Finding Elmo (6 page)

The hammering stopped and with it, the conversation. But then I heard more noise from behind the door. They'd turned on a
TV,
and I could hear the laugh track from some sitcom. But there was another noise too. A faint noise I could just make out.

Squawking.

My throat felt tight, like I was wearing a shirt buttoned up too high. It sounded like Elmo's squawk, only weaker. Wheezier. Sadder.

Part of me wanted to barge in right then. But then I remembered Mr. Singh's advice and the way Lyle had punched the wall. One step at a time, I told myself.

The men were talking again. “The bird's still squawking. That's a good sign, at least,” the second guy said.

“It's a wonder,” said Lyle. “Considering he hasn't had a thing to eat since we took him.”

I tried to swallow, but it felt like something was stuck in my throat. Did I hear right? Elmo hadn't had a thing to eat since they'd taken him—nearly four days ago? Didn't they know a bird Elmo's size could die if he went without food for that long?

I had to find a way inside.

I thought about knocking and telling them I was selling chocolate bars for school. But I didn't have chocolate bars and school had been over since June.

Then I got the idea of trying to break in through the room next door. If I could get in there, I might be able to climb onto the scaffolding and reach Elmo.

When I tried the handle it opened. Just like that.

There wasn't much to see inside. Bare walls and a concrete floor that felt cold, even through my sneakers. My eyes went straight to the back window and the scaffolding outside.

I was crossing the room when I overheard the birdnappers again. I tiptoed to the common wall to hear better.

“Boss told us not to leave the bird alone,” the guy whose name I didn't know was saying.

“Boss this. Boss that. You sound like a friggin' parrot. I say we've been cooped up here long enough. Time to spread our wings. Besides, I've had it with leftover pizza.” Lyle made a belching sound.

“What about the bird?” the other guy asked. “The doors don't lock. Maybe I should stay here.”

My breathing quickened. If they left, I might be able to get Elmo. And I might not have to climb onto the scaffolding.

“What do you think the bird's gonna do? Fly home? Bird's in a cage, you doofus.” I heard Lyle slap his thigh.

“All right, all right. Remember that vegetable curry Boss brought us? It came from this Indian joint in the food court next door. Little guy there is supposed to make a mean butter chicken. How's that sound?”

Lyle belched again. I figured that meant yes.

Way to go, Mr. Singh, I thought as I crouched by the door, waiting for the two thugs to leave.

When I heard the door close behind them, I made myself count to two hundred—slowly. What if they heard me from downstairs? What if one of them had forgotten something?

Once I reached two hundred, I headed next door, still keeping very quiet. I'd heard more hammering, and I didn't need the workers getting suspicious.

This room was bigger than the one I'd been in. They were using the backseat of a car for a couch. A half-empty pizza box lay open on the floor. But I was more interested in the hallway at the back. It had to lead to another room. And I was pretty sure Elmo was there.

“Elmo!” I whispered, “I'm coming!”

I heard a faint rustling of feathers. The pressure I'd been feeling on my chest lifted. My heart felt lighter.

I spotted him the second I walked into the room. He was slumped on a balsa branch in a cage about half the size of the one he had at the store. The cage was padlocked, which meant Elmo must have figured out how to undo the latch. Smart boy.

When he saw me, he opened his beak, but no sound came out. Then, slowly—as if it took every ounce of energy he had—he hopped down from his perch and pressed his brown head against the bars.

“Attaboy,” I said as I poked my finger through the bars and stroked the top of his head. His feathers were dull and tufty-looking, and the bottom of his cage was covered with wispy brown and black feathers. Elmo was molting which wasn't supposed to happen until the weather changed at the end of summer.

I checked my watch. Three minutes had already gone by. I figured I had about twenty more till the birdnappers came back.

I could leave straightaway, taking Elmo with me, or I could try to feed him. Just then, Elmo opened his beak again. His tongue, usually a pale pink, was gray. He had to eat something.

On a table near the cage, I spotted a key and a plate of pineapple chunks. But pineapple would be too heavy on Elmo's stomach. I used the key to open the padlock, and then I unlatched the cage and reached in for the water bowl.

