverse instead of Drive, and the car sped backward into the chop shop."Sorry," he said.Bleak was not amused.Joe put the car into Drive and swerved out into the alleyway."Oh, no," Brad said, as the headlights appeared behind them, lighting up the alley, the car engine revving."Faster, you guys!" Chris said, pulling Sarah - since she was closest - along. "Faster!"The speeding car was much closer, and they ran around the corner, finding themselves in another, narrower alley. Somewhere up ahead, there was the sound of loud blues music.The alley was too narrow for the car and Joe stopped it, Bleak and Graydon jumping out. The kids ran faster, but the alley ended in a ten-foot-high chain link fence. They were trapped."Now what?" Daryl asked, as Bleak and Graydon ran toward them."Come on!" Chris ran to a half-open, rotted door, shoving the others inside, then slamming the door behind them. The faded sign on the door read: The Teardrop Lounge. As the door shut, the blues music got even louder.Outside, Bleak and Graydon skidded up to the door."Wait a minute, the front!" Bleak said. "We'll get 'em on the way out - come on!"The two of them ran back down the alley.Inside, the kids ran down a dark hallway, with dim, bare lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. There was a door at the end of the hall, with an old clock above it. It was eight-forty-five."This way," Chris said, opening the door, none of them noticing the little grey letters that read: Stage Door.The Teardrop Lounge was the meanest, toughest blues bar in Chicago. It was a large room, with red vinyl tables and chairs. The lights were dim; the air smoky. There was a bar on one side of the room and a small stage at the front.The room was packed and the band onstage was cooking, playing a street symphony of pounding electric lead and ba.s.s guitars, harmonica, and drums. Bleak, Graydon, and Joe Gipp came in the front door, standing in the back of the room behind the ma.s.s of people and tables. Bleak and Graydon scanned the crowd, looking for the kids.Chris and the others, completely unaware of where they were, snuck out onto the stage into the middle of the musicians. The blues band saw them and stopped playing. Then the customers saw them and stopped talking, drinks halfway to their lips.Chris stopped, the other three crashing into her, and they looked around the room in horror.In the back, Bleak squinted at the stage. "What the - " He started, then motioned for Graydon and Joe Gipp to follow him, beginning to make his way around the crowd to the stage.Chris cleared her throat and walked up to the lead guitarist, a lanky, heavy-lidded man."We, uh - " She coughed, self-conscious in the silence. "We didn't mean to interrupt your little concert here. We, uh - if you don't mind, we'll just get off the stage and let ourselves out through the front door. . . ." She pushed the other three. "Come on."The lead guitarist blocked her path with the neck of his guitar. "n.o.body gets off this stage without singin' the blues," he said.Chris laughed nervously. "What?""n.o.body gets off this stage without singing the blues," he said, not sounding friendly.Chris looked around, seeing silent, expressionless faces. "P-pardon?" she said, with another nervous laugh. "You mean you - " She blinked. "You want me to sing?"The band and the audience were silent.Chris backed up toward the others, who looked terrified."They want me to sing," she said incredulously.Daryl gulped. "Do whatever they want. Just get us out of here.""But - " Chris tried not to panic. "I can't sing." She looked at their frightened faces, everyone else's expressionless faces, and realized that she had no choice.Nervously, she stepped up to the microphone. "Hi," she said, her voice louder than she had expected. "My name is Chris Parker."The lead guitarist followed her line with a fast, hard, five-note blues riff, and Chris jumped, startled."T-this is Brad and Sarah and Daryl," she said, her voice shaky.The guitarist played another riff, the ba.s.s player kicking in with a pulsing ba.s.s line.Getting it now, Chris relaxed a little. "I got a boyfriend named Mike," she said.The drums joined in, the beat heating up."It's our anniversary night," she said, feeling looser. "But he canceled our date. We're stuck in the city." She grinned, getting into this, carried by the band's pounding rhythm. "My Mom's car's all shot up.""And bad guys are chasing us!" Sarah said, right on the beat.Now, for the first time, Chris sang the lines. "They're gettin' me tough. They're gettin' me mean. They're givin' me the blues." She paused. "The Babysitting Blues." She paused again. "I got the Baby, Baby, Babysitting Blues."The crowd began to clap along, with an occasional hoot or whistle of enthusiasm, and the kids started to clap, too, everyone carried along by the beat.Feeling acceptance from the audience as the band played louder and harder and tougher, Chris let herself go, really enjoying herself, singing with more soul than she'd ever thought she had."Now, I got this friend named Brenda," she sang, moving along with the music. "She ran away from an unhappy home. I came all the way downtown to get her." She stopped, stuck."But the tire, it done blown," Daryl sang hesitantly."Yeah!" Brad yelled, both fists in the air.Regaining her confidence, Chris went on. "So this guy hooked us up, got us all shook up, and now we're gettin' down!"The audience went wild."We got the Baby, Baby, Babysitting Blues!" Chris sang