Dunc's Dump (5 page)

“Dunc—”

“Shhh!”

It was pitch dark. Outside, the moon and stars were covered by thick clouds and the nearest surviving streetlight was four blocks away. Inside the Dumpster it was like a black hole.

“Dunc.”

“You have to be quiet, Amos. We're on a mission.”

“I'm hungry.”

“You're what?”

“Hungry.”

“We're in a Dumpster—how could you be hungry?”

“Simple. We took off this morning without eating and there wasn't much to pick up at the dump and then we did the garbage and the bus and we didn't get to eat there and when we went home and changed I fell asleep for a little bit and then you woke me up and we came down here in the dark and I was so scared I forgot about eating and now I'm hungry.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“Nothing. I just want you to know.”

“So I know. Now will you be quiet?”

“Sure.”

For a moment there was silence. Then from outside the Dumpster a rasping voice hissed, “Is that you in there, garbage?”

The boys froze.

“I was worried when I gave you directions that you would leave, Mr. Garbage.”

It was Charlie Rags. He had been walking since the afternoon, had spoken to several Dumpsters trying to find the talking garbage, but he hadn't had any luck except for a moment when an alley cat that looked like it had
been pulled through a knothole backward snarled at him, and he thought for a second it was mad garbage.

“I need some advice, Mr. Garbage”—Charlie Rags spoke to the side of the Dumpster—“about my life.”

Dunc said nothing but Amos rose to the occasion. He leaned against the inside of the Dumpster and spoke to the metal. “If I give you advice, will you go away?”

“Sure.”

“What was the question?”

“Well, it's kind of complicated but now that I've stopped drinking and I'm going to straighten my life out I wondered whether I should take up the flute or be a doctor.”

“Flute or doctor?”

“Yes. I was going to get on one of those television shows like Oprah and ask but I thought why should I do that when I have you? So what do you think?”

Amos thought a moment. “Do both.”

“Both?”

“Yes. Be a doctor who plays a flute. Or a flute player who's a doctor.”

“What a good idea. Thanks.”

“Now go, and bother me no more.”

Dunc had been staring at Amos in the darkness, or where Amos would be standing, and he waited until Charlie Rags's footsteps had died away. “That was great.”

“What?”

“That advice. That poor old man was really worried and you helped him.”

“Comes with the turf.”

“What do you mean?”

“My family. My uncle Alfred is always giving advice to people who don't want it. My sister is always asking for advice and never listening to it when it comes. And—”

There was a sudden growl of an engine outside and a bump as a vehicle backed against the Dumpster.

“Quiet,” Dunc whispered. He took Amos by the arm and pulled him to the opposite end of the Dumpster. “Get ready.”

With a loud clang, the half-lid of the Dumpster was thrown back.

•
11

For a moment there was no sound but the running engine. Then two doors opened and slammed shut, and footsteps approached the Dumpster.

“Oh, man, one of the sacks broke, and it's all over my truck.” The voice was whiny. “How come we always have to use my truck?”

“Because, pea brain, I don't
have
a truck. That's why we use your truck.”

“You have a car.”

“Oh, right—you want me to put bags of trash in a classic nineteen fifty-seven Chevy hardtop. Oh, really great. Perfect.”

“Well—”

“That's enough whining. Now put that cigarette out before we unload this mess. Who knows what's in here?”

“It's hazardous and toxic waste—we know that. That's how come we're getting paid to dump it.”

“I know that, dummy—I mean, maybe it'll catch on fire.”

There was another moment of silence, after which a lit cigarette arched through the air and came spiraling into the Dumpster, where it nuzzled down into some mattress stuffing and immediately began to smolder.

“Uh-oh.” Dunc whispered in Amos's ear. “This isn't so good.”

“Why?” Amos spoke just above breathing.

“Nitrate—” Dunc began, then stopped as a bag of something heavy flew through the opening and burst. White powder flew in all directions, filling the Dumpster.

“No time,” Dunc whispered again. “Take my hand and follow me.”

“Follow you?”

“Come on.” Dunc grabbed at Amos's hand and caught his wrist. “
Now! It's going to blow!
”

“Blow?” Amos was still whispering. “Blow what?”

But Dunc was past talking. He slammed the length of the Dumpster dragging Amos and emerged into the open end just as another bag of white powder that had been thrown by the men hit the edge of the Dumpster and burst. Half the powder went into the Dumpster and the other half spilled back into the bed of the truck, leaving a trail of powder from the Dumpster to the truck.

Dunc pushed the torn sack off to the side and climbed up and out.

“What—” The men were standing in the back of the pickup. Around them were stacked sacks of the white powder. They were holding a sack between them, getting ready to throw it. “Who are you?” the one on the left asked.

“No time, cigarette, nitrate powder—” Dunc was gasping while he pulled at Amos to get him out of the Dumpster.

“Blow?” Amos mumbled. “What's going to blow? The garbage? How can garbage blow—”

Dunc dragged him out, across the edge of the Dumpster and onto the ground. “Now—we have to run
now
!”

Pulling Amos by the arm he took off at a dead run, heading across the street from the Dumpster.

The two men stood stupefied for a moment, watching the boys. Then the one who owned the truck saw smoke curling out of the Dumpster, where the cigarette was about to break into open flame.

“Fire!” he said, and jumped from the pickup bed alongside the open door of the truck. “I've got to get my truck out of here!”