I dipped one finger into the water, and then I brought it up to Elmo's beak. His eyes were dull, listless. “Come on, boy,” I urged him. Just when I was sure he wouldn't have any water, he opened his beak. His throat jiggled as he swallowed the first drop.

When I ran my fingers down Elmo's spine, I felt bones. I took some seeds from the seed dish, dipped them in water and cupped them in my palm.

Elmo pecked at the wet seeds.

“Attaboy.”

It was time to get him out of there. There was no sense taking the cage. I pressed my
forearm in front of his belly so he could hop on.

“We're going home,” I told Elmo.

Just as he landed on my forearm, I heard a clattering sound. I thought it was coming from the scaffolding. Was it the workers? I was about to make a run for it when I realized the noise was coming from the hallway. Someone had dropped something— and now whoever it was was coming into the office. I had to move quickly.

I put Elmo back on the balsa branch and locked the cage. Then I put the key back exactly where it had been. My heart thumped so hard I felt it in my throat. I walked back toward the window.

“Where are those two blockheads?” someone asked from the front room.

Why did the voice sound so familiar?

It took me five steps to reach the window. I know because I counted them. A warm breeze blew up against my back. If I hoisted myself up in time, I could hide on the scaffolding.

“Lyle!” I heard the voice bark as I stepped out onto the scaffolding. I could tell the guy
was on his cell phone. “I told you two not to leave the bird alone. Not for a second,” he continued.

For a few seconds, I couldn't hear anything. Lyle must have been coming up with some excuse. But then the barking started up again. “Just get yourselves back up here!” the voice said.

Even after he snapped his cell phone shut the guy kept grumbling. “Curse that bloody Barnes for refusing to sell us the cockatoo,” he said. “Especially after all the money we offered him!”

I nearly gasped. Why wouldn't Dad sell Elmo? Wasn't he always saying all the animals in the store were for sale? And with money so tight, I'd have figured...

That's when I placed the voice. No wonder it seemed familiar. It was Mr. Morgan.

I peered down between the metal bars to the pavement. I wasn't up that high, but I felt woozy when I looked down.

Who'd have guessed Mr. Morgan was a birdnapper? Wait till Dad found out.

I still couldn't believe he'd refused to sell Elmo. It was because of me, of course. He knew how much Elmo meant to me. Maybe I'd been too hard on Dad. Maybe he hadn't changed as much as I'd thought.
And maybe part of our problem was that I'd been changing too.

In the distance, I saw what looked like a black moth flitting its wings. Rodney.

Once he spotted me, he started running in my direction. His cape kept getting caught between his legs.

I inched up as close as I could to the wall and tried to focus on the bricks. It was better not to look down.

I could hear footsteps in the stairwell. Lyle and his partner probably hadn't had time to try Mr. Singh's butter chicken.

“Look, Boss,” I heard Lyle say as he trudged into the office, “we were just downstairs.”

Mr. Morgan's words came out like a hiss. “You know what a bird like that is worth. One of you was supposed to stay with him at all times. That was our agreement.”

The voices came closer as the three men headed for the back room. I stepped away from the window.

“The bird's fine,” said the guy whose name I didn't know. “Hey, there are seeds
on the bottom of the cage. Guess he got his appetite back.”

That seemed to please Mr. Morgan. “Good timing. The bird needs his energy. He leaves for Paris this afternoon.”

Paris? They couldn't take Elmo all the way to Paris!

Lyle whistled. “That bird's got the life.”

“His buyer's in Paris. Luckily I was able to arrange a new deal.” It sounded as if Mr. Morgan was clapping his hands—applauding himself. “Our job ends once he lands at Charles de Gaulle Airport. Lyle, you and I leave in ten minutes. There's a van outside. Steve, Lyle will be back for you after he drops us off at the airport. In the meantime, get rid of all traces of the bird.”

I scanned the parking lot. A gray van was parked near the office building.

Just then, I heard another whistle. This one came from the ground. “Shh,” I said, mouthing the word when I saw Rodney.

It was too late. Lyle had heard him too. “Something going on out there?” Lyle walked over to the window until he was so
close, I could hear him breathe. Whatever you do, don't look outside, I thought.

“It's probably just some bird,” Steve said. Lyle stepped away. I'd been so nervous that for a few seconds, I'd forgotten to breathe.

I started climbing down the scaffolding. It was like a jungle gym, only harder because the bars were farther apart.

When I reached the ground, Rodney sighed so loud you'd think he was the one who'd been climbing.

I didn't have time to catch my breath. “They've got Elmo. You call nine-one-one right now,” I told Rodney. “Give them that van's license number.” I pointed toward the back of the gray van. “L-Q-Z one-two-four. Got that, Phantom?”

Rodney repeated the number like it was a secret password.

“Phone from Tandoori Palace,” I said.

The van was locked. I ducked behind a nearby convertible and did something that's really hard for me. I waited.

My mind was racing. But I knew one
thing: Now that I'd found Elmo, there was no way I was going to lose him again.

I heard Mr. Morgan before I saw him. “Put that bag of cement in my van, Lyle,” he said. I peeked out from behind the convertible. Lyle looked as mean as I'd imagined. His eyes were close set, like a bug's.

Lyle's arms were wrapped around a bag, and he stumbled as if he was carrying something heavy. I knew it was an act. That wasn't a bag of cement. It was Elmo. They'd wrapped his cage in paper.

Mr. Morgan unlocked the van doors and popped open the back. Then he opened the other doors. “With this heat, we'd better air out the car,” he said loudly. In a lower voice, he added, “I don't want that bird getting heatstroke. I don't want to lose my investment.” I clenched my fists. An investment. That's all Elmo was to him.

Mr. Morgan walked to the back of the van. He drummed his fingers on the roof as Lyle put Elmo inside.

I had to move quickly.

“Not so close to the window,” Mr. Morgan told Lyle.

I thought I heard a squawk, but the sound was drowned out as a jet passed overhead. This was my chance to make a dash for the backseat.

There was a flannel blanket on the floor. Once I was in the van, I threw the blanket over me.

Perfect. Mr. Morgan and Lyle hadn't noticed a thing. They were too busy arguing. “Not so close to the air conditioning vents,” Mr. Morgan said.

“I know what I'm doin'.”

“If you knew what you were doing, you wouldn't have left the bird alone.”

“Want me to drive?”

Mr. Morgan threw Lyle the keys.

I made my next move when the two of them got into the van. I hopped over the backseat into the back of the van. The flannel blanket came with me.

A few seconds later, we were heading to the airport. When Lyle turned on the radio, Mr. Morgan shut it off.

“You got something against techno?” Lyle asked.

I was glad they were arguing again. The more they argued, the less chance they'd notice they had an extra passenger along for the ride.

I had to find some way to get Elmo and me out of the van. Maybe Lyle would stop for gas.

I wanted to put my hand on Elmo's cage to let him know I was there. Of course, I couldn't. Instead I thought about Elmo—and what a great escape artist he was. What would he do if he were me?

Elmo loved unlatching things. If he were me, he'd figure out how to unlatch the back door of the van.

We were still on the side streets leading to the highway. If I wanted to escape with Elmo, I had to do it soon.

I wriggled over to the back door. Lyle and Mr. Morgan had begun arguing about money. “If you cut a new deal,” Lyle said, “Steve and I should get more too.”

I reached for the inside handle and
unlocked the back door of the van. Then I wedged a corner of the blanket under the door.

Now all I had to do was wait for the right moment.

“We had an agreement,” Mr. Morgan told Lyle.

There was just enough blanket to cover me. I positioned one leg so when the timing was right, I could kick open the back door.

We were nearly at the ramp for the highway. I reached for Elmo's cage, keeping my arms under the blanket.

When Elmo squawked, I froze. I didn't want to imagine what Mr. Morgan and Lyle would do if they found me in the van.

I felt Mr. Morgan turn his head. “What's going on back there?”

“We haven't finished discussing money,” Lyle said, hitting the brakes. The van screeched to a stop.