He slammed the truck into gear and floored the accelerator. The truck jerked forward, throwing his partner out of the box.

It probably saved his life.

The smoldering cigarette found an edge of paper, glowed, caught, and broke into a tiny open flame. Very small, a little yellow-and-red flicker that would have died.

Except.

In an instant it found new edges of paper, caught there, grew, and was a full-blown fire just as the truck started to move.

Which was when it ignited the nitrate fertilizer.

Even then, for a second, it could still have been all right.

The nitrate burned but only that, just burned in a rapidly growing hot flame, feeding on itself, and growing with a great hissing. But nitrate fertilizer is just another name for explosive powder and the flames found a place where there was weight pressing down on the powder, and the pressure and flame together triggered the explosion.

Even then it might have been contained. The powder inside the Dumpster had a large opening above it, and it blew up in an enormous whooshing that lit the surrounding area like a flashbulb.

But the explosion jumped from the Dumpster to the bags stored in the back of the pickup and detonated those as well.

The effect was immediate and astonishing.

Rather than blow the pickup to pieces, the explosion was shaped toward the rear, and in a huge pulse of white-hot light, it turned the small import truck into something very close to a rocket.

A rocket aimed exactly at the front window of the Chinese restaurant.

Amos and Dunc stopped with the first explosion out of the Dumpster and turned just in time to see the pickup leave.

Or start to leave. It was much too fast to truly follow with the human eye. For one part of a second, the pickup with the polluter in the cab was sitting there, the next it was doing just under two hundred and thirty-seven miles an hour into the front window of the restaurant.

Luckily it was the middle of the night and nobody was in the restaurant except a cat named Jimmy Yee, who was just in the act of nailing a rat next to the side wall.

The pickup hit the front window exactly in the center, roared through the dining room, cored the middle of the kitchen, barreled out the back loading door, whistled through a vacant lot, caught a side street, and did not slow down for two and a half miles through the deserted streets of town, when it came to a stop in front of a police station. The man behind the wheel sat while the police came out and took him into custody. They had to carry him, still in a sitting position, into the station, where he sat in a corner and said, “I tuned
her up myself, but I think I got the mixture a little too rich.” Then he said it again, and again, and again.

Inside the restaurant Jimmy Yee unstuck himself from the ceiling, where he'd gone as the truck came through, and dropped to the floor. The rat was gone.

“Wow.” Dunc had been holding his breath. “Did you see that?”

Amos nodded. “I just hope Melissa did.”

“Melissa? Why Melissa?”

“Colors,” Amos said. “I never saw anything with so many colors in my life. I wonder if we can get some more of that powder.”

“Amos …”

“Fertilizer. Is that any kind of fertilizer, or does it have to be special?” Amos started walking toward home. “I mean, you know, it's easy to get fertilizer. You can pick it up off the streets in some places. They sell it in bags in the stores. Of course, they don't call it fertilizer. Uncle Alfred calls it—”

“Amos …”

When Dunc Culpepper and his best friend, Amos, first see the parrot in a pet store, they're not impressed—it's smelly, scruffy, and missing half its feathers. They're only slightly impressed when they learn that the parrot speaks four languages, has outlived ten of its owners, and is probably 150 years old. But when the bird starts mouthing off about buried treasure, Dunc and Amos get pretty excited—let the amateur sleuthing begin!

Dunc and his accident-prone friend Amos are up to their old sleuthing habits once again. This time they're after a band of doll thieves! When a doll that once belonged to Charles Dickens's daughter is stolen from an exhibition at the local mall, the two boys put on their detective gear and do some serious snooping. Will a vicious watchdog keep them from retrieving the valuable missing doll?

Dunc and Amos are researching the Civil War cannon that stands in the town square when they find a note inside telling them about a time portal. Entering it through the dressing room of La Petite, a women's clothing store, the boys find themselves in downtown Chatham on March 8, 1862—the day before the historic clash between the
Monitor
and the
Merrimac
. But the Confederate soldiers they meet mistake them for Yankee spies. Will they make it back to the future in one piece?

Dunc and Amos meet up with a new buddy named Lash when they enter the radical world of skateboard competition. When somebody “cops”—steals—Lash's prototype skateboard, the boys are determined to get it back. After all, Lash is about to shoot for a totally rad world's record! Along the way they learn a major lesson:
Never
kiss a monkey!

Dunc and Amos are planning the best route to get the most candy on Halloween. But their plans change when Amos is slightly bitten by a werewolf.

Dunc and Amos have a small problem when they try hang gliding—they crash in the wilderness. Luckily, Amos has read a book about a boy who survived in the wilderness for fifty-four days. Too bad Amos doesn't have a hatchet. Things go from bad to worse when a wild man holds the boys captive. Can anything save them now?

Dunc's not afraid of ghosts, although Amos is sure that the old Rambridge house is haunted by the ghost of Blackbeard the Pirate. Then the best friends meet Eddie, a meek man who claims to be impersonating Blackbeard's ghost in order to live in the house in peace. But if that's true, why are flames shooting from his mouth?

Deciphering a code they find in a library book, Dunc and Amos stumble onto a burglary ring. The burglars' next target is the home of Melissa, the girl of Amos's dreams (who doesn't even know that he's alive). Amos longs to be a hero to Melissa, so nothing will stop him from solving this case—not even a mind-boggling collision with a jock, a chimpanzee, and a toilet.